Excerpt from Loot by Tania James, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Abbas presses his bony feet together, wishing he could've washed them.

"You with the yellow dhoti," says Tipu, confusing Abbas, for he had assumed his dhoti to be white. "Come forward."

As he approaches, Abbas notices a European, clad in a pyjama and turban, sitting off to the right of Tipu Sultan. The European has a long pink face that brings a mandrill to mind. His eyes are squinty and golden brown, so clear they seem capable of seeing into Abbas's thoughts, specifically the one about the mandrill. Abbas drops his gaze to the carpet, where a border of red tulips bloom, their stems leading to the circle where Tipu sits.

"Salaam," says Tipu Sultan.

Abbas bows, keeping his focus on the spurs of Tipu's leather shoes.

Tipu Sultan's face is round and mild. He has the glower of a hawk, the chin of a mouse. He lets pass a long silence.

"You are the toymaker," says Tipu, finally.

"Yes, Padshah." Abbas clasps his hands. "I am Abbas, son of Yusuf Muhammad."

"I knew an Abbas, son of Yusuf Muhammad."

Everyone knows of that Abbas, son of Yusuf Muhammad, the general and traitor recently executed by strangulation.

"No relation," says Abbas.

"But you know another traitor, I do believe. Your toys were very popular with the begum he worked for. Now we know why. She and the eunuch were in the pocket of that termite, Nana Phadnavis. What I'll never understand is why anyone would trust a Maratha. Isn't it so, Musa?"

"Indeed it is their nature," says the European—with an Arabic name?—in surprisingly smooth Kannada. "Even a Maratha will not trust a Maratha."

Tipu raises a finger. Another servant appears, carrying the wooden horse toy, the one with a painted Tipu Sultan on its back.

Abbas feels sick.

"Did you make this?" asks Tipu Sultan. "Yes, Padshah."

Tipu rotates the hand crank, studying the gallop. Abbas catches the eye of the European Musa, who is staring not at the trotting horse but at Abbas.

"This is not how a horse runs," Tipu says flatly. "You have the back legs and hind legs running in tandem, like a dog's. When a horse gallops, each hoof meets the ground at a different moment. I am an expert on horses because of my father, praise be his memory. He could have written a treatise on horses to rival that of Xenophon."

"Forgive me, Padshah."

"Your second offense is that you've made an effigy of me." Tipu points at his wooden self. "One in which my legs have been made to appear ludicrously short. This offense is punishable by death—really anything is punishable by death if I say so."

Abbas tries to plead for his life, but the words catch in his throat.

At the outskirts of his vision, the columns begin to sway.

"In spite of your failures," Tipu continues, "I see your natural capacity. So does my French friend here. This is Musa Du Leze, the greatest inventor in France. He has agreed to work with you on the making of Mysore's first automate." Tipu pauses. "You are jiggling your head but you do not understand. Musa?"

"You may imagine it as a great moving toy," says Musa Du Leze, in Kannada. Abbas blinks at them both, trying hard not to jiggle his head.

"This is taking forever," Tipu says. "Bring the gun."

Du Leze unfolds his long legs. A servant hands him a rifle, and for a moment, Abbas can feel the ghost of a bullet pierce his own chest. "Wait—" he says, putting up his hands. But Du Leze is turning the rifle around, inviting Abbas to look closely at the ornament on its sights.

"Et voilà." Du Leze, towering over him, points to a tiny bronze man pinned by a tiny bronze tiger. The two figures are marvelously detailed, such that Abbas can distinguish the boots and hat, those trademarks of the Europeans.

"You and I will make this," says Du Leze. His voice is baritone, his breath exceptionally stale. "Out of wood and to human scale."

Excerpted from Loot by Tania James. Copyright © 2023 by Tania James. Excerpted by permission of Knopf. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.