Secrets of the New World (Infini Calendar) (Volume 2) (19 page)

“Thus your last request is fulfilled. And now,” he grasped his scimitar and held it tantalizingly in front of him while he seemed to admire its sharpness, “It is time to finish our mission.”

Something suddenly occurred to Pierre, something he had been too preoccupied with these thugs to realize until now. “Wait—where is the woman who lives here? Have you done anything to her?”

Abdul Jabbar seemed disinterested in what Pierre was saying. “Sorry, but you are out of questions.”

He stood over Pierre with the scimitar raised. Pierre couldn’t believe it was actually going to end this way. After all the danger he had faced at Jeanne’s side, was he really going to die alone? It was too cruel.

Suddenly the door of the forge burst open. Abdul Jabbar swung around, scimitar ready to deal with whoever had interrupted his evil work.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” a familiar voice asked. Pierre couldn’t see very well because of the crudeness of Abdul Jabbar’s lamp, but he knew that voice. It was Jeanne.

Abdul Jabbar stared at her. “You should not have come here, woman. This is a matter between men.”

Jeanne took a few steps into the room. She wasn’t wearing her wig. “I don’t know who you are, but I know you now have a
woman
to deal with. I’m going to give you one chance to leave here before I get angry.”

“No, Jeanne! Get out of here!” Pierre yelled. These men were armed and he had a feeling they were very familiar with their blades.

“It is too late now,” Abdul Jabbar said. “I was thinking of sparing your life, woman. But you have insulted me, and I cannot abide such disrespect from the inferior sex.”

Jeanne, though, didn’t look the least bit intimidated by this Arab. “Consider yourself extremely fortunate you were not my subordinate in the Ordre. I would have utterly destroyed you had you spoken to me like that.”

“Oh?” Abdul Jabbar asked, his interest piqued. “You are the same as that woman aboard the airship?” His furrowed eyebrows gave way to a sadistic smile. “That will make killing you all the more satisfying.”

Pierre’s pulse grew in speed and intensity as he watched Jeanne’s life become increasingly imperiled with every word she spoke. “Jeanne! For the love of God—what are you doing?”

“Waiting,” she said.

“For what?”

Abdul Jabbar raised his scimitar to cut down the only woman Pierre had ever loved.

Suddenly a blur flew down the stairs to Pierre’s left. It went behind the man who was between Pierre and the stairs holding him down. The man then howled in pain.

“For that.”

The man collapsed into Pierre’s lap, dead weight. Farahilde Johanna stood over him. “Sorry I’m late,
dummkopfs
. Had to sneak in through the upstairs window. So—who’s next?”

They were all focused on her. Pierre took that opportunity to raise his now-free left arm and deliver a massive fist into the face of the other guy holding down his right side. The Arab let go as he fell back onto the floor.

“Kill them!” Abdul Jabbar yelled.

Pierre jumped to his feet.

The remaining Arabs drew their scimitars. Farahilde got between two of them who both swung their large blades at her. Pierre knew right away that was a fatal mistake; the weapons were too large to be safely wielded in close quarters. She rolled out of the way and the two men ended up cutting each other down. Dual sprays of blood burst forth, staining everything within range.

Another Arab tried to swing his scimitar at Pierre. He was too large to duck the attack, so he simply grabbed the man’s arm in mid-swing. Pierre then sent his knee crashing into his midsection before knocking him out with another fist.

“Pierre! Look out!” Jeanne yelled.

Pierre stepped out of the way as Abdul Jabbar threw his lantern at him. The lantern crashed against the wall behind him, and the Arab leader proceeded to run out of the building.

“Why didn’t you stop him, fräulein?” Farahilde asked Jeanne who was just standing there.

“Don’t worry about him,” Jeanne said. “There’s only one place he can run to, and it’s vital he be caught there.”

Pierre ran over and embraced her. “You had me so worried, Jeanne.”

“You’re a lot softer than I remember,” Farahilde teased.

“We’ve been able to live a peaceful life here, up until now,” he said. That was all the explanation he felt like giving.

Suddenly Farahilde said, “Oh, look who finally showed himself.”

Confused, Pierre turned around to see the young man from earlier—Frederick was his name, if he remembered correctly—coming down the stairs, sword drawn.

“I asked you to wait for me,” Frederick complained.

Farahilde shrugged as he joined her at the bottom of the stairs. “Not my fault you had so much trouble getting through the upstairs window.”

“I’ve never done that before.” He said it like a complaint, but Pierre thought he detected a note of excitement in the young man’s voice. He bowed his head to Pierre. “I am sorry about this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Pierre said.

Farahilde kicked one of the downed Arabs. “Who are these guys? They’re definitely not French.” Her gaze darted between the bodies and Pierre. “They look like
you
. Did Deschanel send them?”

“If you’re talking about that woman pretending to be Jeanne—well, she pointed them in the right direction.”

“You can tell us all about it,” Jeanne said, and motioned for them to be leaving. “On the way to the President’s Palace.”

Chapter XIII: You’re not Getting Away

President’s Palace, Washington, December 13, 1792 (Infini Calendar), 1:12 a.m.

George Washington sat behind his desk in the Oval Office, anxiously awaiting word from the troops he had sent to the Austrian ship to search for Farahilde Johanna and Mary Rose.

He was tired, yet too worried to sleep. The fugitives must be caught, and he wouldn’t rest until the Gnostagar stones were returned to him. He had worked too hard to realize his dreams, and he would not be stopped by petty thieves. By making contact with the technologically superior Gnostagar, he would finally prove himself to his demanding mother. Although Mary Washington was no longer alive, he would have the final say. He would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was a great man.

An aide burst into the room. “Mr. President…!”

“You had better have a satisfactory explanation for barging in without warning,” Washington said.

“Begging your pardon, sir.” The young man struggled to catch his breath. “It’s trouble. Out back.”

“Slow down, boy.” The aide took a moment to inhale and exhale. “Now, what, precisely, is the matter?”

“A strange man charged across the grounds of the Palace. We tried to stop him, but he had a strange curved blade and he cut down several guards. He had a peculiar appearance. We think he may be from the Arabian Kingdom.”

Washington was beside himself. “Good God! Where is this fiend now?”

“He climbed aboard the French airship. The vessel has been quiet since then.”

“Have all available troops surround that ship,” Washington ordered.

What was the meaning of this latest development? Were Farahilde Johanna and Mary Rose involved somehow? Washington didn’t think it was mere coincidence.

***

Farahilde and Frederick waited downstairs in Pierre’s smithy. The other two were getting ready upstairs.

Soon Jeanne and Pierre came down stairs.

“Brings back memories,” Farahilde said.

Both Jeanne and Pierre were wearing their Ordre armor and weapons. Jeanne had her rapier, and Pierre his broadsword. Except for the absence of Jeanne’s eye patch and long braided hair, it was just like old times. “Let’s go,” she said.

They marched out the door and onward to the President’s Palace.

***

“What on earth have you done?” Deschanel demanded to know from Abdul Jabbar as she sat in her chair.

He stood across from her on the bridge of the
Minuit Solaire II
. “What I came here to do: I killed.”

She wasn’t about to accept that explanation. “We allowed you to come here so you could kill a few traitors to our homeland. Instead you butcher Americans and now we may have a war on our hands. This is outrageous!”

“Watch how you speak to me,
woman
,” he spat. “If I didn’t need this airship to get home, I would slit your throat in an instant.”

Emil got between them. He stared down the vulgar Arab. “You had better watch what
you
say to our Commander. If you don’t, I will kill you and not Allah or anyone else can save you.”

“You dare speak ill of Allah?” Abdul Jabbar said. He was positively seething.

“Let’s get ridda this guy,” Jean-Louis said. He was standing to her left.

“I agree,” Emil said. “We should throw him off the ship and be rid of these Arabs once and for all. We can feign ignorance about this whole affair.”

Deschanel sighed. “We can’t. He knows too much. If he reveals our involvement in tonight’s fire, it will be war for certain.”

But then Emil then said, “He can’t talk if we kill him.”

Abdul Jabbar still had his scimitar, and he held it aloft to remind them of that. “You won’t live to regret trying it,” he warned.

Emil clutched the broadsword at his side. His armor would likely protect him against an attack from Abdul Jabbar’s blade, but Emil’s head was another story. The knights didn’t wear helmets, so they would still have to be careful here.

She gave the order. “Do it.”

***

Farahilde, Jeanne, Frederick and Pierre ran up the grounds of the left side of the President’s Palace towards the rear of the building where the
Minuit Solaire II
was (hopefully) still docked.

“Leave Deschanel to me,” Jeanne said.

“Like hell! I let you have Robespierre,” Farahilde argued.

“
You
were the one who killed him,” Jeanne countered.

Farahilde sighed. “Fine. At least let me kick her a few times when you’re done.”

“I think we’ve had this conversation before,” Jeanne said.

Farahilde grinned. “It’s a good conversation to have.”

Pierre then said, “Don’t you think it’s strange we haven’t encountered any of the President’s security detail yet?”

“Perhaps they’re laying another trap?” Frederick suggested.

“What would be the point?” Jeanne said. “No one would expect us to come charging back here like lunatics.”

“It’s called the element of surprise, fräulein.”

When they came to where the
Minuit Solaire II
was docked, they found a good two dozen guards surrounding it—as well as several spotlights. Farahilde thought Washington had come to his senses and realized she and Jeanne had been telling the truth.