Hoping to keep the emperor calm, John began with the positives: “First off, the medical corps report. Every one of the men who volunteered for and completed medical training has been issued the standard medical kit Begum Sahib and the Totmans developed and put into production. They’ve been dispersed amongst the garrison and the triage centers along with stretchers and bearers. The operating theaters have been prepared, equipped, and manned, and the hospital reports they have the supplies you mandated, Sultan Al’Azam.”
He departed from the report to speak from the heart. “Sultan Al’Azam, I have to say I’ve seen a lot since coming to this time. The United States of Europe has done a many great things with the knowledge that came with us from the future, but this drive to provide medical services to the masses that Jahanara Begum has led, it might be the best thing to come from our arrival.” Realizing a better courtier would have given Dara more credit, John looked down at his report for inspiration.
“You are kind to say so, Mr. John Dexter Ennis,” Jahanara’s voice rang across the hall of audience. “But nothing would have happened had my brother, Sultan Al’Azam Dara Shikoh, not seen some wisdom in my humble suggestion that we provide for the sowar and, once the battle to come is won, the peoples of his realm.”
“My wife and my sister are wise,” Dara said, standing. “And, like all women, have a care for those less favored by fate than themselves.” He turned and bowed to the jali. “Their wisdom should be an example to all, their charity an example to the cosmos of our good intentions.”
Their approval of—and display of that regard for—the royals dispelled some of the gloom that had clung to the court and, frankly, to John’s own mood.
Thanking God that the princess was on their side, John turned to face the jali and bowed as well. The court followed suit.
“Your Master of Fortification’s report shows he is prepared. Work has been completed removing or restoring the decorative balconies as necessary to the design of your defensive works. He also reports the fletchers and bowyers of your factories have met their quotas, as have the Atishbaz powder and shot makers.”
What John didn’t want to talk about was the status of the up-time weapons and their ammunition: there weren’t enough of either to go around, not by a long shot, so he moved on quickly. “The cisterns are at acceptable levels and all predictions”—he was not about to give the astrologers and soothsayers cited in the report any credit—“indicate heavy rains arriving over the next few weeks. That should actually provide more water than we consume. He also reports that we have provisions sufficient to provide full rations for more than a year at our current numbers—”
Dara interrupted a thankful John with a wave. Wondering why, John cast about for the source of the interruption.
A man in messenger greens was just leaving Firoz Khan’s side. The portly eunuch was opening an official-looking set of papers with several seals and such hanging from it.
John glanced back at the emperor, found him watching impatiently as his diwan and personal munshi read the document through.
Firoz, suddenly aware that John had stopped speaking, looked up. Scrambling up with the document in hand, the eunuch bowed deeply to the emperor.
“What is it?” Dara said.
“Sultan Al’Azam, Aurangzeb sends a messenger.”
Dara snapped his fingers, gesturing imperiously.
John was impressed Dara hadn’t barked at the eunuch for stating the obvious.
The message had hardly been in his hands for more than a few seconds before Dara had read it through. John suspected Dara’s background as a religious scholar stood him in good stead when it came to reading that fast, but idly wondered if the emperor shouldn’t be taking his time with something so important.
“The pretender to my throne asks me to send him someone to negotiate on my behalf. He says he will offer sureties they will not be harmed, and to make certain, he says, ‘As it was for our ancestor, Akbar,’ he and his men will all refrain from being present. He asks that I select one of my sisters to meet with Nur Jahan at the tomb of our parents.” He paused, reading something from the document once more. Shaking his head, he tossed it aside.
“Just what he presumes there is to negotiate, I do not know,” he said, his voice an angry growl.
“My love,” Nadira’s calm voice issued from behind the jali again, “you must send Jahanara to treat with Nur Jahan regardless. Your sister may be able to learn something of his intentions, even if, as you rightly suspect, Aurangzeb does not intend to negotiate in good faith.”
Dara’s head swung around. He glared at the jali. “I cannot see him doing anything in good faith. His continued insurrection against my rightful rule provides all the proof anyone needs that he is both a faithless son and perfidious brother.”
“Perhaps some concessions can be earned for the people of Agra,” Nadira continued. Judging from the calm tones of her voice, she was singularly unfazed by the nasty look her husband had sent toward the jali. “God willing, Jahanara may learn just what has happened with Shaista Khan and the army of his father.”
Dara’s gaze softened as he considered her words.
“Brother,” Jahanara’s voice issued from behind the jali once more, “I would ask Nur Jahan of the events leading up to Father’s death. I want to know what she knew. I want to know why it is she fled, don’t you?”
From the way Dara’s expression darkened, John thought he was going to launch another tirade, this time aimed at his sister, but Dara only bit his lip and stood silent. Or almost silent. The emperor was breathing deeply.
After a moment, he simply nodded once, firmly. The emperor Dara Shikoh looked to
