The Shadows of God

by J. Gregory Keyes

  Franklin waited for the rest of it, but the king seemed to have finished. He did not know, then, that that remainder was marching to New Paris, in hopes of a friendly reception. Or did he?

  Either way, if he did not bring it up, Franklin certainly would not. This wasn't the time to make explanations about the Junto, which could be seen pretty easily as a spy organization.

  After a moment, the king did go on, however, in a slightly different vein.

  “It may be that in the end you may realize that you must take refuge here—refuge I would willingly give you, I might add, whatever my cousin should request. That, if nothing else, I will promise you.”

  That was a sort of opening, Franklin figured. “Sir, if that be the case—and I hope it is not, I will tell you, for if the struggle against James goes badly, it is bad for us all—and my welfare lies with Your Highness, I wonder if I might make a few suggestions?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Your defenses, Sire. I fear they are not strong enough should your cousin force the issue. You have heard, no doubt, of the submersible ships he brought to Carolina. I wonder, can you be assured that no such ships lie in your own harbor?”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “And the flying ships. You have no defense against them either, nor against the other demonic things they have contrived in Russia this past decade. I can help you with that.”

  “You would do this?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I believe what I say, you see. This is no small struggle between countries. It is a fight for the liberty and life of everyone. If the English colonies are defeated, it is a tragedy. But the fight must go on.”

  The king frowned in irritation. “I have told you—”

  “I understand, Your Majesty, that you do not yet consider this your fight. I know also that you do not have all the facts and that you are used to deception in those you treat with. I am willing to gamble that when the time comes—and it will come, Majesty—that this will become your fight. I want you to have the means to do it, that is all. If I'm wrong, you will still have gained, for there are foes aplenty around you. I understand you have had your differences with Cuba, Mexico, and Florida.”

  The king nodded thoughtfully, but his eyes soon narrowed with suspicion. “And if you find your own weapons turned against you? If I join my cousin in his conquest of the New World?”

  “Sire, I have not known you long, but I will be impertinent enough to judge your character. When you see what it actually is that we are fighting, you will understand. You will agree with me. But—they will be your weapons, your defenses. Clearly you can do anything with them that you please.”

  “Sterne has promised me mechanical men and airships. Will what you build me be better than that?”

  “Remember always this, Sire. I was with Sir Isaac when he invented the talos, the template for those mechanical men you speak of. Surely you have heard the tale? By now it is famous.”

  “How it turned on him?”

  “Yes. The aid Sterne offers you is of a very powerful sort— and it cannot be trusted. The creatures that locomote his airships and automatons will not be loyal to you. They are not loyal to Sterne, or to King James, or even to the tsar of Russia. They are loyal to distant creatures in the aether, invisible masters who wish for nothing less than the extinction of humanity. If you would invite such into your very home, I can do nothing to stop you. But it would be foolish.”

  Philippe paced across the laboratory. “They say,” he murmured, “that my uncle Louis XIV was possessed by a demon in his last years. He was blind, you know—and yet he could see. And he brought that thing down from heaven.” He looked up. “I am not unaware of the creatures you speak of. The priests argue over the matter, but most of the Jesuits believe them to be demons. Is that your belief?”

  “Yes. Or to be more precise, they are beings of great power who wish us harm. I will leave it to theologians to decide where they are placed in God's plan. For my part, I believe in a God who is not nearly so devious and fickle in His designs.”

  The king fidgeted. “I don't like this sort of talk. I don't like it at all. But I must face it, I suppose. Still, though Sterne is somewhat boorish—and, forgive me, what Englishman is not?—I see no evidence that he leagues himself with the devil. Indeed, since he makes the same claim of you, I don't know what to believe.” He rested his hand on a table, looking very old and very tired. Franklin knew exactly how he felt.

  “Well,” he said, “if Your Majesty will bear a change in subject, here is the demonstration I had in mind for the dinner crowd tonight. It is to do with the composition of the atmosphere. I think you will find it both instructive and amusing.”

  The king brightened immediately, and his spirits continued to improve as they worked out the particulars. He became less like a king and more like a young boy, fascinated by the world. A little of it rubbed off on Franklin, and he found he was, at times, enjoying himself.

  It was after the king was gone, and he straightening up, that he felt more than heard someone else enter the room.

  Vasilisa stood in the doorway, wearing a gown of deepest violet.

  “Hello, Benjamin. I understand you are making quite the impression around here.”

  “Really? I was surprised, I admit, not to see you at dinner. You seem to have insinuated yourself into the machinery here as well. I've only yet to figure out just where—which treachery you're involved in.”

  “I was invited to dinner. I thought it best not to go. I will attend tonight, however. The king wishes me to see his demonstration.”

  “You are friendly with the king?”

  “Why not be blunt, Ben, as you seem bent on hurting me? I am not his mistress. He has two of those, both quite vicious. I have enemies enough here as it is.”

  “Yes, and I have enough without acquiring yours.”

  Finally, a small, vexed frown disturbed her composure. “I thought you wanted me to speak,” she said. “You said as much.”

  “Speak, then.”

  “It has to do with the dark engines.”

  That caught his attention. It was the same phrase Euler had used. Of course, she might well have met with Euler in the last day, but either way, it was worth hearing more about this.

  “Go on,” he said.

  She smiled faintly. “Science has taken something of a different direction in Russia,” she explained. “An angelic direction, if you understand me. Almost all advances there have hinged on improving Sir Isaac's use of the animal spirit, on giving the malakim material bodies.”

  “So far you aren't telling me anything I don't know.”

  “Now I will, I think. We have gone beyond Newton, Ben. We have invented a way for the malakim to become manifest— more than manifest, near omnipotent—in the world of matter. No more taloi made of metal and alchemical muscle, no more clumsy airships, no more fighting battles through human allies. They will take a hand directly, themselves. Do you see?”

  His mouth felt dry. “Then why all this?” he asked quietly. “Why the underwater ships, the Pretender, Sterne—why all this farce?”

  “Because we didn't know we could do it, and because the malakim are divided. Some forbid the use of the dark engines; some don't even know about them. Battles can be fought in the aether, too. Those who wish to exterminate our race must pick their moment. They must pretend to have the matter in hand with their armies and cannon and intrigues in human kingdoms. But, Ben, it will all be for naught if we can't defeat the engines. All of it, I swear.”

  And suddenly, in a cold light, he saw something on her face he understood perfectly. It was the face that looked out of the mirror at him when he remembered what he had done to the world, the face that knew itself responsible for millions of deaths.

  And—the unfair part—she was weeping.

  A weeping woman has a magnetism that few men even think to resist. Franklin was no better, and he found himself with a hand on her shoulder, gruffly trying to soothe.

 
The next moment, he found her in his arms.

  It was a shock, how familiar it was. The scent of her hair was the same, the bones of her body, so delicate.

  But he did not recognize this grip, this feeling of helplessness emanating from her. She had always been the confident one, the one in control. It had always been he who needed her. It felt good, this change in roles. It felt like such good revenge that he didn't even want revenge anymore. No, he wanted …

  Despite what he wanted, he gently pushed her back.

  “Come, Vasilisa. If what you say is true, I will help you. Of course I must. But if it is distraction—”

  “It is not, I swear.”

  “You said you had proof.”

  “I have some of Swedenborg's notes on their making. From them we can create a countermeasure. We must! Together, I am certain we can.”

  “Notes are not proof.”

  “You look at them. You judge. I leave them with you.”

  Where she produced them from—the folds of her skirt?— he wasn't sure, but she lay several bound sheaves of paper into his hand. Then she was gone.

  He opened the first up. Latin, at least, and not Russian. He would be able to get through it passing well.

  He sat down and began to read, scratching every now and then with pen and paper to check an equation.

  The sun changed its slant through the windows and worked toward the red end of the spectrum until it settled on a brutish sort of brick orange.

  A cool breeze swept in from seaward, easing through the open windows to replace the ferocious heat of the day. Despite that, Franklin kept sweating, for by that time he believed.

  He became so lost in the notes that it took Robert and Voltaire to rouse him from them and remind him that the dinner hour was fast approaching.

  “Every part of your plan is in place— except you, you dunderhead, and the scientifical apparatus.”

  “Yes, thanks, fellows. Could you carry these things— or find some servant to carry them—while I put on fresh clothing? The king, I fear, has already seen me in this.”

  “Your court habits are coming back awful fast, despite y'r protestations that you have no use for ‘em,” Robert observed.

  “It's necessity, Robert. To win this French king over, I must play the game by his rules.”

  “Really?” Voltaire asked. “I wonder about that. Sterne, I think, knows those rules better than you, and this d'Artagui-ette surely does.”

  “A lecture on rules from the man who talked himself into the Bastille?” Franklin replied. But something about Vol-taire's comment rang true. “Well, perhaps I shall do some bending, then, and see how that works.”

  His outfit was greeted at first with titters and stage-whispered comments. He smiled and nodded politely as if to the highest praise, kept his back straight and his step even, and presented himself to the king. As he bowed, he doffed his raccoon-skin hat and kept it off.

  “Some new scientifical garb?” the king asked mildly, surveying him. Franklin wore a deerskin matchcoat borrowed from one of the Apalachee and beneath it a very plain waistcoat of linsey-woolsey with cloth-covered buttons. His breeches matched.

  “No, Your Majesty—American garb. It is quite the rage in Charles Town.” That last was something of a lie—men of means dressed exactly as these French did, in habitual imitation of the lost European courts. But he did look rather like a deerskin trader or ranger, down to the hat.

  “Really? How quaint. Perhaps I should have such an outfit made. We are, after all, Americans in a sense.”

  “In the highest sense,” Franklin agreed. “Indeed, I am told that this habit was borrowed by our English traders from the French in the Natchez concessions. In any event, I find it comfortable.”

  “I find it rather crude,” d'Artaguiette said, a brittle smile on his thin face.

  “I prefer natural, sir. Survival in this New World, you will admit, requires a certain vitality. All of us here at this table have it— evident by our survival. We have been tried by our environment and found adequate, much as the natives have. I feel this dress is a badge of honor, a mark of distinction, and an important step in admitting—embracing—that our nations are unlike any ever to exist in Europe or anywhere in the world. Despite our creeds, languages, and governments, Your Majesty, I offer that we are all Americans.” He strode to the table and lifted a glass of wine. “To his majesty, Philippe I— the king of France in America—an American king.”

  “Here!” Voltaire seconded, standing to raise his own. All Franklin's companions followed suit, as did a scattering of Frenchmen he strongly suspected were Junto members. He noticed Vasilisa, too, seated a few chairs from the king, repressing a smile.

  When the king nodded in acceptance of the toast, all of his court joined— even d'Artaguiette.

  Sterne—unshackled this time and dressed in finest silk— did not drink.

  “You do not drink the king's health, sir?” Don Pedro asked loudly.

  “I will gladly drink the king's health,” Sterne replied. “I did not hear a toast offered to his health, only some maudlin, common sentiment that the noble blood of France has somehow become polluted by the savagery of this continent and its peoples.”

  “Peoples like my own, sir? You understand that I am a prince of Apalachee.”

  “I understand that—prince—and if I have given offense where none was intended, I do apologize.”

  “And will you say that none was intended?” Don Pedro asked. “Or must I assume you meant to insult me?”

  “I do not know you well enough, don, to say. Why don't you tell us whether I have insulted you or not?”

  A faint grin appeared on Don Pedro's face. “I do feel insulted, and, moreover, my people have been insulted. Your Majesty, I require satisfaction from this man, but I will not pursue it unless you give me leave.”

  A murmur of excitement swept through the room.

  The king frowned. “I had already planned a diversion for the court, with Mr. Franklin's help.”

  “Begging Your Majesty's pardon. I am fully satisfied to await Your Majesty's pleasure. I am eager to see this demonstration and see no reason why I cannot send Mr. Sterne to our Lord for judgment after the meal and its entertainments.”

  “Like you, Mr. Sterne is our guest. I cannot ask him to fight a duel.”

  “If he must be compelled, the question of honor is already settled,” Don Pedro said, “and the court will know where to find it.”

  “By God, enough of this, you babbling monkey!” Sterne snapped. “I will meet you at any time convenient to His Majesty.”

  Philippe looked a bit swept away by things, but the sounds from his court were approving. It must have been a long time since they had blood sport. If they were so keen for a tennis match, this ought to really please them.

  “Very well,” Philippe concluded. “After the demonstration, if you gentlemen must conduct your argument, you shall. Take the opportunity during the meal to appoint your seconds. Now, Mr. Franklin, if you would be so kind as to help me with these devices, we shall provide less bloody and more illuminating amusement.”

  The experiments went well and drew polite—sometimes even enthusiastic—applause. Using a pair of graduated cylinders, the first demonstration proved that air had weight and pressure. Then, by means of a burning candle in one of the cylinders, they demonstrated that, though its pressure remained, some substance in the air necessary for combustion was used up quite quickly. Finally, they engaged a device Franklin had invented, quite by accident, in Prague. It repelled the substance in the open atmosphere, extinguishing a nearby candle. Courtiers were then invited to approach and discover that the same chemical which fed combustion was also the sustaining fuel for human beings, drawing laughs as they stumbled away, light-headed.

  “What we must conclude,” Philippe said, when all was done, “is that we have something like a slow fire burning in each of us. Note that your flesh is warm, and that fever, which increases the ferocity of that fire
, can consume and waste us away. Indeed, it might be that such a device as you have just seen might be of use, somehow, in treating fever. Certainly it could be of use in extinguishing the blazes that take too much of our property when necessity—” He smiled. “—American necessity— demands we build our homes of wood.”

  More applause, and then the meal. As soon as it was done, Sterne stood. “Your Majesty—”

  “Your pardon, Sire,” Don Pedro interrupted. “I notice that people are still discussing your experiments. I don't wish to interrupt the discussion until it is quite done. It would please me if you would judge when our duel should be fought.”

  “Very good,” Philippe replied, obviously pleased not to be so quickly upstaged. He then leaned close to Franklin. “Is this some scheme of yours, Mr. Franklin, to rid yourself of an adversary?”

  “No, sir,” Franklin lied. “Don Pedro, as you must know, is rather impulsive.”

  “Too impulsive, perhaps. I have seen Mr. Sterne at practice. Rarely have I ever seen such skill with the sword. For all of his bravado, I somehow doubt that our Apalachee friend could have received such training in his own kingdom.”

  “He is his own man, Sire.” He felt a certain emptiness, though. It hadn't occurred to him that Sterne might be an accomplished swordsman. That would complicate his plan considerably, especially if Don Pedro's own boasts were inflated. Still, the Apalachee claimed to be a master of the Spanish rapier, and Robert—who used the same weapon—tended to agree.

  After another hour or so, Philippe raised his hand for attention. “An insult has been given and replied to with a challenge. The matter may be settled now. Gentlemen, have you chosen your seconds?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Sterne said, indicating one of his men. Don Pedro, on the other hand, chose Robert. The Apalachee removed his coat, unsheathed his weapon, and made a few passes with it.

  Sterne watched him for a moment, then whispered to his second.

  “Your Majesty,” Sterne's second said, “my master is in need of a rapier, of the older sort. Is one to be found?”

  “Indeed,” the king replied. He signed, and a few moments later a servant returned with several. Sterne tried them, one by one, finally settling on one somewhat longer and heavier than the Apalachee's weapon.