1637: The Peacock Throne

by Eric Flint

  “Halt!” the shout came from the gravel-voiced man below.

  The soldiers showed discipline—or a perfectly reasonable fear of being shot—and stopped. Boots on the next riser, they watched the men on the floor above them warily.

  “Why do you break down my door, invade my home?” Jadu yelled.

  “You are the merchant Jadu Das?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I am in the correct place. I am commanded to bring you before my general.”

  “I have committed no crime. Why should I be arrested? Why should I have men invade my home?”

  “I was not told, merchant. I was ordered to fetch you, as I said.”

  “And if I resist?”

  “Further, you mean?”

  Jadu shook his head, though the questioner could not see. “I do not understand.”

  “Your man at the door refused us entry, fired on us, even.” The voice drew closer and the speaker, a large man with a luxurious black beard and fine over-robe, stepped into view. His gaze traveled the three men atop the stairs. “And again, here, you shoot at my men.”

  “If we wanted to kill them, they’d be dead.” Ricky said the words slowly, hoping to overcome fear-stiff lips and his bad accent. He really didn’t want to have to shoot anyone else.

  Jadu tried to silence him with a look, but the man just chuckled.

  “I believe you, young man. That’s why we are speaking.”

  His men, hearing their commander’s confident tone, eased back on the landing.

  “What happened at the door?” Jadu asked.

  “My man knocked and told your doorman we were entering. He objected. Strenuously. He slammed the door. We persisted.” The man’s voice was gravel on stone, but somehow light all the same.

  “Vikram shot at you?”

  “Who—Oh, yes, your servant. He did shoot at us, more or less.” The man grinned, teeth glittering. “Like your companions up there, he didn’t manage to hit anyone.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  An unconcerned shrug of broad shoulders. “He’s breathing.”

  “Good. He was only doing his duty to me.”

  “Speaking of duty: I am still to bring you to my general.”

  “And which general is that?”

  Ricky saw the gold teeth that made the man’s smile glitter this time. “You are new here, to ask such questions.”

  “I am. I do not hide the fact I am but recently arrived from Gujarat.”

  Another shrug of broad shoulders. “What you are hiding makes no difference to me. Whatever it is, you—and it—will come with me to see my general.”

  “Without knowing your name, how can I accept any sureties from you as to our safety?”

  The smile grew broader still. Almost piratical. “Have I offered any sureties?”

  Ricky could hear Jadu’s swallow. “No, you have certainly not.”

  Another chuckle. “I like you, merchant. I perceive you have the heart of a warrior. Are you certain you are not Rajput? Some raja’s bastard?”

  Jadu stiffened. “While I appreciate the Rajputs for their martial prowess, I am Gujarati, not of the warrior caste, and quite content with my place in life.”

  “You tell me more things I do not need to know. Come, I see the arms of your companions begin to tremble with the weight of those repeating firearms. We must come to an agreement before they can no longer defend you.”

  Which was bullshit; Ricky had the elbow supporting his shotgun resting on the railing, so the weight was negligible, but he did appreciate the man’s style.

  “Well then, if you’ll give me your name and some sort of surety, perhaps we can bring our negotiation to a close.”

  “Very well. I, Mohtashim Khan, offer you my protection. You and yours will not be harmed, by me, nor any other. What happens after you are presented to my general, well, that is up to him.”

  Ricky almost missed the tight little smile that came and quickly disappeared from Jadu’s lips.

  “May I confer with my trading partners?”

  Another shrug. “Of course.”

  “What?” Ricky whispered.

  Jadu’s eyes glittered in the torchlight. “I thought I recognized him. He is son-in-law to Asaf Khan. Married the sister of Mumtaz Mahal. He is a very, very well-connected man.”

  “Does that mean we’ll be safe?”

  Jadu nodded without hesitation, but then qualified: “At least until Asaf Khan decides what to do with us.”

  “Why not drop Asaf Khan’s name immediately if he serves the big boss?” Bobby asked.

  “Good question, friend. Perhaps we were right, and Asaf is gravely ill…And the man in his place is still consolidating?”

  “Jesus, these are some deep waters.”

  Jadu nodded.

  “I grow impatient, merchant.” Mohtashim Khan’s smile was evident in his voice.

  Shrugging, Jadu wordlessly asked the up-timers’ permission to accept the man’s offer.

  Ricky nodded. Bobby sucked his teeth a moment before nodding agreement.

  “Mohtashim Khan, we accept your honorable surety.”

  Palace west of Patna

  “Christ, could this take any longer?” Bobby grumbled, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Of course it could. This is Mughal India, after all,” Ricky opined.

  Jadu favored the younger men with an old-fashioned look meant to silence them.

  Ricky stared back, his patience nearing its end. Mohtashim Khan had brought them to a not particularly well-appointed palace just outside Patna, disarmed them, and placed a guard to watch them. Nearly twelve hours ago.

  Seeing the look would not suffice to silence the younger men, Jadu said, “Should not be long, now.”

  “How do you know?” Bobby asked.

  “Because everything happens according to our dharma, our fate. And my fate is to die at home, among family and enjoying the wealth made in a lifetime of trading.”

  “That’s some answer,” Ricky said, then regretted it.

  Bobby just looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon.

  Jadu waggled his head. “Mohtashim Khan told us we would at least meet the diwan today.”

  “Another day, another diwan,” Bobby grumbled, in English.

  Surprise cracked Jadu’s control. His snorting chuckle drew a disapproving glance from the snobby eunuch who’d been stonewalling them since arriving this morning. Ricky suspected the eunuch, like every DMV employee ever born, resented everything that was unexpected—and most things routine—about their job.

  “Seriously, Jadu, this is taking too long. The armies of the pretenders will be marching on Agra if they haven’t alr—” He stopped, shaking his head.

  “What?” Bobby asked.

  “I can’t believe I just said that with a straight face. Like a line out of Lord of the Rings or some shit.”

  Bobby grinned. “Never read it, but we for damn sure ain’t in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

  They both laughed.

  The merchant sighed, stopping Ricky. He looked at Jadu, found the man’s good mood had vanished, replaced by an intensely thoughtful expression. “Perhaps you’re right,” he mused in quiet tones. “I had hoped our trade would drive interest in our presence, and, based on last night’s events, it did. But I was not prepared for this…” He gestured at the guards beside the door. “And we were done trading. I have little left to sell, having made all the most profitable trades of the season in our first weeks here…Had this court not proven so impenetrable, I would not have exposed us to this risk.”

  “What with the fighting we heard went on at the governor’s palace, it’s no wonder Mohtashim Khan and his men were primed and ready for violent resistance when they came to the house,” Ricky said, equally quietly.

  “Very true—” A man entering through the door behind the eunuch interrupted Jadu. He crossed the floor to mutter quietly in the eunuch’s ear. That worthy stared at the slave, hissed something harsh, and started towar
d the up-timers and their companion on slippered feet.

  “This bodes ill,” Jadu said, watching thin lips turn into a pout.

  “The diwan will not see you today, Jadu Das.”

  “He will not?” Jadu asked, glancing at Ricky as if to say, “Of course!”

  Ricky cocked his head, weighing their response.

  The eunuch bowed deeply. “I am afraid not.”

  Expecting more empty platitudes, all three of them were caught off guard when the eunuch said, “You are summoned.”

  “Summoned?” Ricky and Bobby blurted at the same time.

  “By whom?” Jadu asked, more sensibly.

  A shrug of round shoulders. “An umara of great importance.”

  “May I ask the name of this great personage?”

  “I am forbidden to say.”

  “You are?” Jadu asked, incredulous.

  “I am,” the eunuch said, standing erect from his bow. “You are to follow that one”—he gestured at the messenger—“to the appointed place.”

  The messenger, still standing where he’d been left, bowed deeply. Ricky noticed he wore slippers. So…somewhere in the palace.

  Jadu must have been on the same page, because he took one look at the messenger and said in English, “Witness the rich robes…and slippers. He’s at least as richly dressed as this one.”

  “Yup,” Bobby said. Ricky just nodded.

  The messenger bowed deeper still, turned, and led them deeper into the palace.

  * * *

  The trio were ushered into a chamber with no less than three ceiling fans pushing the warm, moist air around.

  “Be seated,” the man who had fetched them said with a broad gesture at a group of cushions arrayed around a low dais with several trays of refreshment. “Be refreshed. Your host will be with you momentarily.” He departed on silent feet.

  Looking about, the men of the Mission sat down. Bobby sniffed an ewer and, apparently satisfied, poured a drink. He offered the glass to Jadu, who accepted the cup.

  “Think it’s safe to talk?” Bobby asked, pouring another. Given they did not want to be understood if overheard, he set aside their general rule about speaking English.

  Ricky leaned back and let his eyes follow the line-and-pulley system powering the fans to where they ran through openings high up in the walls. Figuring the slaves laboring to drive the fans were too distant to overhear any reasonably quiet discussion, he nodded.

  Jadu was also nodding. “We are to feel comfortable speaking”—he raised his glass—“hence the absence of service.”

  “Did you see something?” Ricky said.

  “No. Guess I was just hoping one of you two saw something I didn’t,” Bobby said.

  “Just another wait, man.”

  Bobby sighed and nodded. They were just settling in when a man in fine robes strode in. He spared a glance for the trio waiting on him but sat without a word.

  Ricky was struck by the feeling he’d seen the man before, but couldn’t place him. From Jadu’s sudden razor-sharp attentiveness, he recognized the man, too.

  “You have been in Patna long, merchant?” the man said without preamble. His Persian was smooth and cultured, his accent something Ricky hadn’t heard since leaving court.

  “For several weeks now, Shaista Khan,” Jadu said.

  Oh, I see the family resemblance now…Looks like a younger version of Asaf Khan. Supposed to be a general in his own right, and the one man Jadu believed would succeed his father. He’s…uncle to Dara and Jahanara, then? He hid a smile. I swear these folks are just as close-knit as small-town West Virginians, all related by blood or marriage, or both.

  The man did nothing to confirm or deny Jadu’s use of his name, instead asking, “And your business is concluded?”

  “For the most part”—Jadu paused as if considering, then said—“forgive me, but I am uncertain what mode of address I should use?”

  That drew an arched brow, but no reply.

  Jadu glanced at his companions.

  Ricky cleared his throat, drawing the man’s gaze.

  Shaista Khan’s other brow joined its companion, though Ricky suspected he was not at all surprised. “You have something to say?” he asked.

  “Maybe I do,” Ricky said, disliking the high-handed manner of the man and, frankly, frustrated and impatient with the whole damn thing. Politics was not a game he liked to play.

  “Maybe? You seem uncertain. Perhaps it is the…irregular nature of your arrival here that makes you so uncertain?”

  Dick.

  “There is little uncertainty to it,” Jadu said. “We are merchants, trading on a firman issued by the Sultan Al’Azam, Dara Shikoh.”

  “But that is not all you are, is it?”

  Jadu’s only answer was to look a question at Ricky.

  “No, that isn’t everything we’re about.” Ricky looked from his friend to the nobleman.

  Fuck it.

  “But if you insist on playing games, you will have to allow us our little mysteries as well.”

  Jadu winced, but Shaista Khan laughed.

  “And if I continue to insist?” he asked, stroking his oiled beard.

  “Then I suppose we’ll close up shop and head back to Agra.”

  “You already tire of Patna?”

  “As Jadu said, we’ve finished trading for the season. We had hoped to get some other business done, but it seems everyone wants to waste our time.”

  “And what other business did you have?” Shaista Khan asked, all trace of banter gone from his tone.

  “Why,” Jadu interjected, “to meet with your father, or his chosen representative, and discuss certain matters of mutual interest.”

  “I am that representative.”

  “Oh?” Jadu said. “I had not heard an announcement to that effect.”

  “No, you have not.”

  “Then how are we to proceed?” Jadu cocked his head.

  “I am not certain, good merchant. I, too, have not heard who it is you are here to represent.”

  Jadu again looked at Ricky, who nodded, wondering when Jadu had decided he needed Ricky’s permission to speak for them.

  The merchant took a deep breath and said, “In truth, we are here on behalf of Dara Shikoh, not only as merchants, but also in order to locate the noble Asaf Khan and, if possible, determine which son of Shah Jahan he would serve.”

  Again those eyebrows rose. “And why do you, clearly the senior man, defer to these youngsters?” He gestured at Ricky and Bobby.

  “Simply put, Great Khan, it is they who have the ear of the emperor, not I.”

  “It’s true the Mission has influence, but I’ve barely met the man,” Ricky put in.

  “Why not send a munshi or other senior member of the court?”

  “The trade we have engaged in was necessary, and such a personage was considered, but the emperor and his counselors did not wish to display concern over your father’s loyalty, and offer offence.”

  Shaista Khan sat back, stroking his beard for several long moments.

  Jadu leaned forward, looking very much like a cat about to pounce.

  “I told him to answer,” Shaista Kahn said after a moment’s thought, “but he has ever been slow to take counsel from his children.”

  “He is well, then?”

  “No, not well.”

  “But he lives?”

  “Oh, most certainly.”

  Chapter 25

  Agra

  Red Fort, harem precincts

  “You really have no idea, do you?” Roshanara said, wishing she could see, and therefore read, his expression. She had many wishes, all of which looked to remain unfulfilled, at least in the near term. If she had to choose one wish she could have fulfilled immediately, it would not be to put an end to the roundabout code they were forced to employ in order to communicate.

  “I’m afraid I do not, Shehzadi,” the physician answered from beyond the jali. “I conveyed your requirements to the herbalis
t, but have not heard back as yet whether there is some new decoction ready for use.”

  “That is not what I wished to hear.”

  “Nor what I wished to convey, Shehzadi. There is also another request from the herbalist: he wished me to ask if you have specific numbers in mind.”

  Roshanara mastered a snarl and said evenly, “If he cannot meet my requirements, what is the point of my providing numbers? In fact, I am sorely tempted to see if the palace herbalist has made any progress, since your man seems unable to meet my rather basic requirements.”

  “I hope I have not disappointed, Shehzadi,” he said, tone conveying a warning out of keeping with his actual words.

  Which she translated as: Don’t be hasty! I’m trying, and you asking about such things might reveal what we’re about.

  “I confess I am disappointed. I had hoped to participate fully in my sister’s work. If I cannot provide the new poultice that, on your assurances, I promised her, well then I shall be embarrassed before all the harem. I do not know what I will do with the shame.”

  Roshanara quelled the wicked smile that threatened to grace her lips on hearing the clear sound of his indrawn breath.

  He was silent a long time after. So long it made her wonder if she’d pushed too far.

  She bit her lip. I will not apologize to this…this messenger. He and, more importantly, Aurangzeb, put me in this position in the first place.

  She wanted to warn them of many things, not least that she was not some petty zenana toy, paid to dance for the pleasure of others and having access only to the small secrets of the harem. No, she was a princess, with knowledge of and influence on affairs of the wider court.

  They would, at minimum, promise to treat her as such if they wished to learn what she knew: that Dara’s condition was still in question. That Jahanara ruled from the shade of the harem and, not content with flouting only that tradition, there were rumors she had engaged in clandestine embraces with Salim. Such rumors had doubtless already reached the ears of Aurangzeb’s other spies, but those whisperers were not to know that Dara gave credence to the rumors, so much so that he had placed many spies to watch his elder sister.