The armlock may have hurt, but his free hand lashed out to sink deep in the other man’s belly. Once. Twice. Three times.
Shuja’s man bore in, heedless of the blows. Pressure on the lock eventually put his opponent on one knee, face a rictus of pain.
Aurangzeb felt his own expression tighten in sympathy.
Shuja’s man howled his victory.
Too early, it seemed: The kneeling man turned into the lock, tendons visible as they ground across the shoulder into new, unnatural positions. The fighter, ignoring what had to be crippling pain, thundered home an uppercut that lifted Shuja’s man onto tiptoe and prevented him getting his breath. The grip on his crippled arm relaxed enough for the fighter to break free. He surged to his feet with another punch, this one to the breathless man’s bearded jaw.
A stunned sigh ran through the audience as Shuja’s man fell bonelessly to earth, dislocated jaw obvious despite the beard.
The winner stood over his opponent, breath coming in ragged gasps, injured shoulder far lower than the other.
Shuja himself, impressed with the astonishing end to the fight, roared congratulations as loud as any of his court. Seeing it safe to do so, the men who had bet on him surged forward to congratulate the winner, who swooned with pain when one idiot jostled his shoulder to congratulate him.
Aurangzeb bowed his head in silent acquiescence to God’s will.
So I must suffer to ensure your victory. I will gladly do that, and anything more that is required of me, to secure Your ends.
Part Five
June, 1636
Suppressing all the instruments of flesh
—The Rig Veda
Chapter 21
Patna
Residence of Jadu Das
“Would have been nice to have some of this while we were watching the troop barges on the river,” Bobby said, sipping at the chilled wine the household staff had laid out for them. He’d have liked an ice-cold beer, but that was not happening.
Ricky nodded agreement. “Probably too expensive for more than occasional use.”
“Much as I want to keep cool in the sun, we probably can’t afford it.” Bobby drank the last of his wine, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Yeah, must not come cheap, all those people dying to bring ice down from the mountains at top speed.”
“What did you say?” Jadu asked, a bit sharply, from the cushions across from the younger men. He wasn’t looking at either of them, but had his pen poised above the paper.
Both up-timers started a bit. The merchant only just joined them a few minutes ago and, as was his habit, quickly lapsed into silence to log the day’s receipts and complete the daily log of expense reports to be sent off to the Mission with the next messenger.
Bobby looked at Ricky, a question in his eyes.
Uncertain what had pricked Jadu’s interest, Ricky shrugged.
“We were just…” He trailed off, not wanting to give offense.
Jadu put his quill down and looked at the pair. “I am not angry. I just want to hear it again.”
“Well, we were wondering how many people died to get us the ice to chill our drinks.”
“Died?” Jadu asked, puzzled.
Bobby frowned. “You know, bringing it down from the mountains in this heat couldn’t have been easy.”
Jadu’s puzzlement evaporated, only to be replaced by a stifled chuckle that soon grew to outright—and loud—laughter.
Bobby shot a questioning look at Ricky, who could only shrug and watch as both his oldest friend and his newest grew red in the face.
“What did Bobby say?” Ricky asked. He sniffed his own goblet, suspicious because Jadu had only just started drinking, having been at the market all day listening for rumors and buying on behalf of the Mission.
Wiping tears from his eyes, Jadu looked at him, but continued to convulse with laughter.
The merchant’s body servant, Vikram, entered. While Vikram had served him for years, Jadu had bought the large house and hired additional servants from the locals in hopes of establishing his bona fides as a trader of consequence and thereby gain access to additional intelligence sources.
Vikram, at least, showed some discipline, and avoided joining his master’s laughter. He merely poured more wine for Jadu from an unwieldy-large and towel-wrapped ewer, then offered more to the boys.
“Tell me, what’s got you laughing so hard?” Bobby asked, covering his goblet to show he did not need more wine.
Bobby had spoken in English. Realizing his best friend was about to lose his temper, Ricky stood up. They’d both grown used to avoiding the use of English unless they were completely alone, having come to the conclusion it was the only way to acquire the necessary language skills in anything approaching a useful time frame. For him to abandon the habit was a sure sign Bobby was pissed.
Jadu held up a placating hand and made a visible effort to stop laughing.
The servant, taking Ricky’s rising as an invitation to fill his goblet, approached. Ricky held it out, deliberately holding his arm so that it interfered with the angry eyes Bobby was sending Jadu.
As Vikram filled his goblet, Ricky caught sight of something odd about the ewer: it appeared to have an inner pitcher, the spout of which extended beyond the lip of the sealed outer one.
Jadu saw his interest and finally got control of himself, waving to draw Bobby’s attention to the container as well.
Grateful for the distraction, Ricky asked, “May I, Vikram?” and held his hands out for the item.
Confused, the servant glanced at Jadu.
“Let him see it, Vikram. It will help me explain my undue mirth.”
The servant handed it to Ricky, keeping the towel. The metal was quite cold to the touch, so cold the humid afternoon air quickly beaded the surface once exposed.
Holding it up, he saw what appeared to be a thermos-like arrangement: the outer pitcher was filled with water and sealed, while the inner contained the wine they were drinking.
He handed it to Bobby.
“I don’t get it. Ice in the water of the outer pitcher?”
Jadu smiled and shook his head. He stood and
