They sat in Batoor’s courtyard in Torkrud, with the pleasant tinkle of the fountain a musical background.
Batoor passed over the hookah. “We’ve done well, Windrush. My enemies are defeated, and you revealed yourself to be a true Pashtun beneath your British façade.” Batoor grinned and touched his pearl earring. “All you need is Durrani blood, and you can try for the throne.”
“Jack Windrush, Amir of Afghanistan?” Jack shook his head. “I can’t see it, Batoor. What would Mary think?”
Batoor bit into a peach. “Mary would find you half a dozen young wives so she could order them around and live a life of indolence and luxury.”
Jack laughed. “I can’t see Mary doing that. It’s a nice idea, though.” He used the hookah for a moment, then lay back and became more serious. “Will your neighbours t
