Even though Hajjaj donned his spectacles, reading the small printin the directory was a trial. Fortunately, he had a good notion of the kinds ofnames he was looking for. Whenever he came across one, he underlined it in redink and dog-eared the page so he could find it again in a hurry. He nodded at acouple of the names: they belonged to men he’d known for years. When he wasdone, he put the directory in his desk and hoped he wouldn’t have to pull itout again.

That that was a forlorn hope, he knew perfectly well. And, sureenough, less than a week later Qutuz came in and told him, “Marquis Balastro iswaiting in the outer office. He came without seeking an appointment first, andhe says he couldn’t care less whether you bother putting on clothes or not.”

Balastro no doubt meant it; he came closer to conforming toZuwayzi usages than any other minister. Nevertheless, Hajjaj said, “Tell himthat, for the sake of my kingdom’s dignity, I prefer to dress before receivinghim. Getting into those ridiculous wrappings will also give me time to think,but you need not tell him that. Be sure to bring in tea and wine and cakes asquick as you can.”

“Just as you say, your Excellency,” Qutuz promised. “First,though, the Algarvian.”

Balastro usually had the hail-fellow-well-met air so many of hiscountrymen could don with ease. Not today. Today he was furious, and making noeffort to hide it. Or, perhaps, today he donned a mask of fury with as muchskill as he usually used while wearing a mask of affability.

Before Balastro could do much in the way in the way of blustering,Hajjaj’s secretary came in with the customary dainties on a silver tray. TheAlgarvian minister fumed to see them, but his manners were too good to let himtalk business for a while. Hajjaj carefully hid his smile; he enjoyed turningthe Algarvian’s respect for Zuwayzi customs against him.

But the small talk over refreshments could go on only so long. Atlast, Hajjaj had to ask, “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpectedvisit?”