Talawat’s towering achievement was made all the more impressive by the fact that all this had been done in nearly complete secrecy. Setting up a manufactory in the abandoned city-fortress of Fatehpur Sikri had beggared her personal treasury, but the additional layer of secrecy between the project and the Imperial Civil Service had been well worth the investment.
At least, she prayed it would be, as she heard the collective gasp from her guests as they finished filing in behind her. If she had surprised them, then there was a very good chance the products of Talawat’s manufactory would catch Aurangzeb and his men completely flat-footed.
A prideful little smile began to play about her lips.
“What the hell?” John blurted.
Smile dying, Jahanara turned to face him.
Jaw working, the up-timer leveled a stare at Jahanara that was so hostile that Atisheh moved to interpose yourself between her princess and the man.
The princess held up a restraining hand. “I should have known better than to ask for forgiveness before revealing the nature of my transgression against you. I can only repeat that no one beyond the tiniest circle of people knew what I was about. I could not risk Aurangzeb discovering my deception and refusing to make the direct assault we need him to make so we might employ these weapons to maximum effect. A prolonged siege is not enough to secure victory for us, even should the other part of my plan succeed. No, we need to show his followers that Aurangzeb is not and never will be chosen by God to rule the empire.” She paused, uncertain whether or not she was getting through to John.
Bertram and Gervais must have been concerned as well, because they took up positions on either side of their friend. John cast a reproachful look at both men, shaking his head in disbelief.
“All those people… How could you, Bert? How could you agree to killing all those people?”
Bertram’s face crumpled. “John, I didn’t know they were going to kill anyone.”
“No one was killed in the explosion,” Smidha said forcefully.
“I saw the bodies,” John snarled.
“The bodies were the corpses of people who had expired quite naturally in the city the week before,” Smidha explained, scandalized at the tone John was taking with Jahanara.
“Bertram wasn’t aware of that portion of the plan,” Jahanara amplified. “I, and I alone made the decision that he could not know if he was to be with you when the explosion happened, not if he was to keep you safe and behave sufficiently surprised to deceive any spies that watched you in the days that followed.”
“Jesus, lady. Here I was thinking I was starting to think like one of you. Damn, but I was wrong! Just who the hell is this spy you’re so worried about, anyway?”
Gervais touched John’s shoulder. When the younger man looked at him he said quietly, “Gradinego, for one. It shames me to admit it but he’s been serving up information on the Mission and the royals to whomever will pay him.”
John made a face. “But Gradinego hasn’t been in on any of the councils? So how is he getting any information—”
Gervais cut him off. “Roshanara and a few others: servants, guards, slaves, even a courtier or two. Luckily we found them early enough to cut or control some of the leaks.”
Jahanara took up the thread. “But the court, as you no doubt have learned, has no greater pleasure than gossip and rumor. If all sources of information were to have dried up, Aurangzeb and certainly Nur would have been suspicious of everything they observed. So I gave them their pleasures. Fed them. Fattened them. Now comes the time of slaughter.”
She drew a deep breath. “I do not ask forgiveness for what I have done, but for the necessary hurts I inflicted in order to accomplish it.”
Jahangir’s palace
“I’ll understand if you don’t want to do this, Gervais,” Bertram said as they walked across the jasmine-scented garden leading to the massive edifice of Jahangir’s palace. Previously Shah Shuja’s lodgings while in residence at Red Fort, the capacious palace had been divvied up among those umara of the court who served the Sultan Al’Azam or his immediate family but didn’t have entourages of their own to speak of.
Aurangzeb’s former palace, on the other side of the fort, had similarly been given over to the families of the more prominent and powerful umara.
“Don’t even think of leaving me out,” Gervais said. “I want to know what he knows, and when he learned it, besides. I can’t think anyone else will be able to get him to talk.”
“And if he gets out of hand?” Bertram asked.
“Then I’ll put him down with less remorse than I would a mad dog. Just don’t get in my way,” he said.
Wary of the angry intensity of Gervais’ response, Bertram let the subject drop. They walked in silence for a little while, Bertram considering how best to do the job Jahanara had, through Monique, ordered them to undertake.
Gervais suddenly sighed, stopped, and turned to face his future son-in-law. “I apologize, Bertram. I am angry. Have been since you and Monique uncovered this betrayal.”
Bertram put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “No need to apologize. He’s the one should be begging forgiveness.”
“And will be, when I get my hands on him,” Gervais said.
“Will he fight?” Bertram asked.
“I doubt it. Usually that only makes things worse.” He shrugged. “But then this isn’t just stealing from your crew—which can be a deadly-enough affair. This is an entirely different level of betrayal.”
“Should I have sent a runner for Atisheh or one of the others?”
Gervais shook his head.
