The Shadows of God (27 page)

The chant broke off. “She wakes,” someone said in French.

Her eyes, stung to tears by the smoke, cleared again, and she saw an Indian sitting near her. He was handsome, in an alien sort of way.

“Adrienne?” That French was better.

“Veronique?”

THE SHADOWS OF GOD

“It is me. How do you feel?”

“How long have I slept?”

“You have been in and out of a fever for almost two weeks. You nearly died. I nearly lost you.”

She wanted to ask where she was, but she feared another conversation like she’d had with “Nicolas.” Instead, she touched her throat. “I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get water.”

A second later, lukewarm water splashed in her mouth. It tasted good. Crecy touched her forehead.

“Your fever seems to be gone at last,” she said cautiously.

Adrienne surveyed her body. Her left leg was in splints, and her ribs ached as she drew breath. She wondered how she had been traveling. “What of the others?” she asked.

“Hercule is dead.”

“I remember.” Words clotted on her tongue for a moment, then she went on.

“The others?”

“More than half the crew, actually. Your students all survived— Elizavet included—and Father Castillion. Some of your, guard was killed, fighting these Indians.”

“They are our enemies, then?” She glanced up at the Indian.

“They fired on my people,” the Indian said. “My people killed them. If their guns had stayed silent, they would still be alive.” —

“Who are you?”

“I hesitate to give a name to someone as powerful as you. Suffice to say I am a THE SHADOWS OF GOD

sorcerer, something like you. We fought the Sun Boy together, though I was confused about the matter at the time. He survived, by the way. His army follows us, by perhaps two days, perhaps three. I am still too weak to tell.”

“Follows us to where?”

“To your kinfolk. To New Paris.”

She fumbled in her memory for such a place, came up with nothing.

He saw her confusion. “It was once named Mobile,” he offered. “The chief city of Louisiana.”

“Ah. Why do we go there?”

“Because we have matters to attend there, you and I,” he answered, and with that he stood and strode away.

“They have treated us well, but we are captives,” Crecy explained. “What he says about the soldiers might be true. It might have been a misunderstanding.”

“Most of my guard gone, no djinni left to serve me. It’s as it was in the beginning, Crecy.”

“No. You have me. You have Linne and Breteuil and Lomonosov. They want to see you, but I have kept them away.”

“But I have no way to protect them. The Queen of Angels is dead.”

“Good. Then perhaps Adrienne can live again,” Crecy said.

“I’m not sure I — ” But Crecy wouldn’t want to hear that. “How badly am I hurt?”

“A broken leg, cracked ribs. You lost a lot of blood, and then the fever set in. It seems now that the fever is gone—you will be well soon.”

“Well? What does that matter? Unless you defeated Oliv—” She broke off. The THE SHADOWS OF GOD

Indian was back.

He rubbed his chin. “The Sun Boy defeated both of us, and his army is a few days behind our heels. But I think there is still a way to win. Here.” And he pointed at her hand.

“Not anymore,” she said. But she remembered the creature in her dream and what it had said.

“I think you are mistaken,” Red Shoes said.

“You are the one mistaken, if you think you can talk to her like that,” Crecy snapped.

A faint frown creased his brow, and he looked away, almost as if he hadn’t heard her. Then he sighed. “My apologies. You have just awakened. We do not have much time, but it can wait until we reach New Paris. If we reach New Paris.”

“I thought we were ahead of the army. What would prevent us?”

“We are ahead
of part
of the army. Several airships flew over and let troops off between us and our destination.

“Must we go around them?” Crecy asked.

The Indian smiled disconcertingly. “I thought we would go
through,”
he said.

8.

THE SHADOWS OF GOD

Brawls and Battles

This gets worse and worse,“ Thomas Nairne muttered, peering through the spyglass. Below them, the frigate
Dauphin
rocked gently. They had come out here to check the mines and nets, and to sound for Russian underwater craft.

They were not far from land — in fact, they were well under Fort Conde’s guns

—but it was still dangerous. Franklin was nearly certain his modified aether compass would warn them of the underwater boats as it warned of aircraft and warlocks, but he could not be entirely certain. Nor could he be sure that the stuff he had invented to make them rise like corks in the water hadn’t been proofed against by the Russian philosophers.

But what they hadn’t expected was this—sails and puffs of steam on the horizon.

Franklin peered through his own spyglass to confirm it. “A small fleet,” he said. “Men-of-war under steam. But no airships.” Franklin grunted. “Let’s hope our minefield will trip them up, and the nets ought to get any of the amphibians.”

“It will for a time, but most mines are sunk deep, to trip up their devilish underwater boats. We’ve had no report of sailing ships.”

“We’ll have to reinforce the fort,” Nairne said grimly. “All the commanders we have worth anything are out at the redoubts, awaiting the inland attack.

Damn.”

Franklin’s heart sank. He needed more time, just a little more, but the malakim weren’t going to give it to him. The troops on the northern frontier hadn’t moved yet, and Nairne was reluctant to attack them first, using the interval for more defensive works instead. And now they had three fronts—two armies and a fleet—poised to crack New Paris open like a nut.

“Well, we must do our best,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Nairne said, his voice rising. “And, by heavens, our best may be better than we thought.”

THE SHADOWS OF GOD

“What do you mean?”

“They’ve run up colors!” Nairne exclaimed. “The lion of King Charles of Sweden, the winged lion and crescent moon of the Janissaries and Venice—and, by all that’s holy, our own Commonwealth flag! Oglethorpe managed it, by God! He warned the Venetian fleet!”

Franklin felt a surge of joyous hope but kept caution wound as tightly as he could. “Could it be a trick? If the Russians killed Charles and took his ships, they might try sneaking in under false colors. We’ve heard nothing from them.”

“We shall see, soon,” Nairne commented. “They’ve sent out a longboat. Shall we send our own to guide them in?”

Franklin hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”

“Margrave Oglethorpe, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Franklin said, smiling.

Oglethorpe, despite himself, shared a reluctant grin. “It was more touch than go, but here we are, with allies.”

“So I see. Is Charles with them?”

Oglethorpe chuckled. “He wanted his turn in the amphibian boat. He took a company to Apalachee territory, where we had word some Russian troops had landed. God willing, he’ll be done with them quickly. How are things in New Paris?”

They outlined the situation quickly.

“So you’ve need of a general, then?” the margrave asked lightly.

“Sir, we do indeed,” Nairne replied.

“Good. I’m damned weary of this nautical stuff. If you’ll clear me a way, I can have my men ready to fight by sundown.”

“That’s not soon enough,” Nairne said, “but we’ll make it do. God bless you, THE SHADOWS OF GOD

sir.”

“Let Him bless us all. We shall need His best wishes,” Oglethorpe replied.

* * *

Philippe threw a small celebrabratory dinner for Oglethorpe and his men that night, outside on what passed for a hill, a sandy open place overhung with live oaks grown in fantastic shapes and hung thick with Spanish moss. Two Indian fiddlers played and sang, and the wine, which Philippe had previously been necessarily stingy with, flowed freely. Toward the end of the evening, Franklin found himself facing Oglethorpe across a popping fire. Next to him sat the coal-black Unoka, and between them they were telling the story of the battle of Fort Marlborough.

“And Unoka, here, disobeyed my orders,” Oglethorpe said. “Not so, General,”

the African said. “You never order me not’t” do it.“ ”Do what?“ Voltaire asked.

His gaze cut a little toward Franklin, but the ambassador would not meet it.

Whenever Ben saw the Frenchman, he felt that odd lump of shame and betrayal.

“We were in the spur of the fort, which is, in a way, its own fort. I expected to make a siege out of it, while
Azilia’s Hammer
went to ” safety, then on to find King Charles.“

“You expected to die,” Voltaire said…

“I did not,” Oglethorpe said. “I intended to fight my way back over the wall, then run fugitive back to Azilia and then here.” He smiled grimly. “But I’ll concede the chances of doing so were not good. In any event, the moment came, and the rest of the fort started to attack us. But imagine my surprise when there were fewer than fifty of them, and only one airship.”

“Then the fort was not garrisoned as you thought?” “Oh, that it was. Better, even. Near two hundred men. But our friend Unoka here had taken five of his men and slit the throats of nearly all while they slept.”

Franklin felt acid rise into his mouth, and for a moment fought to retain his THE SHADOWS OF GOD

dinner. Who were these men who could talk so casually of such things? Who were these walking knives he called companions? He saw a similar look cross Voltaire’s face, and despite everything suddenly felt a deep kinship with the Frenchman. Voltaire, after all, was an author, a philosopher. Of all those assembled here, he and Franklin were closest.

“We had the one airship to deal with, but a lucky shot remedied that.”

“T‘ general, he jumped from the wall, and shoot’t” pilot from one yard!“ Unoka guffawed.

“The stuff of epics!” Philippe shouted a little drunkenly. “I shall need a court poet to compose an opera based on this, or some such.”

Privately, Franklin could not imagine epic heroes cutting throats in the dark of night. He tried to imagine himself as a young soldier in the Pretender’s army.

He would not—could not—know who his ultimate masters were. He would think he was fighting for a just cause. Perhaps he was prepared to die, yes, but at least imagined he would meet death on his feet, like a man, not gutted like a fish in the middle of a pleasant dream.

But war wasn’t for men, was it? It was for fools. And fools deserved no better than what they earned.

He shook himself away from such uncharitable thoughts. Theirs was a just war, perhaps the
only
just war. If he expected to win it without any tarnish on his soul, then
he
was the fool.

“Mr. Voltaire? Would you be my court poet?”

Voltaire put on the wry grin he wore so well. “Last time I composed something about your court, I was guested in the Bastille.”

“That was my father’s court, not mine. And I am not the man —or the king—I was in Paris.”

“I will consider it,” Voltaire told him, “though at the moment I already have a commission.” This time he looked quite boldly at Franklin, before turning his THE SHADOWS OF GOD

gaze back toward his feet. “Nor am I the same man I was in Paris. I have little poetry in me now, I fear.”

Oglethorpe cleared his throat. “I’ve heard it rumored, sir, that you were in London when she was destroyed. That you stayed behind to try and warn the court there. You are a hero in your own right.”

“Hero?” Voltaire’s haunted gaze rose up again. “What should I have done? I cannot know. But what I did was not the right thing.”

“Tell us, Monsieur,” Philippe said. “This may be our last night for such stories.

Tell us your tale.”

Voltaire was silent for the space of fifty breaths, then he sighed. “We could not make them listen, of course, and were nearly arrested for trying. Mr. Heath, a student of Sir Isaac and my companion, hit upon a desperate plan. The comet, we knew, must be guided to London by some sort of attractor, a device with an affinity for that hurtling stone. If we could find it, Mr. Heath thought we might possibly reverse it.”

“Reverse it?” Franklin heard himself say. “You mean hurl the comet back into the heavens? That was only days, perhaps hours, before it struck. It was an impossible task.”

“We did not think we could hurl it back into the void,” Voltaire said, “but even a small deflection, a small alteration of course, might have landed it in the sea.” He clasped his hands as if in prayer. “We could think of no other plan.”

“But you did not find it.”

“No, we did. Mr. Heath had the resources of Newton at his disposal, and made a detector. We found the device. But it was ringed with French spies, and they took us up. They clapped irons on us and put us in a galley bound for Barbados.”

“Barbados?”

“We never reached it, of course. The comet fell, and the waves came. It was all THE SHADOWS OF GOD

darkness and motion for us, and at last water. The hold was filling, and a jailer with a heart tried to set as many of us free as he could. I was one, but before we could reach Mr. Heath, the ship was shattered. I had his hand; I felt him go down. I had the jailer’s keys, but could not find the lock on his chains —and then rear took me, and to save my miserable life I left him. I clung to wreckage and ended on the shore of Normandy, almost dead.” He shook his head. “I am no hero. I am a coward of the worst sort.”

“You lived to fight another day,” Oglethorpe said gently.

“You would not have done it. You would have sunk to the very bottom with him, given your last breath to save him. I did not.”

Franklin pushed a stick into the flames. “I knew Heath. He would have been furious if you had died in a vain effort to save him. And no man here can say what he would have done — only what he might hope to do, which is not the same thing.”

“That was well said,” Oglethorpe replied.

Voltaire looked back at Franklin, and this time their eyes met, not in contest but in commiseration. Then the Frenchman nodded.

“And remember what your mentor Leibniz was wont to say.”