I woke a long time later to a more subdued sea, a pallid attempt at sunshine, and the ting of a spoon against china. When I reached for the bed-side clock, my hand knocked against the water carafe; after a moment Holmes came through the doorway with a cup of tea in each hand. He set one on the table, and sat down on the other bed with his own. It was, I saw, nearly noon.

The tea had the bitter edge of a pot that has sat for a while, but it was still hot, which told me that Holmes, too, had slept late, and was only on his second cup. I slurped in appreciation, grateful that the bed wasn’t tossing beneath me. When the cup was empty, I threaded my glasses over my ears so I could see my partner.

“I suppose I shall be spending the next two weeks being force-fed some language or other?” I asked.

“Hindustani is the common tongue of the north, used by all traders. You won’t find it difficult.”

“Before we begin, I want to know more about this O’Hara person.”

“Not a ‘person,’ a young gentleman, despite his history and lineage. A sahib.”

“But he was only a lad when you knew him.”

“Even then.”

“That was, what, thirty years ago? Why hasn’t he made a name for himself in that time?”

“A man does not play The Game successfully for thirty years and more if he catches the eye of any but his superiors.”

“O’Hara has been a spy for the Crown for all that time?”

“O’Hara has been many things, but yes, he has been there when he was needed.”

“Tell me about—”

“Breakfast first, and a lesson in Hindi. Then I shall tell you old and happy, far-off things and battles long ago.”

He reinforced his edict by standing up and walking into the adjoining room.

I finished my tea, dawdled over my morning rituals, and joined him moments after our mid-day breakfast came through the door. As I came in, he looked up from the fragrant plate and said, “Begumji, hazri khaege?” Lessons had begun.