The Ultimate Secret (7 page)

“His Highness the Sultan,” said Besim, barely disguising a grin, “wishes me to tell you that you are to be directed by both of these wise men.”

“I see. Well, please convey to His Highness that we will, of course, follow his requirements diligently.”

“I will, of course, Dr Ledgerwood. God bless your work.”

“Thank you, Besim. Good day.”

“So how do you plan to manage that?” asked Hotston as Besim led the two old priests out the loading door and back up the road.

Ledgerwood shrugged, sipping his coffee again. “I’ll work something out. Guess I’ll have to start reading the ruddy Koran now, won’t I?”

D
EAR
D
R
L
EDGERWOOD
and Dr Hotston,

Thank you for your latest letter. His Highness is pleased with the progress you are making, and is looking forward to when a demonstration can be made of the Osman machine’s intelligence and prowess to the world. This, we all believe, will be the dawn of a new Ottoman Rennaissance.

We are pleased also that you are enjoying your stay in the beautiful city of Istanbul. My wife has reminded me to tell you that we were very pleased to play host to you at dinner the other day, and that you would be more than welcome to visit our home again.

As regards the date of the demonstration. I believe I now understand the source of the confusion! You are correct, of course, that your commission started on March 24
^th
of this year, by the Gregorian calendar. And, of course, the 24
^th
of September – a week from this Thursday – would be six months later, by the same calendar. However, the date on your commission is given in the Islamic calendar, in accordance with Imperial law, and the duration of the commission is in lunar months. You began work on the 25
^th
of Dhu al-Qa’da, and thus your six months is up on the 25
^th
of Jumada I, which is this Friday, the 18
^th
September.

Fortunately, I believe His Highness the Sultan is sufficiently impressed by the work you have done that you will receive your full commission even if the work is not wholly complete. However, you must still present yourself for a full demonstration of the Osman machine’s capabilities at moonrise Friday evening.

I look forward to seeing you.

Regards,

Murat Sahin

Grand Vizier to His Imperial Highness Sultan Mehmet VII

“T
HIS IS JUST
bloody typical, you know.”

“Give it a rest, would you, Ledgerwood?”

They waited in one of the many opulent audience rooms in the Dolmabahçe Palace, sweltering in jackets and waistcoats and ties. Hotston perched on the edge of a chair, tapping his fingers on the polished teak desk by the wall; Ledgerwood paced constantly, back and forth in front of the window, repeatedly shooting his cuffs and straightening his collar.

Ledgerwood wheeled on his partner, gesticulating. “I’m just saying it’s typical. At the outset it’s all endless schedules and bottomless budgets, and come deadline it’s never bloody working right, it all costs too much and you run out of time. Who’d work in bloody analytics, what?”

“Just sit down and calm down, chap. Have a glass of water or something. Murat did say the Sultan’d pay our fee whatever.” Hotston said, then snorted. “He’ll want to, at any rate; there’s not half of it left by now. Ruddy bakshish.”

“But what are we going to demonstrate, exactly? I mean, I wasn’t daft enough to expect any actual time to test and debug, but I thought I had at least a week to come up with
some
kind of programming for the damn thing. Poor Osman doesn’t even speak English yet, properly.”

Hotston took a deep breath and poured a glass of water, from which he drank a large mouthful, and looked up at the larger man. “Look, we’ve made very possibly the smartest machine in the world. The Committee for Ethics in Analytics would never have let us make it. Osman’ll have an imagination, he’ll learn from observation and from his mistakes; he’ll write bloody poetry if the Sultan wants him to. And it’ll be
good
.”

Ledgerwood stopped pacing and threw himself onto a chaise. “Heh. He
is
pretty smart.”

“You’ve somehow satisfied those old priests that he’ll be innocent, but predisposed to obey Islamic law – and don’t bother trying to explain to me how you did
that
– and he can even make himself smarter.”

“But he doesn’t actually know anything
now
, Hotston. Maybe a hundred words of English. Can’t even play chess, yet.”

“So?” Hotston spread one hand out, with a flourish. “We make that a feature. His Highness never did let us know what he wants the machine to do. We’ll tell him we made a machine that he can teach, and guide. A child, to mould as he wishes, and to one day guide him.”

“Hmm...” Ledgerwood scratched his chin idly. “Could work?”

“We’ll even offer our services to stay here and teach it. Hell, we could get more money out of him.”

“That’s not a half-bad idea, Hotston. We’ll get him to talk to the machine, show him how curious it is.”

Hotston smiled broadly. “Perfect.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to another six months, and another six thousand pounds!”

S
UTTON,
S
URREY,
M
AGNA
B
RITANNIA,
1998

MR SAHIN STOP PLEASED TO RECEIVE YOUR MESSAGE STOP MOST FLATTERED HIS HIGHNESS HAS EVEN HEARD OF ME STOP WILL GLADLY ACCEPT YOUR OFFER OF SIX MONTHS WORK STOP MONEY SOUNDS VERY GENEROUS STOP ON MY WAY BY SOONEST STOP TRAIN DUE TO ARRIVE AT ISTANBUL SIRKECI ON TWENTY EIGHTH OF MONTH AT THIRTEEN FORTY PLEASE ARRANGE TO COLLECT STOP JANE MATTHEWS

I
STANBUL,
T
HE
O
TTOMAN
E
MPIRE,
1998

S
IX THOUSAND POUNDS.

Six thousand pounds,
for six months’ worth.

It hardly seemed believable.

“So those are the terms, Mrs Matthews,” finished the Vizier, setting down the pot and passing her a delicate china cup. “What do you think? You can still turn around and go home now, if you wish; His Highness will gladly pay your travel costs regardless.”

She fussed over her tea for a moment, adding a slice of lemon and a spoonful of sugar, giving herself a moment to gather her thoughts.

The Sultan himself leaned back in his seat by the window, regarding her. She found him hard to read; he wore a full beard and one of those red felt hats everyone wore – fezzes? – even inside, which didn’t help, but to cap it all he hadn’t spoken more than half a dozen words in the whole interview, and only one word – “Hello” – in English. Mr Sahin had spoken throughout the meeting.

“It’s
Miss
Matthews, if you please, Mr Sahin,” she corrected.

The Vizier smiled placatingly and spread his hands. “My apologies, Miss Matthews. I will be sure and remember.”

Jane straightened and sipped at her tea, reflecting. “It all seems very reasonable, to be honest, Mr Sahin. Although I am not sure it is appropriate for me to have a gentleman attendant. Besim has been nothing but proper, and seems a charming young man, but for appearances’ sake, I wonder if I might have a maid?”

Mr Sahin looked momentarily confused, but nodded. “If you wish, Miss Matthews, but I can assure you there will be no reason to concern yourself on that front with Besim.”

What a strange thing to say! “Well, I would appreciate it,” Jane insisted.

“Of course.”

She set her cup down again and shifted in her seat. The heat was stifling.

“Now, as to my pupil, whose identity you’ve so carefully avoided divulging. I assume I’m to tutor one of the Sultan’s children?”

The Vizier coughed, and looked briefly uncomfortable. “Not one of His Highness’s children, Miss Matthews. His machine.”

“I’m sorry?” Jane had been adjusting her gloves and now froze, one hand caught in the act of tugging at the opposite wrist. “Teach a machine? Teach it what?”

Mr Sahin smiled hugely and leaned back. “How to think, Miss Matthews! Osman is a truly remarkable machine, built by two countrymen of yours. He has such curiosity and such wonder! But he knows so little, and yearns to understand.”

“But – But I don’t know the first thing about analytics. I’m a schoolmistress!” She looked from the Vizier’s face to the Sultan’s. Mehmet beamed and nodded.

“You come highly recommended, Miss Matthews,” Mr Sahin said. “I have read your articles in the
School Masters’ Review
on the theory of learning and was very impressed. This is why we insisted on you. Osman does not need to be programmed; he needs to
learn
, to be guided through this world by an understanding master. And it is my belief – mine and His Highness’s – that you are the master, or mistress, for this task.”

“Thank... thank you.” Jane let her hands fall into her lap and clasped them together. “In that case, I suppose... But teach it what? What exactly is it intended to do?”

The Vizier paused for a moment, then steepled his hands and raised them to his lips. The sunlight glittered on his rings. He held that pose for a moment, hesitating, as though debating how to proceed.

“Miss Matthews, what follows must be kept in confidence, at least for now.”

“Of course, Mr Sahin.” Jane sat up straighter again, adopting her best professional mien.

He nodded, once. “His Highness has many sons, Miss Matthews, but they have been... disappointing. Court life has spoiled them.”

Jane frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. But you said I’m not here to teach them.”

“Not at all, Miss Matthews. They are all fully grown. No, Miss Matthews; it has occurred to His Highness that the strength of the Empire lies ultimately with its ruler, who must be loving father and stern shepherd to all his people. And if he wishes to leave behind him an Empire that will last forever, then perhaps what he needs is an Emperor who will last.

“A wise Emperor, Miss Matthews, who sees and understands all of his people; an Emperor undistracted by worldly matters, created and reared by the brightest, most progressive nation in the world. An Emperor, Miss Matthews, for the future...”

COMPANY MAN

You must be the change you wish to see in the world.

– Mahatma Ghandi (1869 – 1948)

M
UMBAI,
T
HE
B
RITISH
R
AJ,
1999

“S
O,
M
ISS...
” T
HE
man peered ostentatiously down at the sheet of paper on the desk in front of him, but his eyes skipped over it without focusing. An affectation, then. “...Sabharwal. Yes?” He looked over his glasses at her, smiling affably, a little absently.

“Kumari. Kim. My... my mother calls me Kim.” Inwardly, Kim swore at herself. Why had she said that?
Be professional. Speak when spoken to. Don’t waffle, don’t say any more than you have to. You need this.
She stared straight ahead, just over his right shoulder, and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. The man –
Call me Smith
, he’d said, although he was at least as Indian as she was – regarded her mildly for a moment, then continued.

“Kim? Very well. So, Kim. Why come to me? What brought you here?”

Kim shifted her weight slightly, stopped herself from crossing her arms. “Work, sir. I need work. Mother’s ill, sir, and there’s no-one else. My brothers need to stay in school. I tried to get work on the new building sites, but they said I was too small. One of the men said to come here, to ask for you. Said you sometimes had work for people... for people like me.” She bit down on another
sir
. Damn! She was better than this. She focused on her breathing, strove to remember the little meditation her grandfather had taught her.

Smith leaned back in his chair, which creaked beneath him. His belly – unusual in Mumbai, or for an Indian man in Mumbai, but then it was unusual to see an Indian man on that side of a desk at all – strained at his suit. An English suit, she thought; jacket and waistcoat.