“No, but what she lacks in that regard we can shore up with suitable munshis.”
“Eunuchs.”
“I did say suitable munshis, Sultan Al’Azam.” Jahanara regretted her acerbic tone as the words leapt from her painted lips, but could no more retrieve them than stop the sun in its progress.
“You did, sister.”
“And any munshi will have to be approved of by Rodney, of course,” she lied, thinking it impolitic to mention that it would not be up to Rodney, but Priscilla herself, whether to employ eunuchs or simply the most qualified of people regardless of gender.
“You did. I have heard your words. I will consider them,” he said, trying to dismiss her from his presence rather than grow wroth with her.
Knowing that what she wanted to accomplish would take a great deal of time they didn’t have, she decided to stand her ground and attack. “Forgive me, brother, but time presses. Can you ask Rodney tonight?”
An angry glint sharpened the look he cast her way.
She bowed her head in humility. “Please forgive me, Sultan Al’Azam, but we have so little time to accomplish all the tasks God has placed before us, and I think now is the time for decisive action.”
He surprised her then, smiling instead of showing offense. He said something in English she did not understand, then translated: “Sooner begun, sooner done,” explaining the lyricism in the original saying.
“Indeed…” She cocked her head and allowed herself to be sidetracked, knowing he was convinced. “I do not think I have heard that turn of phrase before. Something the up-timers say?”
“No. Or, rather, I do not know,” he said, waggling his head. “I heard it from Gervais, who said it might be a Protestant English saying, as far as he knew, so I imagine he could quite possibly have learned it from the up-timers. I do like it, however.”
“As do I.” Again she was assaulted by a wave of guilt. That she should keep secrets from him wounded her.
Again she put it away.
“Their language may not possess the poetry of ours, but there is an elegance there I wish I had the time to explore more thoroughly.”
He sighed. “Would that I had time to pursue all my interests. I have yet to complete my treatise on the values of the varied religions of our lands, and I am afraid it will have to wait until after I have vanquished my upstart brothers.”
“God willing, next year.”
Jahanara Begum prayed for that very outcome.
Shores of the Yamuna
The late-morning sun had yet to heat the day as Bertram and John rode the last mile to Talawat’s munitions factory. John was enjoying the cool air, if not the ride.
They cleared off to the side to give the road to a patrol heading to Red Fort. He shifted his seat while they waited, attempting to find a more comfortable position. It seemed they’d been resident at Red Fort long enough for his ass to grow unaccustomed to the saddle, and training his thighs and ass to the saddle was a hardship. And to add to his ass pain was the thought of why they were riding out to the factory.
He’d never been a fan of inspections: Back up-time at the county job he’d held they were usually conducted by assholes who didn’t know the job, didn’t listen to explanations, didn’t care at all about the people working the site they were inspecting, and went through any given job site just looking to check things off on their clipboards. It would be one thing if the inspection served a purpose other than justifying some county clerk’s existence, but they almost always seemed to have nothing better to do than get in the way.
Only now, I get to play “asshole with a clipboard.” The thought shored up his resolve to make this inspection as quick and painless as humanly possible. Talawat and his people didn’t need anyone interfering, and certainly didn’t need to hear some bullshit from a jumped-up hillbilly who didn’t know half the chemistry or metallurgy they had learned in a lifetime.
He shook his head and, in an attempt to distract himself with something positive, said, “Got to say I’m surprised by how quick the Sikhs have taken to training in the new tactics and guns.” Of course, the ‘new’ tactics were from a Civil War–era training manual—pamphlet, really—someone back home had copied off and thought to send along with the Mission in hopes it might prove useful.
“Bidhi Chand seems to have had his orders direct from Sixth Guru, and those orders must have been pretty clear: Learn everything you can, fight for the emperor the best way you can, and bring that knowledge home from the wars,” Bertram said.
“That makes sense, I guess. You know, back up-time I didn’t know much about Sikhs except for a vague notion they were some military-minded folks from India, but the other day Bidhi was telling me they only recently ‘took up the sword.’ Said they were driven to it by what he called ‘Mughal persecution.’ Said they were pacifist right up until the present guru came to power and decreed it was okay to protect themselves. Makes it easier to understand. That kind of history would motivate the hell out of me to learn all I could about fighting, just to make sure I wasn’t an easy mark for any old raja wanting to take my land.”
“Right. They do seem to apply themselves better to new martial practices than those who inherited the warrior ethos of their forebears.”
“The Rajputs, you mean?” John asked, watching as a crane rose from the riverbank and flew across their path. He made out a red throat or partial hood on the long neck, but John didn’t recognize the breed. The diversity of wildlife in India constantly amazed him. Game was more plentiful everywhere down-time, even in densely populated Europe, but India was in a league all its own.
“Them, too, but the Afghans and the rest of
