Grantville Gazette 46 gg-46

by Paula Goodlett

  "Not as scary as watching my adopted German daughter trying to teach my up-time daughter how to not blow up a seventeenth-century kitchen. Not as scary as trying to convince the town council of Bamberg that electricity isn't something you distill from water and that hydroelectric dam means flooding the countryside. Personally, I don't think Blaise could get a dam big enough to spin a generator fast enough to electrify Bamberg."

  "Blaise was my fault. I saw him and Jacqueline arguing over a book in the library. Something about Pascal's Triangles. I couldn't wait to tell my dad about who I found. I thought Dad would be so proud of me. I even gave Blaise my for-real drafting ruler."

  "Your father is proud of you." Julie shook her head. "And I'll have to think about whether or not to forgive you for 'finding' Blaise."

  "Blaise Pascal was one of my dad's favorite mathematicians. And now he's hogging a bed upstairs and calling me 'indecent.'"

  "What?"

  "He's still mad that I helped undress him when the medic came. And I was holding pressure until the medic got here. I couldn't just let go because it was 'indecent.' His sister was useless, and his father was worse."

  "You did a good job." Julie shrugged. "You fell down the stairs very well."

  Logan sniffed. "That was an accident."

  "In more ways than one." Julie waved Blaise's preliminary report she still clutched in her hand. "I sent a radiogram to Bill Porter, asking him if he's behind Blaise's plan for electrifying Bamberg. Well, I just got a reply back from Bill. He said he asked Blaise to look around and estimate what it would take to begin providing electric power to Bamberg customers. Nothing about a full-blown hydroelectric plant and power distribution network."

  "Blaise goes overboard. So what else is new?" Logan shrugged. "By the way, those weren't his clothes he was wearing when he arrived. First of all, he doesn't wear leather. He told me once that he was appalled at wearing some other being's skin as clothing. What the hell happened to him out there that he was forced to wear leather?"

  "That is still being determined. Norman confirmed that he did, in fact, fall into the same river three times. But the cliff he says he fell down was more like a rocky side of a hill, not a cliff. He did, though, taser one of the bandits, and the other two either shot each other or shot themselves somehow. They're still arguing the forensics of the bullet wounds."

  "I guess I could see how two people would be driven to shoot themselves because of Blaise Pascal, world's biggest doofus."

  "We're still trying figure out where he got the sword and why his hat was a hundred feet up in a tree." Julie shook her head. "I guess this report makes complete sense. Bill would think it's funny to saddle me with Blaise Pascal, junior electrical engineer. Ask Blaise what time it is, and he'll design an atomic clock. Bill had to know that if he told Blaise to look into what it would take to start delivering electricity to Bamberg, and we'd get this." She waved the report. "I saved a kid from hanging himself from a church steeple. I didn't save Moses from a river in Egypt. The fire department deserves most of the credit anyway."

  "My guess is a gust of wind took his hat off, and he went after it-not looking where he was going, and he stumbled into that poacher's camp, and when he fell off his horse he bumped his head. Why were they taking his clothes off? Now that's indecent."

  "Clothes are valuable in this day and age. Even in New York City, up-time, people were robbing each other for expensive sneakers. Took 'em right off the victim's feet. That green vest of his would have brought some money. Some of what he was wearing was silk. Silk ain't cheap nowadays."

  "Doofus," Logan shook her head.

  Julie smiled. "Yep. The same doofus who, the moment he hears you up and disappeared, drops everything important to him and grabs a horse and goes off to rescue you."

  "He should know me well enough to know I don't need rescuing. I made it all the way to Bamberg without a single person being killed-or even injured slightly."

  "We find ourselves in a different time, Logan. Chivalry might have been dead up-time, but here and now, it's still kicking. Everything is different now."

  "Don't I know it. Would it have been too much to ask for there to have been just one Cessna in Grantville? Just one? A Piper Cub even. Somebody had that stupid power boat-why not a Beechcraft or a P-51 Mustang. Could you imagine? A Mustang. ."

  "Blaise can't stop talking about math, and you can't stop whining about airplanes." Julie shook her head. "Times change. But some things always remain the same."

  "Like what?" Logan asked.

  "The things we do for love."

  Hunter, My Huntress

  Griffin Barber

  Patience growing short in the afternoon heat, Dara's favorite leopard yowled and spat at her handler, ready to hunt.

  Dara grinned, ready as well, welcoming the prospect of release from the tension being around Aurangzeb always provoked in him. Now, if only they could begin. The small army of beaters had started the day before, working through the night to drive all the wild game resident in several square kos toward where the hunting party lay in wait. The camp was loud with the voices of men and animals, many of Father's more notable umara present to witness the hunt and curry favor with the wazir.

  Seeking distraction, Dara again took up the gun he'd had as a wedding gift from Father last year, the inlaid piece monstrous heavy yet reassuring in its solidity. He sighted down the nearly two gaz of barrel, arms immediately trembling from the weight of iron, ivory inlay, and mahogany. Among the many refinements, the weapon sported one of the new flintlocks rather than the traditional matchlock, and even had a trigger rather than lever.

  "Here," he grunted.

  Body slaves overseen by his Atishbaz gunsmith, Talawat, hurriedly set up the iron tripod needed to support the hunting piece while he struggled to hold position.

  "Ready, Shehzada," Talawat said.

  Trying to keep the weight under control, Dara slowly lowered the gun onto the mount. Talawat slotted the pin that would hold the gun's weight when aimed into place, easing the awkward weight from Dara's arms. The prince knelt and placed the butt of the weapon on the cushion another slave hurriedly set in place.

  Rubbing the ache from his biceps, hoofbeats drew Dara's attention. He looked down the gradual slope to the pair of watering holes that formed the two sides of the killing zone for the hunt. About one hundred gaz of grassy clearing lay between the slowly-drying watering holes, with about half that much distance between grandfather's tent and the open space. The beaters were working toward that spot in a steadily shrinking circle.

  One of Asaf Khan's men emerged from the wood line at a gallop, crossing the clearing and pounding up to the camp. In a fine display of horsemanship, the sowar swung down from his mount to land lightly a few paces in front of Dara's grandfather.

  Asaf Khan stepped forward and listened as the young trooper made his report: "At least a hundred head of blackbuck and red antelope, a small herd of nilgai, Wazir. Tiger spoor was also found, but no one has laid eyes on it, yet. Should not be long, now, before the first of the beasts make an appearance."

  Asaf Khan dismissed his man. Gray beard dancing, the aging but still-powerfully-built Wazir called out: "A tiger would make a worthy prize for one of my grandsons!"

  "Perhaps for Dara, grandfather. He has yet to take one," Aurangzeb drawled from inside the tent.

  Dara watched Asaf's smile dim before he turned and answered, "One tiger could never be enough for the sons of emperors."

  "I did not say it was, Asaf Khan," Aurangzeb said, striding from the tent into the sun.

  "I will kill it, Grandfather!" Shah Shuja, crowed, raising his bow. Born between Aurangzeb and Dara, Shuja seemed always afire with desire to please his elders. At eighteen he was a man grown, however, and larger than Dara by a head. Of course, that head was rarely full of things other than those he might hunt, fight, or ride.

  Asaf turned to face his eldest grandson. "And you, Dara?"

  "I will take what it pleases God to plac
e before me."

  "Pious words," Asaf said, nodding approval.

  Behind grandfather's back, Aurangzeb shook his head and commanded his horse be brought up.

  "Where are you going?" Asaf asked, edges of his beard curling down as he frowned.

  "I will take the animals my brothers miss, that way I am sure to have a good day hunting."

  Shah Shuja grunted as if punched in the belly, face darkening. He too had been shamed by the poem making the rounds of the court.

  Doing his best to ignore the insult, Dara gestured at his leopards. "Brother, that is why I have brought my cats, to run down escaping game."

  Aurangzeb shrugged, took up a lance. "Then I will race your cats, and beat them, to the kill."

  Asaf stepped toward Aurangzeb, raising hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I would advise caution, brave one. If there is a tiger in among them, it will easily overtake a horseman. They can only be hunted safely from elephant howdah."

  Aurangzeb shrugged again. "Then it will be as God wills it," he said, putting spurs to his tall horse and speeding off to the left of the firing line and the sole exit to the killing ground, a trail of attendants and guards in tow.

  "Here they come!" one of Grandfather's cronies cried.

  "Nur Jahan respectfully asks a visit, Begum Sahib."

  Jahanara had been expecting such a request since arranging her great aunt's poisoning, if not so soon.

  "She is recovered, then?" she asked the eunuch.

  "Indeed, her illness has passed, thanks be to God."

  "Praise Him," she answered in reflex. And because, while she had been expecting the request, Jahanara did not feel ready to grant it: "I shall consult my astrologer before visiting. He found some peril to my health in his last reading, and advised me to caution." She waved dismissal at him. "You may take my words to her."

  The eunuch bowed low, yet remained before her.

  She let him grow uncomfortable before asking: "There is more?"

  "I pray you will forgive me, Begum Sahib, but my mistress waits without."

  Jahanara tried not to display her concern-Nur Jahan's eunuch would surely report everything observed to his mistress. Still, a bit of pique was called for: "She presumes much, my grandfather's sister."

  The eunuch pressed his head into the ground, "As you say, Begum Sahib. Nur Jahan commanded that I convey her assurances that the illness is not catching, and that she has words of import for your ears."

  "Very well, I will trust to her greater experience in this. She may attend me. Go and fetch her."

  The eunuch said nothing further, just bowed and withdrew.

  Jahanara used the time to shore up her mental defenses. Tending Father's re-ignited grief had proved draining, leaving her tired and out of sorts. Worse yet, the result was still uncertain. Shah Jahan had risen this morning and made only one command after attending morning prayers: he ordered his daughter to summon someone literate in English to Red Fort. Knowing no other she dared call on, Jahanara sent for Salim. He had yet to answer her summons, just as Dara had yet to respond to her messenger.

  And now Nur Jahan, veteran of thirty years of imperial harem politics, was coming.

  She wished Dara were here. She wished Mother was here. She wished for many things, yet none of them had come to pass when Nur Jahan entered her receiving chamber.

  Head high, the older woman's direct gaze immediately fixed on Jahanara. Nur Jahan approached with the supple grace of a woman much younger than her fifty-six years, a result of a life-long regimen of dance and diet. Dressed in fine silks and damasks of her own design and pattern, Nur Jahan called to mind a great cat stalking prey.

  Nur Jahan came to a halt, bowed, a delicate scent teasing Jahanara's senses. "Grand-niece."

  Wishing to keep things formal, Jahanara used the other woman's title, "Nur Jahan," as she gestured the other to take a seat.

  A brilliant, cheerful smile answered the formality and called to mind the reason for her title as "Light of The World." So great was the charm of that smile that Jahanara could not be certain it was false, despite knowing that it had to be.

  "Must we be so formal, Janni?" Nur asked as she reclined on cushions across from Jahanara. "I am fresh recovered from illness, and would celebrate another day among the living with my family. And-as all the boys are hunting and your sister is with your father-I naturally thought of you."

  Jahanara hid her displeasure at the other woman's use of her childhood nickname, answered in even tones: "I merely pay you the respect my grandfather bestowed upon you in recognition of your beauty, especially as you appear so well and happy."

  Nur Jahan blushed, actually blushed, at praise she had likely heard far more times than the sun had risen over Jahanara. "Jahangir was a great man, always kinder to me than I deserved."

  Marveling at the woman's control over her body, Jahanara ordered refreshments for them both.

  She looked back at Nur, found the older woman regarding her with a steady gaze.

  Wishing for more time, Jahanara stalled: "A new perfume, Aunt?"

  A nod of the head. "Yes, I have been working on it for some time. Do you like it?"

  "Very much."

  "I shall see some delivered to you, then."

  A silence stretched. Refreshments arrived, were served.

  Jahanara let the silence linger, armoring herself in it.

  "I have something I wish to tell you, Janni."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes."

  "Must I ask?"

  A throaty chuckle. "No, of course not. It is a tale. A tale from my first year with your grandfather. A tale of the hunt, in fact."

  As the man's cry faded, a small herd of blackbuck, no more than eight animals, spat from the line of brush and trees. Bounding with the outrageous speed of their kind, the antelope seemed to fly across the open ground.

  Dara shook his head, irritation flaring. Blackbuck were perfect game for his hunting cheetahs but he couldn't risk one of the cats attacking Aurangzeb or his horse.

  Dara held out a hand. Talawat filled it with one of his lighter pieces, matchcord already glowing. Shouldering it, Dara picked his target: a good-sized, healthy animal just behind the leading beast.

  He heard Shuja's bowstring slap bracer. A moment later Shuja muttered angrily.

  Ignoring all distraction, Dara's world shrank to the chest of the beast he'd chosen. Finding it, he moved his point of aim two hands ahead along the shallow arc of its jump.

  He pulled the lever and averted his eyes at the very last moment.

  The gun thundered.

  Dara handed it off to Talawat as the blackbuck fell, heartshot. The gunsmith handed him another piece.

  Shuja shouted, his second arrow striking the lead buck in the belly.

  He ignored the cheering of his grandfather's entourage, chose another buck, aimed, fired. Another clean hit to the chest. The antelope collapsed after a few strides.

  "Well done, Talawat. Your guns speak truly," he said, passing the weapon off.

  Talawat bowed, presenting another piece. "The Shehzada is too kind."

  Taking the third gun in hand, Dara waited a moment, allowing the smoke to clear. Behind him, Talawat's apprentices busied themselves reloading the discharged weapons.

  "Your modesty is a sign of fine character, but-" Dara tapped a knuckle against the gun's hardwood stock. "-in this instant, misplaced."

  Talawat smiled and bowed again before gesturing at the field. "I merely prepare the weapons, Shehzada. It is not everyone that has your fine eye for shooting."

  Shuja downed another of the blackbuck with an arrow that nearly passed through the animal. The first beast he'd hit finally collapsed from blood loss, blood frothing from its muzzle.

  The remains of the herd cleared the firing line, only to run into Aurangzeb and his mounted party. Dara's brother took an antelope with his spear as its herd mates ran past. Leaving the weapon behind and spurring his horse into a gallop, Aurangzeb switched to the horse bow. The prey w
ere far faster than his mount, stretching their lead even as Aurangzeb drew, aimed, and loosed twice in quick succession. Each arrow struck home in a separate neck, a fine feat of archery.

  Asaf's cronies cheered, as did Shuja, who had approached Dara.

  Cradling his gun, Dara smiled, despite himself.

  Aurangzeb cased his bow while sending his finely trained mount circling back among his followers with just the pressure of his knees, an act of understated pride in its own right.

  "I should have ridden instead of standing here with you and your guns," Shuja grumbled, loud enough for Dara to hear.

  Dara did not answer, even when his younger brother ordered his horse brought up and left to join Aurangzeb.

  He watched his grandfather instead, pondering the old man's place in the family history as well as his possible future: Abdul Hasan Asaf Khan had turned against his own sister to support Father when Dara's paternal grandfather, Jahangir, passed and the succession came into question once again. Dara had himself, been hostage and surety against his father's loyalty after that first rebellion, and was no stranger to the price of failure for princes engaged in rebellion. Shah Jahan and his allies had emerged victorious, but it had been a close-run and uncertain thing, all the way to the end. He had been rewarded with position, titles, and power, though recent failings had reduced his favor at court. Father was considering removing him from the office of wazir and sending him off to govern Bengal.

  As if sensing Dara's thoughts were upon him, Dara's grandfather turned from watching the slaves collect carcasses and approached Dara.

  Talawat bowed and silently withdrew a few paces, giving them some privacy.

  Asaf pushed his beard out toward Shuja's retreating back. "Well, first among the sons of my daughter, it seems your brothers would hunt as our ancestors preferred."

  Dara nodded. "I would as well, but for this," he said, gesturing with his free hand at the new gun on its tripod.

  Smiling, Asaf bowed his head and squinted at the weapon a few moments, "Big ball?"