Secrets of the New World (Infini Calendar) (Volume 2) (24 page)

Shabalesh’s grin faded. His arm shifted into a fleshy blade. “I was going to let you live long enough to gain a glimpse of the new world we’re going to create, but you have shown me far too much disrespect. Farewell, Farahilde Johanna.” He reached back with his weaponized arm and thrust it into Farahilde’s chest. She closed her eyes and steeled herself for the death strike.

But it didn’t arrive.

She heard his attack connect with flesh, but it wasn’t hers. Confused, she opened her eyes. Frederick was shielding her with his body. His arms were around her and his head rested on her shoulder. “W…Why…?”

“We are… destined to be wedded. Only natural…I protect you. No…it’s more than that. “You…saved…my life.”

“W…What…?”

“I’m supposed…to become king…of Prussia. But…too timid. Didn’t think…I had what it…took. So I was…going…to kill…myself. But I…heard…about you. Heard about…your strength. Decided...to get to…know you. If you could…have the will…to live life…to the fullest…maybe I could…too.

She had had no idea. She had believed this
boy
to be a boring nobody. She now realized he had been looking for someone to help him become a man. All this time, she had been a source of strength for him. She was the reason he possessed the will to keep living.

“Impressive,” Shabalesh said. “That anyone would have the fortitude to not only still be able to speak after inhaling the gas, but move as well. All you did was buy her a little more time, though.”

Frederick flinched slightly as the Gnostagar removed his organic blade from his back. Farahilde wanted to help him, but at that moment the only thing keeping them both upright was each other. “Sor…ry…” she rasped.

“Not for much longer,” Shabalesh said. “The poison in your system is paralyzing the muscles used to expand your lungs. You’ll stop breathing very soon. And now that it has crippled all of you—”

He wasn’t able to finish that sentence, because at that moment a knife flew out of the darkness and struck him dead in his right eye. He dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

“Not all of us,” a voice called out. Farahilde no longer had the strength to turn her head, so she couldn’t see who it was. Within moments, though, something foul-tasting was shoved into her mouth. “Eat this,” the voice said. It was Deschanel, who now wore brown American prisoner clothing. She worked Farahilde’s jaw to chew the crunchy whatever-it-was. With supreme effort she managed to swallow it.

Deschanel did the same to Frederick and the others, including George Washington and Leopold. Within a few minutes Farahilde could move again, albeit sluggishly. “What was that you gave us?”

“Medicinal herbs. When I caught the scent that was coming from this room, I knew which poison he was using. Luckily I had the antidote on hand.”

“I thought the members of
Les Ombres Impies
didn’t carry any antidotes,” Jeanne said.

“As a rule, we didn’t,” Deschanel said. There was sadness in her voice. “But I’ve always been weak. I was superstitious and carried these for good luck.”

Emil said, “You’re not weak, Commander. You get a little carried away every now and then, but there’s no one else I’d rather follow.”

Jean-Louis nodded. “Makes no difference to us if you’re superstitious. That only makes you human.”

“That’s all well and good,” Farahilde said. “But in case you’ve all forgotten, we’ve still got to close that door!” She ran to where the stones were floating in the air.

“Wait!” Jeanne called out.

But Farahilde knew time was too short to play it safe. She thought if she could just knock one stone out of place, the mystical door would collapse. With that in mind, she swiped at one of the stones with her hand—

—and received a savage jolt of electricity in return, once again sending her to the floor.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” They looked for the source of that condescending question, and found Shabalesh rising to his feet, the stiletto still in his eye. “The stones are attuned to my particular molecular signature. Only I can close the door.”

“You really aren’t human,” Deschanel conceded. “Anyone else would have been killed by a poison blade in their eye socket.”

“My species has remarkable regenerative capabilities, as I’m sure Miss de Fleur can attest to.”

Jeanne nodded. “It’s true. King Louis XVI put a bullet in the Count of Saint-Germaine, and it barely slowed him down. But your kind can be killed, a fact I demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

Shabalesh pulled the knife out of his eye. The ruptured orb quickly reformed. He casually tossed the stiletto back to Deschanel, apparently quite satisfied of her inability to cause him any serious harm. “You managed to kill my colleague because he was alone. I,” he snapped his fingers, “am not.”

Half a dozen ephemeral green lights, similar to the one which was radiating from the door, suddenly appeared. More of the Clockworkx materialized from them. “Where the hell did they come from?” Farahilde spat.

“The stones are a repository of Gnostagar knowledge,” Shabalesh happily explained. “With the power of coralite, I can recreate anything from our world.”

The mechanical men attacked, but were quickly dispatched. “Nice try, but we know their weakness,” Farahilde said.

“Very well,” Shabalesh said. He snapped his fingers a second time, and twice as many Clockworkx appeared. “Destroy these, and I’ll double their number again.”

The would-be defenders of earth gasped. “His power is almost godlike,” Jeanne said.

“If he keeps summoning reinforcements, we’ll never even get to him,” Emil said.

“Thanks for the stating the obvious,” Farahilde said, exasperated.

“He can’t possibly bring ‘em in that fast,” Jean-Louis scoffed.

Shabalesh snickered. “Oh, no?” He snapped his fingers a third time, and now there was easily two dozen Clockworkx forming a wall between himself and them.

Farahilde grit her teeth. “Dammit; what are we going to do?”

Someone put a hand on her shoulder. It was Frederick, bleeding but still able to stand. “I don’t know, but I will lend you what strength I still have.”

“Frederick…”

He shook his head. “Don’t bother yelling at me this time. My mind is made up. My strength came from you; it’s only fair some of it be given back to you.”

“Are you sure about that?” He nodded. “All right, then. I just thought of a plan. It’s reckless as hell, but it’s the only shot we’ve got.” She whispered her idea to him.

Frederick staggered over to line of mechanical men. However, he abruptly dropped to his knees. Shabalesh laughed. “I don’t know what you’re relying on that fool for, but he can’t even stand. Perhaps you want to end your life with a joke?”

Farahilde dismissed his mockery by saying, “Yes, he’s a dummpkopf. But…” She sprinted towards Frederick. She ran right into his waiting hands. Using probably everything he had left, he gave her a boost. “We
all
are!”

Shabalesh’s eyes went wide as she sailed over the Clockworkx. The automatons raised their hand cannons to fire at her, but their shots went wide.

Shabalesh turned his arm back into a fleshy spear and extended it towards her, but his aim wasn’t any better and it just grazed her right side.

As she landed, her bladed gauntlet tore open his throat. However, he was still able to grapple with her. Though he couldn’t speak, she was able to read the message in his furious eyes:
This won’t stop me!

It’s enough, she thought. She now had the foothold she needed to end this.

Behind the Gnostagar, the door began to take solid form. Faces were now visible in it, faces that were waiting to invade her world and bend humanity to their will.

It was now or never.

“I think it’s time you went home,
arschloch
!” She summoned every bit of her remaining strength and shoved him back into the door, but at just the right angle. He collided with the stones on the left side of the door, knocking them loose. A tremendous shaking rocked the room, followed by a blinding light.”

Chapter XVII: I Guess this is Goodbye

Washington, December 13, 1792 (Infini Calendar), unknown time

They woke up in a wooded area a few blocks north of the President’s Palace. “What happened?” Farahilde asked.

Jeanne rubbed her head. It was probably aching just as much as Farahilde’s. “I think…the stones were keeping Shabalesh’s house in our world. When you knocked them out of place, their link with the coralite was disrupted. That’s just my theory, though. I’m really not a scientist.”

They helped get Frederick back to the President’s Palace, and a doctor was sent for.

“What about Shabalesh?” Frederick asked as he lay in bed following medical treatment. The others assembled in the Palace infirmary with him “Where did he go?”

“Perhaps through the door he worked so hard to open,” Washington said sadly.

“You don’t seem very happy about that,” Deschanel noted quizzically.

“None of that would have happened if not for my ambition,” he said. “If I hadn’t felt it necessary to prove myself to my late mother…”

Farahilde knew a thing or two about wanting to prove one’s worth to family. “There’s no point in beating yourself up over it. What matters is that we stopped the Gnostagar invasion.”

“For now,” Leopold clarified.

“What do you mean by that?” Farahilde asked.

“We don’t know how many more Gnostagar are still in our world. They may, one day, succeed in opening the door again.”

She wasn’t worried, though. “If they do, we’ll stop them again. Even if we’re long dead, our descendants will stop them.”

Frederick looked at her. “Our descendants?”

She grinned. “Of course, you fool. We’ll need strong children to defend this world.” He looked disappointed, and she could tell what he was thinking. “Wipe that frown off your face. You’re still going to be my husband.”

“But…I thought…”

Sighing, she said, “All right, look: I know I wasn’t exactly thrilled to have you around at first. But you certainly gave a good account of yourself during our battles together. And now, I think…well…you’re not as unappealing as I thought.”

“That means she accepts you,” Leopold said.

She blushed. “Shut up, Leo!”

There was a round of congratulations, resulting in an embarrassed Farahilde.

“But there’s still the matter of my doppelganger,” Jeanne said, indicating Deschanel. “What is to become of her?”

Deschanel, ashamed, avoided their eyes.

“It was my intention to have her stand trial here in Washington for her crimes,” Washington said. “However, in light of her recent service to this country—nay, to the entire world—I will allow her to return to France aboard her airship.”

But Deschanel said, “I do not deserve such kindness. My sins are legion.”

Farahilde rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, will you. The fact you’re sorry for what you’ve done means there’s still hope for you. Don’t throw it away.”

“You have an interesting opportunity, you know,” Jeanne said. “In France you are, for all intents and purposes, Jeanne de Fleur. You have a lot of influence. You can use that influence to steer the country in a positive direction.”