In a barn outside the capitol, the Sultan Azlan watched intently as the head of the Guild of Weaponeers crawled over the War Car. The man alternately chuckled and hissed between his teeth as he sketched parts, turning assemblies this way and that for several hours. Finally he descended from the vehicle and bowed deeply.
"Majesty, this is a remarkable device and I deeply regret to advise you that there is no one in all of Azerbaidistan who could possible repair and maintain, let alone build such a thing. Obviously, as the Black Squadrons demonstrated, it can be operated but once something breaks down, and as with all machinery something will, it would be useless. However, I do have good news. If we disconnect it from the steam pipe that powers it, the rapid fire gun on top will be easy to make!"
The sultan smiled, his brows knit in calculation. "Then, Master Habib, we could mount them on light artillery carriages and draw them with horses?"
"Indeed, my Liege. It would greatly increase the firepower of our forces. Give the Guild a week to properly design the carriages and caissons and our cavalry and dragoons should be able to sweep any enemy from the field of battle like beetles from the barn floor."
Azlan's grin broadened, showing white teeth against his sun-darkened face. "Then do so at once! My Vizier will stall the British ambassador long enough for you to copy and replace the gun before we hand the car back to them. And so we will kill two birds with one arrow. Our military will be stronger and our relationship with the English will be warmer. Having so mighty a sea power as an ally will be very helpful, now that we have the Georgian port cities, at least until we can develop a coastal fleet of our own. And since border clashes with the Ottoman slime are inevitable, it will be well to have so fearsome a weapon deployed at the earliest opportunity. Well done, Master Habib, very well done, indeed."
Outside the barn in the shade of a large tent, Afsoon and Fasira reclined on pillows and sipped tea. Their vests and pantaloons had been exchanged for caftans more suited to women of the court but their scimitars still hung from bandoleers over their shoulders. The weapons, though, did not give them great confidence. Four dragoons from the Black Squadrons sat at the corners of the pavilion. Though they chatted cordially with the women, Afsoon noticed that the men bristled with revolvers as well as their swords and kept carefully out of range of attack, should the women be so foolish as to try one. Obviously they were on guard but whether they were guarding the woman from outsiders or outsiders from the women was impossible to tell.
When the sun reached its apogee, a change of guard appeared and with them servants bearing sashlik and fresh fruit. Afsoon and Farisa shrugged. There was no point in going hungry and since it was unlikely that they would be allowed to go looking for something to eat, they accepted the meal and set to it.
They had just finished the halva when two men approached them from the barn. One could only be the sultan. No other man in Azerbaidistan walked as though he owned the land around him and wore the landscape like a cloak. The other seemed unworthy of notice. The guards rose to their feet with serpentine grace and bowed. With only a moment's hesitation, Afsoon and Farisa rose to one knee and bowed their heads. The man's projected personality required it.
Azlan stood before the two of them and placed a hand gently on each head. "Rise, daughters."
Farisa stammered, "D—daughters?"
"Indeed, young Nubian, one who campaigned so bravely with my own daughter can only be her sister." He took them by the hand and helped them to their feet and led them back to the barn. Silently he walked them around the War Car to where Captain Al-Hassad stood patiently at attention.
"Captain, tell me again the whole story of how you acquired this amazing device."
The captain repeated how the women had rescued his outnumbered patrol, how they all came across the War Car and its slaughtered crew and then how they led the charge from inside the War Car so that the brigands were scattered like straws before a storm. The sultan listened without a word until he completed his tale.
"Captain, the Dragoon's Deputy Commander lost his life in the final assault on Poti. I would promote your battalion commander to replace him but have been unable to decide who to take that position. I now know,
Major
Al-Hassad, who has the right combination of daring and initiative. Well done." He turned to the two young women, "And as for my daughters, my valiant, valiant daughters, how am I to respond to what you have accomplished?"
Afsoon and Fasira shared a glance, "We would join the Black Squadron, Father. Let us join with those who protect you and further your empire."
Azlan guffawed. "And no doubt you hope for positions on the Major's staff? Word has come to me of the attraction the three of you have for each other. However, I must refuse. Though the Black Squadrons are warriors above warriors they can, when necessary, be replaced. What you two may be capable of, cannot. Mahmood!"
The non-descript man standing behind the sultan stepped forward. Afsoon gave him a puzzled glance and then froze when as she looked him in the eye. Never in her life had so many layers of person looked out without revealing the innermost layer.
The sultan continued, "It is a father's duty to find suitable husbands for his daughters. It may take time to find such men so for the present I am sending you to the
harim
of Director Al-Bezier."
Director Al-Bezier? The head of the Secret Service all of Azerbaidistan wanted to know as little about as possible for fear of attracting its attention? "Father, no! We have just only escaped from the clutches of that swine of a general Risay. Surely you will not send us back into that life again?"
Afsoon tore her eyes away from Mahmood's and looked at her father's. He, too, seemed to be a man of layers. The outside was the sultan, ruler of all he could see but beneath that was a father, a proud one. But at the core was resolve.
"Daughter, know this. You are of royal blood. Others believe this means a life of power and privilege. It does not. We who rule are born for the kingdom, live for the kingdom and too often die for the kingdom. The kingdom is everything. What we want for ourselves is meaningless; there is only duty. I send you with Al-Bezier for two reasons. He is my subtlest and most cunning of servants and has much to teach you. Also, he is beyond my most trusted servant, beyond any brother and as such is the only man on the planet I would entrust you to. Go with him. Learn. The kingdom will eventually have need of your bodies and what they can do but more importantly it will need your brains. Go."
"Father?"