In the small town of Mirzani, in the central Transcaucasia.
The Ottoman negotiator Qandarle Halil watched the backs of the Persian delegation, lazily yawned, and turned to his deputy Semiz: "Come to dinner at my place tonight, my chef has finally arrived, so we don't have to endure that disgusting burnt taste and rock-hard bread anymore."
Semiz first expressed his sincere gratitude and then looked at the negotiation notes on the table, cautiously saying: "Sir, according to the provisions of the Rustavi Treaty, the Persians have the right to enter Imereeti, while our Imperial Guard in the Kaspian..."
Qandarle waved his hand dismissively: "Don't take it so seriously, young man. Oh, I need to warn Hussein, or that fool might bring two infidel women again tonight."
Semiz cautiously said: "But sir, the Grand Vizier instructed us to negotiate land exchange with the Persians. Now, after a month and a half of talks, there's still no result. What if the Grand Vizier blames us..."
