Birds of Prophecy (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 3)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

"Don't worry, Katerina. I think the law is claptrap." He gave me a look. "I prefer to see the Federalists squirm a bit."

  "They've read the pamphlets?" I asked, surprised.

  "Indeed," he said. "Your pamphlets are the talk of the government. Mr. Bingham has been screaming mad about them, making demands that someone bring us the pamphleteer's head. Metaphorically, of course."

  "I doubt it," I replied.

  "Some have suggested that Temple Franklin is behind them, since they're modeled after his grandfather's early efforts of Silence Dogood. He's had to defend himself more than once since their printings," said Simon.

  I wasn't sure how I felt about Ben taking the heat for my pamphlets. He probably hated me even more because of them, since he had to know it was me behind Humble Justice. He could turn me in at any time, but hadn't yet, which was confusing.

  "Well, you didn't come here to talk about Humble Justice. Tell me about the murder," I said.

  "Only if you tell me why you were spying on Mrs. Sully," he said grimly.

  "Agreed," I said, "though I'd like to visit the murder scene if I could."

  "That wouldn't be a good idea. Once again your description was given by another," he said.

  "Mr. Jackson?" I asked.

  His forehead knotted. "No, a Dr. Nottinghouse. He's the one who called it a murder despite the evidence that it was an accident."

  "Dear me. They know who I am. That's a problem," I said.

  "If you're involved, I'm going to have to take you to the courthouse. I cannot promise to keep silent over a murder," he said.

  "The courthouse is the least of my worries, Simon, and the murders are the least of yours. I'm afraid things are much bigger than a few deaths, however tragic," I said, thinking of poor Mrs. Sully, who despite being a Loyalist spy, had seemed like a pleasant lady.

  "Explain, Katerina," he said sternly.

  "I will, but not all of it," I said, squeezing my hands together. "Not because I don't want to, but because knowing something could be dangerous and I must keep you safe. One of us should be safe anyway."

  "Are you in danger?"

  "The worst," I said.

  "Then let me help. I've come to you with my burdens. You can do the same," he said with palms open.

  I appreciated the sentiment. He wanted to be the rugged adventurer coming to the rescue of his princess. But I'd never been that woman. Not even a little.

  And the sharing of burdens mirrored the encounter with Rowan, which I had no intention of repeating.

  "I can't. It's too dangerous," I said.

  "Tell me. Please."

  "Have you ever been told something and then asked not to think of it?" Simon shrugged as if to say he understood. "What I know is like that except to even know of its existence is dangerous."

  "So this is an object that's dangerous," he said.

  "No. No guessing. Don't try to help." I slumped against the couch. "I've told you about these other things I can do, right?"

  "Yes, magic," he said, seeming more comfortable with the idea than I was.

  "Err...yes, magic. Well this is one of those magics. Something else's magic and I've gotten entangled with it. To help is to become entangled, too, and eventually we'd both drown. Better that fewer die," I said.

  "So more than just you knows about it," he said.

  I sighed. "Yes. Only I don't know who else. It's like an infection that's spreading and I need to stop it before it gets worse."

  "It spreads by knowledge?"

  I didn't try to answer. I didn't want to give him more clues, but Simon seemed to be thinking hard about something. Eventually, he put his hand into his pocket and pulled something out and placed it in my hand.

  A feather. My heart jumped.

  "Beware the birds," he said, reminding me of the message in Albert's apartment.

  "The infection is spreading."

  "Is that why Albert Hold barricaded himself in his apartment? Beware the birds?" asked Simon. "Are these birds the things that you don't want me to know about?"

  I put my hands on his chest. "Stop. Simon. Don't. Stop trying to guess. It'll get you killed."

  I didn't want his death on my head too.

  He took my hands in his. During our courtship, he'd never touched me, but I wished he would have. His hands were calloused and smooth. Not scratchy like a mill workers, yet they still had a raw power to them. I tried to ignore his closeness and the warmth of his touch.

  "They're Loyalists," I spit out, trying to distract.

  "What?" he asked, dropping my hands, the cold rushing in right after.

  "Mrs. Sully. Albert Hold. Dr. Nottinghouse. Mr. Jackson. Fale O'Dell. They're Loyalists spying for England," I said.

  "Do they have something to do with the birds?"

  "No. Not that I know of, except that they've been in contact with them. Or at least I assume so with the feather."

  "Should I arrest them?" asked Simon.

  "Yes. I mean, no. I don't think it'll matter."

  I paced around the room while Simon watched. How would this stop? How would it end?

  Should I have killed Fale O'Dell? Should I kill the others or was it too late?

  On the day before the Winter Solstice, you must die by the hands of the Architect or the city of love will be destroyed.

  An ancient god will enslave this reality unless you slay the Accidental Killer on the day of the Winter Solstice.

  Was that my way out? Have Ben murder me before the Winter Solstice? But if I was dead, I could not stop the other thing the last prophecy warned about.

  Pieces of old memories floated into view and then faded away, quicker than I could process their meaning. I thought it might tell me the reason why these things were happening.

  "Katerina," he said, his voice infused with need. "What do we do next?"

  "Did you find anything else? Anything that you didn't understand?" I asked.

  "Mrs. Sully had been making a list. An odd list, but it doesn't seem to relate to anything we're talking about," he said.

  "Do you have it?"

  He produced it from a pocket and handed it over. It was a folded piece of parchment, the edges chunky from being torn.

  glass polish

  gear wax

  supple oil

  salon perfume

  4 beets

  The list made no sense. I flipped it over to find a name on the back.

  S. Dexter

  The name didn't help either.

  "Nothing?" asked Simon.

  "My apologies. It means nothing to me. The list or the name. It could be nothing at all," I said.

  "What then?" asked Simon.

  Could I use him but not endanger him? There had to be a way.

  "Can you watch the remaining Loyalists? Find out if they're communicating with each other. No wait. Not that," I said, realizing that if they visited the Gamayun he would be drawn into their trap.

  "I was planning on doing that anyway. You said they were Loyalist spies. I'll have to tell someone eventually," he said.

  "No. Please don't."

  "I can't wait forever."

  "Give me until after the Winter Solstice," I said.

  If I failed we'd all be up to our necks in trouble.

  "Fine," he said, perturbed.

  "And don't leave the city," I said.

  "Don't leave the city? That's absurd."

  "Please, Simon. I think you'll be safe here, but just don't go anywhere else. No matter how safe you think it is, or even if something bad is going to happen," I said.

  "Even if the city is burning down?" he asked, laughing.

  "Fine. You may flee if the city is burning down. But nothing else," I said.

  He regarded me warmly. It made me feel good that at least one person trusted me with his problems, even if I'd lied to him every time.

  "Watch the Loyalists. Don't leave the city. I think I can handle that," he said.

  "You're quite trusting," I said.

  "You earned it
when you saved the Washingtons’ lives. Just don't let me down this time," he said.

  I tried to give him my best smile, which he seemed to accept before he left. Only after the door closed did an avalanche of despair overcome my steadfast facade, and I crumpled onto the wooden floor.

  Save the city by dying.

  Stop a killer after I was dead.

  Do it all without letting anyone else know what's going on.

  When would it get easier?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next ten days went past like a dream. I tried visiting Rowan at the Bone House, but when I got near the street, my feet stopped cooperating and dragged me past the intersection.

  Franklin's estate wasn't much different. It didn't help that Ben was supposed to kill me to save the city, which while it didn't make sense, was an end result I wasn't prepared to face. Benjamin Franklin, even if he thought I was the worst person in the world, would not murder me for the expeditious reason outlined in the prophecy, but stranger things had happened.

  The prophecy contradicted itself, which meant it was a puzzle that needed pieces, few of which I understood. I was still trying to solve the murder, though I'd accomplished nothing since the meeting with the Warden. He’d stopped by twice to update me on the surveillance, which was to say he'd stopped by to tell me nothing new had happened.

  I hadn't written any new pamphlets either. Knowing that I would die in less than a week had an effect on my pamphleteering.

  Aught, my little bogatyr knight, wasn't much comfort even when he was around. I could only take a bath so many times, so one night when the walls had thorns, I took the cauldron and flew high above the city, letting it hover in the sky.

  The underneath of the clouds sliding overhead were coated with a honey warmth from the gas lamps in the city.

  It'd had been a unseasonably warm day, but it was still October and there was no protection from the wind in the cauldron. I shivered in my heavy jacket and woolen skirt as I watched the city move beneath me.

  A sort of peacefulness came with the view. Though I didn't understand why it needed to happen, except by the prophecy of the Gamayun, I could accept my death if it meant saving the city. I just couldn't accept it if it was a meaningless sacrifice.

  When I grew too cold, I flew down to the government center, hiding the cauldron in the shadows of the New Market Church’s steeple. The Senate, which occupied a two-story Georgian brick building, was not in session. Skeletal trees shivered in the wind. A few aides and other lesser functionaries traversed the stairs with hands buried in their pockets, while the Senators had gone home.

  The building had none of the gravitas expected in the Russian Empire. The Winter Palace, the seat of the Russian Empire, could fit the whole Senate building in the Rotunda alone.

  It ached that I might never see that place again. It was a city unto itself with its servants and grand halls.

  My inner eye had taken me back to my early years at Catherine's side as we strolled down the exquisite marble halls. I was so lost in those memories I almost didn't notice the man in the top hat and dark cape sliding down the stairs.

  A steam carriage appeared moments later, whisking him away from the Senate. I didn't need to follow the vehicle to know the Senator was probably headed to the Southwerk. Most likely the Magdelen House, because Madam Maria ran the most expensive bawdy house.

  As I thought about the Senator and the Magdelen House, I had a strong sense I was missing something. Some bit of information that I'd filed away, yet needed at this moment to finish the connection.

  "Senator."

  Mouthing the words triggered nothing.

  "Senator."

  "Senator Dexter."

  Where had I heard that name before? It came to my lips without conscious thought.

  Then I remembered the note.

  S. Dexter.

  Senator Dexter.

  The meaning behind the other items on the list hit me like a brick.

  I flew the cauldron to the Southwerk, left it on a nearby apartment building roof, and used a narrow wooden staircase to get down to street level.

  The street was muted due to the chilly weather, but the Magdelen House glowed with a vivacious energy. I could hear the music and laughter bursting to get out even from across the street.

  Before I could take another step, a memory hit me. Another chip of paint falling away, revealing deeper memories beneath. I'd stood in this exact alleyway once before and used a pistol that I no longer owned to shoot out the window of the Magdelen House.

  Why would I do such a thing?

  But as quickly as the memory appeared, it disappeared, leaving me with swirling confusion.

  I knew the memory was real, though its missing context left me reeling.

  When I burst through the door, Madam Maria was waiting for me with two men the size of tree trunks. They captured my arms before I made it two steps, carrying me outside like a parcel.

  "Lady Chloris warned me not to let you in," said Maria outside.

  Without a word, the two men reentered the Magdelen House. As her words sunk in, I realized that I was right about the intended recipient of the notes. Mrs. Sully had meant for Brassy to receive the note. She was a bawdy girl at the Magdelen House that I had met a few times before when I had come to see Lady Chloris.

  The items listed were things Brassy would want, while the name was a frequent patron, a loquacious Senator who might mention state secrets under the bedsheets.

  "Whatever she told you, she's wrong," I said. "I need to see Brassy. This is important."

  Smiles were made for things other than laughter. Her smile was meant to wound.

  "She said you would speak these exact words. Said that if I loved the city of Philadelphia and this great country of ours, I would send you from this house and bar you from entering," said Maria with her arms crossed.

  Lady Chloris had the gift of foreknowledge, but was her vision stronger than the Gamayun? I doubted it.

  "I would say the same thing. The city is in danger, but I need to see Brassy so I can figure out how to stop it. Chloris can't see what I know," I said.

  Madam Maria grew gravely serious, tucking an errant strand of salted black hair behind her ear. She glanced behind her, up and to the right, indicating the location of Chloris' watery room.

  "The Lady has said many things to me and all of them have proved real. When I said that she told me to bar your entry, I was lying. Chloris told me to kill you on sight. That everything I've worked for will be destroyed if you're allowed to live, and especially if you're allowed to speak with Brassy," she said.

  The words were like a bell struck, vibrating long after she'd ceased speaking. The blood surged through my veins while breath caught in my throat.

  What if Chloris was right? Maybe the prophecy meant I was doomed to fail?

  Madam Maria spoke quietly. "You see my dilemma, but no matter the cost, I refuse to do such a thing, despite my unwavering belief that Chloris is right."

  "She might be right," I said, prompting an unexpected noise of surprise from Maria. "But there are other forces at work. Forces greater than the Lady."

  "I see you have no intention of relenting," said Maria.

  The threat of the two large men behind the doors grew heavy. I wouldn't be able to escape if Maria summoned them.

  "I will not kill you in cold blood, but I name you trespasser and have given my men instructions to harm you should you enter my House. In this way, I turn the choice over to you and wash my hands of it."

  Before I could respond, she went back through the door. As I guessed, the two guards were waiting just inside. One squeeze around my neck and I'd be a corpse.

  In this way, I wash my hands of it.

  Madam Maria, despite giving appearances of being a hard woman, had let the decision pass her by. I didn't blame her. It was under Catherine's tutelage that I’d learned the price of power. Sometimes there were no easy answers, only slightly less worse ones.
/>   The cloak of true responsibility was a bloody lodestone only worn by a select few. In this case, it was a burden that Madam Maria didn't want.

  Except I didn't believe that the prophecy couldn't be circumvented. Rowan said prophecies were malleable by those with a strong will. On the other hand, Madam Maria had made the Magdelen House a place of death if I dared to enter.

  Once I'd returned to the cauldron, I circled the Magdelen House from a height that kept passing vehicles from spying me. I wasn't worried about pedestrians, as the wind kept their heads down.

  With my face so cold I could hardly squint, I made the rounds, eventually identifying a lighted room with Brassy sitting inside near a table with a brass pitcher and a plate of half-touched food. I was able to hover outside and get a good look inside the room without being spotted.

  A guard stood at the doorway, indicating how seriously Maria took Chloris' warning. Watching the guard fiddle with the pistol at his side made me realize that I might be as wrong as a broken clock and that Maria had made a grave mistake in not killing me.

  What worried me was that my thinking might be completely flawed. That pursuing a solution might only ensure defeat. That there wasn't a way out, as Rowan had indicated. That the Gamayun knew my every future and had given me those prophecies so I would create the eventual destruction of the city, leaving me not even a sliver of free will.

  But if Ben were here, he would remind me of the principles of the Enlightenment. Before, Man was considered a beast ruled by his passions. Only through rational thought and the morality of opposing self-interest could we progress. But this entangled my thinking as I considered that it might be my self-interest that was driving me to further drown in the pool of these prophecies, rather than accepting the moral—though supremely disappointing—conclusion that my end was better than the death of a city.

  Only the root of Enlightenment, the pillar of rationalism, kept me from despair. Though I could not understand the principles of this magic, this prophecy, because it was foreign to me, I had to act given what I knew, even if it meant I might be ensuring my doom.

  It was also as Catherine liked to say to the ladies-in-waiting to get a reaction: Katerina would fuck a eunuch to prove that God doesn't exist.

  The bright-eyed, noble-born girls would titter behind their cupped hands, trying to work out what the empress had meant. The words would leave Catherine's lips in a sideways grin, while her gaze was as sharp as a rapier.