The wailing of reeds and the muttering of kettle drums; music, languorous, haunting, elusive, low minor chords seemingly struck at random, intermingling a droning chant; a thousand streams of incense, crossing and recrossing; and fireworks at night, fireworks which had come all the way across China by caravan--these things Kathlyn saw and heard from her lattice.
The populace viewed all these manifestations quietly.

They were perfectly willing to wait.

If this white queen proved kind they would go about their affairs, leaving her in peace; but they were determined that she should be no puppet in the hands or Umballa, whom they hated for his cruelty and money leeching ways.

Oh, everything was ripe in the state for murder and loot--and the reaching, holding hand of the British Raj.
As Kathlyn advanced to the canopied dais upon which she was to be crowned, a hand filled with flowers reached out.

She turned to see Ahmed.
"Bruce Sahib," she whispered.
Ahmed salaamed deeply as she passed on.