Fateh Rashid stepped from the shaded veranda out into the morning sun, accompanied by two young men. Dan guessed they were his oldest sons. They shared the same self-confidence. Aspiring landowners or hoodlums? The two men carried no weapons.
“Very civilised,” Dan mumbled to himself.
“Salaam Aleikum, my friends. Welcome to my small kingdom.”
Fateh Rashid spoke English almost without accent. A white scar ran the length of his lower jaw, up to his right earlobe, shining like a silver rivulet through his short neat beard. He wore the traditional felt hat in a singularly strong purple colour and a broad belt around his bulging waist. But he didn’t look unfit or slack. The man was broad-shouldered and probably had the strength of an ox. His clothes were spotless and elegant. Fateh Rashid exu
