Chapter 8
Agra
Mansion of Jadu Das
“Jadu, my friend, how are you?” Salim said, dismounting and striding up to the shorter man.
Jadu bowed, smiling. “Welcome to my home, Amir Yilmaz. I am well enough. Well enough. Your friends are already present.”
“Your friends, too, Jadu,” Salim said, eyes on his host’s stable hand as that worthy took charge of the Arabian Salim had just purchased at great expense. He had yet to decide whether he liked the tall black horse for his primary mount, but the stallion was certainly handsome to look upon. The other courtiers might say he was uncultured behind his back, though none would dare say it to his face. But none could say he was a poor judge of horseflesh.
“With all the upheaval caused by their coming, I wonder if they are truly anyone’s friend,” Jadu said with a note of sadness. “Though I suppose my brother would say that upheaval allows opportunity to take root like the fresh-tilled soil.”
“How is Dhanji?” Salim asked as they mounted the broad, lengthy staircase.
“He is well, though I quote another of my brothers, not Dhanji.”
Salim chuckled. “Well, many blessings on your father for having sired so many sons.”
“My mother would argue that her six sons were less a blessing than a plague when we were young, but she now lives very well at our expense, so there is that.”
Salim laughed, surprised to learn the many brothers of Jadu were not half-siblings birthed by some concubine or other wife.
“Wait, which brother?”
“Sundar.”
Salim stopped dead in his tracks. “Sundar? Sundar Das? Would he be the same Sundar who was Shah Jahan’s favorite munshi?”
Jadu paused on the stair. “He was the emperor’s personal secretary, yes.”
“I had no idea you were related! Mian Mir admired his talented pen a great deal, and gave us his works to read. Such poetry! A great many scribes and poets were greatly saddened to hear of his passing.”
“He rose high, and quickly,” Jadu said, looking away. But not before Salim saw tears in his eyes.
“Friend Jadu, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable or bring up painful subjects…”
Jadu waggled his head and resumed climbing to hide his expression. “I am too sensitive. Tomorrow marks the anniversary of the day of his death. It is an emotional time because some of the family, including our father, believed Sundar overstepped the bounds of proper custom and caste when he took employment with Shah Jahan.”
Salim placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Even so, I am sorry to have upset you, old friend.”
Jadu covered the hand on his shoulder with his own and stopped, still not looking at Salim. “My thanks for your concern. He was a good man and an even better brother. Our father was blind to those qualities, and a good many other things as well.”
“Were any of your sons or nephews trained by your brother?” Salim asked. In the weeks since his return from Lahore, he’d learned through Firoz Khan’s spies that the other nobles of court thought him uncouth, a man of the hills and mountains rather than a respectable man of education and learning. While his Persian was precise, Salim had no knack for the poetry and alliteration common to those educated at or aspiring to positions at the imperial court.
A munshi trained by one of such repute and fine education as Sundar Das would show the rest of the court that if Salim had not the skills himself, he was at least capable of recognizing and rewarding talent. It was a time-honored tradition at the Mughal court: newcomers, often strangers to the Persian literary inheritance of proper nobility, purchased the services of a munshi, a learned man of letters, poetry, and extensive managerial training, to assist them in their duties. The finest munshis also served as an ornament to the reputation of the courtier with their letters, histories, and manuals on subjects as varied as natural science and proper management.
Salim had considered approaching Jadu on the subject of hiring one of the merchant’s family to manage his property but hadn’t wished to impose on him for yet another favor. But now it seemed he might do Jadu a service that would also protect some of the wealth that was flowing to him as a result of his recent elevation at court…
“My nephews were, indeed.”
Jadu continued after a moment’s consideration. “For their part, my sons were too young and, frankly, more interested in mercantile pursuits like their father than in putting in the hard work to learn the skills of a proper munshi.”
“I have need of a munshi to handle my correspondence and report the daily affairs of my estate. If you would write those of your nephews you deem properly trained and suitable for employment in my household?”
He paused and then added, “Indeed, if you or your brothers can spare a son or two, I might make use of their services in managing my estates. I am also looking to invest, as I have an inordinate amount of cash to spend, given the emperor raised me to five thousand zat last month. Having no wives, I have scarcely any expenses to speak of, and there are only so many horses and fine robes a man can buy.”
Jadu turned toward him, eyes still shining. “I would be honored to present my nephew Ved Das, son of Sundar Das, as a potential munshi.”
“And I know he shall prove more than worthy to serve,” Salim said, finding himself inordinately excited at the prospect.
“As to diwans to assist in managing your growing portfolio, I have two sons of suitable age and training that I might spare for the work, provided you ensure they receive some education in the ways of the court.”
“It is settled, then!”
Another waggle of Jadu’s head was not—quite—disagreement. “My friend, you should be warned: no relative of mine will be paid less than appropriate to their talents, whether or not they are employed by my greatest friend. Especially when the potential employer just finished telling me how much loose cash he has to spend on fripperies.”
“I would have it no other way!” Salim said, startled by the strong surge of affection, relief, and gratitude that rose up in him.
It required a moment’s reflection to determine the reasons for it:
Firstly, he had not been comfortable handling such huge sums as he now had access to, never having had more personal wealth than could be carried on horseback or invested in a small herd, and the idea that any unscrupulous person he hired could take advantage of him had weighed on his mind more than he’d been willing to admit, even to himself.
Secondly, he hated the idea that his lack of courtly refinement might be a detriment to Dara’s reputation. As his princely establishment had not been sufficient to staff the imperial apparatus on its own, Dara had been made to affirm many nobles that his father had raised to their positions. Nobles who, if things had been different, would have otherwise been shown the door. While Salim gave not a single fig for their views on his character, he wanted to forestall any whispers of, “Look at the uncouth louts the emperor surrounds himself with,” at court if he could possibly avoid it.
* * *
“They’re on their way up,” J.D. said from beside the balustrade overlooking the courtyard.
“About time he got here,” Bobby said from his seat among the cushions across from Ricky.
Ricky, seizing on his apparent distraction, tossed a date at Bobby.
Without seeming to look, his target raised a hand and snatched it out of the air, popping the date into his mouth with an equally negligent movement.
Ricky grinned. Bobby had been the best shortstop in the county, and it was still damn hard to catch him off guard.
J.D. turned his head at the movement and chuckled. “Can’t take you boys anywhere.”
“Sure can’t,” Bobby said around his full mouth.
Ricky, glad to hear J.D. laugh even a little, let his grin widen.
John Dexter Ennis, or J.D. to his up-time friends, hadn’t been laughing much since before…Jesus, has it been two years since the pirate attack?
Not that there had been a lot to laugh about lately, what with burying Randy and, in the last few weeks, preparing like mad for the latest expedition. All of them were a bit antsy, having long since been ready to move on, and this meeting was supposed to be the final one before they could pursue the actual mission they’d been sent to India for in the first place.
The world hadn’t seemed so big as a kid growing up in Grantville, not before the Ring of Fire brought them back to this time and changed everything.
Bobby’s date pit bonged as he spat it into the bronze container for the purpose.
It seemed to Ricky that it took a little longer than it should have for their host and the amir to emerge from the broad stair, but he entertained himself eating a mango. Another fruit he might never have known had Grantville stayed put in time and place, mangoes had quickly become his favorite. In fact, he’d decided only last month to see if a couple of the trees could survive transport back to Europe.
Salim and Jadu Das climbed into view, looking as if they’d been deep in conversation about something sensitive.
“Amir Salim. Good to see you!” J.D. said in English. Jadu was among those who’d taught Salim the language in the first place, as the Hindu was a long-term servant of the East India Company in Agra. John approached the pair, offering his hand.
The junior members of the Mission rose, uniformly smiling. As well they should: Amir Salim Gadh Visa Yilmaz had been their guide and champion at court since their arrival, and had served them honestly and well. Not that Salim was just some perfumed pretty, Ricky thought, remembering the blood-drenched man being carried from the gardens of the Taj. Most of the blood had been that of the assassins sent to kill the royals.
Most. Not all.
Almost all of the locals had doubted the sword-cut Afghan would survive his injuries, and even Rodney and Pris had been uncertain if he would recover, given the lack of proper medical facilities or supplies.
“And you, my friend,” Salim returned, taking John’s hand in his own and gesturing with his free hand for everyone to resume their seats.
Once they were all seated and Jadu’s servants had brought more food, talk went from catching up on goings-on at court to the reason they were all here.
“So, is everything prepared, John?” Salim asked.
J.D. nodded, glancing at Jadu. “We think so.”
“I think we are as well prepared as any caravan I have ever been part of.” Jadu Das smiled broadly and continued, “It has been a long time since you rescued me from my tormentors, Salim. I learned my lesson then.” He patted his healthy belly. “Age has made me realize that I like my skin too much to take such great risks with it.”
Salim chuckled. “What route will you use?”
Jadu nodded at Ricky, who pulled a map from the bag beside him and unrolled it. “We plan on using the imperial road rather than barge our way along the river, as it gives us more mobility and better access to some of the markets north of the Jumna and west of the Ganges. With the number of guards we’ve hired, the quality of the Banjaris Jadu has contracted with, and the products we brought to trade with the locals, I think we should be able to purchase all of the opium and saltpeter you require, not to mention other trade goods we might want to bring back.”
“And the other thing?” Salim asked, pulling a jade-hilted dagger from his belt and using the scabbarded weapon to weigh the top of the map down.
Ricky nodded, pulling his gaze from what had to be a fantastically expensive weapon. “We’ll keep our eyes open once we get farther east, try and learn what Grandpa Khan is up to.” He deliberately used the Americanism to confound any possible eavesdroppers—not that he expected any here, but one never knew.
Jadu waggled his head. “I will press my contacts as well. A personal visit from me should make them more amenable to speaking out than a note or verbal message would.”
Salim looked from the map to Ricky and Bobby. “And neither of you has a problem taking your orders from Jadu should there be a fight or some other emergency?”
“No,” they answered at nearly the same instant.
Bobby grinned, shaking his head. “We may have learned some Persian and the local lingo, but there’s no way either of us could manage in all the different languages we’re going to have to use to get this job done.”
Salim looked back at J.D. “May I ask why young Bertram is not going with them? He has learned a great deal, and seems to find languages easy to learn.”
“I am told the emperor has another task for him.” The statement was accompanied by a look that told his friends he didn’t much like the answer.
Salim must have mistook the look for anger because he said, “Meaning no offense, of course.”
John waved a hand. “None taken. It would make sense, and I asked for him, but my wife said it was not going to happen, and I take her word on such things as gospel.”
“It is a wise man that listens to the counsel of his wife,” Jadu Das said. “I, myself, would have lost my fortune many times over had I not heeded my wife’s advice.”
“Speaking of which…” Salim cocked his head. “Where is that adornment of gardens, the woman I know you must have kidnapped and held to ransom to make her accept you as husband?”
“Surat, my friend. I would not have her here should our emperor’s brothers arrive and take issue with his rule.”
Salim grinned through his beard. “Over her protests?”
“No, on her insistence. We agreed our grandchildren will be safest there under the protection of Dhanji and his wife. There is also the family business to see to, and she has a nose for deals.”
“But Surat has hardly any defenses,” John said, clearly confused.
Jadu nodded. “And they know it. Surat will go to whomever approaches it with an army, avoiding unnecessary fighting.”
That produced some thoughtful expressions from the Grantville folks around the table and a sage nod from Salim.
“But won’t that piss Dara off?” Bobby blurted, earning a quelling look from J.D.
Jadu waggled his head and answered without seeming to take offense. “It might. But then Surat serves the empire best as a conduit for trade, wealth, and Hajj pilgrims. Any long-term disruption of that trade from a sacking would prove far more problematic than a season or two of revenues going to another claimant.”
“Seems very…practical,” J.D. said. Rather diplomatically, Ricky thought. J.D. might say he was a simple, hardworking-if-ignorant hillbilly, but he was one helluva lot smarter than most people—including John Dexter Ennis—gave him credit for.
“Things will change once the empire secures deep-water ports along the mouths of the Ganges. But for now, the Assamese privateers and the outright pirates that infest Bengali coastal waters all the way up through the giant river valley of the Ganges make Mughal trade in the east a chancy thing. It’s one of the reasons Asaf Khan was sent there with so many sowar.”
And why we’re to follow in his footsteps, trying to find out just which side he will back…