Age Of Unreason - Newton's Cannon Part 21

Louis lay in bed clothed in a magnificent dressing gown, the covers pulled back to his waist "My dear Mademoiselle de Montchevreuil," he said, his voice quite strong and clear. "It is so very good to see you alive and well. G.o.d will d.a.m.n me for ever having risked you so. I beg your most humble forgiveness."

"I- You need no forgiveness from me, Your Majesty, for you have not wronged me. And G.o.d and your son Toulouse and the guardsmen of your Hundred Swiss have all conspired to keep my body and soul together."

"You were not hurt? They did not harm you in any way?"

"In no way other than delaying my arrival at Marly, Majesty," she replied.

"Ah, my dear Adrienne," Louis said. "I am a man and king of all France, and yet you possess more gallantry than I do. It is not meet.

"Sit here," he said, indicating a small stool beside the bed. "I realize that you are tired, but I have something to say to you, something that a few short hours ago I feared I might never be able to say."

"Majesty?"

"So much has gone from my life, Adrienne, so many years since the grand, beautiful days. I thought to return to that, and in some ways I think we must. France must see me as I was, so that France can be what it was. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Sire," she replied.

"And yet, I am not what I was. Adrienne, I am better than what I was then; Maintenon taught me to be better. And though she began as my mistress, she taught me the folly of mistresses." He frowned. "You see, not long ago, I believed that I was about to take a new mistress. I meant to propose this to you, Adrienne."

"Me, Sire?"

"Yes, Adrienne. You are so like my Maintenon." He sat up straighter in bed. "You see how I have changed since they killed my dauphin? The fire meant to kill me only awakened the full potency of the Persian elixir. Now that my sight has returned, you see how I have become young again?"

Adrienne felt a sweat form on her brow. The king looked no different than he had when last she had seen him, save that his eyes did not focus. What did he mean?

When she did not answer, he took her hand and patted it. "It is shocking, I'll admit. Though I have felt much younger for many years, I never thought to see again the body and face I had when I was twenty, and yet here it is! This is an age for miracles. And with these new eyes, Adrienne, I see you not as merely another Maintenon. You have a grace and a beauty about you, and you always smile. It would please me, the court, and France, if you would consent to marry me and be my queen. And, as queen, give France a new dauphin."

Adrienne knew that there were tears coursing down her face, but there was nothing she could do about them. She did manage to let no sound escape her. Across the room, Bontemps looked away, his face almost brutalized by sympathy, though whether for her or for the king she could not say.

If Louis noticed her tears, he did not say so, but continued to stare past her, an expectant look on his face. She waited until she was absolutely certain that she could speak without her voice breaking. "Of course, my king," she said. "How could I ever say otherwise?"

But at least, now she was in the eye of the storm.

Teach

Dawn came with no land in sight. Ben rubbed eyes gritty with fatigue but even in full and brilliant morning he saw only the edges of a flat blue plate with him in the center.

The battering of the previous day had sunken cold stones of pain into his muscle and bone. His brain was in worse shape than his body. He had not slept; shock and terror had played themselves over and over in his mind. He could still see them enacting their parts, but he had no tears left to cry, no more prayers.

The endless expanse of sea around him was a wonderful sight. Bracewell could not sneak up on him here-he would be able to see the fiend coming for him for miles. He might not be able to stop him, but at least death would not find him unaware.

It felt to Ben as if he had a hole in his heart, for he couldn't believe James was dead. It made no sense to him: He could remember James talking, laughing, scowling. James was real, had been real all Ben's life. This nightmare with Bracewell seemed a phantasm. The last few months were the lie, the illusion. James was real, and that had to mean alive.

But morning made him understand most sharply that he had to return to Boston immediately. James was dead. But what if Bracewell went after his father and mother? What of John Collins? Ben had been the very worst sort of coward, because Bracewell had even told him that he would kill John; and he had run anyway to save his own miserable life. He had to go back. He rose stiffly and put up the sail.

With no compa.s.s and no land in sight, he had not the faintest idea where to point his prow. Probably most directions would take him to land. If he sailed south, he would likely hit Cape Cod. If he sailed west, there would be land. Only eastward was there danger of becoming lost...

He knew which way east was! It was a wonder how stupid one could be after a night- two nights, really-without sleep. He went to work setting the sail.

He sat back impatiently, watching for land, noting absently the spangles of sun on the water, the growing warmth of the day, and the gentle rocking of the boat. How had Bracewell survived? he wondered. Kraftpistoles released a controlled eruption of lux and phlegm, producing a flame much nice lightning. His device had been designed to trigger the lux in the metal of the gun to release all at once, randomly rather than directionally. For Bracewell, it should have been like being struck by lightning or worse.

The light on the water seemed to form a pattern. Ben frowned, trying to decipher the heliographic message, blinking often from the glare, each blink longer than the last.

When Ben awoke, it was dark, and thunder stuttered in the distance. Cursing, he sat up, his mind fuzzy. The last he remembered were his eyelids lying like stones, the sun heating them red-hot.

The thunder sounded again, a long stream of concussions echoing across the water. Ben sucked in a few quick breaths, trying to clear his head. He had never managed a boat in a storm, and this craft was not likely to stand a squall even in experienced hands. But a quick survey of the sky showed him stars, bright and clear, and no hint of clouds. But suddenly, off to port, he saw a dozen pinp.r.i.c.ks of red light.

And then, a moment later, the rumbling sounded once more, and he understood he had been awakened by cannon fire. Out there in the night, two t.i.tans were warring. He saw a jagged slash of light that must be a kraftpistole or similar weapon and he watched, fascinated, for at least an hour, trying to imagine the fight. Were they warships of England and France, or were they pirates?

It was only slowly that a chill penetrated his fascination.

Where was he? How long had he slept? What if he had slept for two days instead of one? He had no way of knowing. His mouth was dry, and his stomach felt like an empty bag. It could have been two days. Surely Bracewell had either died or killed John by now. Surely to continue on to Boston was a fool's errand.

But he had to know. He had to return.

He took down the sail, for the night, and shortly after that, the flame and thunder of the distant battle died down, leaving Ben alone with his remorse.

A few hours later, daylight brought him considerably more hope, for land was in sight, probably the cape. He would be able to find his bearing and work back up the coast to Boston in a day or so. He raised his sail and began his first tack sh.o.r.eward.

He had covered only half the distance when the boat thunked hollowly into something. Ben peered over the bow, and he saw a half submerged barrel b.u.mping along. The hope of land had distracted him, he realized, and now he scrutinized the sea.

Flotsam was scattered widely in all directions.

He concluded that one of the ships he had heard warring the night before must have met its end, for some of the wreckage seemed to be spars and boards.

When he came nearer to the sh.o.r.e, he saw at least three man shapes, lying beached among part of a mast and other items he could not recognize. What if they were ah' ve?

He could hear his father's voice in his heart once more, and he knew what his father would do. Besides, there might be food and fresh water and some clue to what ship this had been.

So he put the boat ash.o.r.e.

The first man was certainly dead: he lay supine, half his face gone, crabs picking at what remained. These men must all be dead or they would have made some sign by now. But then he thought he heard a shout, and he turned to scan the beach.

He saw an arm waving. The arm was attached to a man.

"Hey there!" the man called, weakly. "Boy!"

Ben staggered toward him as quickly as he could.

"Sure it is that G.o.d must have sent you," the man said when Ben drew nearer, "for without you I was surely doomed to die here."

Ben stopped cold in his tracks.

The man-sitting propped against a stone-was enormous, probably the biggest man Ben had ever seen. His shoulders seemed a yard across, and standing he would tower above six feet tall. He probably could not stand, however, for one leg was tied with a rag stained bright red with fresh blood. His black hair hung matted down to the shoulders of his stained white shirt, and his beard-twisted into a dozen or so black-ribboned braids-lay wetly upon his thick chest.

"Have a seat, boy, and tell me your name." He gestured toward a second rock with the pistol gripped in one ma.s.sive hand. "Or shall I tell you mine first?"

"I know you," Ben said. "Edward Teach. Blackbeard." He began to back away.

"Well, good, so I'm not unknown in these parts. So sit and tell me your name. Be a polite lad."

"I think your powder is wet," Ben said quietly.

Blackbeard stopped smiling, and Ben met his gaze. Ben saw his death there, same as he had with Bracewell, but whereas Bracewell had killed James the way one might a flea, Blackbeard's eyes promised something more slow and painful. From ice to fire, Ben thought.

"Listen, boy," the pirate said very deliberately. "It may well be that my powder is wet, but it may be that it isn't Cartridges are waxed, you know, just for this sort of occasion. In any event, let me tell you what will occur here if you do not heed my words this instant. I will pull this trigger. If the pistol does not fire, I will draw my cutla.s.s." He patted the ma.s.sive sword that lay beside him. "It'll be exceeding painful for me to walk on this leg, but catch you I will, and then I will cut off first your ears, then your feet, and so on. Is that clear?"

Ben wondered if the pirate could make good his threat. It seemed possible. Blackbeard was famous for such feats.

"What do you want?" Ben asked, his voice flat.

"Your name for starters," Teach answered. "And for you to sit."

"I'll sit out of reach of your cutla.s.s, if you don't mind," Ben said. "And my name is

Benjamin Franklin."

Blackbeard nodded. "Just sit so as I can see you. You are a cool one for your age, Ben."

"Two days ago my brother was killed. The same man did his level best to kill me. I've

been lost at sea, and now I've met the pirate Blackbeard," Ben said. "Just what do you

want me to do, sing you an opera?"

Blackbeard blinked at him, then he began to laugh, a coa.r.s.e snuffling sound that quickly became the roar of a giant.

"Where are you from, Benjamin?" Teach asked finally.

"Boston."

"Ben Franklin from Boston. Ben Frank..." He raised his eyes, a hint of incredulity in

them. "One of my biographers! I'll be d.a.m.ned."

"I'm sure you will," Ben agreed, reflecting that the single thing he had ever signed his name to should come back thus to haunt him.

Blackbeard laughed again. "d.a.m.ned fine," he said. "d.a.m.ned fine." He sat up a little

straighter. "Now look, Benjamin, I've taken a liking to you, so I'll tell you how we can help each other. Where is it you want to go?"

"Back to Boston."

"Boston. And you say some fellow is trying to kill you back there?"

"Yes."

"Over what, your smart mouth?"

"That isn't funny," Ben snarled. "He killed my brother. That might not mean a whole lot to the likes of Edward Teach, but it does to me."

"That's the smart mouth I'm talking about," Teach said. "I want you to mind it. Now."

"The h.e.l.l with you."

The hammer on the pirate's gun snapped down. The flint sparked, and the powder in the pan hissed. That was all.

"d.a.m.n. G.o.dd.a.m.n," Teach snarled, flinging the pistol at him.

"I told you it was wet," Ben said.

Teach had three holsters strapped across his chest. Two were empty, but he drew a gun

from the third. "Let's try that again."

"Wait," Ben said. "Wait. I apologize."