by Eric Flint
“Yes, but we’re stuck in here with one another all day instead of mingling with the local women.”
“Want me to ask if we can rotate through riding with Begum Sahib or Roshanara?” Priscilla asked.
Monique weighed the idea. “If you don’t think it would be presumptuous of us to ask, then certainly.”
Priscilla yawned. “I think, after how long our talk went last night, we—and you in particular—have some credit with Begum Sahib.”
“I did make her laugh a few times, non?”
“Oui!”
* * *
“Our mahout is the deaf one, mistress. We can speak freely,” Gargi said, handing Nur the damp cloth.
“Have you learned anything of the ferenghi from the future?” Nur asked, covering her eyes with the cloth. Between the hot flashes and the need to work quickly, the last few days had been a long and difficult trial. Her depleted power-base included a fair number of men with war-bands of their own, but quietly convincing them to back Aurangzeb, especially through intermediaries, had taxed both patience and nerves.
“Aside from their placement in the harem and men in their quarters, I learned nothing more than you observed at the Diwan-i-Khas, mistress.”
“You couldn’t place any of your ears among their servants?”
“Unfortunately, no. Jahanara selected each of the foreigner’s attendants herself. I had thought sure she would pick at least one of the Christians her father took as slaves, but she ignored all of them, even Sol.”
Nur waved a hand. “My grandniece is a clever sort, and likely remembers how poorly the Portuguese women adjusted to their status after being taken from Hugli.”
Gargi sniffed. “All because the Portuguese priests refused to aid Shah Jahan in his rebellion against your husband’s lawful rule. As if the foreigners should have!” She shook her head. “Foolishness.”
Nur swept the cloth from her face and looked her advisor in the eye. “Lock well such words behind your teeth, Gargi. The Portuguese were punished for failing to back the winner of that war, nothing more. What we attempt is only different in that the son we back does not openly rebel against his father.”
Yet, she added silently.
“Indeed, mistress. I should not speak so, but worry makes me witless.”
“Worry?”
“I fear you tread in danger, and I am too old and stupid to protect you.”
Nur took Gargi’s hand in hers, making the woman look her in the eye. “Gargi, sweet Gargi! I trust no other, not in this. We are in this together, you and I. We shall make them bend to my will, all of them, or cause them to fail and fall, else die in the trying. There is no other outcome. I will not return to the shadowed half-life of a widow, begging for scraps from Shah Jahan’s table as if I never held the reins of an empire in my hands.”
Despite her assurances, or perhaps because of them, Nur could only hold Gargi as her oldest friend and ally wept slow, heavy tears.
Chapter 24
Red Tent, between Agra and Ramdaspur
November 1634
“I have left this too long, my honored guests.” The emperor gestured and attendants came forth with rich robes for each of the male envoys. “Take these robes and these gifts and be welcome.”
A sweating John bowed in what he hoped was the proper manner and, through Angelo, said: “We understand the reason for the delay, Sultan Al’Azam, and wish to extend, on behalf of Emperor Gustavus Adolphus, our sincere condolences for your loss.”
“I accept your condolences as kindly given, even as I inform you that the pain my son felt will be nothing compared to what I shall visit upon his killer.”
Uncertain what to say in the face of such icy rage, John simply bowed.
Salim had told them they should wait to talk business until after they got the robes, but John didn’t think the sultan was in any mood to talk shop right now.
But the emperor, who was decked out in white, the color of mourning here, asked, point blank: “What do you bring as gifts?”
John blinked. The rapid change in demeanor from mourning father to sharp-eyed trader threw him, and nearly caused him to forget everything. He licked his lips, tried to get it together, then answered: “Sultan Al’Azam, we bring small treasures of sequins and looking-glasses for your wives and ladies. For you, we bring books and technical expertise in the fields of medicine, road-building, railroad construction, and steam locomotion for trains.”
Shah Jahan did not look impressed. “These last two are unknown to us, but you have been traveling along one of our roads, and in the shade of our trees while you did. I doubt you have much of value to teach my people in this regard.”
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Salim wince, and said carefully: “The Sultan is wise. While the road is excellent and the shade most welcome, your bridges…do they wash away more frequently than you would like?”
“This is so, at least for some bridges.”
“Road-building is the foundation upon which railroads are constructed and stout, long-lasting bridges are essential for good roads. We have the techniques and knowledge to produce bridges that will last and support tremendous weight.”
“And what are these ‘trains’ you speak of?”
“A method of transport that, once completed, can move many tons of material from one place to another faster than a horse, without growing tired or consuming fodder.”
Shah Jahan took his beard in his hand, then released it, his expression doubtful. “Such extravagant claims. And how much will constructing one of these railroads cost?”
John ventured a smile. “They do require a large workforce to create, and the rails and locomotive will likely require the output of your best iron-workers for a number of months.”
“Locomotive?”
“The complex mechanism that pulls the cargo of a train.”
“I begin to understand that there is a great deal more to learn about this before I decide anything.”
“We have books on these subjects as well, Sultan,” Angelo added what John had forgotten to say.
“In English?”
“Yes, Sultan.”
Shah Jahan did not look pleased by his answer. There was some back and forth between the emperor’s advisors and Shah Jahan, but nothing loud enough for Angelo to translate.
These guys don’t like English…or is it the English they don’t like?
Does he know what the future was?
Shit.
He does.
“What about these medical advances?”
John bowed again. “Sultan Al’Azam, for questions of medicine and health, my colleague, Mr. Rodney Totman, is the expert.”
The emperor nodded, inviting Rodney to speak.
Rodney stepped forward, muttering, “I’m a damn EMT, man, not Dr. Nichols.”
John hid a grin.
Shah Jahan’s eyes widened as Rodney came to a stop next to John. He wasn’t exactly small, but Rodney made almost everyone look like a child in comparison.
“I would have expected a giant like you to be a warrior, not a healer,” Shah Jahan said.
Rodney smiled. “Can’t I be both, Sultan Al’Azam?” he said.
The emperor’s glare killed Rodney’s smile.
“Perhaps,” Shah Jahan answered. He looked away, eventually. Rodney’s shoulders sagged when he did.
Man, this guy is seriously touchy, and a shit-powerful personality. That look was something else.
Smoothing his white robes, Shah Jahan spoke again. Angelo’s voice had a slight quiver as he resumed translation: “So, what marvels can we expect from you, Mr. Rodney Totman?”
“Sultan Al’Azam, we can provide you with the simple formulas for quinine water that can help a person fight off malaria.” There was a stir on the emperor’s platform as Shah Jahan asked a question of one of his attendants, who whispered into his ear. Rodney, too nervous to notice, went on, “techniques for purifying water, and methods for keeping healthy teeth.”
Rodney drew a breath to continue, but was interrupted by the emperor. “The Portuguese have already brought to our attention a drink they claim will help fight malaria.”
Rodney spread his huge linebacker’s arms, making a few of the emperor’s guards fidget. “Sultan Al’Azam, if it is made from the chinchona tree, then it is likely the same drink and therefore a good remedy for malaria.”
Shah Jahan nodded. “What else?”
“We have techniques for treating wounded and injured people that, if followed exactly, will greatly increase their chances of surviving injuries—most especially wounds—that are currently considered life-threatening.”
The sultan pulled at his beard again, then released it. Was that some mark of interest? John thought it might be.
“What else?” the emperor asked.
“Sultan Al’Azam, we have other, more general knowledge of what is called best practices for public sanitation and health, all of which could greatly improve the lot of your people.”
“Peoples, Mr. Rodney Totman. I am sultan of a great many peoples, hence my title: Sultan of Sultans.”
Rodney answered the correction with a silent bow.
“And what does your Emperor Gustavus Adolphus desire in exchange for these wonders from another age?”
John spoke up, “Sultan Al’Azam, we desire peace between our peoples and your permission to trade in certain goods; namely saltpeter and opium, as well as some other items we cannot easily make or obtain for ourselves that are of interest to us.”
“Very well, we shall speak further at some future date.”
Well, there’s the brush-off…
Another group of servants came at them from the side, two of them with a small chest between them.
“Until then,” Shah Jahan continued, “be refreshed, and accept this gift of a one-fifth lakh of rupees for your upkeep. I will see you soon, God willing.”
John bowed, as did the rest of the men. “Thank you, Sultan Al’Azam, we look forward to speaking with you on these matters.”
Shah Jahan’s servants handed off the chest to Bobby and Ricky, who grunted as they took the weight.
They made their collective obeisance and made to depart.
“Salim.”
“Yes, Sultan Al’Azam?”
“Return to us once you have seen our visitors to their tents.”
“Yes, Sultan Al’Azam.”
Shah Jahan’s camp
Gervais was grinning from ear to ear as they exited the Red Tent.
“What?” John asked.
“That’s a lot of cash in that box.”
“Twenty thousand in silver,” Angelo agreed, eyes shining.
John missed a step, nearly fell. He looked at Salim in disbelief.
The big Afghan nodded. “Yes, there is.”
“Why?” John asked, rejoining Bertram and Salim at the front of the group.
They passed the inner ring of guards and started toward the their tents. “Because the emperor wished you to have it.”
“But why?”
“Because the representatives of kings coming to this court should not ever be able to return home and claim they were unable to purchase the things that make life comfortable.”
“But he’s already putting us up.”
“If by ‘putting us up,’ you mean giving you a place to stay, he is. But he cannot know your preferences in servants, slaves, dress, and the other required accoutrements of your positions. Lacking that knowledge, he gives you this gift so that you can keep yourself in the manner you are accustomed to.”
“And at the same time, shows us exactly how wealthy he is relative to our sovereign,” Bertram said.
Salim smiled. “There is that, as well.”
“Does everyone get this kind of treatment?”
“No.”
John heard the hesitation, asked, “Who does?”
“Usually? Dignitaries representing the Safavid, Uzbeg, and Ottoman courts are the ones most commonly gifted with such quantity of treasure, but all are given something.”
“Then why us?”
“I can only assume it is because you have a larger number of envoys in your party than is traditional, and because the Sultan Al’Azam wishes to recognize the importance of your arrival.”
“Larger number?”
“One is the traditional number. One prince or powerful noble, and a great number of servants and subordinates.”
“Much like Baram Khan,” Bertram said.
“Yes…though…Baram Khan was not…he was not exactly expected to be successful in his travels.”
“He wasn’t?”
“No. He was a powerful noble. One who supported Nur Jahan, wife of Shah Jahan’s father, Jahangir, when the Sultan Al’Azam rebelled.”
“So he was sent into exile, chasing dragons at the far corners of the world?” Bertram grinned.
Salim returned a wry smile of his own. “Not in so many words, but that is the essence of the matter, yes.”
“Forgive me any insult in asking, but how did you come to be in his party?”
“I was asked to.”
“By the emperor?”
“No.”
“Can you tell us who, then?”
“Mian Mir.”
“And will we get a chance to meet this Mian Mir?” Bertram asked.
“Unfortunately, I doubt we will have opportunity to visit him at Lahore.”
Bertram didn’t miss the sad note in Salim’s tone any more than John did. The younger man shot a look at John and asked, “Sorry, but I feel I must ask: who is he to ask you to go into exile?”
“A religious man, a saint of the Sufis, my friend, mentor, and teacher.” The man’s tone made it clear Salim missed Mian Mir deeply. Salim nodded at one of his kinsman, one of the many that had taken service with the amir, as they crossed the perimeter of the area set aside for their tents.
“The living saint was sure in his prediction that the journey was not…how did you put it? Chasing after dragons. It was he who said that things of great importance had come to pass in Europe, some months before word of your arrival reached Lahore or Agra. And when that word reached us, he was certain your arrival foretold events crucial to the welfare and future of the peoples of the India and the world.”
“I see…” Bertram said. And just how did someone thousands of miles from the Ring of Fire come to that conclusion? he wondered.
Salim stopped just inside the cluster of their tents and bowed at his charges. “I must return to the Sultan Al’Azam, gentlemen.”
“Of course, Amir Yilmaz. Thank you.” John said at Salim’s already retreating back.
Rodney waited till he was out of earshot before wheeling to face John, expression intense. “Holy Nostradamus, Batman! Did you hear that bit about Mian Mir predicting our arrival?”
“If this guy predicted—”
Gervais raised his hands. “Gentlemen, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t have the timing of this supposed holy man’s claims about the importance of the Ring of Fire. He may have learned of it earlier than other people around here and decided it was a good thing to spout some quick prophesy, knowing it wasn’t likely to come home to hurt him.”
Bertram cocked his head. “It is an interesting question, though.”
“What’s that?” Gervais asked.
“Did you hear how much stock Salim puts in this Mian Mir?”
All of the others nodded agreement.
“And we’ve all seen how capable Salim seems. Why send a loyal and capable follower chasing after something you know or even suspect will prove worthless?”
Gervais shrugged. “A good point…while I can think of a few reasons, they tend to require outrageous ignorance on the part of the mark.”
Angelo nodded emphatically. “The Petruzzi scheme.”
“The what?” John asked.
Gervais waved a dismissive hand. “Just a technique for getting others to do as you wish.”
“A scam?”
“Language, sir!” Gervais managed to sound so much like Ilsa that John blinked.
Rodney chuckled. “All right, one of your moves. But who would have to be ‘outrageously ignorant’ for it to work?”
“In this case, Salim.”
“Oh.”
“Man, you guys think in entirely different circles than is healthy.”
“Thank you, John.”
“Wasn’t a compliment.”
“I know. It was, however, a recognition of our skills,” Gervais answered, hiking his thumbs at Angelo and Bertram, standing to either side of him.
“And?”
“I think those skills may prove useful before long.”
Angelo sniffed. “Something in the wind, eh?”
John shook his head. “All I smell is horse shit.”
“Oh, there’s some elephant in there too, but that’s not what I meant. I just have a feeling.”
John smiled. “In the space of about two minutes flat, you go from calling one prophet false and then go claiming some ability at it yourself.”
Gervais just grinned, but Bertram looked around in alarm. “Be careful with such words, John.”
“What word? You mean, ‘proph—’?”
Bertram cut him off: “Exactly. There is no other but the one around here.”
“Right. Sorry.”
The Red Tent
“Come forward, Salim. We have questions for you. Questions about the ferenghis you have charge of.”
“I will make every effort to answer, Sultan Al’Azam.”
“These railroads the envoys spoke of, did you see any in Grantville?”
“No, Sultan Al’Azam.”
“But they think this technology is so valuable we should give them firmans of trade for it?”
“Sultan Al’Azam, I do not think they exaggerate the value of the technology, once built. Transporting heavy goods across great distances without the current requirement of fodder for the pack animals, that is something extraordinary. Especially in light of the strategic value of a railway from the heart of your empire to, say, Kabul? One able to run in winter?”
Shah Jahan tugged his beard, but eventually waggled his head. “Once built, they said. That it would require significant investment of time and labor as well as iron, they said.”
