"That I will," said Iksander Mawan, all but picking Bahbu up and carrying him out of the room. "Mirza," he said to the waiting men as he shoved Bahbu along.
Mirza rose from the bench where he sat and went to make his report.
"Never mind what you have to tell me," Firuz Ihbal said abruptly as soon as Iksander Mawan had withdrawn from the room. "The others will give me reports enough. I need you to tend to a private matter for me. And as soon as possible."
"What might that be?" said Mirza, smiling a little.
"I have a cousin who is proving a nuisance," said Firuz Ihbal in a measured way. "I have done my best to reason with him, but without success. He must not be allowed to interfere in these dangerous times. In fact, he must be prevented from continuing his reckless policies. I rely on you to find a time and place to rectify the situation— away from the palace—"
"Of course," said Mirza quickly, not wanting to hear the order aloud.
"Of course; you understand," Firuz Ihbal agreed. "It must appear that robbers did it; all his slaves with him must be killed, and his escort."
Mirza nodded, doing his best to maintain his calm demeanor. "I will need to have help to do as you require," he pointed out. "It will be costly."
"I would expect so," said Firuz Ihbal.
"My men will need to be paid for their silence," Mirza added.
"If they will not accept a single payment, you must see that your men do not live to speak of it," said Firuz Ihbal.
Mirza bristled at this. "I will not kill my own men."
"You will if you wish to continue to live to serve me," said Firuz Ihbal in a tone of such utter certainty that Mirza was shaken. "You will tend to the matter before the next full moon, and you will do all that you can to be sure that nothing is attributed to you, or to me."
"If you tell me so," said Mirza. "But your cousin may be as well-guarded as you are. I cannot assume otherwise."
"Perhaps not," said Firuz Ihbal. "But you are a subtle man, and you have been able to get around guards before now."
"And I may again, if your cousin is not suspicious." He faltered, not knowing if he should ask. "Which cousin do you wish to have… moved out of your way?"
"Murmar bin Tughluq," said Firuz Ihbal very softly.
Mirza paled. "The Minister of Taxes, Rents, and Revenues!" He shook his head. "The man has an army about him."
"Which he pays with misgotten gold," said Firuz Ihbal. "He is draining the treasury while he raises the taxes to equip the army, or so he claims. More of the money goes into his coffers than into soldiers' pay." He coughed. "If we are to be ready to face Timur-i, we must spend money now, on those things that will make us safe."
"But it is so great a chance," said Mirza. "If we do not succeed"— he dared not say
fail— "
we will be executed after torture, and—"
"If you do not succeed, you must spare yourself suffering and kill yourself, as must all your men." Firuz Ihbal scowled. "We must also slow down the departure of foreigners from the city. We need their taxes and we can use them to bargain with Timur-i if it comes to that."
Mirza nodded slowly. "Your cousin is not doing that."
"My cousin is making money from them, taxing them as they depart at a rate that rises steadily. I have supported this in the past but now I am less certain that this is as wise as I thought at first, for I assumed
many would remain to avoid the taxation. It seems now that this is not the case, for many of the foreigners are accepting the terms of departure, leaving us with only a few rich merchants to depend upon."
"But killing your cousin," Mirza whispered. "How could that make a difference?"
"It could because I will then be appointed to his post, and I will institute better policies." There was no doubt that Firuz Ihbal was satisfied with this arrangement. "I have put my plans before my cousin and he has ignored them, no matter how beneficial they are."
"And you are certain you would be the new Minister?" Mirza asked, his voice still low; he glanced uneasily about, fearing they were observed.
"I am," said Firuz Ihbal. "I have been assured I would be." He paused. "You have to do this. There will be a handsome reward for your work, and advancement as well. You will be my immediate personal protector, and that will mean privilege and favor beyond anything you have known before."
Mirza shook his head. "It will not be easy."
"No, it will not," Firuz Ihbal agreed. "Yet I am sure you can accomplish the deed in a way that will satisfy us all."
"Some will suspect you," Mirza warned him. "If you are advanced by his death, you will be under suspicion."
"There is nothing new in such suspicions," said Firuz Ihbal. "My great-grandfather, the Sultan Mohammed bin Tughluq was rumored to have killed his father to gain the throne, and he regularly ordered rebellious subjects murdered. Yet he is considered a fine Sultan, and our House still rules Delhi."
"True," Mirza conceded.
"You do not need to worry about tongues wagging. It will mean little to me once I am Minister. It should not mean anything to you, either." Firuz Ihbal motioned to Mirza to come nearer. "You should not fear this plan. It opens your future."
"Very well," said Mirza, his capitulation indicated by a slow nod.
"Excellent." Firuz Ihbal beamed at him. "I want you to begin your efforts quickly, and make them worthy of me. I will await word of your success." He motioned to Mirza. "You may depart. I will see Josha Dar next. Tell Iksander Mawan to admit him."
Mirza pressed his hands together and bowed before leaving the chamber. He found the eunuch waiting near the door. "He wants Josha Dar next."
"I will attend to it," said Iksander Mawan, waiting while Mirza started toward the side-door through which he had been admitted. "Take care not to be observed."
"I know what is expected of me," said Mirza as he prepared to slip out of the palace and into the narrow alley-way.
"Then go, and Allah show you His Compassion," said Iksander Mawan before he went to fetch Josha Dar.
A sudden, high shriek rent the palace air— Itimad was being punished. A second one followed, with a curse hidden in it.
Iksander Mawan looked steadily at Josha Dar, who was trying to walk on as if he had heard nothing. "Thus to all who would harm the Sultan," he said righteously.
"Allah is Great," said Josha Dar, his thoughts in disorder. He strove to restore his composure, and had very nearly succeeded by the time Iksander Mawan opened the door to the private audience chamber.
"There you are," said Firuz Ihbal, nodding once to Josha Dar. "Have you something to tell me?"
For an instant, Josha Dar trembled, then he touched his fingers together and bowed. "Yes, Estimable Lord, I do have information for you."
"Well, and what is it?" Firuz Ihbal asked, his tone level and his eyes hard.
"I have spoken to a pilgrim returning from Mecca, and he has imparted to me the most recent activity of Timur-i and his army." He hoped that no one else had such current news as he, for Firuz Ihbal would not look favorably upon old or inaccurate information. "He is said to be bound for Kabul."
"Kabul?" Firuz Ihbal scoffed. "No one has ever defeated those wild men. This time Timur-i will be stopped and we will be spared."
"From there, he is bound for Lahore," Josha Dar added, wincing as he spoke. "He could reach us after the dark of the year."
"If he can make his way from Kabul," said Firuz Ihbal. "You say this report is reliable?"
"A pilgrim returning from Mecca would have no reason to lie about such a thing." Josha Dar shrugged. "I can find the pilgrim and bring him to you, if you want." He hoped Firuz Ihbal would not make such a request, for he feared the pilgrim had already left the city.
"No, no," said Firuz Ihbal. "A man on a pilgrimage is not to be interfered with." He cocked his head. "What of the tales of Timur-i being killed or overthrown?"
"I have heard them, of course," said Josha Dar. "And they may be true, but that doesn't change the danger his army represents. If Timur-i is gone, he has a successor, you may be sure of that."
"So you have nothing to report that makes it clear what has become of him?" Firuz Ihbal pulled at his moustaches. "It would be better if we know."
"I will do my best to find out," Josha Dar promised. "I have also heard that your kinsman, Balban Ihbal, may be working against the Sultan, in the hope of putting Asaf bin Tughluq in his place."
Firuz Ihbal went still. "Balban Ihbal? Supports our second cousin? The man is a capable soldier, but he cannot lead Delhi, not in the face of Timur-i," he said at last, horrified at the magnitude of this treachery. "I am in charge of the army. I know which of the officers have the support of the men."
Josha Dar realized he had hit upon something valuable. "But Balban Ihbal knows the mood of Delhi. Without the Sultan here, there is a sense in the people that they are no longer protected. I believe it is the intention of Balban Ihbal to find someone who can keep the city safe." He had to go carefully, aware that Firuz Ihbal, like all the Tughluqs, had a volatile temper. "He is trying to stem the tide of people leaving the city. He wants to preserve—"
"He hasn't the least notion how that is to be done," Firuz Ihbal interrupted. "My cousin has his abilities, but he is also greedy, willing to accept bribes and to hold himself ready to serve those with the most wealth."
"It is possible that he might be pleased to help you, had you a candidate to offer," Josha Dar suggested. "You should discuss this with him."
"I think not," said Firuz Ihbal in a thoughtful tone; he changed abruptly, waving Josha Dar away. "I have a great deal to do. You have given me much to think about."
"It is my pleasure to serve you," said Josha Dar, bowing deeply.
"You also want gold from me," Firuz Ihbal growled. "Still, I will buy your diligence and your silence. If one syllable of this is heard beyond these walls, I will know who has uttered them and I will know you for my enemy." He tossed four gold coins to Josha Dar.
Josha Dar caught them adroitly. "You are most kind," he said as he slipped the money into a pouch hidden in his clothing.
"I know what is worth the price," said Firuz Ihbal. "I will need your report again in two days."
"I may not learn anything in two days," Josha Dar protested, paling.
"You had better," Firuz Ihbal recommended. "If you do not, you will have little reason to rejoice."
"Yes, Splendid One," Josha Dar said, retreating from the threat he had just received. "In two days."
"Before mid-day prayers," Firuz Ihbal added. "Iksander Mawan will admit you."
"Yes, Splendid One," Josha Dar repeated as he backed toward the door; the gold in his pouch seemed to be made of fire, for it felt as if it burned his skin. He was grateful when the door between them closed and Iksander Mawan appeared to show him out of the palace.
* * *
Text of a letter from Rojire to Sanat Ji Mani, written in Imperial Latin at Yemen and carried by Sanat Ji Mani's ship
Wave Racer
to Cambay in Gujerat, and from there by messenger to Delhi; never delivered.
* * *
To my master, called Sanat Ji Mani, living at Delhi, from the servant known as Rojire, greetings from Yemen.
We have reached this port without trouble or difficulty, and the prospect for a swift journey up the Red Sea is very good. The rains are behind us, so the seas have been fairly calm, and we anticipate more of the same. All your goods and belongings have come through the voyage without serious damage, and should continue to do well for the rest of our travels.
The place we did find trouble was Gujerat— there is great unrest there, and the belief that Delhi has become so weak that it cannot defend itself, let alone them. I would not be astonished to learn that the region has separated itself from its ties with Delhi, especially if
Timur-i comes into the region. If the Sultan is relying on Gujerat to support him, he may be disappointed, nor do I think Gujerat is the only part of the Delhi Empire that will fail to support the city. You may have to find another way to the sea than through Gujerat to Cambay. I would not think it is a safe place for a foreigner to be.
Avasa Dani has been ill for most of the voyage— the sea does not agree with her: it may be that your blood is working in her already, though she has not yet come to your life. Whatever the case, she has passed several wretched days in her bed. I have tended her as I said I would, and she has not fallen into any lethargy or taken a fever yet. Now we are on land again, she swears she will not board a ship again, but she also knows that she must.
Yemen now is not the Yemen of a thousand years ago. It is no longer powerful and rich as it was; the old fortifications are gone, and they no longer control all the traffic into the Red Sea as they once did. What they now call the Years of Dark Storms, and the Chinese call the Year of Yellow Snow, took a toll from which they have not recovered. Many cities suffered in that time, but few of them retain the scars quite as visibly as Yemen does.
