1637: The Peacock Throne, стр. 34

Studying for her next move, and hoping to distract Smidha, Jahanara asked, “And how certain are we of this identification of the leadership?”

“As fully as one can be on such things. Two separate sources confirmed it and a third mentioned suspicions to that effect…”

“And do they know we have identified them?”

“Your move, Begum Sahib,” Smidha said. “In answer to your question, it is doubtful.”

“While certainty would be comforting,” Jahanara said, making the move she considered the least detrimental to her game, “comfort in such matters is a sign we were being deceived.”

“Exactly so, Begum Sahib. Discomfort and uncertainty are the bywords of intelligence work.” Smidha grinned and made her move, seemingly without thought.

“What is it, beloved Smidha?” Jahanara asked, eyeing her opponent, and then the board, with suspicion born of long experience.

The smile broadened. “Oh, nothing.”

Jahanara took another handful of ice and pretended to throw it at Smidha.

Her servant sniffed, unmoved, and said, “Truly, Begum Sahib, it was only this: our familiarity and acceptance of those conditions of uncertainty and discomfort are inherent in what it means to be a woman and therefore, it seems to me, must give rise to women’s supremacy in such work.”

“Supremacy? Such a strong word,” Jahanara said thoughtfully. She tossed the chips of fast-melting ice back in the bowl and preemptively waved a slave back to his position when that worthy thought to replenish the bowl’s contents. Privacy was far more important to her right now than the temperature of her drinks.

“Oh?” Smidha prompted.

Jahanara shook her head. “It seems too broad a generalization. Perhaps it would be better to say that we inmates of the harem are trained by our experiences while those who are not immured in such circumstances have less experience to learn from and trade upon?”

Smidha considered. “It is difficult to say, as those not in these circumstances who are also close to power are not easily found in all the wide world.”

“Unless they are from the USE, I suppose,” Jahanara said, thinking of Monique, Ilsa, and Priscilla. “Or until, like Nur, we are beyond our child-rearing years.”

“Even then, proprieties must be observed,” Smidha said, smoothing the fringe of the pillow she reclined on.

Jahanara did not miss the sign. She glanced again at the board, but realized she was beaten in three moves or less and decided Smidha’s reaction had to do with something more important.

“What is it, Smidha?”

Smidha’s good humor disappeared, replaced for an instant with a feral intensity Jahanara had last seen in the Garden of the Taj. “More than anything, Begum Sahib, I want to roll up this spy network like so much betel and burn it to ash. I want it, and everyone who threatens you, burned to the ground, made into ashes that can be placed in the sacred river and carried to the sea.” Smidha’s hands had curled into claws by the time she’d finished speaking.

Jahanara nodded, allowing the anger and heat of Smidha’s outburst to pass without accepting it, wanting to make sure her advisor and ally was fully aware of her will when she chose to speak it.

The older woman’s experienced, agile mind recovered from the fit of temper quickly enough, leading Smidha to bow her head respectfully and mumble an apology.

Jahanara ignored the apology to focus on the problem. “What you propose is a mere trimming of leaves. I want to uproot the brush, root and all, and slay those wishing to gather any harvest from it.”

Smidha waggled her head. “I understand the desire to keep them in play, b—”

“It is not simply a desire, Smidha. It is necessary. All our hopes for the future may come to rely on a very few things, who knows what and when: the up-timer weapons, the strength of our resolve, and whomsoever earns that most precious of commodities—the blessings of divine favor.”

Smidha, pale now, looked away.

Jahanara sat back. Giving Smidha another moment cost her nothing but time. She even made her move, knowing it was futile.

Smidha’s eyes, following Jahanara’s hands, fell on the board again.

“Your will, Begum Sahib…” She let her words trail off, and made the move Jahanara knew she would.

“But?”

A tremulous smile. “Not so much a ‘but’ as ‘new thoughts occur…’”

“Oh?” Jahanara said, ceding the game by laying her emperor on his side.

“Amar Singh Rathore,” Smidha said, picking up the pale jade horseman she’d captured earlier. The piece Priscilla said came to be called the knight in that future which was not to be.

“What of him?” Jahanara knew the young Rajput umara’s reputation for prideful arrogance, but he had been nothing but supportive of Dara’s rule.

Smidha reached across the board to Jahanara’s remaining castle, placing the sowar beside it. “Your brother must send Amar Singh south to garrison Asirgarh.”

“Why?” Jahanara asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because he is as prickly as that new fruit from the Americas, what is it called…pineapple…yes, pineapple, that the court has enjoyed these last few years. Yes, prickly, and like to give offensive wind at the least opportunity.”

“And?”

“And if Dara were to publicly give him an independent command as important as Asirgarh, it will swell his head with even more pride. That pride will tie him to our cause with chains forged of strongest steel yet he’ll feel only pleasure at the recognition and responsibility received, not the collar we have placed around his neck. And here, at home, your brother will have one less potential headache.”

Jahanara cocked her head. “But, why send him to Asirgarh? Why not to Gwalior?”

“Because Gwalior’s zamindar is headstrong and still resents the way Shah Shuja and Aurangzeb snubbed him while pursuing Shah Jahan’s campaign to the south. If Dara were to replace him, who knows which way the man would jump, and who he might back out of pure spite. Besides, Asirgarh is far enough away for both the semblance of independence such men crave and distant enough for Dara’s general peace of mind. And, if common opinion and his own words on the subject are to be trusted, Amar Singh is at least a