Age Of Unreason - Newton's Cannon Part 20

Ben did not think he could run faster, but he did, charging up the slope. And then he was on the bluff, looking down at the dark nothingness. He hesitated for just an instant too long, lungs burning, feet slipping at the edge of the unseen cliff. He realized stupidly that he still held his device. Lightning struck near, a bright flash and a sound like boards slapping together in his ears. The hair on his nape stood up, and heat blazed close. He shrieked, tripped, fell to his knees, and then all the noises met as the horse pounded to a halt behind him. Slowly, Ben stood and turned.

Bracewell was watching him, no more than ten paces away. His kraftpistole, still glowing red, was pointed at him.

Bracewell chuckled. "Some boys are incorrigible," he said. His eyes glinted beneath the brim of his hat, perhaps catching the glow of the misty phosph.o.r.escences flitting about him.

"You killed James," Ben said, surprised to find his voice so strong.

"He would have died anyway, in time," Bracewell said reasonably. "Still, he might have lived out his natural span if he hadn't had the misfortune of being the brother of a boy who doesn't do as he is told."

"I hate you," Ben snarled. "What right have you, to... to-"

"To what, Ben? It isn't a matter of rights, you stupid boy, but of power. I have the strength to do what must be done, that is all."

"But why? Why?"

"I prefer not to answer that, Ben, for it would be a waste of breath. And then if I told you, I would feel compelled to tell John before I killed him."

"John?" Ben gasped. He had forgotten all about John.

"Of course," Bracewell said, gesturing grandly with the kraftpistole. Ben knew his last chance when he saw it. His lantern-like device was already pointed in Bracewell's direction; he raised it and slid the trigger out, a tingle racing up his arm even as he tossed the thing away from him. He closed his eyes and threw himself flat on the ground, but even so he still saw the flash of white flame arcing between the kraftpistole and his invention. The horse shrieked.

Ben rolled backward, and s.p.a.ce opened up below him as he spun head over foot. He tore through a screen of briars, bounced off the lower slope of the bluff, and then hit something that slammed all of the breath out of him. He tried to draw breath, knowing that he must have broken something.

But through the pain he also felt a vicious feeling of triumph. The projector had worked! In his dream Bracewell had carried what Ben guessed to be a kraftpistole; if the weapon had been anything else, all of his effort would have been wasted, and he would be lying dead on that bluff. He pulled himself carefully to his feet. Miraculously, a brief inspection seemed to prove nothing was shattered. The smell of burned flesh and hair suddenly reached him.

And then, incredibly, against the faint luminescence of the sky, a lean shape rose up unsteadily.

"d.a.m.n you," it gasped distinctly. Bracewell should not be in pain; he should be dead from his weapon's uncontrolled discharge. But Bracewell stood above Ben, and the lean, long claw of his sword snicked from its scabbard.

The bluff was bordered even at high tide by a mucky slope of soil and stones. Ben ran like a mad animal, tripping and falling until his palms were torn, until his knees were battered and bleeding. Before, he had been afraid of death; now he was afraid of something worse, something he could not name. But it stumbled along the ridge behind him, eyes glowing, surrounded by familiar spirits.

The bluff sloped downward, but he seemed to be moving faster than Bracewell. Now the lights of the copper works on Barton's Point made wrinkled footprints of radiance on the Charles River. Halfway to the point was the small quay where he had last left Mr. Dare's boat, just below the man's cottage.

At last Ben reached the boat, beached as he had left it. He fumbled at the rope, cursing the knot and the blood from his hands that slickened it. He could see nothing behind him, but the very darkness felt sharp to him, and he flinched, imagining the long blade sliding into his body.

The rope came loose, and, sobbing, he pushed the boat. It would not move. He stumbled to the stern and began to heave, his feet sucking in and out of the muck.

The boat jolted forward; he redoubled his efforts, and it slid out farther. He kept pulling until he was almost waist deep and felt the keel float free. Splashing around, he threw both arms up over the edge of the boat and tumbled in.

"Who is that down there?" he heard someone shout from up the sh.o.r.e. "Who is that mucking around with my boat?"

Ben glanced up frantically. There was Mr. Dare, a black shadow against the open doorway of his house. In the same instant, Ben saw the pale, flitting lights that accompanied Bracewell.

Words froze in Ben's mouth. There was no time to put up the sail and precious little wind. He grasped one of the oars and fitted it into the lock. The first footstep splashed into the water. Panic took him, and he cried out and began swiping at the water with the single oar.

"Leave my boat alone!" Mr. Dare shouted, as Ben worked frantically to seat the other oar in the lock. The boat suddenly jerked, a pale hand gripping the stern; there, in the darkness, he saw Bracewell's awful eyes. Hardly aware of what he was doing, Ben stood, lifted the free oar, and brought it down on the hand, then swung it again with all of his might and felt it strike Bracewell's head. The man fell away. Ben swung a third time and slapped water, overbalanced, and fell. Only the mast kept him from falling into the bottom of the craft. Breath gurgling in his throat, he locked the oar, sat down, and rowed with all of his strength. As he paddled, he stared frantically back toward sh.o.r.e. Mr. Dare was still shouting from his doorway when something at the water's edge rose to eclipse him.

"Mr. Dare! Flee!" Ben shouted hoa.r.s.ely, rowing all the harder. He did not slow even when he reached the channel and the current began to carry him along of its own accord. The tide was going out, rushing seaward. Behind him, the lights of Boston- and the dreadful shadows they cast-dwindled.

Dreams of Queens

"Queen?" Adrienne blurted. "That is absurd."

Crecy merely smiled. "You may have heard of our sister, Crecy, and you may not have," Madame de Castries said. "She is one of our secrets. I first met Mademoiselle when she was eight years of age, in 1706. At the time, I was Madame's lady-in-waiting." She indicated the d.u.c.h.ess.

"Which was when we became acquainted and I joined the Korai," the d.u.c.h.ess put in, casting an admiring glance at Castries.

"Indeed, in that year, the duke, Madame's husband, came home one day with the strangest tale of a little girl who could see into the future."

The d.u.c.h.ess interrupted. "My husband is always being fooled by charlatans," she confided. "His interest in both science and the dark arts makes him gullible. He had made the acquaintance of a certain gentleman from Vienna who claimed to see the future in a gla.s.s of water." She screwed up her face in distaste. "The duke was at the time having an affair with that wh.o.r.e, La Sery, and they were at her apartment. This magician said he needed an innocent girl to look into the gla.s.s." She gestured at Crecy. "Mademoiselle had the poor fortune to be in the charge of the wh.o.r.e at that time."

Castries took the story back up. "The duke had the sense to test the method of the Viennese gentleman. He challenged Demoiselle Crecy to look into the gla.s.s and see the nearby apartment of Madame Nancre, and he then sent a man next door to confirm what the little girl had seen-the room's occupants, the position of the furniture, everything. Crecy was correct in all particulars." Castries rubbed her hands absently, as if they pained her. "When this came to my attention, I myself investigated, and quickly discovered that the gentleman from Vienna was indeed a charlatan, but that our dear Crecy here was not Over the years, her prescience has proven itself infallible. Nine years before the king cheated death by using the Persian elixir, Crecy saw the entire event."

Adrienne had kept her eye on Crecy throughout the strange story, but the young woman betrayed little emotion at this description of her abilities.

"When she was old enough," Castries continued, "she was introduced to our secret order."

Adrienne faced Crecy squarely. "And you have foretold my marriage to the king?"

Crecy nodded. "Yes, Mademoiselle. I have seen the ceremony, seen you standing together before the archbishop. There is no doubt."

"There must be doubt," Adrienne returned furiously. "I might refuse."

Castries stared at her and then grimly shook her head. "You must not refuse, Mademoiselle de Montchevreuil. You must marry the king."

"Why?"

The d.u.c.h.ess answered. "Maintenon, as you know, was never one of us," she said. "Indeed, never even knew of us. But my mother, the king's mistress before Maintenon, was. When my mother was mistress, the Korai, through her, had his ear- though of course he never knew that. Now we do not."

"Is it all so simple?" Adrienne asked. "Is that all that concerns you, having the king's ear? For two years I have heard nothing from the Korai, and now you have me kidnapped so that you can tell me I must destroy my life, abandon all that I love, to give you a hand on the throne?"

"You have not heard from us before," Castries retorted, "because this marriage was seen almost two years ago. If there are those who know of the Korai, we did not want them connecting the future queen to us. That is also the reason for your 'abduction.""

"I would have been subtler, had I the leisure, my dear," the d.u.c.h.ess of Orleans interjected. "I had planned a very different meeting. But after the murder of the dauphin and the attempt upon the king's life, it became impossible to approach you without suspicion. And Torcy is suspicious even so, is he not?"

"Torcy knows of my interest in science," Adrienne said, "and that your husband placed me in the Academy of Sciences."

"And what will he do about it?" Castries demanded. "It is not illegal, merely unseemly. Never mind all that," she said. "Know you this, Adrienne; though we did not contact you these past few years, we have done what we could. It was the d.u.c.h.ess here who through her husband provided you with your apartments at the king's library and brought you to the notice of Fatio de Duillier."

"So you said," Adrienne retorted weakly, "and yet, you seem to imply that even that was less for me than because you would have me to spy upon him."

"You are being selfish," Crecy said softly in a way that silenced the other women. Adrienne turned once more to regard her remarkable eyes. "There is a blackness descending upon the world, a pall, and you are bound up with it. Do you remember when you first became a Korai, when you were just a girl of nine?"

"I remember," Adrienne retorted. "Did you see that, too?"

Crecy ignored her and went on. "Do you remember our oath? It was not merely an oath to pursue the knowledge our hearts desire, though that was part of it. It was more even than an oath to the other Korai, to help and love our sisters in Athena. There was also a third part, my dear sister. Do you remember what it was?"

Adrienne looked down at her lap. "To preserve," she muttered.

"Yes," Crecy agreed. "And yet you seem to remember only the first part of the vow."

"I thought myself abandoned," Adrienne snapped. "I thought I had been excommunicated without ever being told! How could you expect me to hold on to such a vow-" She caught herself. She had not wanted them to see the anger she had nursed for so long.

"And now you know that you were not."

"Now I know only that you need me. You speak of some great darkness, but that means nothing to me. You speak of 'preserving," yet what am I to preserve?"

"Humanity," Madame de Castries said quite calmly. "Life."

Adrienne found herself at a loss for words for a long, dark moment. "By marrying the king, I preserve humanity?"

"I have not seen it all," Crecy admitted, "only bits and pieces. But that coming darkness comes, to some extent, because you opened the door. And you must help to close it."

"This is nonsense," Adrienne blurted. "Excuse me, Madame Marquise, Madame d.u.c.h.ess, but I am a servant of science, of mathematics, and what you speak of here- these are a child's superst.i.tions, bogeymen. When did the daughters of Athena lose their faith in science and the masterful G.o.d revealed by science and return to the black arts?" She heard her own words, each like a drop of venom flicked from a serpent's fangs. She had found her sisters in Athena, but it seemed her words would quickly drive them away. All humor had drained from the face of the d.u.c.h.ess of Orleans, and Castries' features were stone.

Then Castries replied sternly, "You love equations, I know. You trust them. Very well and good. But there are equations in this world so complex that only G.o.d can comprehend them, and when we are faced with them, our only tool is intuition. It is my intuition that to pa.s.s through this darkness, we shall need you at the king's side. Sacrifices must be made," she continued softly. "Marrying the greatest king in the world is not the most painful sacrifice one could render."

Adrienne remembered that being the queen had brought Maintenon misery. Being married to the Sun King was a sentence that Maintenon would not have wished upon any person, despite the fact that she had truly, deeply loved Louis. Adrienne did not love Louis.

But Castries was right.

She looked at the waiting women. "I do not know what Fatio is working on, but I shall detail for you what I do know, so that perhaps more learned minds than mine may puzzle at it. I believe it is to be some sort of weapon. Is there time for me to write equations for you?"

"I think so," the d.u.c.h.ess replied.

"As to the king," Adrienne replied, "if he asks me, I do not see how I can refuse. But I tell you this frankly, my ladies, I will pray every day that he does not ask me."

"You had best pray quickly then," Crecy said, a hint of sorrow in her melodious voice, "for I believe he will ask you tonight."

Adrienne closed her eyes.

"If you can see all of this," Adrienne asked Crecy, "why can't you see what Fatio is working on? Why can't you see what will happen in these dark days you speak of?"

Crecy's lips curled in a vicious smile. "When I was young, I could see what I was asked to see. With each pa.s.sing year, my mastery grows less certain. It is my curse, now, mat I can never see what I want to see. Only what G.o.d wishes me to see."

"Or perhaps the devil?" Adrienne returned.

"G.o.d or devil," Crecy whispered, "it is always the truth, and it is rarely pleasing."

The carriage from Marly arrived around two hours later, accompanied by thirty of the Hundred Swiss, four pistoleers, and ten mounted carabiners. Adrienne watched them pull into the gates as impa.s.sively as she could, concentrating on the details of the entourage so that her gaze would not wander to the pair of corpses laid out in front of the chateau. They were supposed to be her kidnappers. One of them was certainly dressed like the man who had threatened her with the kraftpistole, but she knew that the body was not his.

At the head of the Hundred Swiss rode Nicolas, his face drawn and doleful. His arm hung in a sung, and he rode unsteadily. "Milady," he began, as soon as he dismounted, "I can never apologize for allowing your capture." He bowed his head. "I am sorry," he murmured in a tone that wrung her heart. She wondered if he would hate her if he ever discovered that his shame and injury had been incidental details in a grand performance.

"You own no fault in this, sir," she replied loudly so that all could hear. "I would rather that the rogues had murdered me than see such a brave man as you shamed."

"And I would rather have died than that they should have touched you at all," he answered Adrienne flashed her smile brightly. "But then who would guard me now, sir?"

He bowed again and escorted her to the carriage, handing his horse to one of the pistoleers.

Once they were both inside, the procession started. Nicolas sat speechless.

"How badly were you hurt?" Adrienne asked after a time.

"I would feel better if I had been hurt more badly." He smiled ruefully. "As it happened,

a bullet grazed my shoulder. Then something... I don't know. It felt as if all the light were sucked out of my head, and then I knew nothing until I awoke."

"Grazed? Then why do you wear this sling?" Adrienne asked.

"It was the bone that was grazed," Nicolas admitted. He paused. "I hear the king is livid."

"Don't worry, Nicolas, I shall speak for you."

"Lady, I meant only that the king is very worried about you." He looked out the window and said softly, "'Many were afraid that you might be murdered, or worse.""Well, I wasn't," Adrienne replied.The carriage b.u.mped along quietly for a moment, and then Nicolas turned back to her.

Something hard and bright glittered in his eyes, something both terrible and wonderful.

"I will only say this, milady," he began, "that if another man lays hand on you without your desiring him to, it will only be because I am dead and G.o.d has received me and locked me away so that I cannot throw myself from heaven. I would forsake even salvation to prevent your being accosted again."

"Hush," Adrienne murmured. "Hush, Nicolas." Her gaze locked with his for a long moment, and she felt as if she were falling from a great height "You don't understand," he said finally.

"No, Nicolas," she replied. "I think that I do."

It was quite dark when they reached Marly. Adrienne was told that she would be received at the king's bedside before sleep.

Despite his best efforts, Nicolas had fallen asleep in the carriage. Another guard told her later that he had neither slept nor eaten since her abduction.

On the way to the royal chambers she and her escort pa.s.sed through the great gallery of Marly. She found it carpeted with courtiers, mostly sitting or lying on the floor playing cards. Louis had built Marly for comfort and privacy. And yet Louis could not go anywhere without courtiers. It was as if he did not exist without them.

When the courtiers saw her there was a scattering of congratulations for her "narrow escape." Many of the faces belied the well-wishing, and she realized with a chill that all were now watching her, wondering about her, constructing their schemes around her.

"Thank you," she said, curtseying. "Though I must thank the count of Toulouse and his huntsmen, or I should not stand before you now."

She curtsied again and allowed her escort to take her on to the coucher.