1637: The Peacock Throne, стр. 37
Vikram held the torch aloft as his master knelt next to the wounded man and asked a question.
Ricky couldn’t hear the answer, but at a gesture from Jadu, the guards picked the wounded raider up and carried him toward Jadu’s tent.
Jadu stood and walked among the other men Ricky had shot, examining them.
“What are you looking for, Jadu?” Bobby asked, wading into the river to clean himself.
“I hope to discover who sent them,” Jadu answered, an odd expression on his face as he stopped what he was doing and watched Bobby.
“They’re not bandits?” Ricky asked.
Jadu waggled his head. “Perhaps. But using horses and boats in such a well-coordinated attack speaks of more organization than we normally see from bands of criminals, especially here where there are more regular patrols by police on both river and road.”
Bobby pulled his shirt off and started to weakly pull at his pants.
Jadu looked more uncomfortable, made a nervous gesture with his hand. “Could you…come out of the water?”
“Need to get clean…” Bobby paused a moment, his expression thoughtful, then asked, “Why?”
“There are a number of snakes in these waters and along these shores. If they should bite…That will kill you very quickly.”
Bobby’s eyes went wide enough the whites were visible in the torchlight. He appeared to levitate out of the water and to shore, looking to Ricky like nothing so much as a cartoon character running for his life.
Stifling a laugh, Ricky turned away. When he could keep a straight face he turned around only to find his friend shaking, eyes darting from the river to the ground at their feet.
“Who do you think it was?” Ricky asked, as much to distract Bobby as get an answer.
Another waggle of the head accompanied Jadu’s reply. “Could be the local zamindar out to pilfer goods because he knows he’s not likely to be investigated by the emperor’s men any time soon. It could also simply be someone opposed to the emperor’s rule…It is difficult to know.”
“The wounded guy know anything?”
Jadu glanced after the man and gave a very Western shrug. “He might tell us something should he wake before we leave tomorrow.” He returned his gaze to the two up-timers. “You should rest. We must leave earlier than I planned when we made camp.”
Bobby nodded, worry and illness leeching the color from his expression, even in the torchlight.
“Why the hurry?” Ricky asked, worried that Bobby’s condition would worsen without rest and easy access to clean water while on the move.
“If the local zamindar was involved in this attack, he may decide to complete our destruction and thereby guarantee there are no witnesses to interrogate if the Sultan Al’Azam or local governor gets around to ordering an investigation.”
“I’ll be good to go,” Bobby said, bravely trying to mask his discomfort.
“I will arrange for you to ride in a litter at our next caravanserai, my young friend. In the meantime…and with your permission, I will use some of the opium we just purchased to make a remedy that I hope will prove helpful in arresting your digestive distress.”
“Anything,” Bobby said. It said a lot about how badly he must feel that he so readily agreed to take the drug that both young men had such a healthy fear of. It made Ricky feel bad, knowing he’d had fun at his friend’s expense.
“I want to thank you for all your help and guidance,” Ricky said, wishing to change the subject and acutely aware the older man’s precautions, planning, and commands had been the difference between losing most of their goods—not to mention their lives—in the raid and suffering the minor losses they had.
“Thanks are not necessary.” A small smile transformed the man’s face. “At least not yet. We have not yet met with success, and to accept your thanks prematurely may call the disfavor of the gods upon us…”
He and Ricky helped Bobby up, and together they walked to the tents.
Chapter 13
The Deccan
Red Tent, Shah Shuja’s camp
The drums rolled on as Shuja’s wazir announced Aurangzeb’s arrival at the court of the emperor.
The court of an emperor, at any rate.
Aurangzeb did not allow the irony of the thought to change his carefully neutral expression as he came to a stop before Shuja’s tent. Such would not be prudent, given the fact he was beyond the assistance of the bulk of his army and deep in his brother’s power. Besides, smiling made him appear even younger than he naturally did, something he had long cultivated a calm and disinterested demeanor in order to combat. Further, he had expended much effort and treasure to gain this audience. Indeed, his fresh agreement with the Portuguese viceroy had provided Aurangzeb with the one thing Shuja could no longer do without: supplies for his host. Food and fodder enough to last them a few months, at least. So, however much he disliked most music, only a fool would follow the investment of treasure and time with a display of ill temper over such a trifling thing.
Aurangzeb did not count himself a fool.
Dismounting, Aurangzeb examined his older brother. Shuja wore an impressive robe sewn with pearls, rubies, and emeralds, and had a large diamond in his turban that twinkled in the early-morning light. His cheeks were flushed, whether with wine or excitement or a combination of the two, Aurangzeb could not say at this remove.
For his part, Aurangzeb had chosen his wardrobe very carefully: a simple robe of dark silks that would stand in contrast to his brother’s ostentatious display and a taqiyah of red and black he’d fashioned for himself. The only jewel to adorn him was affixed to the hilt of the dagger that rode at his belt.
The drums stopped. After a long pause, the echo from