Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [80]
“Mongols don’t put their ponies in stables. It was a prison, a workhouse for the European mathematicians and philosophers that the Polo brothers and the fool Marco introduced to Toqta Khan.” Feeling light-headed, Yasmeen reached for her cigarillo case. Damn it. She clenched her fist, took a breath. “But they are all dead, of course, replaced by those from within the empire. They are called the Khan’s magicians. But that word is wrong—there is no magic; it is only superstition. They are his inventors. The cleverest children are picked from the crèches and the villages, and brought to Xanadu—and of those, the cleverest are chosen for the stable.” A golden cage, much like the houses of the gan tsetseng, and those chosen were never allowed to leave. “The stable has been available to the royals, only the royals, for centuries. Their technologies are guarded like no other secret, though of course we see what they have created every day. But how does it work? So it is magic to many of those in the empire.”
“The nanoagents,” Archimedes realized.
“Those,” Hassan said. “But it began earlier: the war machines that were sent west.”
“The kraken, the megalodons, the giant eels,” Yasmeen put in. “All created when the European navies began to put steam engines in their ships, the better to take the war to the Horde empire—so the Horde created monsters drawn to the engine vibrations. The gan tsetseg, the mechanical flesh, the towers, the boilerworms . . . There is too much to name, and I’m certain that even I have not heard of it all. But all of it was theirs, all of it designed to strengthen the empire and protect the royal family.” She turned to Hassan, still disbelieving. “She destroyed the stable? She killed them all?”
“Yes. Perhaps a few were left. It’s impossible to be certain.”
All of that knowledge, the brilliance, the centuries of work . . . but Yasmeen couldn’t be sorry. That was too much power in the hands of one man.
“But of course, the truth is hidden,” Hassan said. “Temür has made certain the rebels know, but to most of the empire, the Khan’s magicians were only a story to begin with, so the tale of their destruction makes no difference. The truth about the Pretender and the sack of Constantinople has been squashed as well, and instead, Temür Agha crushed a rebellion.”
“And now you hope to crush him,” Archimedes said.
“I don’t hope for that, no.” Hassan shook his head. “If God wills it, Temür will understand that it is best for all if he steps down. For as long as he governs, the people of Rabat will not see the difference between his rule and the Horde’s—and they will always fear. But if one of our own governs in his stead . . . ? They will have hope.”
“And if he’s killed?” Yasmeen asked.
Hassan closed his eyes. “I cannot think of that. I pray that when the tower comes down, he will see that Rabat cannot be truly free until he has gone.”
Until he has gone. If he had the wrong sketch, then Yasmeen would help him along.
The older man sighed again, and Archimedes met Yasmeen’s eyes. She nodded. Yes, they had almost stayed too long—and Hassan was likely looking forward to his midday rest. She’d discovered almost everything she wished to know, anyway.
Almost. “Why don’t you drink the wine? Do you fear poison?” The corners of Hassan’s eyes creased with his smile. “No. It is because the sin is greater than the benefit.”
Yasmeen recognized those words. “So you have also taken up the old religion—as Kareem al-Amazigh has.”
“As Temür Agha did,” he corrected gently. “When trying to restore a city after two hundred years of occupation, one can’t simply erase everything the Horde has put into place—there would be chaos. The Horde’s support will be gone, and so we searched for new rules of governing, new policies . . . and the economic rules from the Qur’an were very good, very fair. They resonated with us, as they do the people—as does the faith. But I will admit, we are feeling our way. Much of the scholarship was lost, and there is still conflict in our hearts.”
“You could appeal to the scholars in the Far Maghreb,