A man with a cracking tenor voice was singing a Greek love-song in the street below; from her window in Sanat Ji Mani's study, Avasa Dani listened, the louvers on the shutters open only enough to admit the spanking breeze off the sea. She was longing for dusk and for the familiar sounds of Delhi, not this discordant Greek barking. She attempted a smile, telling herself she was being foolish, that had she remained in the city of her birth she would be dead by now. Her laughter was rich: she was dead.

From his place on the far side of the reception room, Rogerian looked up, startled by the sound. "Gracious lady?" he asked in her native tongue.

"No," she said in the Greco-Arabic dialect of Alexandria, "You indulge me, and you must not. As much as I want to speak my old language, I must learn this new one, and to do that I must ..." She faltered, looking for a word. "I must practice."

"Then," he said in the Alexandrian idiom, "I will do as you ask."

"And you must correct me if I make mistakes, or I will not improve." She ducked her head. "I rely on you to help me learn."

"My master would applaud your decision," said Rogerian, putting aside his household records and approaching her. "It is very difficult, to be so far from home."

"What is difficult is the knowledge that I can never return," she said, the merriment fading from her face.

"You can return, in time," Rogerian said gently.

"No, I cannot," Avasa Dani countered. "There is nothing to return to. Timur-i Lenkh destroyed it."

Rogerian could not disagree. "In time Delhi will be rebuilt."

"Perhaps. But it will then be less my home than it is now." She rose from her seat. "I have no reason to complain. I live comfortably and my needs are met; I have more that is mine than ever I had in Delhi, and yet I miss it."

"That is not uncommon, to miss the place of your native earth." Rogerian frowned, his mind on the problem Avasa Dani's death had produced. He had been enough beforehand to have brought a chest of Delhi earth with them but he knew it would not last much more than a year, when more would be needed.

Again she laughed, but this time the sound was sad. "I never realized how vulnerable Sanat Ji Mani is; now that I am like him, I cannot forget. Soon I must find a way to have the love that will give me life, and I must do it without exposing what I am." She looked up at the ceiling. "There are not many opportunities for any woman to do that."

"Yes, it is difficult, and not only for women-although the limitations you face are more obvious," said Rogerian. "Those of his blood must come to terms with these things or they will not last long." As he spoke, he thought of the one glaring exception to this: Csimenae, who had fled to the remote peaks of the Pyrenees with the full intention of creating another clan around her when it seemed safe.

"I have not yet decided if I wish to last long," said Avasa Dani. "I can tell that, too, is not an easy decision to make, for I do not yet know what I am to do with the years ahead of me. I cannot batten on Sanat Ji Mani for decades and decades, so I must find a way to live on my own, and to keep away from the scrutiny of the world: I have the chance to live many hundreds of years, but it may be that I will not want to, and how am I to know?"

"You need not make up your mind at once," Rogerian pointed out, his manner appreciative and grave. "No one requires a quick-"

She held up her hand, and went on in her native tongue, her speech coming readily and with an eloquence she did not yet possess in the Alexandrian dialect. "I know; but for myself, I must determine how I am to live before I become accustomed to this life you have provided me, so that I do not expect comfort and protection at every turn, for that is not how my life must be now that I am undead." Her stem demeanor softened. "You have been generous beyond anything I could have hoped for."

"My master is your host," Rogerian said. "I do his bidding."

"You could do his bidding without making my stay as pleasant as it has been; my servants in Delhi did their work well, but it was not given in the spirit of good comradeship you have shown me from the first," she said in a tone that brooked no opposition. "That is why I know I cannot remain much longer, and risk becoming habituated to your cordiality. Once I take this life you have shown me as my own, changing will be increasingly difficult. If Sanat Ji Mani returns, then matters may be different, but if he does not ..."

"You say he is alive," said Rogerian. "Your blood-bond is unbroken."

"Yes. He is alive. That knowledge has kept me in this house as nothing else has, not even my lack of understanding of the language." She turned to the window once more. "But it will not suffice, not for long, and you are as much aware of it as I am: I must find a place in this world where I can live as I must without obligation to anyone, not even Sanat Ji Mani."

"He would want you to remain here as long as you like," Rogerian said, aware that his assurance would have little bearing on her.

"Perhaps. But I would not benefit from it. I would become as I was before, waiting at the pleasure and will of the men around me. All my life, I have been taught that my first worth is how I please my male relatives, from my father to my brother to my husband. My mother schooled me well, teaching me to put men's needs before my own, to be compliant, to make men's satisfaction the goal of all I did. I was an apt student." She rose to her feet. "While I was in Delhi, it was all I could do. But now? here? I need not embrace those limits."

"This place is ruled by Islam," Rogerian reminded her. "Women live much the same way you did in Delhi."

"But some do not. I have watched what happens in the streets and in the market-places, and I know that there are women who do not live restricted lives; I have seen them and I know that they are not compelled to live apart from the city. Alexandria is a port, and all the world comes here." Her smile was automatic but there was a glitter in her eyes that hinted at ferocity. "I have not been here long, but I know Alexandria has its own place in Egypt, unlike any other city." She cocked her head. "That man singing so badly is singing in Greek, and last night I heard an argument in two languages, neither of which I had heard before."

"Many port cities are thus," said Rogerian, trying to discern her intent, and worrying that he already had.

"Yes. This part of the world is like Delhi, in that there are many different peoples here, but it is unlike Delhi in that most of them come by sea from places remote to the port. Venetian and Genoese galleys are at the wharves, as are hulks from the far north with their furs and amber, and the ships of Byzantium, with all the wealth from the Old Silk Road in their holds. I have heard that they come throughout the year: on any day there are forty or more ships in port." She came away from the window. "These men are seeking adventure."

"Many of them are," Rogerian conceded carefully.

"And they want adventure in many forms." She lowered her eyes. "Some of that adventure comes from women."

Rogerian tried not to look dismayed. "Such women live hard lives. You think you will be unobserved in that life? It is not the case. Women providing entertainment for men have to deal with the judgment and strictures of men."

"As do all women," said Avasa Dani, her expression filled with determination. "I am not set upon that life, yet, but I have been thinking of this, and I am considering making an establishment of my own, where I will not have to take on the desires of men, but where I can arrange matters to suit the men but where the women will be guarded and safe, and where the money they earn is not all given to the men who rule them." She folded her arms. "I have not yet worked it out to my satisfaction, but I am well-enough aware that this is one of the few things I can do where my life will not be remarked upon. It is also a life I understand."

"It is a dangerous life," Rogerian warned her.

"And being a vampire is not?" she asked, going on tentatively, "The more I think of it, the more I see that I must not remain a guest here, but must have the means of meeting many strangers, strangers who will not ask questions or hold my desires against me. How else may I have the chance to gratify my needs without exposure? I am a woman, alone in a foreign country-what other course is open to me? If I become mistress of a house of assignation, I will see many men, and I will have the opportunity to select those who interest me, and I could then decide if I desire them enough to pursue them. A man may intrigue me, and because of that, I may lie with him, or visit him in a dream, as Sanat Ji Mani described, while he lies in my house, after which he will be gone, without harm from me, and at most, only the memory of an unusual encounter."

"But such women can be cast into prison," Rogerian exclaimed.

"What is that to me? Do you think a hareem is not prison? There may be fountains and birds and sweetmeats, but there are also guards, so there is no liberty-do you not see that? I have a husband. I cannot be wife to another-how could I bring such disgrace upon myself?" Avasa Dani asked, her indignation sharpening her tone. "And if I married again, I would be unable to look farther than my husband's door for what I must have."

"But you would be ranked just above a slave, living the life you plan," Rogerian said to her.

Avasa Dani made an impatient gesture. "Do you think married women are not slaves to their husbands?"

Rogerian had heard many of the same complaints from Olivia over the centuries and he knew Avasa Dani was right. "I cannot argue."

She was startled. "Well," she said when she had recovered herself. "Then why should you, or any man, protest if a woman makes what is required of her a means of her living instead of her servitude? Why should I be kept from making my necessity an employment?" She took a turn about the room, and resumed the Alexandrian dialect. "I have not yet decided how I am to do it, but I know what must be done."

"If that is what you truly want, then you have only to tell me, and it will be arranged," said Rogerian, doing his best not to be downcast. "But before you enter on such a course, speak to the women whose trade it is-so you will not trade one prison for another."

"I will, and I will heed what I am told," she promised him. "But I will also ask you to find me a house, a good one, not far from the waterfront, where sailing men might be willing to go. I must find a place to begin."

"Talk to the women first, I beg you," Rogerian said again. "You may have hit upon the means to have the life you want, but you have not had to endure that life." If only Olivia were here in Alexandria, he thought, he could take Avasa Dani to her. "You say you know how these women live; be certain you do."

"If you deem it necessary, then bring a few of them to me, and I will speak with them." She lifted her head. "If you will not, then I must seek them out for myself."

"I will bring a few such women to you," said Rogerian, capitulating. "All I ask is that you listen closely to what they tell you."

"I will do," she said, and pointed to the window. "Will you give that fellow some money so he will go away? His singing is terrible."

"It is," Rogerian agreed. "All right." He started out of the reception room, then paused. "It may take me a night or two to find women who will speak to you."

"That is acceptable," said Avasa Dani.

"Do you want them separately or severally?" Rogerian asked; he wondered how he was going to convince pleasure-women to speak with Avasa Dani.

"Perhaps two or three together, and four groups or more," she said, so quickly that Rogerian knew she had made up her mind about it already.

"Not tonight, but tomorrow night I will find the first for you: tonight I must inquire about houses," he said, and went to bribe the tenor. He did not see her again until toward the end of the night, when he found her in the gallery over the garden.

Avasa Dani made a gesture of greeting. "You have something to tell me?"

"I have," he said. "I have been about the city, as you requested, and I have information to impart to you." He had taken his tone from hers and was rewarded with a crisp nod. "There are three parts of the city where houses of assignation may be found. There are a number near the waterfront and they cater to sailing men; these houses are rough and they are often closed by the magistrates of the city, and the women branded and their noses cut off."

"You are not saying this to discourage me, are you?" Avasa Dani asked, unable to keep from wincing.

"No. I am telling you what I have found out." He let her think this over. "There is a second area where such houses flourish, near the customs houses, between the Greek and Italian quarters. Most of the men who go there are merchants and other travelers. Those houses offer more than the ones at the wharves-they have singers and dancers and they provide meals and other pleasures than the use of women." He paused again. "Most of the keepers of those houses pay regular bribes and so are left alone by the magistrates most of the time."

"They pay bribes, you say?" Avasa Dani tapped her fingers on the gallery rail. "How much?"

"I did not find out. I suspect it changes from time to time, depending on the success of the house and the demand for such houses." He waited a long moment again, then said, "The third sort of house is found in quiet parts of the city, in gracious houses with all the appearance of wealth that are appropriate to the streets where they are located. These houses are the most discreet because they are the most luxurious and perverse. Some entertain only men desiring men, some are established for those who want children, some for those who want pain, some for those who want several lovers at once, some for those who wish to watch performances of all manner of lewdness." He shrugged. "Most of these houses have been established for a very long time. They demand high prices, but they also pay enormous bribes, and they do not tolerate competition."

"So you are saying-and none too subtly-that I might do best looking for a house of the second order: one for merchants, where there are bribes paid but not ruinous ones, and the men who frequent them may be relied upon to have unexceptional tastes." She waited for his answer.

"It would seem that you would have the opportunity you seek with the least risks in such an establishment, yes," said Rogerian. "Many of those houses thrive for years and years."

She nodded. "I see."

"If you want to look at the streets, I will have you carried there in a palanquin, to view them for yourself." He coughed delicately. "I will also take you to the other sorts of houses, so you may compare them, if you like."

"Let us go early in the day, at first light," she said, looking up at the sky. "Not tonight, tomorrow, when I have had time to think." She made a gesture, dismissing him.

"You will see that I have reported accurately," he said.

"I do not doubt it, but I want to see for myself," she replied.

"Tomorrow night, then, I will bring two or three women to you, and when they are gone you can see the houses," he said as he withdrew.

Avasa Dani wished him a good night, then rose and went to her quarters where she sat down before the carved chest she had brought with her from Delhi. She opened the drawer which contained the records of her husband's visits during his pilgrimage, wondering where he might be now: had he escaped Timur-i? Was he still alive? Was any part of him Nararavi still, or had he become completely a pilgrim with only enlightenment in his thoughts? Would he ever return to Delhi? Sighing, she put the register back without unrolling it. By tomorrow night, her first steps would be taken into a life she could only imagine. Would he be angry with her decision to become the owner of a house of assignation, or would he simply consider her caught in the toils of the world, and deserving pity? Would he ever know what she was doing, or would he consider her lost? She frowned. If she was caught up in the world, was it not Nararavi's fault? Had he remained at Delhi, had he continued to be a husband to her, she would never have left. "And I would still be in Dehli, and I would be truly dead, not undead as I am, in Alexandria." It was a strangely comforting thought to hold in her mind as she sought out her bed that was set atop a chest of her native earth.

Rogerian was as good as his Word: shortly after sundown the next evening, he met Avasa Dani in the reception room. "I have three women with me, one from each of the houses we discussed."

Avasa Dani was nervous. "Will I need you to translate for me?"

"You may," said Rogerian. "You may not."

"Then stay when you bring them in." She took a seat on a low divan. "You may present them."

Rogerian went out into the broad hall and signaled to the three women sitting there. "The foreign lady will see you now," he said, and stood aside for the three to enter the reception room, bowing to them European style to show his respect. Following after them, he closed the door against any prying eyes the household servants might have; they were disapproving enough without knowing what Avasa Dani wanted from the women. "This is Nitsa, Gelya, and Vardis. They are your guests." He turned. "This lady is Avasa Dani." He stepped back, leaving the four women to study one another.

Nitsa was dark-haired and pale-skinned with hazel eyes, perhaps twenty-five, slender to the point of skinniness; she moved provocatively in her Greek clothing. Gelya was the oldest of the three-at least thirty-with hard lines in her heart-shaped face and white in her light-brown hair, and there was a brand on her shoulder; she was in Alexandrian dress but wore no veil. Vardis looked to be little more than thirteen or fourteen, with a cloud of curly dark hair, deep-olive skin, and kohl-lined eyes the color of soot; she wore silks the color of persimmons and the coins dangling from her belt were gold. The three women chose not to sit together, preferring to occupy piles of cushions apart from each other; they faced Avasa Dani expectantly and with varying degrees of wariness.

"Welcome to this house," said Avasa Dani. "If you would like food or drink, I shall have it brought to you."

The women exchanged uneasy glances, and Gelya said, "We are hungry and thirsty. If you have wine, we would welcome it." She stared at Avasa Dani, then directed her gaze to Rogerian. "Which of you will see to our wants?"

"We have wine," said Rogerian. "I will order a meal brought to you at once." With that, he went to the door and clapped for Kardal, the steward. "Wine and food for our guests, if you please."

Kardal took a deep breath. "It is not well to have such women in this house, Friend-of-my-Master."

"They are our guests. Do not dishonor our master by refusing hospitality," said Rogerian.

"But women like that-" Kardal broke off. "Very well. I will bring the food myself. None of the others will."

"And for that you will be thanked and given a token of appreciation," said Rogerian. "You may tell the rest that I will remember how they have behaved."

Kardal lowered his eyes. "You must not blame them, Friend-of-my-Master."

"But I do. And Saint-Germanius will do so as well, when he returns." He remained in the doorway while Kardal withdrew, then went back to a carved rosewood chair behind Avasa Dani. "Wine and food will be brought shortly."

"Thank you," said Avasa Dani. "My guests will be grateful for it." She leaned forward, resting one arm on the rolled bolster at one end of the divan. "You have been paid for your time here, have you not?"

"We have," said Gelya for them all, a jaded smile on her lips. "I have pleasured women before, but I do not know if-"

"I have not," said Nitsa. "I have spent most of my life learning to pleasure men."

"Surely you have occasionally done other things?" Vardis said. "You may have had to pleasure more than one man, or a man and a woman?" Her smile was beatific but it did not reach her eyes.

"I have not had to," said Nitsa.

"Then this will be your chance to learn something new," said Gelya, smiling at Avasa Dani.

Avasa Dani held up her hand. "I did not ask you to come here for my pleasure but to find out about your work and your lives."

Gelya laughed outright. "Saints bless us, why? Why should you want to know about us? You have a good life and you want for nothing; you live well here, and you are not accustomed to doing what we do, little as you think you are."

"You are partially right: I want to know because you have experience of a way of life unfamiliar to me," said Avasa Dani, unperturbed by the derision she sensed in the women before her. "I am eager to know about the way in which you conduct your business."

"Why?" Gelya demanded. "So you can keep your husband from coming to us instead of staying at home?"

"No," said Avasa Dani. "Because if I am to establish a house of assignation there is much I must know; I rely on you to teach me."

The three women exchanged glances and laughed, Gelya the most openly, Vardis behind her hand. "You must be joking," Gelya said. "Why would you do this? What makes you believe you can manage such an establishment?"

There was a tap on the door; Rogerian went to answer it, and came back with a tray holding three cups and two jars of Italian wine. He set this down on a brass-topped table and poured out measures for the three women, carrying the tray to each of them.

"I will not know how to answer until you tell me what you know," said Avasa Dani.

"This smells very good," said Vardis, and took a deep sip; the others followed her example.

"You do not join us?" Gelya asked sharply as she put her cup down.

"No; I do not drink wine." Avasa Dani met her direct gaze. "I paid you to inform me. I would like value for my money. Surely you understand that."

"None better," said Gelya. She had more wine.

"Why would you want to establish a house of assignation?" Vardis asked, tasting her wine with practiced delicacy.

Avasa Dani smiled again. "I do not know that I do want to: I am hoping you will give me enough information that I may make up my mind."

"Keeping a house of assignation-any house of assignation-is a costly business," said Nitsa. "This is very good wine."

"I supposed it might be," said Avasa Dani. "But how is it costly? How much must be paid? And for what?"

"Well, any house needs women," said Gelya, "or boys, or both. They must be kept, and fed, and housed, and clothed. Then there is the house. It must be staffed and kept up. There are greedy officials who demand a portion of your earnings, and they must be paid promptly and in full or the house is closed and everyone suffers."

"I see," said Avasa Dani. "In fact, it is much like any other business. Except that it is not, is it? You, Gelya: tell me about how you practice your trade."

Gelya spat. "On my back."

The other two laughed, and Nitsa remarked, "The men you serve must not be very imaginative if you are only on your back."

"Most are off ships and so randy they would fuck a knothole." Gelya took another drink of wine. "Some want sucking, but most are tired of that and want a woman's parts."

"It must be disappointing," said Vardis, carefully wiping her mouth.

"Oh, you think you will never have to lie down for sailors, girl?" Gelya challenged. "I thought that once, too, but I have learned otherwise." She picked up her wine-cup and drank.

"Why do you say that?" Avasa Dani asked.

Wine had loosened Gelya's tongue and she answered readily enough. "When I was sold to a brothel-keeper I was six; my family was poor and I was their youngest daughter. The brothel-keeper paid well for me and took me from Smolensk to Constantinople and put me to work in a very grand, very discreet house where I served high officials and wealthy men. I was a beautiful child, and I was much in demand. But when I was thirteen, I became pregnant and so they sold me to a brothel in Antioch, along with my son, who was taken away from me as soon as he could walk. It was a good house, but not so fine as the first." She stopped abruptly.

"Is that the tale you tell the sailors?" Nitsa asked snidely.

"No," said Gelya. "I tell them-when they ask, which they rarely do-that I preferred sailors to my husband, who was old and feeble. They favor that story over another." She drank the rest of the wine and looked at Rogerian. "Is there more?"

He went and refilled her cup, saying to Avasa Dani in the language of Delhi, "The wine hits her fast-she must be very hungry."

"Possibly," said Avasa Dani. "How did you come here from Antioch?"

"I came by way of Tyre, where I was branded, so by the time I got to Alexandria, I could only find work in the stews." She drank again, recklessly, eagerly. "Once you are branded, the better places will not touch you. If I had stayed in Smolensk, I would have ended up a drudge in a household, or a servant at an inn, since I would never have enough dowry to marry, so this life is no worse than any I might have expected, and better than some."

Rogerian had gone to the door to get the tray of food; he lingered there, unmoving, waiting for the women to finish speaking.

Vardis shook her head. "I was born to this life. My mother, and her mother before her, were whores. I was born in a brothel and no doubt I will die in one." She drank again. "If I am lucky, I will die young, and not have to end up begging or taking on ten sailors in a night."

Gelya bristled and drank more wine. "It is better than starving."

Avasa Dani glanced at Nitsa. "And you? How did you come to this work?"

"I was foolish," she answered. "I was the daughter of a farmer, and my family wanted me to marry well, so they made sure I was seen in the neighborhood-in the company of my brother, of course-and were selecting likely suitors for me. But one day, my brother was busy and I went to the market alone. The local landholder waylaid me and forced himself on me in spite of my coming betrothal. He impregnated me, and my family was disgraced. To recover their good name, and to be rid of me, they made arrangements to have me brought here to Alexandria and put into a house of assignation-it is more than a brothel, no matter what anyone says. I have been here for eight years, and I have come to accept that I will not return to Macedonia."

"Because you will disgrace your family if you do?" Avasa Dani asked.

"Because I have a fever; it is slight, but it burns in me day and night, and one day it will consume me," said Nitsa without any display of emotion. "Already it has eaten away some of my flesh. I have been given medicaments, but they do little but lessen its pains. My daughter already died of it, not quite two years ago."

There was a moment of silence; it was enough for Rogerian to open the door and claim the tray of food brought by Kardal. He carried it to the table in the center of the room and set it down. "Enjoy this fare; I am told the doves in honey are especially good-so is the chicken with almonds and cinnamon, and the bread is just out of the oven," he said. "I will pour more wine if you should want it." He busied himself opening the second jar.

"Have what you like," Avasa Dani encouraged them. "And while you eat, you will tell me how you would prefer that houses of assignation be run, and I will learn from you."

The three women were still suspicious, but the aroma of the food was tempting and the wine had suffused their spirits with camaraderie; they moved closer to the table, prepared to eat.

"I would like to have more guards, to keep out the bullies and the brawlers," said Gelya as she reached for one of the doves.

"I would like it if all our money was not lost to clothing and other minor things," said Vardis.

"How do you mean?" Avasa Dani asked, listening closely.

"Well, a portion of the fees paid are supposed to be kept by us, but one needs a new scarf, or a garment gets torn and must be replaced, and soon there is nothing left of one's earnings and, in fact, one is in debt to the master of the house." She broke off a piece of bread and reached for a heap of chopped eggplant with lemon and olive oil. "I would be glad to be able to keep a portion of my earnings."

"That happens everywhere," said Gelya, eating with determination. "No one will give us what is ours."

"Would you work in a place that promised you could keep your earnings?" Avasa Dani asked evenly.

"Of course I would," said Gelya.

"They all promise that," said Nitsa.

Gelya laughed to show her scorn. "Perhaps where you are, they do. Where I am they do not bother with such pretense."

"But if you could have your money, would you come to the place that provided you with the money?" Avasa Dani persisted.

"Yes," was the answer from all three women, in varying degrees of eagerness.

"And you, Nitsa, what would you like?" Avasa Dani addressed her calmly.

"I should like to be sure I will not be thrown out to starve when I am too ill to work," she said, her voice dropping; the other two women stopped eating to look at her.

Avasa Dani met her eyes. "If that happens, you will come here, and you will be cared for until the end. You will not be left to die in the streets." She pointed to Rogerian. "He has heard me say it; he will honor my Word."

The three women turned their eyes on Rogerian.

"I will," Rogerian said, and bowed to Avasa Dani for emphasis. "None of you will be turned away from this door."

"Very well," said Avasa Dani. "What else would you like changed in your houses of assignation?" She steepled her fingers and leaned back to listen as the women continued to talk over their meal and their wine.

Text of a letter from Vayu Ede to the Rajput Hasin Dahele, presented in person at Dahele's principal city of Devapur.

To the most illustrious, most puissant, most revered of Rajputs, the great Hasin Dahele, the greetings from Vayu Ede, Alvar, the humble possessor of poetic gifts and singular vision, all of which he seeks to place in the service of the mighty Hasin Dahele.

Too long have your deeds gone unsung, and your virtues unheralded. In a world beset with suffering and harshness which is the plight of the living, you are a shining example of moral excellence and magnanimity that is a glorious example to leaders and rulers everywhere. By my visionary senses, I see you are to be given an opportunity far beyond any known in this world so far: it is to be you, most awe-inspiring Rajput, who lifts up the mighty Timur-i, who has become an outcast and a beggar. Timur-i will come to you, and you will raise him again to power, and will serve as his right hand, and inherit all his empire when Timur-i leaves this world for the next. You will impose justice and grandeur where there has only been destruction and rapine. It is the will of the Gods that you will rise to undo the many wrongs, and through your prudence, bring happiness to your people who deserve it. I see this as clearly as I see your fine new palace rising behind the new walls of Devapur, and as clearly as I hear your name spoken of with respect and veneration by those fortunate to live under your wise and beneficent rule.

My visions tell me that you deserve the favor that fate has ordained for you, and you are ready to receive this endowment as your due. I have come to you to record these splendid events as they unfold, and to make them known to everyone. Any man so favored as you are deserves the adulation of all, and I will devote all my skills to ensuring that you are credited for what you have done and what you are yet to accomplish. Anyone in your Principality of Beragar, which lies in the border region to the west of the frontiers of Berar and Bidar, and might be dismissed as too small to be important, will want to be prepared for the change you will soon bring upon them, and then upon all of the country from China to the Land of Snows, from the Bay of Bengal to the Arabian Sea. I hail you now as the Conqueror of the World, as all shall hail you in time to come, when you succeed Timur-i and enlarge his Empire beyond anything dreamed of by his followers who have so callously cast him out, and who shall pay more dearly for their betrayal than even a poet of my abilities can describe. Let me dedicate my poetry and my vision to your cause, and let me spread your glory far beyond Beragar to the ends of the earth.

I dedicate myself to your cause, and to the finding of Timur-i, so that you may begin your advancement at once. I will watch the people who come into your city, and I will find Timur-i and present him to you. I will make it known that you are to lift him up from the calamity that has befallen him, and through this most generous act, come to rule the world.

I have no desire other than that of serving you in your time of loftiness. I ask that you consider my plea and receive me into your presence to tell you more of what has been revealed to me. To demonstrate my vision, and so you may know it to be true, I tell you now that you will find a man in your city, a foreigner, of middle years, with dark hair, who favors one foot, and who is wary of sunlight. He will be accompanied by one who serves him, also a foreigner. They will be in ragged clothes but those who see them will be drawn to them. When this man comes-and he will come as the year runs on to its close-I will have him brought to you. He will deny that he is Timur-i, but others will recognize him. Do not doubt that you will be advanced by him once you restore him to his most potent place at the head of his armies, and therefore do not fail to observe every courtesy and favor to the man who will seem nothing more than a beggar. You must take him in and show him honor, for then you will always enjoy his gratitude and will be the most powerful Emperor in the world that has been or the world that is coming.

I prostrate myself before you, Omnipotent Ruler,

whom I esteem as highly as the gods,

Vayu Ede

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