Empire of Unreason (9 page)

“Half right,” Franklin said. “When Blackbeard ruled here, he freed the slaves to undermine the rich planters and landgraves who opposed his rule—armed and formed militia of them, even. They remain free, but few have the right to vote, for few own enough property. They threatened to rebel some five years ago, however, and won the right of one representative in the Assembly.”

“Bravo,” Voltaire said.

“Agreed. And you note that few of them are here cheering. Under British rule, EMPIRE OF UNREASON

they were slaves and they know many in this colony would see them so again.”

“Here’s my uncle,” Robert interrupted, waving at an approaching figure.

“Hello there, Governor.”

“Good day, gentlemen,” the fellow replied. “Quite a spectacle, eh?”

“Did you know of this, Governor Nairne?”

“Not a bit of it,” Nairne replied, doffing his hat to wipe his brow. He was a few years beyond middle age, his hair, unpowdered, the color of iron. “I wish I had, for I might know more what to expect.”

“But it is the Pretender?”

“I would use caution with such terms, these days, Mr. Franklin.”

Franklin shrugged. “A word to the wise is sufficient,” he said.

“If that’s so, you’d best say a few more words, Uncle,” Robert quipped.

The governor, grinning, turned to regard Voltaire. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, sir.”

“Voltaire, at your service.”

“An old friend of mine,” Franklin clarified. “He came across with the Pre—with the Stuart.” „

“Oh, ho. Then perhaps you can enlighten us?”

“I don’t know much about it,” Voltaire admitted. “I was on a Dutch ship that sailed to Ireland and there mysteriously turned English. ”Tis there we took on our noble passenger. But there was much worry of spies aboard, and I felt that questions might have me swimming for reasons of health, so I curtailed my curiosity.“

“Were there other ships or just the one?”

EMPIRE OF UNREASON

“That’s the odd thing. I heard reference to other ships—a “fleet" I once heard it called—and yet I never saw another sail.”

“Hmm.” Franklin frowned. “Is Holland still protected by the Muscovy tsar?”

“If that is the word you chose to use. Little is done there without some word from Saint Petersburg. What do you suspect?” Robert asked.

“Nothing certain, Robert, but perhaps you ought to run see who you can get up from the Junto. Use the device we built for the detection of aerial ships, and for aegises, for that matter.”

“You think the king has teeth with him?” Robert asked.

“I would not be surprised.”

“He hardly seems to need them,” the elder Nairne observed.

“He could not know that, though, could he? If he knows anything, he knows that the colonies ran Whiggish, what with our more than fair share of dissenters. Perhaps he prepared for a less-than-welcoming reception.”

“I’ll see to it, I suppose,” Robert said. “When you’ve seen one king, you’ve seen

‘em all; and I’ve seen more than I wish.”

“Well,” the governor said, “Mr. Franklin and I don’t have such a luxury. I’ve been asked to gather up the Assembly members to stand at the steps and welcome His Majesty.”

“Surely we need not call him
that
yet,” Franklin protested. “There’s been no vote on the matter.”

“Better to be safe. If the vote goes for him, then we don’t want to be remembered as having been ungracious.”

“Right,” Franklin assented. “Voltaire, you will stay at my house, of course?”

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“I would be delighted.”

“Matters may keep me occupied for a time, but I trust you to entertain yourself.” He clapped the Frenchman on the shoulder. “And I
don’t
mean with my wife.”

At the steps they found all of the members of the South Carolina Assembly; but to Ben’s surprise, he noticed six members of the Commonwealth Parliament as well.

“When did
they
arrive?” Franklin asked Nairne. “The Stuart docked today, with no word ahead. How is it that these fellows are here already? There’s William Thackery, from Virginia, and Ted Walker from Maryland—James Coleman from New York, for God’s sake…” His words trailed off as he and Nairne exchanged knowing glances.

“Tory Royalists all,” Nairne said.

“And so
someone
knew James was coming, didn’t they?”

“I would have to guess so,” Nairne allowed reluctantly.

They shuffled into the ranks, and Franklin placed himself across from Thackery, the representative from Virginia.

“How fortunate that you happened to be in town, Mr. Thackery,” Franklin ventured.

“I do consider myself fortunate, Mr. Franklin, to welcome the king to American soil.”

The man’s smug demeanor struck a nerve. Disregarding Nairne’s advice, he smiled thinly and said, “I see you’ve voted for all of us and crowned him already.”

“The king is the king,” Thackery replied dryly. “Whether you call him so is not to do with voting but with patriotism.”

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Franklin, keeping his smile glued on, bit his tongue. Literally.
We ‘ll see about
that, you dandified, prancing ape,
he thought as, in the distance, trumpets and drums struck up a martial tune.

Up Broad Street marched a procession the like of which the colonies had never seen, and which Franklin had hoped they never would see.

He knew his feelings were not shared, however. Around him, the crowd stirred and rustled, but remained hushed, as the first redcoats appeared, and the banner of the white rose on a red field. And there, in the front, on a white stallion, rode James.

He looked like an equestrian statue, bolt upright in the saddle, shoulders thrown easily back, shining black boots pressing in the stirrups. He wore a hat

—not the ubiquitous tricorn, but a broad-brimmed thing cocked on the side, plumed with white feathers, like a cavalier from the last century, like his uncle Charles in the Restoration. His coat was of modern cut, wide-pleated skirts hanging long, and yet baroquely encrusted with gold braid and lace, again recalling earlier days. Next to him, on matching horse and in duplicate clothes, a boy of perhaps twelve years smiled at the crowd—his son, no doubt. Cavalry followed in their train, red-coated infantry, Irish dragoons, and Highlanders in smart, dark, tartan kilts, great basket-hilted claymores nearly dragging the ground. Even to Ben’s skeptical eyes, it was a splendid sight.

And someone shouted, “Hurrah for the king!” and the cheers broke like a sudden wave on the rocks, hurling up, churning louder. As James entered the square, the crowd surged in, though smart-looking fellows in snowy coats kept them gently at bay, as white flowers—most made of paper— showered upon him. He smiled—a bright, ivory-toothed smile—and waved, making the crowd roar the louder.

Franklin was mute, but even he felt the tug—a powerful urge to weep, almost, with joy. It was as if, suddenly, the world was as it should be, as if no comet had ever fallen upon London, as if the years of hardship, famine, and war had never been. Almost, he lifted his own hat high. Almost. Instead, he merely put it under his arm.

James pranced his horse right up the statehouse steps, so near that Franklin could have touched him, and there dismounted, raised his hands to embrace EMPIRE OF UNREASON

the cheers, but eventually beckoned for silence. When a hush settled on the crowd, he spoke in a fine, clear voice.

“People of England!”

There was a fresh chorus of “hurrahs” at that, but James kept his hand up, and they quieted more quickly than before.

“People of England, the English Commonwealth in America, I am touched by your welcome. Many years I have dreamed of this moment, of this day when I might offer up my life to you, to reunite us all, all of us happy Englishmen once again beneath a single banner. I cannot tell you how filled with admiration I am at what you have accomplished here, these past years as I have struggled elsewhere. You have been a credit to our lost mother, and to all of our fathers, and to the God almighty who made us, every one! Bereft, you have made for yourself a government, as legitimate as ever one was, in the absence of a true king, and done it peacefully. And so I do not come here because you are without governance or sense—for being good Englishmen you have both. And I do not come here to claim anything. I come here only to offer you something: the blood of the Stuarts, and my heart and my soul, and everything of me that is England! And if you will have me—and I say only if you will have me, by the vote of your own excellent parliament—I will sit on the throne that has been given you by God to fill as you choose!”

And the air split with a nearly deafening cheer, and once again Franklin felt an insidious, unwanted joy. James looked so handsome and clean, so promising.

Re felt
like a king, by damn, and the soldiers around him looked like soldiers, neat as pins. It was hard not to be glad.

Franklin expected more speech, but to his surprise, the address was over.

James waved a bit more, and then—at Nairne’s invitation—stepped inside the statehouse. As the crowd cheered on, page boys in white coats passed among the representatives, giving each what turned out to be an invitation; and to the delight of the crowd, handfuls of these were also passed amongst them.

A tall, redheaded man in rich garb stepped up to where James had stood a moment before and raised his hat—a cavalier’s hat, much like James‘. “If y’

please!” he shouted, in a thick but intelligible Scotch accent. “While His Majesty regrets that there is no room for ye all’t‘ dine with ’an, he much EMPIRE OF UNREASON

wished to convey his thanks for this warm reception. An‘ so I wish ye all a merry evening!”

As he said this, three wagons drew up in the square, and burly men began unloading huge pipes of beer and rum, sides of beef and mutton, and sweets.

In very short order the square became a carnival. Franklin shook his head in reluctant admiration. James Stuart certainly knew ways to the hearts of men.

“There you are, my dear,” a soft Bohemian accent whispered in his ear. He turned to discover Lenka next to him, clad in a gown of silk brocade. He blinked in astonishment.

“Wherever in the world did you find that dress?”

“As if you don’t know,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t you think I look good in it?”

Franklin smiled. “Why, my dear, you would look good even without a dress.

Especially
without a dress. But that gown does, in fact, suit you. Did you borrow it from Mrs. Nairne?”

Lenka’s brows knit together. “You mean to say you did not have it sent to me?”

“Indeed I did not.”

An I-should-have-known look crossed her face briefly. “Then who?” she asked, voice suddenly cool.

Franklin glanced out over the party. “I’ve a feeling I know,” he said.

The feast in the statehouse was more refined than the one outside, but did not lack for hearty food, which came out, it seemed, by the ton. The first service was birds—grilled partridges brushed generously with butter; duck with a honey glaze and skin so crisp it crackled at the touch;
galantine
of chicken—that is, the whole skin of a chicken enclosing layers of deboned fowl, veal, ham, and truffles. A steaming, fragrant capon pie with leeks.

EMPIRE OF UNREASON

The second service was heavier. Mince pie, charred racks of lamb, roast beef, suckling pig with a sweet quince sauce, beef with cucumber.

Franklin found himself wondering where all the meat had come from; not from Ireland, that was certain. Had the king’s ship reprovisioned elsewhere?

That might explain how the representatives from the more northerly states had come to be here. But no, surely he would have heard. The members of his Junto were everywhere, and they would have sent him word instantly via aetherschreiber. Unless they had first gone to the Caribbean…

But that made no sense, either. What was most likely was that the king had bought the meat
here,
in Charles Town—or that it had been provided for him.

And Lenka’s gown? If fit her too well. It had to have been made for her, by a seamstress who already knew her measurements.

He noticed that the wives of some of the other representatives were dressed in new clothes as well. It all seemed mighty elaborate to have happened in a single day.
Someone
in Charles Town had known that James was coming for some time.

And then another, much more worrying thought occurred to him. What chance that the presence of the warlock yesterday was mere coincidence? The way Franklin saw it, no chance at all.

He chewed that thought with his food, raising his glass with the toasts, but more interested by far in who was making them. Governor Nairne made one, but he was, of course, expected to. The others, to a man, were well-known Tories.

“Your pardon, sir, but are you not Mr. Benjamin Franklin?”

Franklin blinked. The fellow speaking to him was straight across the table—one of the king’s men, in his colors, a fellow of perhaps thirty-five years, looking faintly silly in his high-piled periwig.

“No need to ask pardon for knowing my name, sir,” Franklin replied, “for it flatters me. Unless, of course, you are the king’s police agent, and my name appears on your list of troublemakers.”

EMPIRE OF UNREASON

“No, indeed,” the fellow replied. “You are written on another list indeed, and a rather short one: perhaps the only student of Sir Isaac Newton’s in the colonies. I daresay, from what I have heard, that you are the foremost philosopher in America.”

Franklin smiled. “That is not unlike being the foremost man on Mr. Crusoe’s island, I’m afraid,” Franklin replied, modestly.

“The inhabitants of Venice think otherwise.”

“Sir,” Franklin said, “your list, however short, appears quite detailed. And still I do not know with whom I am speaking.”

“My apologies. My name is Alexander Sterne, and I flatter myself that I have some education in natural philosophy and mathematics. So as you might guess, I have been somewhat anxious to meet you.”

“How fortunate for my ego that you were seated near me,” Franklin remarked.