A horse-drawn carriage rattled up the street, the hooves of the two beasts sharp against the stones. The driver was focused on his horses, reins held comfortably in his outstretched hands. He appeared to be a Quaker farmer by his wide floppy hat and weathered face.
Before he could spy me hanging in the air above the street, I pushed the control rod in an upward and forward motion. I thought I saw the driver's head whip around as I flew past.
Once I had the cauldron under my control, I flew high above the city in a wide circle, looking for the Brave Eagle. Though the stars were bright pinpricks overhead, to the west an army of towering clouds marched north, illuminated by flashes of lightning. By chance, I saw the outline of an airship against the storm clouds and turned the cauldron in that direction.
With the approach of the storm, the air had grown even colder. I wished for a pair of gloves and goggles to keep my eyes from watering.
I flew west towards the storm, not knowing how far away it was. The height and distance was misleading. As I soared over the landscape I wondered how close I was to the western edges of Pennsylvania.
Further past that was the territory of Ohio, and beyond that the Indian lands, which men feared to travel because of the Red Man's disease: a deadly pox that had felled westward explorers. Which was all well and good, because most in America believed they would never fill up the lands already controlled by the government.
I wondered what the Brave Eagle's destination was. Were they making their way to one of the westmost settlements, or flying over Indian lands?
After a good half hour of flying, I approached the Brave Eagle from an upward angle, to avoid being spotted.
The great airship lumbered through the air, twin steam turbines propelling it forward. When lightning crackled through the storm past the ship, I saw the details burst into existence. The cannons on the port and starboard had been shuttered, which was not unexpected, as the ship was not headed into war, but they'd been sticking out when it left Philadelphia.
No lights could be seen from the ship, and the windows of the pilot's chamber were dark as doom. The ship’s progress through the air had a ghostly feel to it, leaving me to shiver with concern. I feared that whatever malice had been planned had already been unleashed, and I was too late coming to the rescue.
Circling, I realized that I had no obvious entrance in which to land. I'd hoped to use a cannon port to gain the interior. Only the metal orifice on the front of the Brave Eagle provided a way in, but I had no interest in testing that path. It appeared to be a ghastly weapon of some kind, and flying into it could be my undoing.
My only reasonable entrance was the row of windows on the back of the ship that went into the hold. In the darkness, it was hard to judge if they were large enough to pass through, but I decided to take my chances.
I flew at them with enough force to break through the glass. As I neared, I realized they weren't tall enough to fit, so I crouched into the cauldron, my knees punching forward. I thought I heard a click the moment before impact and squeezed my eyes shut.
When the noises of the storm and the turbines became muted and the cold absent, I opened my eyes to find the cauldron sitting in the center of the hold as if it had been placed there by an invisible hand. Behind, the windows remained intact, both starlight and storm light reflecting through the clear glass.
The mystery of the unbroken glass would have to wait, though it suggested how the cauldron had gotten into Franklin's parlor. I moved the cauldron to a spot along the wall before I climbed from the interior, rubbing my arms to warm them from the chilly night flight.
The vibrations from the ship's engines could be felt through the floor. Outside, thunder crashed against the western side of the Brave Eagle.
The cargo hold was two stories high and about forty feet long. It was relatively empty except for a few stacks of crates along the starboard wall.
I found a tarp and placed it over the cauldron before moving to the door. As I put my hand over the handle, the pitch of the vibration changed and I felt the ship shift to the right, which placed it on a collision course with the storm. I knew that airships were made for traveling through such conditions, but even stout American engineering had its limits.
The room beyond the door was as black as night. Only faint illumination from behind reflected on the black iron cannons lined along either wall, giving them the aspect of oily beasts crouched in the darkness. I assumed there'd be a door on the other side, so I closed the one behind me and stumbled through with my hands outstretched. The room echoed with my steps, while occasional rumbles tickled my feet.
After a few long moments, my fingers touched the other side. Shuffling left and right, I found the exit and went through. I stood at the bottom of a spiral staircase. At the top was an open passage, which was illuminated, allowing a soft brassy light to reach my location. A metal door with a lock on the front stood across from me.
Based on my mental picture of the airship, the door protected the room with the front-facing cannon. Around the time I had my tools out, I heard voices from the top of the spiral staircase. I was through the door before the first boot hit the top step.
With it closed and locked behind me, I examined the room. Windows on all sides kept the room pulsing in storm light. We'd penetrated the cloud layer and a flickering mist surrounded the Brave Eagle. The windows were positioned for the aiming of the front-facing cannon.
At the bow of the ship, a huge cylinder sat on a rotating platform that could be swiveled left and right, and raised a few feet to give it a downward aim. Except I didn't think it was a cannon, since there was no obvious hole to place an iron shot and the tube was so large in diameter that five men couldn't lift the ball required.
In fact, the whole tube was encased in a second skin with glass tubes connected to a pool of water in the center of the room. At first I thought the pool was a platform with a reflecting surface, but then I realized that the pool went into the floor.
When a key rattled into the lock, I searched for a place to hide. The room was empty except for the cannon and the pool of water. I backed away to the edge of the pool, facing the door and readied myself for whoever was coming through.
Chapter Twenty-seven
A powerful blast shook the airship and I thought for a moment that it had been hit by a bomb. It was only a sliver of lightning passing close by the Brave Eagle, but it reminded me how precarious our position was inside the storm.
The door rattled a second time—whoever was trying to get in had probably used the wrong key. I looked around the room one last time for a place to hide. When my gaze fell upon the pool, I knew what I had to do, though I wasn't sure it would work.
The stopper on the pink vial came off with an audible plunk, and I jammed my nose against it, inhaling the gas before it could escape. Immediately, my throat seized up and I gasped as if I were drowning. I clutched my hand around my throat, trying to let the air past. Only when I remembered what Djata had been trying to do, did I leap into the pool of water.
The water was as cold as the Delaware River in late November. My heartbeat doubled from the shock. I kept my lips clamped shut on instinct, even when spots formed on my eyes. I was blacking out.
Every instinct screamed not to open my mouth, but I knew eventually I would have to test Djata's gas. When my lips parted and the water rushed in, the burning in my chest curled me into a ball at the bottom of the pool.
Water rushed into my lungs, turning my chest into a furnace. The pool swallowed my tears as the last bubbles of air fled to the surface.
Only in the corner of my mind was I aware that whoever'd come into the room was looking into the deep pool. My heavy clothes had dragged me to the bottom, and I hoped that the depth and darkness hid me.
I expanded my lungs a second time, and the pain and spots in my vision disappeared. On the third, I knew that Djata's water breathing solution had worked. My only concern was that I didn't know how long it lasted or how I would g
et the water out of my lungs when it came time to exit. If whoever was in the room above me didn't leave the front chamber by then, I would be forced to climb out or drown.
The pool extended into darkness. I walked along the bottom, gray hair floating limply around my head like pale kelp. Echoing thuds of footfalls sounded above while thunder vibrated against the hull.
Inhabiting the depths made me feel like a rusalka, a water nymph from the stories of my childhood. The creatures lured the menfolk into the rivers to drown them or tickle them to death. It always amused me to think of dying from laughter.
A high-pitched keening alerted me to a change in the water. They were doing something in the room. After removing my boots, I swam to the surface and clung to a lip at the edge.
Wavering shapes stood at the bow-side of the pool. I crowned my head out of the water, careful not to splash and to keep my mouth below the surface. George and Martha Washington stood facing the cannon.
The Warden stood off to the side, staring at his feet. His face was ashen white. I knew then he couldn't have sent Koschei after me at the dock house. He looked like a child who had caught his parents slaughtering his favorite pig.
"The spectral cannon has a range of five miles," said a male voice. It had an aristocratic flare to it. When a woman's voice cut in, I knew it had to be the Binghams that I couldn't see.
"So you see, it gives us an unassailable advantage over our enemies," said Anne Bingham.
"I'm well aware of the uses of weaponry in warfare, Madam," said the President. "I do have some experience with it."
His tone was intended as a dressing down, but the banker's wife didn't catch on.
"But it means we could expand the American Empire," said Anne. "Neither France nor Russia could stand against us."
Martha's response was less diplomatic, like a saber blow across the chest. "We are not an empire, but a collection of states bound together for the greater good."
"Which gives us the moral advantage," said Anne. "Surely, the unallied nations would rally to our cause for standing up to those tyrannous nations?"
"Better we stay vigilant to the tyranny at home," said Martha drolly.
"That's your husband you're speaking about," said Anne in shock.
George held out his hand. "I know perfectly well what my wife was speaking about. Do not presume to lecture me, Madam. We fought the war against the English for our freedoms, so we could be masters of ourselves. I see no reason to impose our values on other nations, no matter how tyrannous."
"I never knew you for a coward, Mr. President," said Anne.
Martha surged forward, but the President tugged on the sleeve of her dress.
Silence condensed the air in the room until there was only the occasional clearing of throats and shuffle of feet.
After a long, quiet moment, the President spoke. "Where again did you acquire this weapon, what did you call it, the spectral cannon?"
I didn't think Anne would answer at first. "We have faith in this new country and wish it to have a strong military. My husband and I have put time and money into the acquisition of new technologies."
The word acquisition sung in my head like a bell struck. Anne had sent the thief Jonas to Ben Franklin's estate. That was why she'd been at the Patriot Letters. Not to inquire about a pamphlet, but to spy on Jonas as he made his break-in, either for a momentary thrill, or because she distrusted the thief to do the job properly.
Morwen must have stopped the thief from entering the estate by landing her flying cauldron on him. But why hadn't she flown the cauldron back out? Did it have something to do with that strange electrical field on the doors? I assumed she'd left the note with the Warden in an attempt to find out who'd sent Jonas to the estate.
The President cleared his throat. "Is that strange silver gauntlet one of these technologies? I've never seen such designs before. It looks so..."
"Cyclopean," finished Martha.
The President looked upon his wife in stunned disbelief. "I don't know that word, but, my dear, it fits." Then back to Anne. "What does it do?"
"Enhances the wearer," said Anne. "But we didn't bring you here to discuss this trinket. We brought you here to show you the spectral cannon. Afterwards, you might change your mind about the projection of American military power."
"That's why you brought us this far out into the storm?" asked the President.
"We didn't want any Russian spies to see what this weapon could do," said William Bingham. "If we're to go to war—and I'm sure you'll be convinced after this demonstration—we'll need to prepare in secret."
Washington's shoulders tightened. "A war at that distance would be a fool's errand. As mighty as this weapon might be, and I doubt its veracity, the cost of supplying the military at that distance would bankrupt our fragile country."
"I'm well aware of the costs of supply lines," said William Bingham. "I'm not suggesting that we invade Russia, only put the country in its place, leaving us room to consolidate in other locations. Our friends overseas warn of a coming Russian aggression. If we hit them first, we'll put them on their necessaries. And as for the cost of the war, I should remind you that I'm still the President of the Bank of North America. I can supply the country with a generous line of credit."
"Not if you win the presidency," said Washington.
"I would defer to you, sir, if you lead us in a fourth term. You'd win easily. We fight a quick and easy war against Russia, give our economy a good slug in the arm, and then look for advantageous deals with other countries. Once we show the power of our military, they'll offer generous terms to keep us at bay."
"You've thought this through," said Washington sternly.
"I take nothing to chance," said William. "Anne and I believe in this country and want to make it strong. You'll have no stronger backer than the Binghams if you stay on for a fourth term."
Washington grumbled, shaking his head. "I've already overstayed my welcome with a third. A fourth would appear imperialistic. Jefferson's side would claim we're putting them under the cat's foot."
"Please don't make a decision until after you've seen the demonstration, Mr. President," said William.
The conversation had me enraptured until I noticed a set of wide eyes gazing in my direction. The Warden's open mouth could have held a dozen hornet's nests. His weary gaze held the countenance of a war veteran who'd seen one too many horrors.
Before he could raise the alarm, I slipped beneath the water, letting myself drift to the bottom of the pool. A wavering shape leaned over the edge before moving away.
I had to hope the impossibleness of my location kept him from speaking. The others would think him unhinged if he said there was a woman in the pool, though it surely confirmed his suspicions of my identity as a Russian spy.
Then the keening, that had been like a high-pitched hum before, rose until it seemed to vibrate my every cell. A pale luminosity emanated from the water, not from one specific location, but throughout, as if the light slipped through cracks between the molecules. The shadows dissolved as the light intensified.
As it grew brighter, I closed my eyes, but that didn't stop it from piercing my skull. Even my palms jammed against my sockets failed to stop it from seeping past. I swore I could see the bones of my hands with my eyes closed, but it could have been hallucinations from the pain. The light wormed into my brain, burrowing into the deepest recesses. It burned like hot coals as it coiled around my thoughts, bringing complete obliteration.
Then all at once, as if the luminescence had been popped with a pin, the light fled into the pipes connected to the spectral cannon. The airship lurched, and somewhere far below it sounded like a thousand trees were snapped in half.
I floated in the water, feeling like dissolved paste. If my limbs had come unattached, I wouldn't have been surprised. The spectral light was gone, but an imprint of its intensity remained as a bright haze at the edges of my vision, like a burr in the eye that shifted away when you tried to gaze
upon it.
When I recovered enough, I breached the surface like a whale's blowhole, my roving eye searching the room before I brought the upper half of my head out. I kept my mouth beneath the surface, enjoying the cool water passing my lips.
"Mr. President," said William, "how do you do?"
Washington's voice, which had been strong and commanding before, sounded hesitant, reluctant. "Rightly I am unsure, Mr. Bingham. It may take time to comprehend such a demonstration, if I comprehend it at all. Do my eyes deceive me, Martha, or has that hilltop been wiped clean?"
"As if God had forsaken it," said Martha.
The Warden's voice barely rose above the din of the engines. "You've only one of these devices?"
"Yes, only the one. Though I've made inquiries into finding more," said Anne. "Give us a half-dozen and the United States would never be defeated."
"He who controlled them could set himself up as Emperor of the World," said the President.
"But alas, we have only the one," said Anne, missing the President's concern.
William moved, and I could see the back of his dark coat. "I see you have thoughts, Mr. President."
"Are you loyal citizens of the United States, Mister and Missus Bingham?" asked the President.
"Have we not proved our steadfast loyalty?" asked William.
"Prove it once more by giving me the Brave Eagle and all that's on it," said Washington soberly.
"Why, it's already yours," said Anne. "What are your commands for the crew?"
"To return to Philadelphia. Let us not speak of this weapon any longer," said the President curtly. "You gave it and it has been received. Now let us enjoy a hearty meal. I thirst for a spot of brandy."
Arms linked with Martha, he marched from the room, his boot strikes ringing. Anne and William followed, but not before sharing a look between them that chilled me to my core. Anne narrowed her brow at her husband and mouthed a word that looked uncannily like "Koschei." He nodded and they followed the President and his wife.
Then I sank again beneath the surface, my caution rewarded when I saw the Warden's shadow loom over the water. I climbed from the pool long after the room was empty.
A Cauldron of Secrets (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 2) Page 19