Rasheed gave Taymoor a stern warning finger. “You know the drill. Be very careful.” He waited until Taymoor returned a reluctant nod; then he turned to Kamal and Nisreen. “The same applies to you both,” he announced before issuing a clipped, terse nod at the men who were guarding Kamal, Nisreen, and Kolschitzky. The guards pulled out their yataghans and held them against their prisoners’ throats. “We can speak freely now. These eunuchs are dilsiz,” he said, referring to the deaf mutes that were frequently used by sultans in their palaces. Their usefulness wasn’t limited to not being able to hear or betray secrets; as executioners, they also couldn’t hear the condemned’s final pleas.
“They will be watching me like hawks,” he added. “Should one of you even begin to utter the incantation, I only need to raise a finger and they’ll slit your throat instantly.” He smiled. “I just think it would be excessively rude for one of you to leave in the middle of our chat, don’t you agree?”
Rasheed held there for a moment, then moved in closer. He ran his eyes over them, checking them out, first Kolschitzky, then Kamal, then Nisreen. He hovered in front of her, then, calmly, he reached down and took her arm. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he pulled up her sleeve, revealing her tattoos.
He studied the markings, then looked up at Nisreen. “My men did say you had curious markings on your arms.” Then he smiled at her. “It looks like you did learn a lot from me—or, rather, that you will.”
The comment threw Kamal, then he realized that Taymoor must have told Rasheed about everything that had happened. He glared at his partner, who held his gaze defiantly.
Looking at Nisreen, Rasheed asked, “So … when is it you come from?”
Nisreen said, “1438.”
Rasheed nodded, like the date impressed him somehow. “Over three hundred years. And you’re speaking our language, so clearly our empire is still around.”
Kamal decided to step in. “It is.”
Rasheed swiveled his head to address Taymoor. “So you weren’t lying about that.” He shrugged, his skepticism clear. He turned back to Kamal and Nisreen. “He told me my grand design worked, you see. He told me that more than three centuries later, the empire is still around, bigger and more powerful than ever.”
Kamal nodded. “It is.”
Rasheed looked pensive. “So why are you really here? Is it really to warn me? You see, Taymoor Agha and I have had plenty of time to chat since he arrived. He told me this incredible story about, well, me—the future me. Not just me, but us, all of us. How we all met, how it played itself out, right up to the moment you pushed him off the train, a fall that damaged your partner’s leg so badly that it couldn’t be saved.” He paused, studying Kamal, as if to read his reaction. “He said that on that train, you told him you were coming here to get the forward version of the gift from Palmyra. But I can see that you already have it.” He gestured dismissively at Nisreen’s arm. “So it’s clear you were hiding your true intentions from him. You’re here for something else. And given what he’s told me about your research, and your wanting revenge on the empire that you blame for the deaths of your family, I can only imagine you really are here to do what you claim to be warning me about. You’re here to kill me; that much is clear. The question is … why?”
No one replied, leaving the question hanging heavily in the air.
Rasheed eyed Nisreen, then Kamal, and then he swung his gaze back at her. “This silence is so tiresome. Perhaps you’ll be more talkative if we start chopping off some fingers … for a start?” He gave the guard behind Kamal a crude hand signal that didn’t require a trained mind to understand.
The guard grabbed Kamal’s hand and brought the blade of his yataghan down so that its tip rested between Kamal’s thumb and index finger.
Rasheed stared at Nisreen calmly; then, just as he flicked a nod to the guard, she blurted, “No, stop. Don’t. Please … don’t.”
Rasheed gave the guard a halting gesture, then turned to Nisreen expectantly.
She dropped her head grudgingly. “It’s true. That’s why we’re here.”
“To kill me?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
“To stop you from succeeding. To put an end to all this,” she replied, clearly trying to repress the quiver in her voice.
“To end the siege?”
“To stop the conquest of Europe.”
Rasheed looked bewildered. He took a few steps, a pensive frown creasing his forehead. “You want to stop me from achieving this great victory—the victory you owe your entire existence to?” he hissed, a quiet anger unmistakably unfurling itself. “Why? You blame me for the deaths of your family—is that it? You blame the empire? They were nothing. They weren’t even a footnote in history.”
Nisreen stiffened at their mention and at his dismissal of them. She stood taller, as if he had unleashed a fount of strength inside her. “No one is a footnote in history. That’s the problem with you, with everything you stand for.”
“Oh, please,” he scoffed, brushing her off with a dismissive gesture.
He turned away, but Nisreen wasn’t done.
“You cheated history,” she declared forcefully.
Rasheed let out a mocking laugh. “I cheated? That’s your problem?” He looked genuinely bemused. “I gave you an empire that outlived all others in human history. I don’t know what it’s like in your time: I can’t go there yet to see for myself; I haven’t changed it yet, but from what he’s told me”—he nodded toward Taymoor contemptuously—“it sounds like it was well worth the cheat. And yet you want to do away with it? You want to bring back the world I came from, a world you know nothing about, a world you never lived in?”
“I know enough to know that it was a world where men and women were free to choose how they want to live.” Her face was like a hurricane. “You took that liberty away, and instead you imposed on them, on us, one ruler. A tyrant. One man who gets to dictate his terms to us for life.”
“You need tyrants,” Rasheed shot back. “People love tyrants. They were voting them in back where I came from.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why would I lie?” He smiled benignly. “It’s the truth. You see, hanum, you give people too much credit. You seem to have this romantic delusion about democracy,” he chortled. “But democracy is just another word for mob rule. A wise man from my world, a man who didn’t exist in yours, once said, ‘Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch.’ How do you think that turned out?”
Nisreen was stunned, her mouth having difficulty forming words.
“Democracy is a delusion,” Rasheed continued. “A fallacy. It’s the tyranny of the majority. And it doesn’t work. Democracies always commit suicide. It happened in Ancient Greece, and the same thing was happening around the world in my time, too. They tried it out for a couple of hundred years, and by the time I left, it was on its way out. You know why? They die when they become too democratic. Because if you let ordinary people choose their rulers, they’re ultimately going to choose badly. They’ll make a terrible, terrible choice for the simple reason that they’ll choose someone like them, someone who’s a reflection of who they really are. And, let’s face it, we’re not exactly the most noble of species. We’re actually pretty awful. We’re selfish, greedy, cruel, and racist. Did I forget something? Oh, yes, ignorant. For the most part. You see, people don’t want to be talked down to by some high-minded, brainy statesman. They don’t want someone who makes them feel inferior or ashamed. They want to be ruled by someone like them. And at some point, these mobs of gullible fools will end up choosing a crafty manipulator who makes them feel like he’s one of them, who tells them they’re the only ones who matter, who amplifies their blaming of outsiders for whatever they think is wrong with their lives. Someone who celebrates the worst of humanity and is just in it for himself, for power and money and nothing else. No great vision of their nation’s place in history, no burning desire to make li
ves better. It’s just greed and ego. And these power-hungry narcissists will lead their nations down a road to ruin. That’s where your great ideal of democracy has reached in many, many countries back in my world. That’s where it always ends.”
“Maybe things were as you say in your world,” she countered. “But at least the people made their choice. And I can’t believe that they won’t choose a better way once they see their mistake.”
“You’re assuming that luxury won’t be taken away from them. It always is.”
Nisreen was stunned, her mouth having difficulty forming words. “So you made that choice for us? For all of us? And we’re supposed to be grateful? I’m supposed to feel grateful that you stole our history?” Rage was blazing through her. “That your glorious empire killed my family?”
“No, hanum. In your case, I know that’ll never be possible. Which is a shame, really. I’m sure there are plenty of fascinating things you could have told me about. But then again”—he smiled—“I suppose it’ll be more interesting to see what happens without, as you so quaintly put it, cheating.”
And with that, he angled his gaze off her and gave the guards a couple of quick, disdainful hand signals.
Their meaning was alarmingly clear.
The first meant, “Take them away.”
The second: “Bring me back their heads.”
69
Rasheed felt reassured.
The unexpected appearance of the first visitor had startled him. It had happened weeks earlier, in the first few days of the siege, soon after the sultan’s army had set up camp around the Viennese capital. A man claiming to be a special envoy had found his way to his enclosure and asked to be brought to him. Taymoor Agha had then introduced himself and told him what he knew. He said he’d come to warn him, and all he asked in return was for the rest of the incantation so that he could go back to the time he’d come from and remain a loyal servant of the empire.
The request had surprised Rasheed, especially coming from a man whose career—if he was telling the truth—had been based on manipulation and guile. And yet perhaps it wasn’t so surprising after all. It was evident that the man was desperate to get back to a world he was more accustomed to. And he hadn’t been mistaken in coming back, given that these new visitors—the man and the woman now standing before him—had in fact shown up, just as Taymoor had warned.
Rasheed could relax. The crisis had been averted. All indications were that this was an isolated incident. If Taymoor had been truthful, these visitors were lone wolves who hadn’t shared their knowledge with others. He felt confident that once they were dealt with, he wouldn’t have to face other uninvited guests anytime soon. He’d be free to sail into the future without looking over his shoulder.
Ever since he’d arrived and convinced the sultan of his merit, Rasheed had been careful to cause as little disruption as possible. He needed the siege of Vienna to end differently, but he had to be careful not to change things too much so that events he didn’t foresee—events he hadn’t read about, ones that hadn’t actually taken place—didn’t take him by surprise.
His efforts were about to bear fruit.
The army of Christendom and its leaders would soon be wiped out. Vienna would soon fall.
And once that was achieved, he wouldn’t need to hold back.
From that point on, everything would change. History would swerve off its path and head into uncharted territory. He’d have free rein to do whatever he wanted, without worrying about disrupting anything he was counting on, since there would be nothing to disrupt. It would all be virgin ground. He’d be able to unleash the full force of his strategy—the new weapons, the wide-ranging onslaught, the targeted assassinations—at will. He would be drafting the future in his own unique vision, forging ahead on an alternative timeline, creating a new world from a clean slate.
A clean slate that had no room for interlopers who knew his secret and could use it to unravel everything he’d achieved.
He’d heard enough. It was time to end this amusing distraction and get ready for the big day ahead.
The new world was waiting.
* * *
Taymoor’s heart sank as he watched Rasheed berate Nisreen.
Yes, of course, they’d brought this on themselves. They’d even caused him to lose a leg. But seeing them there brought a whole history rushing back, a history that was hard to erase. He’d had a lot of time to think about it all, to think about them, about what they’d done and why. And right now, watching them about to die, he felt a sudden tightening in the pit of his stomach. It was he who’d warned Rasheed about them. If his old friends were going to die, it was in large part because of him.
He hadn’t wanted it to be that way, but they hadn’t left him much choice.
He’d tried.
After Kamal had pushed him off the train, a couple of days had passed before he’d been found by a passing tradesman who took him to Vienna to be looked after. Medicine back then wasn’t as advanced as in Taymoor’s time, and they hadn’t been able to save his leg. He’d spent many weeks there, first recovering, then finding his place in that new city. He had liked it there. It was smaller than Paris, less hurried. Refreshing. He had wanted to convince himself he could perhaps set up his new life there instead of in Paris. It was a smaller pond for him to swim in. But the dread simply wouldn’t let him go.
No matter how well things were going—and they were going well, quickly, for Taymoor was no fool when it came to navigating human nature and creating opportunities—he couldn’t shake off the fear that Kamal and Nisreen could cause it all to come to a sudden end. He’d wake up at night in a cold sweat, wondering if he was still there, if the world he had gone to bed in was the same one he would wake up to.
Even though he couldn’t quite understand it, the fear had pervaded his every moment. How would it happen? Would he just cease to be? Would he even know it, feel it, or be aware of it? The more he thought about it, the more lost and fearful he felt. It became unbearable, this existential terror of sitting helplessly and hoping his life didn’t get wiped out.
Only he wasn’t helpless.
He could stop them.
The problem was, he only knew how to travel back in time. Which gave rise to a competing terror: that of getting stuck in the past. Almost two centuries earlier. In a much more primitive, savage time.
He didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t continue like that, living with a worry that was constantly souring his days and nights. He had to do something about it.
Which was why he’d come back here, choosing to arrive in the first few days of the siege to make sure he got there before them. Rasheed had listened to him, but instead of treating him as a valued guest, he’d kept him locked away with his mouth gagged to ensure he didn’t escape.
And now he could only watch as his partner and Nisreen were taken to their deaths.
Only it wasn’t to be just their deaths, he realized with a sudden panic, as the man guarding him nudged him as well.
“What?” he asked, but his shocked look was answered with a harsher nudge in the kidneys and a command to move. Taymoor resisted, calling out to Rasheed. “Your eminence, my pasha…?”
Everyone paused as Rasheed turned, his brow crinkled with mild curiosity.
“My bey, surely your man here has misunderstood your command.”
Rasheed let his question hang for a moment; then his mouth just twisted with apathy. “Not at all,” he replied casually before nodding to the deaf-mute eunuch to carry on.
“Wait, wait,” Taymoor blurted, pushing back to hold his ground. “Your eminence, surely … I did you a service,” he pleaded. “I came here to save you and to keep our holy empire safe. I did my duty as a loyal subject of the sultan.”
“And you have performed your duty admirably, Taymoor Agha. I am indebted to you, the sultan is indebted to you, the whole empire is in your debt.”
Taymoor looked mystified. “I don’t understand.”
&nbs
p; “Well, for someone with your training and your experience,” Rasheed said, “I was rather surprised that you could make a major, major miscalculation about something so fundamental. It’s actually rather troubling.”
Taymoor’s face sank.
Rasheed wasn’t done. “You were hoping for the rest of the incantation? So you could hop off to a time of your choosing and live happily ever after?”
“We had a deal, your eminence.”
“A deal? Do you really think I would allow anyone—anyone,” Rasheed hissed, “to be out there, roaming around, armed with this knowledge?”
“But—”
Rasheed flicked his hand curtly again.
Taymoor’s pulse rocketed.
He shot a regretful glance at Kamal and Nisreen, who were watching with mounting alarm—then he lashed out.
He whipped his hand up and took the janissary by surprise, grabbing the hand that held the dagger and pushing it away while ramming an elbow up into the man’s face and triggering an eruption of chaos around him as Kamal and Kolschitzky followed suit and snapped into action.
* * *
Kamal knew what Taymoor was about to do the instant he saw the look in his face. He’d seen that look before—the untamed burn in his eyes, the recklessness to tackle threats head on. He was ready when, a split second later, Taymoor made his move.
Kamal’s focus was on two fronts: the blade no longer under his chin but still hovering close enough to inflict fatal damage to him in the blink of an eye. And the blade that could do the same to Nisreen.
He needed to neutralize both threats simultaneously.
He quickly sized up the geography—Nisreen had been standing close to him, which proved critical as he coiled up and unleashed a rapid-fire sequence of moves on both fronts, grabbing the knife hand of the man guarding him while unleashing a savage kick that caught the knee of the man beside Nisreen sideways and snapped it backward in a loud, sickening crunch.
Empire of Lies Page 45