by Eric Flint
Table of Contents
Maps
Prologue
Part One Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part Two Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Part Three Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Part Four Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Part Five Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Cast of Characters
Glossary of Terms
1636
Mission to
the Mughals
Eric Flint
Griffin Barber
1636: Mission to the Mughals
Eric Flint and Griffin Barber
The United States of Europe, the new nation formed by an alliance between the Swedish king Gustavus Adolphus and the West Virginians hurled back in time by a cosmic accident—the Ring of Fire—is beset by enemies on all sides. The U.S.E. needs a reliable source of opiates for those wounded in action, as well as other goods not available in Europe. The Prime Minister of the U.S.E., Mike Stearns, sends a mission to the Mughal Empire of India with the aim of securing a trade deal with the Mughal emperor, Shah Jahan.
The mission consists of a mixed group of up-timers and down-timers, including paramedics, a squad of soldiers with railroad-building experience, a spy and a pair of swindlers. On reaching India the mission finds a grieving emperor obsessed with building the Taj Mahal, harem-bound princesses, warrior princes, and an Afghan adventurer embroiled in the many plots of the Mughal court.
The emperor’s sons are plotting against each other and war is brewing with the newly risen Sikh faith. But in the midst of these intrigues, the U.S.E. mission finds a ally: the brilliant and beautiful Jahanara Begum, the eldest daughter of Shah Jahan. She is the mistress of her father's harem and a power in her own right, who wishes to learn more of these women who are free in a way she can scarcely comprehend.
When the Emperor learns of what befalls his empire and children in the time that was, he makes every effort to change their fate. But emperors, princesses, and princes are no more immune to the inexorable waves of change created by the Ring of Fire than are the Americans themselves.
ERIC FLINT’S BESTSELLING
RING OF FIRE SERIES
1632 by Eric Flint
1633 with David Weber
1634: The Baltic War with David Weber
1634: The Galileo Affair with Andrew Dennis
1634: The Bavarian Crisis with Virginia DeMarce
1634: The Ram Rebellion with Virginia DeMarce et al.
1635: The Cannon Law with Andrew Dennis
1635: The Dreeson Incident with Virginia DeMarce
1635: The Eastern Front
1635: The Papal Stakes with Charles E. Gannon
1636: The Saxon Uprising
1636: The Kremlin Games with Gorg Huff & Paula Goodlett
1636: The Devil’s Opera with David Carrico
1636: Commander Cantrell in the West Indies with Charles E. Gannon
1636: The Viennese Waltz with Gorg Huff & Paula Goodlett
1636: The Cardinal Virtues with Walter Hunt
1635: A Parcel of Rogues with Andrew Dennis
1636: The Ottoman Onslaught
1636: Mission to the Mughals with Griffin Barber
Grantville Gazette I-V, ed. by Eric Flint
Grantville Gazette VI-VII, ed. by Eric Flint & Paula Goodlett
Ring of Fire I-IV, ed. by Eric Flint
1635: The Tangled Web by Virginia DeMarce
1635: The Wars for the Rhine by Anette Pedersen
1636: Seas of Fortune by Iver P. Cooper
1636: The Chronicles of Dr. Gribbleflotz by Kerryn Offord & Rick Boatright
Time Spike by Eric Flint with Marilyn Kosmatka
1636: Mission to the Mughals
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Eric Flint and Griffin Barber
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 978-1-4767-8214-0
eISBN: 978-1-62579-571-7
Cover art by Tom Kidd
Maps by Michael Knopp
First printing, April 2017
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Flint, Eric, author. | Barber, Griffin, author.
Title: 1636: mission to the Mughals / Eric Flint and Griffin Barber.
Other titles: Mission to the Mughals
Description: Riverdale, NY : Baen, [2017] | Series: Ring of fire
Identifiers: LCCN 2016054504
Subjects: | GSAFD: Alternative histories (Fiction)
Classification: LCC PS3556.L548 A618668 2017 | DDC 813/.54—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016054504
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Pages by Joy Freeman (www.pagesbyjoy.com)
Printed in the United States of America
Electronic Version by Baen Books
www.baen.com
I wish to dedicate this book
to Donna, Karen, and Isabelle.
I need not look far for fine examples
to model Princess Jahanara on.
Maps
Prologue
February 1634
Lyon, France
Salim let the door to Baram Khan’s sickroom close before addressing the man who walked out. “Any change?”
The physician started and wheeled to face him. “I didn’t see you there.”
Salim stepped into the light of the candle the man held, quirking an eyebrow.
The local man shook his head. “No, no change. I must be going. A—another patient, you understand.”
Salim did not blame him for being frightened. Knowing the fate of physicians who failed to save the lives of powerful men in his own nation, Salim could forgive the man thinking Salim might attack him.
Waving him away, Salim turned to look at the door.
Beyond it, surrounded by a very few of his remaining loyal servants, the emperor’s envoy was dying a slow, painful death. A week, perhaps a bit longer, and the man would breathe his last and go to his final reward, whatever it might be.
Taking his prayer beads in hand, Salim said a prayer in the darkness to speed Baram Khan’s passage to Paradise. Just because one thought little of another man’s deeds did not make them unworthy of Paradise; it only showed the unworthy state of one’s own soul.
Hearing a horse in the courtyard below, he stepped to the window at the end of the hall in time to see the physician ride out of the torch-lit courtyard.
Good riddance. The man had proved almost worthless, failing, even, to see what was plain to Salim and anyone else with even the slightest experience of court life: Baram Khan had been poisoned.
It wasn’t even entirely the pompous courtier’s fault he was dying, since Baram Khan’s tasters had all died in various mishaps before the envoy even entered the Germanies. Then, understandably angry at being robbed by Grantville’s mercenaries—which the Mughal noble could only see as confirmation of the histories Salim was translating for him—Baram Khan departed the wonders of Grantville before new tasters could be found.
No one knew who had killed Baram Khan but, like everyone else in the man’s entourage, Salim had an idea who it might be.
Salim shook his head. Regardless of the who and the how of the current situation, decisions had to be made.
Rehan Usmani, Baram’s first servant, would want to return immediately to Agra and report events to Nur Jahan, Baram Khan’s patroness.
Fear seized Salim’s heart at the thought. Little could be worse for the empire and Mian Mir’s hopes than that woman possessing proofs that Aurangzeb would, in his hunt for the throne, imprison his own father and murder his brothers. She would certainly seize the opportunity that any conflict in the family might offer to again attempt to place her own choice on the throne.
Baram Khan’s exile on what the court had believed a fool’s errand had led to this much, at least: Salim had the books from the future; he had the pictures.
He could return to Mian Mir and ask the living saint what to do, couldn’t he?
Finding his answer in the question, Salim turned from the window and started for his chamber.
Grantville’s mercenary company might have stripped Baram Khan of everything of value he’d carried on his person, but his servants had passed largely unmolested. Salim still had several small pouches of fine gemstones, and knew where to sell a few.
At least five hours remained before morning prayers. He would pack quickly, walk a couple of the pathetic excuses for horseflesh from the manor and, once out of hearing, be on his way.
A long, dangerous journey lay ahead.
Part One
Spring and Summer, 1634
Then, wakened by the crash and cries,
The fierce shefiends unclosed their eyes
Chapter 1
Magdeburg, capital of the United States of Europe
April 1634
The brow of the prime minister of the United States of Europe was furrowed with doubt piled atop doubtfulness—doubt with respect to the proposal being made, and doubtfulness concerning the motives of the proposer.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight, Francisco,” said Mike Stearns. “We’re about to send a diplomatic and trade mission to China—that is to say, roughly halfway around the world.”
“Oh, it’s not that far, Michael.” Francisco Nasi waggled his hand back and forth, indicating a small degree of uncertainty. “A bit over four thousand miles, I believe. Nautical miles, that is.”
Mike’s brow furrowed deeper, as suspicion piled onto doubt and doubtfulness. “That would be the great circle distance, you’re talking about. But pray tell, which one of our Boeing 747s were you planning to use to make the flight? Oh, wait, I forgot—we don’t have any Boeing 747s, do we? Or DC-3s, now that I think about it. And exactly which one of Beijing’s modern—that would be modern as in twentieth century—international airports were you planning to land our nonexistent 747 on? Oh, wait, I forgot—this being the year 1634, Beijing doesn’t have an airport big enough to land a Cessna on, does it?”
“I grant you—”
“What’s the nautical distance from here to China, Francisco? Not ‘nautical’ as in country boy miles on steroids but ‘nautical’ as in actual distance to be traveled by sea.”
“Well…”
“Look it up, when you get a chance. I believe you’ll find the distance is pretty close to twelve thousand miles—that is to say, about halfway around the world. Like I said.”
“Actually, I did look it up. It is 12,776 miles by sea from Hamburg to Shanghai. That would be nautical miles, of course.” He cleared his throat. “I confess that presupposes using the Suez Canal which, ah, is also not in existence at the moment.”
Mike grunted. “So in country boy miles it’s actually way more than halfway around the world. Francisco, I agreed to that China mission—reluctantly—mostly because you had a team ready and willing to go. If you’re planning to tell me that you found another half dozen or so—I’m trying to avoid terms like screwballs here—people in Grantville who’ve expressed a burning desire to travel to India given the crude realities of so-called Early Modern Era transport, I have to tell you that I’m going to be a mite skeptical.”
“Actually, I have found a couple of people who’d like to make the trip. Well—one person, but her husband’s amenable. And I’m sure I can find others.”
“Who?”
“Priscilla Totman, and her husband Rodney.”
Mike’s suspicious gaze now swiveled to the third person in his office. “Which explains why you’re here, James. I’d been wondering. You’re not usually given to Francisco’s type of web-weaving.”
“Oh, leave off, Mike,” said James Nichols. “I had nothing at all to do with the Totmans’ decision.”
“I find that a little hard to believe. Seeing as how—”
“What? I work in medicine—and they work in medicine? So do lots of people. And I’ve hardly seen them since they moved to Jena last year.”
Nichols pointed a finger at Nasi. “Whatever scheming’s going on is being done by him—but I have to tell you I approve of it, if it’ll get us a reliable supply of opium.”
Mike wiped his face. “What has the world come to,” he muttered, “when a supposedly upstanding citizen—a doctor, no less—openly declares his support for drug smuggling?”
“Smuggling, my ass. Opium’s not illegal in this day and age. The problem isn’t legality, it’s accessibility.”
Mike saw his chance and pounced. “Exactly! You said it yourself. It’s not illegal—in fact, you can buy it on the open market in Amsterdam. Venice, too, I believe. So why do we need to go all the way to India to get stuff that’s coming our way in any event?”
“Yes, you can. And I’d be very relaxed about the situation if we lived in—oh, let’s say the Year of Our Lord 2000—back in the days—excuse me, ahead in the days—when the U.S. Navy ruled the waves and we had NATO and well-established international laws governing maritime trade. But we don’t, do we? No, we live in the year 1634—just eleven years after the Amboyna massacre in the East Indies, where the Dutch East India Company tortured and murdered more than a dozen men working for the British East India Company.”
He glanced at the woman sitting next to him. “Melissa told me about it. Mike, in the world we live in today, so-called ‘foreign trade’ looks a hell of a lot like Al Capone’s Chicago. I can think of two or three ways the opium trade could get disrupted and I’m sure you can think of at least that many.”
He nodded toward Nasi. “I don’t even want to think about how many he could come up with.”
“Let me see…” Nasi began counting off his fingers. “One, the Dutch trade is severed because Spain attacks Don Fernando. Two, the Dutch trade is severed because France attacks Don Fernando.”
“Why would France—?” Mike started to protest.
“Same reason France would attack the Dutch in 1672. Imperialist rivalries.” He went back to finger-counting. “Three, the Dutch trade is severed because England attacks Don Fernando.”
“Why would—?”
Nasi clucked his tongue reproachfully. “Don’t you read any of your own history books, Michael? England would attack the Dutch for the same reasons they attacked them in the universe you came from, in
1652, 1665 and 1672—that last one in alliance with the French. Imperialist rivalries. Which is usually just a fancy way of saying ‘trade rivalries,’ in the here and now.”
The finger-counting resumed. “Now, as to Venice. Four, the Genoese—”
“All right, all right.” Mike waved his hand, irritably. “I get the point. And I suppose you’re going to claim the same applies to the saltpeter trade.”
Nasi shook his head. “Oh, no. I could come up with twice as many reasons the saltpeter trade might get severed.”
He leaned forward in his seat. “Michael, face facts. We are in the middle of perhaps the greatest war to afflict Europe since the barbarian invasions that destroyed Rome. Except it’s not really one war but a whole constellation of wars that interlock with each other. Wars over dynastic ambition, religion—and, yes, trade. Wars nowadays are fought with gunpowder, whose critical ingredient—certainly the hardest to come by—is saltpeter. The biggest source of saltpeter is India.”
He held up a restraining hand. “Please! Don’t bother to tell me that’s why India’s own rulers guard saltpeter so jealously. I was brought up in the Ottoman court, you may recall. Isn’t there some witty West Virginia saw to that effect…?”
Mike made a face. “Don’t teach your grandmother how to suck eggs.”
“Indeed. That makes no sense, by the way. No one sucks eggs, so why would anyone worry about the right way to do it? But the meaning is clear enough.”