Grantville Gazette 46 gg-46

by Paula Goodlett

  "Large enough to down nilgai in one shot. . or a tiger."

  "Brave man, hunts a tiger with powder and shot rather than bow and spear."

  Dara shrugged. "Surely not in the company of so many men, Asaf Khan?"

  Asaf Khan waved a hand. "Abdul, or. . grandfather. . if it pleases."

  Catching the plaintive note in his grandfather's voice, Dara smiled, "Surely, Grandfather, I would not be at risk among so many men."

  "Jahangir once lost three favored umara to one, a great she-tiger. And they were all armed to the teeth and born to the saddle. The tiger does not feel pain as we do, most wounds merely madden them."

  Dara was about to answer when another herd, or perhaps the larger body of the one just harvested, emerged from the wood line, dashing for the open space between the watering holes. At the rate they were fleeing, the beasts would be in range in moments.

  Asaf Khan stepped clear as Dara raised his gun. He felt, rather than heard, Talawat edge closer with his remaining light pieces.

  He sighted along the barrel. That part of his mind not engaged with aiming noted an anomaly: the blackbuck were running straight and true rather than bouncing back and forth along a line of travel.

  Just as he was ready to squeeze the lever, a thundering of hooves caused him to lower his muzzle. Aurangzeb and Shuja were riding to meet the herd, bows in hand.

  "I had only been married to Jahangir for a brief while when he invited me to join him on a tiger hunt. I leapt at the chance to join him in the howdah, and had the mahouts paint his favorite elephant for the occasion. A great party of us set out, camping of a night and slowly moving through the areas where your grandfather's armies were concentrating the game for his pleasure.

  "But, as you may know, your grandfather Jahangir enjoyed smoking opium far more than was good for him, and he dozed through much of the hunt, the swaying of the howdah-" She gave a throaty chuckle. "-and perhaps the swaying of my hips, lulling him to sleep a few times."

  Jahanara, used to Nur's earthy storytelling, still blushed. Scandalous! To think of sexual congress in the hot confines of a howdah, of all places, jali or no!

  Nur pretended not to notice. "It was during one of his naps that there was some consternation ahead of us. I put on my veils and opened the curtains of the howdah.

  "Several slaves were running from a wadi some tens of gaz away. It was then that I saw the reason for their flight: a pair of tigers flashing through the undergrowth after them."

  Jahanara noticed the older woman's gaze grown distant, breath quickening; felt her own pulse rising.

  "They were magnificent. Terrible. Bloodlust made manifest. One man had his head nearly removed with one rake of claws. Others fell, were torn open. Blood was everywhere." Her nostrils flared, remembering.

  A tiny smile. "The screams of his slaves at last woke Jahangir from his stupor. He moved to join me, took my hand in his.

  "'Protect your servants,' I told him.

  "He looked at me. Too late, I could tell my command had made him most angry.

  "After a moment he pressed his great bow into my hands. 'One with this. Then one with the gun, if you succeed.'

  "'What?' I asked, incredulous.

  "'Protect them if you wish them protected, wife.'

  "I do not think he knew then, that my brother had taught me the bow in our youth. I think he thought to test me, hoping I would fail. He sought to put me in my place as twentieth wife, however favored. ." Nur Jahan let her words trail off into brief silence.

  Jahanara found herself leaning forward, eager to hear more. Slowly, conscious of the other woman's skill at courtly intrigues and careful of some trap, she sat back.

  Nur resumed her tale. "I resolved to show him I was no wilting flower," the older woman sat straighter even as she said the words.

  "While we had spoken another pair of slaves had perished, and the tigers had pursued them much closer to our elephant. Hands shaking, I drew the bow, loosed. That first arrow missed. I did not miss with the second, though it was not enough to kill the beast. Enraged, it leapt into the air and spun in a circle. I loosed again. A lucky shot, it took the cat in the throat, stilling its roar."

  A shake of her head. "The other tiger left off killing a man to raise its head, then coughed strangely, almost as if asking why his brother had stopped talking mid-sentence.

  "Jahangir laughed, slapped me on the back as if I were one of his sowar, and took the bow from my hands. He handed me one of his guns, igniting the match cord himself.

  "I had no experience of guns, and told him so.

  "'Look along the metal, point it at his great head, when the head is covered by the barrel, tell me, and I will light it. Turn your head when I do, or you might get burned.'

  "I did as he bid, aiming at a point between the great ears. I remember thinking how beautiful its fur was. 'Ready,' I whispered.

  "He touched the match cord to the powder and the gun belched fire, punching me in the shoulder like nothing I felt before. I swayed back, my veil singed by the fire from the pan. I had forgotten to turn my head, you see." She shook her head. "It is amazing, what I recall of that day: I remember the feel of the elephant shivering, wanting to flee the loud noise but too well trained to move, while I tried to see where my shot had fallen."

  She smiled, looking Jahanara in the eye. "I missed my mark."

  Jahanara realized she had been showing her eagerness for the tale again, and quickly leaned back. "Well, it is understandable: you were handling a gun for the fir-"

  Another of Nur's throaty chuckles broke Jahanara's words. "I did not miss entirely, Janni. My ball took the tiger in the heart, killing it almost instantly. I still have the fur in my quarters."

  Aurangzeb and Shuja had split up to either side of the herd, and were standing in the stirrups, loosing. Where their arrows fell, antelope staggered out of the herd, dead or dying. Shuja ended up on the near side of the herd, Aurangzeb disappearing into the dust kicked up by the herd and their own mounts.

  Dara shook his head. While impressive, their antics were denying him a shot. Not that he couldn't rely on his skills and shoot anyway, it was simply not a good idea to go firing into a field occupied by two princes, whether the shooter was a brother or not.

  He briefly considered taking to his own horse while summoning a drink from one of his body slaves.

  "Don't want to take to your own horse?" Asaf Khan asked.

  Having already decided against it, Dara punched his chin toward where his brothers were now racing back towards the firing line in a cloud of dust. "When their horses tire, there will be other game."

  Asaf nodded, looked sidelong at his eldest grandson. "Married life agrees with you, Grandson."

  "Oh?" Dara asked, taking the gem-encrusted goblet full of iced fruit juice from his servant.

  "You are more patient than you were. I may presume too much when I think it your wife's doing. ." He shrugged.". . but there are worse reasons for change in the behavior of men."

  Dara hid his smile by slaking his thirst. Smacking his lips appreciatively, he answered, "Yes, many things are put in their proper places, now I have a son on the way."

  "A son? You are so sure? The astrologers tell you it is so?"

  "Yes," Dara half-lied. The up-timer history had it that his son rode to battle with him in his war against Aurangzeb, many years in the future.

  "You must send me y-" Asaf stopped in mid-sentence, peering into the dust beyond Shuja.

  Dara followed the line of his gaze, saw it at a heartbeat later: something gold-orange flowing along in the wake of Shuja's horse.

  "Tiger!" Asaf bellowed in his general's voice, pointing at the great beast stalking his grandson.

  Dara tossed his goblet aside, scrambled for his newest gun.

  Shuja, hearing the shout, did the wrong thing. He reined in to look toward Asaf Khan. The tiger was within twenty gaz of Shuja. When he came to a stop, it did as well. In fact, it went forequarters down, hunching its rear end.


  Asaf was screaming, as were more and more of his men. He started running for his own horse and household guard.

  Dara knelt and lifted the butt of his gun, surging upright.

  Shuja was looking around, trying to identify the threat. His horse tossed its head, shied sideways, uneasy.

  Dara pressed his shoulder into the stock, trying to cock the lock, find his target, and get his hand on the firing lever-and had a moment's panic when he couldn't find it: Not a lever, a trigger, you fool!

  The tiger was rocking its hips, getting ready to charge.

  Talawat was beside him, quietly urging: "Shehzada, please do not try to do too much at once. Slow down. Calmly."

  Dara stopped. Breathed out. Found his aim point and his target. Slid his finger into the trigger guard.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Talawat's silhouette nod. The gunsmith cocked the hammer back for Dara. "She kicks like a mule, Shehzada. Now kill us a tiger."

  Dara squeezed the trigger. The lock snapped forward, steel and flint sparking into the pan. A half-heartbeat later, the gun discharged with a thunderous roar and brutal kick to Dara's shoulder.

  The tiger leapt.

  Smoke obscured Dara's sight for a moment.

  Shuja's horse bolted, riderless, into view.

  Talawat stepped forward and turned to face Dara, hands busy as he reloaded the piece with quick, economical motions. He could hear the gunsmith praying even over the shouts of Asaf's men.

  Asaf had stopped his rush to mount. It was too late.

  The smoke cleared.

  The tiger lay prone, part of one of Shuja's legs and a boot protruding from beneath it.

  Dara's heart stopped.

  It seemed years later when Shuja sat up from between its paws, face as white as bleached linen. Hands shaking, the younger prince heaved the heavy corpse aside and stood up, apparently unscathed.

  Suddenly thirsty, Dara wished for strong drink.

  The line erupted in crazed shouts of joy. Asaf came charging back toward Dara, teeth bared in a smile that split his beard.

  Shuja was walking, somewhat unsteadily, back toward the line.

  Placing powder in the pan and stepping back, Talawat murmured, "Fine shooting, Shehzada."

  Dara pointed a trembling finger at his sibling. "I will give you his weight in silver, Talawat. Were it not for you, I would have surely rushed the shot." He swallowed. "And missed."

  Talawat bowed his head, clearly aware of how badly things might have turned out. "God is merciful and loving-kind, to place one of my tools in the hands of one so gifted in their use: I will use the silver to make more fine guns for your use, Shehzada."

  Aurangzeb rode into view behind his dismounted brother, stopping over the tiger for a moment. After a moment's examination, he nudged his horse into motion. Quickly catching up to Shuja, he said something the other responded to with an angry shake of the head. Shrugging, the mounted brother rode on toward the firing line.

  As he came closer, Dara noticed his quiver was empty and his face had a thin smile drawn across it. For Aurangzeb, such an expression was a broad smile of unrestrained glee.

  "I see we each took a tiger this day, brother."

  "What?" Dara asked.

  Aurangzeb nodded his head in the direction he'd come from. "Another one, possibly this one's mate or nearly adult offspring, took the last blackbuck in the herd. He took some killing: all my remaining arrows are in him."

  Asaf Khan arrived in time to hear the end of Aurangzeb's speech, sweating from his exertions. Pausing to catch his breath, he was still beaming when Dara remembered to be civil. "Congratulations, brother, I'm sure it was a fine kill."

  "And to you on yours, Dara, though it appears your beast had an old wound to slow it; an arrow in its flesh, turned to poison."

  "Might explain why it went for Shuja with dead game at hand," Asaf gasped.

  "Anger is the poison that stirs the killer residing in the hearts of man and beast," Dara said, trying not to look at his brother as he did so.

  "An entertaining tale," Jahanara mused aloud. Nur had only just departed, the air still hanging with the delicate scent of her perfume.

  "Shehzadhi?" her body slave and administrator of her personal staff, Smidha, asked.

  "Nothing of import." She lowered her voice. "Has Prasad returned?"

  "No, Begum Sahib," Smidha answered. She raised her voice slightly, "Begum Sahib, you asked to be informed when your ink was delivered. It arrived just this afternoon."

  "Good," Jahanara said in an equally clear voice. She raised her head and ordered the remaining slave at the entrance to her receiving chamber, "Fetch my inks."

  When she had departed on the errand: "What is it, Smidha?"

  Smidha edged closer and bowed her head, speaking quickly and quietly: "My sister's man says a slave was found dead just outside the harem walls, Begum Sahib. Nothing special in itself, but my friend who is also your sister Raushashana's nurse, says that her mistress was heard to claim the slave betrayed Nur Jahan. Just now, while you entertained her, I confirmed with one of the eunuchs that have responsibility for guarding her quarters that Nur is seeking a new cook-slave."

  Jahanara closed her eyes, said a brief prayer for Vidya. She had never personally met the young woman who, outraged by the mistreatment of her lover, had offered to spy on her mistress. Now, carrying out Jahanara's will, she would become yet another of the faceless victims of courtly machinations. Victims Jahanara would carry the guilt of in her heart to the end of her days.

  She shook her head, dread encroaching on her guilt. "Which eunuch?"

  "Begum Sahib?"

  "Which eunuch, Smidha?"

  "Chetan, Begum Sahib."

  "One of the Rajputs?" she asked, running through her mental portrait gallery of the servants of her enemy.

  "Yes, the great big, round-headed one with the crooked nose."

  Jahanara nodded. "He is entirely Nur's. She wanted me to know she caught my spy. Do we know how Vidya died?"

  Smidha bowed her head. "Poison is suspected, mistress."

  The princess bit her lip. "Then Nur was never successfully poisoned at all?"

  Smidha shrugged. "That is possible, though she did request the Italian doctor come and examine her."

  "To complete her falsehood. . or for something else?" Jahanara shook her head. "Set someone to watch him from now on."

  "Yes, Begum Sahib."

  "And still no word from Salim?"

  "That messenger also has yet to report success in his duties. I begin to worry he might have been waylaid."

  "Where is she getting the men to do these things for her?" Jahanara asked.

  "I do not know, Begum Sahib. She has not changed her habits significantly since Vidya came to us last year."

  "Oh, but that's just it, Smidha. We can't know how long Nur knew about Vidya's allegiance to me. Much of our information is suspect, then."

  Smidha's half-smile showed Jahanara that her agile mind was working at full speed. "Yes and no, Begum Sahib. I always try to verify from multiple mouths what my ears hear from one source's lips. I do not like to look foolish, misinforming my mistress."

  "So, then: what do we know?"

  "That Nur Jahan is dangerous even while in your father's power."

  "Who, though, is providing her with influence beyond these walls?"

  Smidha shook her head, "We cannot know she is responsible for your messenger's failures just yet, Begum Sahib." Another shrug of round shoulders. "Assuming your suspicions are correct, however, I can think of a few umara who remember Jahangir's last years and Nur's regency in all but name as good ones for their ambitions, but none that your father and grandfather are not already aware of and keeping an eye on."

  "What of Mullah Mohan?"

  A delicate sniff. "That man, bend his stiff neck to treat with a woman? Hardly, Begum Sahib."

  "I love you dearly, Smidha, and value your service above all others, but I think you might be letting your feel
ings color your assessment. She has the skill, he has the manpower."

  Smidha flushed, bowed her head again, "It has been my pleasure to serve you, just as it was to serve your mother, Begum Sahib. Still-" She looked up. "I find that, of late, my heart is hard when it should be soft, and soft when it should be hard."

  Jahanara patted Smidha on the arm. "You are my wisest advisor, Smidha. I just want to be sure we are not dismissing a potential truth."

  The older woman bowed again, looked up sharply. "And now I think on it, the idea has merit: she did have occasion to speak with Mohan while arranging Jahangir's tomb and the mosque dedicated in his name." She shook her head again, concern drawing her brows together. "If she managed to draw that dried stick of a man into her web enough that he is willing to lend her his strength, what other dark miracles can she arrange?"

  "And, having seen the steel of the trap the huntress has laid out for us, what bait is meant to bring us in, and how do we spring the trap without losing a limb?"

  A Star is Born

  Kerryn Offord

  Grantville, Tuesday, June 1635

  It had been a hard day at the salt mines. Sebastian Jones trudged the last few feet up the garden path to the front door. He was just about to insert his key when the door was swung open.

  "Did you have a good day at school?" his mother asked.

  He grunted an answer and edged past her into the house and headed for the kitchen. He dumped his rucksack on the table and opened the fridge to inspect the contents. Moments later he had most of the constituents of a sandwich on the bench. He turned to the bread bin and hacked off a couple of slices.

  "Dinner will be ready in an hour," Mary Ellen Jones muttered.

  "But I'm hungry now," Sebastian protested as assembled one of his classic gourmet masterpieces. He cut his sandwich in half and loaded it onto a plate before grabbing a glass of milk and sitting down at the table.

  "You had a delivery today."

  He paused in his chewing to consider that. "Where is it?"

  "In the garage."

  Sebastian tried to think of what someone might be sending him that would be put in the garage. With nothing coming to mind he took a sip of milk.