Empire of Unreason (21 page)

that is, until now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. Newton’s final discoveries were of the animal spirit,
the force that joins the material and the immaterial. He found a
method of clothing the malakim in matter, of making them
presences in our world.”

“Indeed.” Franklin grunted, remembering the talos, the man of
metal, who had ultimately been Sir Isaac’s death.

“The Academy at Saint Petersburg found much to work with in
Prague. Two philosophers—Emanuel Swedenborg and Adrienne de
Mornay de Montchevreuil—have taken these studies to entirely new
heights. They have made engines of dark aer and fire, armies of
taloi.” He looked off into the middle distance. “When I left they
were not perfected, all of them. But it will not be long. These
soldiers of flesh they send against you—they are a prelude, a first
act. Something to keep you busy and away from your laboratory.

Your real doom is coming.”

Franklin felt very tight. All of what Euler said could be lies, but
somehow he didn’t think so. It all fit too neatly.

“Why—?” Franklin stopped, tried to focus his thoughts. “Why not
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bombard us from heaven again? Surely they have the knowledge.”

“Oh, aye—but it does not serve their purposes to do so. For one
thing, the impact at London—it changed something in the aether.

Not much and not greatly, but something, and not to their liking. It
was destructive to the world of matter, but caused at least
discomfort amongst them. Two, they suspect you colonists have a
countermeasure anyway.”

“That we do. But I did wonder. What of the airships, such as they
used in Prague and Venice?”

“Again, they fear you may have Newton’s method of unbinding the
angels that keep them in the air. They have developed flying
machines not as dependent upon the malakim to stay aloft, though
still motivated by angelic power. Why none of them has been seen, I
cannot say. Perhaps they are saving them for some future use. You
must also remember, Russia has many fronts to defend.”

Franklin took that in. “Very well. Tell us of these dark engines then.

Why don’t they fear we could dissolve them, as we might their
airships?”

“Because they are fundamentally—”

At that moment someone pounded on the door.

“Enter,” Franklin called.

The door swung open, and Shandy Tupman stood there, face drawn
and pale. “I think you’d better come out, Mr. Franklin. An army has
just marched up out of the wildwood.”

2.

EMPIRE OF UNREASON

Bargains

The ship rained a fiery liquid from the sky. They watched it spatter
against the icy fields far below.

“A pity,” Crecy said.

“It’s always a pity when good men die because their captain is a
fool,” Hercule commented.

“Nonsense,” Adrienne said softly. “There is no cause for their
deaths other than that I willed it. You cannot pretty that up by
blaming a captain who was only obeying his orders.”

“Adrienne…”

“Crecy, it was you who taught me long ago that sometimes one must
kill others to survive. Remember? When you and I fled the king’s
musketeers?”

“I remember. I remember how upset you were, how much it pained
you to take a life.”

Adrienne shrugged. “That was a lifetime ago. This is not the last
trouble we will see. By now Golitsyn, Swedenborg, and the
metropolitan know we are following them. They may suspect I
know what they are up to and that I can find them, though they
travel much faster than we.”

“Can you? Follow them?”

“I built the wheel. Some of its affinities are very particular. I can
sense its direction. It is headed east, just as we are.” She did not
mention the other compass needle in her head, the one she
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believed pointed toward her son—also pointing east. “I can set our
course. It may take us to China—it may not.” She massaged her
brow.

“Hercule—the man who was chasing us. Did you kill him?” Crecy
asked.

“No—but we managed to slow him and kill his horse. Then he
vanished.”

“Damn.”

Adrienne rubbed her forehead. “I’m going to my room. I don’t want
to be disturbed.”

She felt their gazes, puzzled and possibly disapproving, follow her
belowdecks.

She barely had the door closed before tears began streaming hotly
from her eyes. She sat on her bed, clenching and unclenching her
hands, trying to cry silently.

“Why do you cry?”

Through a prism of tears, she made out the dark shape of the
seraph.

“You lied to me,” she snarled. “I did not want to kill them, only
disable their ship.”

“As you just lied to your friends,” the creature riposted.

“Because I took the blame for murder? But it
was
my fault—my
fault for trusting you. And I don’t want them to know I can’t control
you.”

“Nonsense. I only wish to serve.”

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“Then why did you kill them? ”
It came out as something between a
shriek and a sob, but with that, her anger eclipsed her grief, and
she felt the threat of further tears subsiding.

“Disabling their ship was more difficult and less certain. I chose the
certain method, to best serve you.”

“You best serve me by following my command. But again you lie—

you do not serve me at all.”

“Again—of course I do.”

She laughed scornfully. “No. Do not insult my intelligence. For
more than a decade you creatures have encouraged my lofty self-opinion like a garden of nightshade, but I am not as stupid as all
that. You and your vassals are not my servants.

If you were, you would have aided me against the sorcerer who
attacked us in Saint Petersburg.“

“He caught us unawares. He…” the seraph trailed off, as if
uncertain.

“He serves a master more powerful than you? Someone who is
possibly your master?”

“In a sense. I could not go against him—not then. It’s best that I
remain unnoticed until my strength can be used to best advantage,
milady.”

“Don’t call me that. We will not continue this charade that you are
my servant, at least not in private. We are at best conspirators.”

Another hesitation. “If you wish.”

“What are we conspiring at?”

“I thought I was clear in that matter. To destroy the dark engines
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and the means by which they are made.”

“You said my son was key. I will not destroy my son, if that is your
implication.”

“I will not ask you to.”

“No? But what if you and I
do
have a difference of opinion? What
then?”

“Let us hope that does not happen.”

“But if it does—it is
your
will and not mine that keeps our ships
suspended in the air, that prevents our freezing to death, that
defends us against our enemies. A will that may prove fickle if I
become obstinate against you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for being honest. But I also see, my good and trusted
seraph, that there must be something you need from me, or you
would not bother with this whole charade.”

“Desire, yes. Require, no. Your cooperation will aid my cause, but
not assure it or wither it by its absence.”

“We shall see. As you say, at the moment our purposes are one.

When they cross, do not expect that I will capitulate to you merely
because I fear dying. I do not.”

The seraph folded its six wings, and its multitude of eyes blinked
like inconstant constellations. “As you say, Adrienne.”

She shrugged again. “Are you like your simpler servants— nameless

—or do you have a name?”

“Men name us. We do not name ourselves, even those of us who
were born unique, as I was. If you wish me to have a name, I will
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accept one.”

“Very well. I name you Uriel.”

“Uriel,” the seraph repeated.

She stayed in her rooms until almost sundown, reading about
China, discovering many curiosities but nothing that suggested why
her son might have been there—if, in fact, he ever
had
been there,
which she was beginning to doubt. The people in her vision might
just as well have been some variety of Tartar. Given the fact that
Russia had been resettling all manner of such people on the new,
western coast of America—and given that the course Swedenborg
and Golitsyn seemed to be following drew a line ever farther north
of Peking—that seemed a more reasoned guess.

She had been unable to contact any of the Russian outposts on the
American continent, nor even those in eastern Siberia, either by
aetherschreiber or magic mirror. It suggested— along with the
tsar’s disappearance and the course set by her stolen Ezekiel wheel

—that the colonies were in unfriendly hands, Russian or otherwise.

Which suggested, in turn, that a trip to Peking might be wise, for
the Chinese might have some intelligence of the matter.

Of course, the Chinese did not answer her queries, either, though
she had brought the magic mirror that was supposed to
communicate with them.

Bored with reading, bored with thinking, bored with sulking, she
went back on deck.

She found Crecy on the poop deck, fencing with Lomonosov. Their
blades gleamed a dull gold in the fading light.

Elizavet, in fur-trimmed cloak of deep red, watched with evident
delight. Linne and Breteuil, who might have been watching at some
point, were certainly not now, but were instead gazing into each
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other’s eyes.

Adrienne took a seat next to Elizavet.

“What a wonder!” the tsarevna said. “To see a woman do that. And
so well.”

“There are few who can best her.”

“Poor Mikhail cannot,” she observed.

Adrienne, who had often seen Crecy fence, could tell that she was
barely exerting herself. As they watched, the redhead raised her
smallsword and stood
en garde
—sword extended, blunted tip
pointed more or less at Lomonosov’s heart. She advanced toward
him, crabwise yet somehow elegant. Like a dancer.

Lomonosov swooped his blade up at hers and came forward. The
steel he meant to beat aside, however, was no longer there. Crecy
had twitched her blade in a small circle, and his attempt to control
her blade failed utterly. Lomonosov, still coming forward, was in
the process of impaling himself on her still-extended weapon. He
stopped, blushing furiously, as Crecy’s tip tapped him lightly above
his heart.

“Always be sure you have my blade before you come,” she said.

“Always.”

“I will try to remember.” He set himself back to
en garde.
They
danced back and forth a bit, and this time there was a somewhat
livelier play.

“So long as Crecy is disposed to give lessons, Elizavet, why not have
her instruct you?” Adrienne asked.

“I doubt very much my father would approve of that.”

“I doubt it as well. But things have never been quiet between you
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and him.”

“That’s true. It might be worth doing merely to make him angry.”

Her face fell a bit. “If I ever see him again, that is. Do you really
think he is dead?”

“I spoke with Menshikov. He admits that he has had no word from
the tsar since he left Peking; but, contrary to what Golitsyn
claimed, I really don’t think Menshikov has had any word of the
tsar’s death—only of his silence.”

“I don’t know,” Elizavet said. “Menshikov—he likes ruling Russia.

Could he—mightn’t he have arranged for something to have
happened to my father?”

“I do not like Menshikov very well,” Adrienne said, “but I know
something about him, I think. He loves your father fiercely. I think
it impossible that he would turn on him. I think we have far more
likely conspirators in Golitsyn and the metropolitan.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Elizavet said. “I have the same opinion, but
I know—yes. I do know, despite what people think—that I am naive
in matters of politics.” She huddled a little deeper into her cloak.

“How is he? Menshikov?”

“Resting comfortably. Soon he will be up, about, and making
trouble. I’m sure that in the end I will regret having saved him.”

“Really?”

Adrienne smiled and shook her head, but she was really only half
joking. Menshikov still considered himself the tsar’s surrogate. He
would probably try to seize control of the expedition. It was a battle
she would win, one way or the other, but she did not look forward
to having to wage it.