Empire of Lies

69

Rasheed felt reassured.

The unexpected appearance of the first visitor had startled him. It had happened weeks earlier, in the first few days of the siege, soon after the sultan’s army had set up camp around the Viennese capital. A man claiming to be a special envoy had found his way to his enclosure and asked to be brought to him. Taymoor Agha had then introduced himself and told him what he knew. He said he’d come to warn him, and all he asked in return was for the rest of the incantation so that he could go back to the time he’d come from and remain a loyal servant of the empire.

The request had surprised Rasheed, especially coming from a man whose career—if he was telling the truth—had been based on manipulation and guile. And yet perhaps it wasn’t so surprising after all. It was evident that the man was desperate to get back to a world he was more accustomed to. And he hadn’t been mistaken in coming back, given that these new visitors—the man and the woman now standing before him—had in fact shown up, just as Taymoor had warned.

Rasheed could relax. The crisis had been averted. All indications were that this was an isolated incident. If Taymoor had been truthful, these visitors were lone wolves who hadn’t shared their knowledge with others. He felt confident that once they were dealt with, he wouldn’t have to face other uninvited guests anytime soon. He’d be free to sail into the future without looking over his shoulder.

Ever since he’d arrived and convinced the sultan of his merit, Rasheed had been careful to cause as little disruption as possible. He needed the siege of Vienna to end differently, but he had to be careful not to change things too much so that events he didn’t foresee—events he hadn’t read about, ones that hadn’t actually taken place—didn’t take him by surprise.

His efforts were about to bear fruit.

The army of Christendom and its leaders would soon be wiped out. Vienna would soon fall.

And once that was achieved, he wouldn’t need to hold back.

From that point on, everything would change. History would swerve off its path and head into uncharted territory. He’d have free rein to do whatever he wanted, without worrying about disrupting anything he was counting on, since there would be nothing to disrupt. It would all be virgin ground. He’d be able to unleash the full force of his strategy—the new weapons, the wide-ranging onslaught, the targeted assassinations—at will. He would be drafting the future in his own unique vision, forging ahead on an alternative timeline, creating a new world from a clean slate.

A clean slate that had no room for interlopers who knew his secret and could use it to unravel everything he’d achieved.

He’d heard enough. It was time to end this amusing distraction and get ready for the big day ahead.

The new world was waiting.

Taymoor’s heart sank as he watched Rasheed berate Nisreen.

Yes, of course, they’d brought this on themselves. They’d even caused him to lose a leg. But seeing them there brought a whole history rushing back, a history that was hard to erase. He’d had a lot of time to think about it all, to think about them, about what they’d done and why. And right now, watching them about to die, he felt a sudden tightening in the pit of his stomach. It was he who’d warned Rasheed about them. If his old friends were going to die, it was in large part because of him.

He hadn’t wanted it to be that way, but they hadn’t left him much choice.

He’d tried.

After Kamal had pushed him off the train, a couple of days had passed before he’d been found by a passing tradesman who took him to Vienna to be looked after. Medicine back then wasn’t as advanced as in Taymoor’s time, and they hadn’t been able to save his leg. He’d spent many weeks there, first recovering, then finding his place in that new city. He had liked it there. It was smaller than Paris, less hurried. Refreshing. He had wanted to convince himself he could perhaps set up his new life there instead of in Paris. It was a smaller pond for him to swim in. But the dread simply wouldn’t let him go.

No matter how well things were going—and they were going well, quickly, for Taymoor was no fool when it came to navigating human nature and creating opportunities—he couldn’t shake off the fear that Kamal and Nisreen could cause it all to come to a sudden end. He’d wake up at night in a cold sweat, wondering if he was still there, if the world he had gone to bed in was the same one he would wake up to.

Even though he couldn’t quite understand it, the fear had pervaded his every moment. How would it happen? Would he just cease to be? Would he even know it, feel it, or be aware of it? The more he thought about it, the more lost and fearful he felt. It became unbearable, this existential terror of sitting helplessly and hoping his life didn’t get wiped out.

Only he wasn’t helpless.

He could stop them.

The problem was, he only knew how to travel back in time. Which gave rise to a competing terror: that of getting stuck in the past. Almost two centuries earlier. In a much more primitive, savage time.

He didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t continue like that, living with a worry that was constantly souring his days and nights. He had to do something about it.

Which was why he’d come back here, choosing to arrive in the first few days of the siege to make sure he got there before them. Rasheed had listened to him, but instead of treating him as a valued guest, he’d kept him locked away with his mouth gagged to ensure he didn’t escape.

And now he could only watch as his partner and Nisreen were taken to their deaths.

Only it wasn’t to be just their deaths, he realized with a sudden panic, as the man guarding him nudged him as well.

“What?” he asked, but his shocked look was answered with a harsher nudge in the kidneys and a command to move. Taymoor resisted, calling out to Rasheed. “Your eminence, my pasha…?”

Everyone paused as Rasheed turned, his brow crinkled with mild curiosity.

“My bey, surely your man here has misunderstood your command.”

Rasheed let his question hang for a moment; then his mouth just twisted with apathy. “Not at all,” he replied casually before nodding to the deaf-mute eunuch to carry on.

“Wait, wait,” Taymoor blurted, pushing back to hold his ground. “Your eminence, surely… I did you a service,” he pleaded. “I came here to save you and to keep our holy empire safe. I did my duty as a loyal subject of the sultan.”

“And you have performed your duty admirably, Taymoor Agha. I am indebted to you, the sultan is indebted to you, the whole empire is in your debt.”

Taymoor looked mystified. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, for someone with your training and your experience,” Rasheed said, “I was rather surprised that you could make a major, major miscalculation about something so fundamental. It’s actually rather troubling.”

Taymoor’s face sank.

Rasheed wasn’t done. “You were hoping for the rest of the incantation? So you could hop off to a time of your choosing and live happily ever after?”

“We had a deal, your eminence.”

“A deal? Do you really think I would allow anyone—anyone,” Rasheed hissed, “to be out there, roaming around, armed with this knowledge?”

“But—”

Rasheed flicked his hand curtly again.

Taymoor’s pulse rocketed.

He shot a regretful glance at Kamal and Nisreen, who were watching with mounting alarm—then he lashed out.

He whipped his hand up and took the janissary by surprise, grabbing the hand that held the dagger and pushing it away while ramming an elbow up into the man’s face and triggering an eruption of chaos around him as Kamal and Kolschitzky followed suit and snapped into action.

Kamal knew what Taymoor was about to do the instant he saw the look in his face. He’d seen that look before—the untamed burn in his eyes, the recklessness to tackle threats head on. He was ready when, a split second later, Taymoor made his move.

Kamal’s focus was on two fronts: the blade no longer under his chin but still hovering close enough to inflict fatal damage to him in the blink of an eye. And the blade that could do the same to Nisreen.

He needed to neutralize both threats simultaneously.

He quickly sized up the geography—Nisreen had been standing close to him, which proved critical as he coiled up and unleashed a rapid-fire sequence of moves on both fronts, grabbing the knife hand of the man guarding him while unleashing a savage kick that caught the knee of the man beside Nisreen sideways and snapped it backward in a loud, sickening crunch.

The guard yelped with pain and fell back, allowing Nisreen to slip away.

Kamal grabbed his guard’s arm with both hands and used all his strength to swing him around onto his fallen comrade, sending him slamming into the injured man. Only the guard wasn’t that easily dispatched, and he righted himself with unexpected resilience, using his elbow to pound Kamal in the chest and push him back.

Kamal staggered back, stubbornly hanging on to the man’s hand and righting himself to keep the deadly blade out of reach. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Taymoor and Kolschitzky locked in battle with the two other men, with Rasheed still standing in place, frozen by the sudden outburst of savagery.

He deflected an attempted jab from his adversary and countered it with a punch to the man’s neck that didn’t connect full brunt. As he did, he saw Nisreen standing by one of the large poles, watching in terror.

But not just watching.

Her lips were moving.

She was reciting something.