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cynical incredulity, and then his eyes rest calmly on Basant, staring deeply at him, as if directly into Basant’s fearful heart. “Perhaps he needed his servant’s help to massage his exhausted tongue. If so, we must all be grateful for his present silence. There are other ways to become a eunuch of the first rank,” he says coldly, “than with the fingers, or with the tongue.”
    “For example, with the ass,” whispers one of the eunuchs, and though Hing scowls at them, it is clear he has no idea who has uttered this mockery.
    “I mean, with the mind!” Hing glares at the brothers, but his eyes are too weak to see the hidden sneers: for what unites this brotherhood most, Basant knows, is its careful mocking of its master.
    “So the eunuch guard is here, Rampfel,” Hing continues, as if in answer to a question, “until I feel confident in the palace guards again. There’s an investigation under way. Until then, the palace guards are relieved.”
    Rampfel, the fifth eunuch, bows his head. Then, realizing how futile such a gesture may be to half-blind Hing, he says quietly: “Yes, sir.”
    “Good,” says Hing. “Anything suspicious—anything even slightly out of place—is to be reported to me at once. Or to Ali Khalil Khan, a man most trusted by me—he is a cousin of the emperor.” Clutching the dark eunuch boy’s hand, Hing struggles to his feet. “You may go.”
    Rampfel taps Basant’s shoulder. “What do you think got into him?” he whispers. Basant shrugs, unable to think of anything except escaping from this uncomfortable place. Before he reaches the door, however, he hears the sound he has been dreading: “Basant! Come here!”
     
     
    Basant turns back to Hing, who stands unsteadily, leaning heavily on the eunuch boy. Rampfel hesitates for a moment, then catches up and joins Basant. “I didn’t ask for you, brother,” Hing says to Rampfel coldly. “Never mind. You can stay.” Hing turns his spectacled eyes to Basant and stares at him for a long time.
    “You have such friends, my dear,” the old eunuch says. “Such friends to care for you. Do you think you are fortunate in your friends? With such friends caring for you, you should take even more care, my dear.”
    Basant stares back, uncertain how to respond. “Ah, yes,” Hing continues, “you don’t know what I mean. That’s a good plan, not to know what I
mean. I’m old and will be dead soon anyway.” Hing shakes his head wearily and whispers to Rampfel, “Here’s a brother you should cultivate, my dear. He has so many friends.”
    Then Hing turns to Basant, and asks, as if offhand, “Tell me, Spring Blossom. Have you been to the tunnels lately?” The question surprises Basant. Hing bares his yellow teeth. “Well? Have you?”
    “No, sir.” His answer sounds hollow. “I nearly went last night, but …” He breaks off, uncertain. “But … I didn’t. I didn’t need to.”
    “No, of course … no need. Still you felt the need to kick a night bucket down the corridor. Hopeless fool! Did you think no one saw?”
    Basant stares at Hing helplessly. “I wouldn’t know …” he stammers.
    “Rampfel, you see that you learn from this brother,” Hing coos. “What does it take to succeed in the palace these days? Just quick fingers, I suppose, and an agile tongue.”
    Hing draws so close that Basant sees each flaw in his lined and spotted face. “There’s a body in the well.” Hing’s old eyeballs are magnified to the size of duck eggs by his thick spectacles. “Yes, a body! A new body. Ask him,” Hing nods at Rampfel. “He found it. Found it this morning.” Hing’s breath wheezes, the only sound in the room. “Well? Rampfel didn’t put it there. Know anything about it? Ring any bells for you?”
    Basant shakes his head.
    “Well, what about your precious princess? Think she knows anything? Think she even speculates? In between her climaxes, I mean?”
    Basant knows better than to answer.
    “Never mind,”