Revolutionary Magic (with Bonus Content) (2 page)

Once he was gone, I turned back to Ben. "There's no reason to think this is magic."

Ben chuckled lightly. "After all you've seen this past year? I have to admit, when anything strange happens, even an unexpected noise outside my window, I suspect a sidhe lord or a grumpkin is creeping through my hedgerow."

"The great Franklin believes in faeries? You should be worried about
your
reputation," I said.

"Temple's reputation, you mean," he said.

"Right. But why the occult when there are so many more plausible explanations? Must I lecture you on Descartes' principles of analytics?"

The stillness that overtook Ben was immediately visible. Though he didn't usually censor himself, I could tell he was holding back.

"There are other incidents you haven't told me about, aren't there?" I asked.

"That might be one way to put it," he said. "I don't want to taint your perception with my conclusions. But let's wait for Mr. Cooper to return. I sense you've hit upon an important point."

Theodore Cooper returned. His face was milky white and he had a look of pinched thought. It was almost as if part of him recognized the truth and what it meant, while the other part was still trying to work through the problem.

"What street did you encounter outside?" I asked, trying rather unsuccessfully not to let my pride fill the words.

"Chestnut and Twelfth," he said, swallowing. "Why would I not be in my own house?"

"You
are
in your house," I said. "I believe that you invaded that Quaker family's home because that
used
to be your home, two years ago."

"I don't understand," he said, looking around as if he were seeing the house for the first time. "This is my house? I thought this was the physician's."

"Sir," said Ben, "do you remember if anyone attacked you?"

Theodore tugged on his lower lip as if he were trying to yank out the proper memory. "I would have remembered something like that, I'm sure of it. But I'm not even sure why I'm here. I was putting on my clothes and then these people were screaming and a fellow accosted me with a wood axe. Have they no decency?"

Ben moved around the table and ushered poor Theodore out of the room, encouraging him to return upstairs to his wife, suggesting he should relax and not think too much at the current moment. Theodore looked rather relieved to be given such an order and appeared more than ready to carry out the mission of doing nothing, though he had to be given directions to his destination.

"An amnesiac would at least know that he was missing part of his past," said Ben. "Poor Theo seems to not even realize that it's missing."

"Deep inside he does, which means something happened," I said. "You were going to show me something, I think. Something back in the parlor."

Ben winked. "How perceptive of you. What gave it away?"

"I recognized your gunnysack, and when you mentioned magic, you glanced in its direction," I said.

"Remind me never to play cards with you," he said.

"First courting, now cards? Do I disturb you that much?" I asked with a grin.

He laughed. "I wouldn't use the word disturb." He put on his serious face. "But I should conclude the business here before the Coopers get tired of us."

"Please," I said, my curiosity awakened. "What's in the sack?" Then I caught the way he talked about the investigation in a singular manner.

"Why don't you trust me?" I said, dispelling the jovial mood.

When he looked up and paused, it wasn't the smile on his lips that I saw, but the cold calculation in his gaze. Though his face was welcoming, behind those piercing grey eyes I imagined there was a great library of information and thought, and he was reviewing dusty tomes and calculating courses of action.

He sighed, his barrel chest heaving and releasing. I recognized the tightness in him—he was holding something back.

"Temple," I said. "What's going on?"

"Can you confirm for me that you've severed all ties with the Russian court?" he asked. "Someone in the Society intercepted a message that could have only come from someone intimate with our struggles. Was that you?"

"This is Voltaire's doing," I spat back. "He's trying to cast doubt on my honesty."

Ben nodded grimly. "I trust you implicitly; however, the evidence is quite damning."

"Will you tell me what it is or am I to be put on trial, sentenced, and hung without representation?" I said.

Ben offered an open hand. "I would prefer not to at this point. But may I point out that your son's life depends on Emperor Paul's support."

"I assure you I am no one's lackey. My goals and the Society's goals are the same. And might
I
point out that my existence in Philadelphia is a secret," I said.

He gave me a reassuring nod. "That's good enough for me," he said, and though it was convincing, I heard the
for now
that was implied. "But I promised the Society that I wouldn't show you our most valuable secrets until there's consensus on your trustworthiness."

"I see," I said, a bitter anger rising in my throat like bile. "Shall I offer my teeth for inspection, turn out my small clothes to be sniffed, shave my head to remove the foul taint of being Russian?"

Ben recoiled, his eyes flinching. "Kat...you know my trust in you is absolute, but I've a promise to the Society to uphold." He paused, thoughts balancing on an uneasy scale behind his eyes. "Give it time. They'll find you as upstanding, not just upstanding,
critical
to achieving our goals. Return to the estate. I'll meet you after I'm finished here."

I sighed. If I couldn't trust Ben, I had no business being in the Society, or Philadelphia, so I nodded and collected my jacket. On my way out, I mulled his words, trying unsuccessfully to take solace in Ben's assertion that the members of the Society would eventually accept my membership.

They'll see me for who I am
.

I just didn't know how quickly that assertion would be challenged.

Chapter Two

Philadelphia was in ascension. An amicable peace between the States and England had been forged with the Treaty of the Big Waters, as they were calling it, a feather in the tricorn hat of President Washington's third term.

The streets had a tangible energy, a vibration one felt from the folks in their tailcoats and top hats, or linen coats and fur-lined hats, bustling from one location to another. Even the dirt-smudged poorer folks, the farmers and mill workers, had a bounce in their step.

The contrast between Philadelphia and Moscow was more pronounced than the difference between a free-running stallion and a yoked workhorse. In my former life at the Russian court, though I presided over and profited from my serfs, I did not mingle with them except during those rare times they were allowed to bring grievances. Here, in the capital of this grand experiment, lines between the classes blurred to confusion.

An airship hummed overhead, its wide leather bladder with dull grey struts marking it as a transcontinental traveler. Its gondola was probably stuffed with eager immigrants with nothing but desire in their pockets.

A thick-necked merchant drove past on a sleek new steam carriage, one with the newest engines straight out of the Ottoman Empire. The harsh coal smoke had the whiff of sulfur, but the merchant probably smelled opportunity.

Which was why I'd agreed to reinvent myself in this burgeoning city, and took up the cause of like-minded thinkers, even though they had not fully accepted me in their midst.

The Transcendent Society, a small and thoroughly exclusive club, consisted of the greatest minds of the Enlightenment. The Society was dedicated to furthering mankind's struggle against tyranny and ignorance.

Benjamin Franklin was its
de facto
head, having formed the Society after years of correspondence, though the real breakthrough came when he developed the alchemical powder that offered quasi-immortality. By keeping the numbers in the Society small and extending their lives indefinitely, they could help shape the direction of history without risking discovery.

Exploiting a loophole in the rules, Franklin had invited me into the club. There was a great discord from some of the other members, most notably the French writer Voltaire.

I dwelled on the political intricacies of the Society until I arrived at my destination. The Franklin Estate was a sprawling building that meandered across four lots, though at least it had the decency to put up a formal front. The entrance to the estate borrowed designs from Greek and Roman architecture, including a Greek portico with two Doric columns.

The estate had been my home for the last year, a temporary arrangement until I could acquire an abode of my own. Traveling in Europe as a princess of the Russian court, I'd grown used to leaning on friends and acquaintances for lodging, but as an American citizen, I thought it my duty to be self-sufficient.

The interior was a maze of rooms which I could leisurely wander, spying previously unnoticed treasures like the prototype of a mechanical spider with spindly wire legs that I'd seen a few days ago scurrying beneath the heating furnace. I resolved to sink my frustrations on work at his printing press, which I planned to soon take over at a shop of my own, so I could learn the trials of the fourth estate.

As soon as I strolled into the atrium, I knew something was amiss. My hand fell to my hip for a non-existent rapier as I realized a man was seated in the parlor.

The man had a large nose, bulging eyes, and a protruding lower lip, and he twitched as if pulled by invisible strings. He mumbled something under his breath as I turned to address him.

"Good sir," I said, "may I help you? Have you wandered into the wrong house? This is the Franklin Estate. I assure you it's not a place to purchase residence."

"I assure you I'm in the right house," he said with a sneering Scottish accent. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

"If you say, then, that you're in the right place, who are you? Speak quickly and I won't retrieve my rapier and swat your bottom out the door."

My misspent anger flew out with unexpected vigor. I tugged on the bottom of my jacket, cinching it around my chest.

The intruder's bulging eyes glanced out the picture window to the cobblestone street. "When is Ben returning?"

My gut seized upon hearing him called Ben rather than Temple. I instantly knew the man's identity. He was a member of the Society, one thoroughly opposed to my membership.

"You're Adam Smith," I said. "I've read your book, the
Wealth of Nations
. It inspired me to take on a profession in this second life."

Adam's lips soured as if he'd eaten a bitter lemon. He looked like a slender gargoyle, his long, bony hands gripping his knees.

"I doubt you know the meaning of work, Princess Dashkova," he said. "Royalty only knows one thing, how to take. Offering nothing in return except war and poverty."

I lifted my chin. "I renounced my claims when Emperor Paul exiled me."

"Like a man proposing after he's gotten the woman with child. The deed was done long before you made your decision. Now you've attached yourself to the Society like a parasite, which is appropriate given your royal upbringing," he said, his gaze never resting on one spot.

"A person cannot change where they were birthed, or the circumstances of their upbringing. But I heartily assure you we can change the direction of our adult lives, good sir," I said, stamping my foot on the
sir
.

Smith rose from the divan like an apparition, his dark blue cloak falling from his shoulders to his waist. He waved a bent knuckle in my direction.

"Exactly," he said, "and by those choices I will judge you."

I knew then what he meant, having been informed by Ben only an hour before that some in the Society believed I was a spy. Denials evaporated when Ben strolled into the parlor, knapsack dangling from his sturdy shoulder. He looked like an explorer returning from an expedition with a cheery whistle on his lips.

He lost the smile upon seeing the two of us at a standoff, Adam's accusing finger still hooked in my direction.

"I thought the melodramatics were more Voltaire's thing," said Ben, who turned to me and winked.

Adam blinked, his lids flashing like shutters over the bulging lens of a telescope. He pulled his cloak around himself and sat on the divan as if it were made of cold stone.

"I guess we should count ourselves fortunate, Katerina, that you do not carry that nimble rapier with you at all times," Ben said, nodding to my hand.

I shook the hand away from my body, it having cramped from being held at repose. I resolved to throw myself into a lather-inducing practice later, but bowed to Ben to show my restraint.

"Did your mysterious item unearth more truths?" I asked.

"It did," he said, his brows knitted together. "But it only suggested more questions, more mysteries."