1637: The Peacock Throne, стр. 30
John was sobered by the reminder that Talawat, genius that he might be, was still a lone man running one shop. He could never be expected to produce enough guns to make a real difference. The thought was depressing.
“Of course, I have all of the smiths of the Sultan Al’Azam’s establishment working on producing these weapons and their ammunition. It goes slowly, as I am having trouble convincing my fellows to forgo treating the steel in order to best show off the lovely patterns.”
“So, a hundred or so?” John said, gloomy.
“Of the rifles, yes. The shotguns: a thousand, perhaps more if given time.”
“Holy shit! A thousand?”
Talawat’s brows shot up as he asked for the meaning of the English words.
Atisheh coughed to cover a chuckle.
Embarrassed by his outburst, John shook his head. “Nothing, sorry. I simply had no idea you could make so many.”
“Not me alone, of course. The emperor Dara Shikoh, long may he reign in wisdom and the light of God’s good graces, has a great many artisans working for him, and I have some…small weight with them.”
“A great many?”
A diffident shrug. “Seventy Atishbaz families, their servants, and their apprentices. Not to mention the European, Persian, and Afghan tradesmen who are not, technically, members of our caste or clan. Nearly four-hundred-odd tradesmen worthy of the appellation ‘master,’ all told.”
John stifled another expletive. Even Bertram looked surprised.
Talawat looked at John in puzzlement. “Why this shock? Surely you knew the emperor for the richest man in all the world, and as such, the supreme patron of crafts, sciences, and the arts. It is only natural that he be the epicenter of all such things as interest him.”
“Guess I never thought of it that way,” John said, thinking that it was a wonder India hadn’t become the leading world power up-time. Gooseflesh rose on his arms as he considered that with such men as Talawat, and knowledge of the weapons from the future he had supplied them, they just might.
South of the Red Fort
“So, you have all the men you need, John?” Salim asked, reining in. His entourage, trailing behind their master and the up-timer, halted as well. He’d told them to stand off a bit, wanting to have a private conversation with John.
To think I now have a flock of lackeys to do my bidding!
Then, because of his time spent in the company of Mian Mir and in study of Sufi wisdom: Do not succumb to the pleasures of this fleeting world, Salim.
All things from God, to God.
“Sure,” John had said, rubbing his chin. “There won’t be enough guns to go around for a while yet, anyway. Ammunition will become the real bottleneck once we get into live-fire training.” His horse tried to sidle sideways, but the up-timer controlled him with barely a thought.
“John, I hope you’ll forgive me for saying it, but you’ve become a far better horseman these last months than ever I thought you’d be,” Salim said, smiling to overcome any insult the words might offer. Indeed, John seemed to be far more at ease than Salim had ever seen him before.
“Well, thanks. Still wish I had the Ford Mustang I bought in high school.”
“What’s that, a breed of horse?”
John laughed. “No, a car.”
“Car? Oh, like the ones in Grantville?” Salim asked. The vehicles had been insanely fast and very loud. In short, something he would greatly enjoy.
“Only faster.”
Salim’s brows drew together. “Faster?”
“I had souped mine up. My family had some history running moonshine, see…”
He shook his head, gesturing at the men Salim had kept at bay. “Never mind. I assume you wanted to talk to me privately about something more important than missing my old ride.”
Feeling the press of time upon them, Salim reluctantly agreed. Hoping his sincere desire to hear more came through, he added, “I do want to know, John. You’ll have to tell me the rest when we have more time.”
“But,” John said, smiling.
“But,” Salim agreed with a sigh. “For now: Dara assures me Talawat and the rest of his establishment are producing ammunition as fast as they can.”
“Is that where you’re taking me?” John asked, nodding at the tall berm rising up before them.
“It is. Talawat and Begum Sahib thought it wise to keep ammunition production some distance from the fort.”
John looked along the mile or so upriver toward Red Fort.
Salim joined him. It was a grand sight, with the many manors and gardens of the court spread along the river to the cleared land near Red Fort, and beyond it rose the magnificent beauty of the Taj’s proud onion dome. The umara of the courts of two great emperors had spent great sums to build ever-grander manors in the area, as proximity to the emperor was a physical representation of one’s favor, so the gardens and mansions only grew more ornate and beautiful the closer one was to Red Fort.
“Is that stone at the top?” John asked, drawing Salim’s gaze back to the berm, which John was examining with a builder’s eye.
Salim regarded the berm as well. Each one rose to a height of about thirty gaz and had a core of stone walls, either previously existing or built from rubble.
“Yes.”
“Where from?”
“Talawat used some preexisting structures to build the factory and its berms.”
“Preexisting?” The up-timer looked again at the manors to the north and south. “You mean someone’s mansion?”
“Exactly so,” Salim answered.
“What, they get tired of it?”
“No. They were dispossessed for choosing to throw their support to Shah Shuja.”
“I…see.” John looked uncomfortable.
“Such are the risks involved in any succession war, John.”
“But, what of the family that lived here?”
“This particular man is with Shuja’s army in the Deccan. His wives, children, sister,