The Franklin Deception (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 4)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  "So much work in so little time," I said.

  Ben waved us towards a room at the center of the workshop. The building was at the center of the village, and the room we neared was at the center of the building. I felt the tugging in my mind before we reached it. The light in my head oozed to the surface, causing me to fidget.

  "You feel it, don't you?" asked Ben, head tilted. "How interesting."

  By the blazes, whatever was in the room was putting me in quite a state. Visions of climbing onto Djata's lap and chewing on his ear filled my head.

  "What is it?" I asked, putting a hand to my temple.

  "The power source," said Ben.

  At the center of the room was a stone cylinder glowing with an eldritch light that seeped through the symbols on its surface. I felt the glacial pulse of power cycling through its paces, calling to the light in my head.

  I stopped a few feet away, afraid to move closer. Ben and Djata bracketed me. We stared at the object together.

  Ben spoke softly. "I was experimenting with the gauntlet in this room when I accidentally woke it, which in turn brought out the galmi."

  Above the threshold of my hearing was a high-pitched whine that I only knew was there by the way it made me squint. As I watched, I saw little flashes in the symbols.

  "Something's not right," I said, rubbing the side of my head.

  "What do you mean—?"

  Ben barely got the words out before Whorl-Star, whom I'd forgotten was standing behind me, barged forward, knocking me into the power source and trapping my hands against the glowing symbols. Connecting to it formed a conduit between my head and the stone. Energy surged against the blockage in my mind until I was sure I would explode.

  Chapter Nine

  Whorl-Star held me to the power source as I was blinded by the light flooding out of my mind. I felt like a pot boiling over with steam splashing everywhere. The pressure was building up, pressing against the backs of my eyes.

  Even my teeth hurt.

  I struggled to remove my hands, but struggling against Whorl-Star was like trying to lift the world. I was vaguely aware that Ben and Djata were shouting, possibly even beating on the galmi, who held me fast against the stone.

  The pressure in my head was unbearable, like being held underwater for a long time, until the lungs wanted to burst. I wanted desperately to breathe, to remove my hands, to let the pressure go.

  A blockage in my head was keeping it from flowing out, like scar tissue, or a rock jammed in a throat. It was like the magic was pushing against it, trying to dislodge it.

  I thought I'd die before it came loose, but when it did, the relief was euphoric. If I'd been allowed to stay that way as the pent-up magic flowed out my limbs into the power source, I don't know if I would have had the willpower to leave.

  Before long, I realized I was no longer touching the power source and Whorl-Star no longer had me trapped. I began to realize what had happened as Ben was shaking me to speak.

  "Kat, Katerina, are you well?" asked Ben.

  "Yes," I said eventually, motioning for him to stop.

  Whorl-Star was standing back from us. Djata had retrieved a steel pipe from somewhere and was holding it up, as if he were about to hit the galmi.

  The high-pitched hum was no longer drilling through my head. The lights on the power source seemed to be calmer, less frenetic.

  "I think I had some scar tissue," I explained. "It was blocking my magic."

  Whorl-Star said nothing, the obsidian orbs that made up his eyes reflecting the pulsing light from the power source.

  I took a deep breath.

  "Thank you, Whorl-Star," I said.

  The galmi said nothing. It barely seemed like it was alive. If I hadn't seen it move, I would have thought it was a statue.

  "They do that from time to time," said Ben, stepping away. "Dead as stone, they are."

  "Or bone," I muttered.

  Which isn't dead at all.

  I shared a meaningful glance with Djata.

  Ben spoke again. "I'd say the power source is working better than before. I'm not getting a headache in this room."

  Djata broke in with his deep voice, "Maybe it's like a pump that needed to be primed."

  With my body in balance, I felt a satisfying exhaustion seep into my skin. "This demonstration has been lovely, I mean that in every sense of the word, but I think I must get back. The vote will arrive faster than we think, and I want to take my reports from Brassy and Aught."

  They agreed, and when we left, Whorl-Star stayed in the power room. I wondered how safe it was to utilize creatures that probably had their own agenda, but like Brassy, who might be a spy for Chloris, we had no choice.

  Along the way, they showed me Djata's latest distillations. After the last batch of gases had been destroyed by Koschei, Djata had come up with new formulas. Among other ideas, he was trying to create a gas that could make one invisible, but so far he'd only succeeded in turning the skin into a milky shade of white, which was useless for our needs.

  Djata confessed to us he'd tested the gas, which was how he knew about the effect. And that he'd learned he quite enjoyed the darkness of his skin and felt sorry for us poor, pale creatures.

  He was also working on a contact oil that would knock someone out when spread on their skin. He said it worked, sometimes, while other times left the individual so nauseated they couldn't stand up.

  After giving Djata a brief farewell, Ben rode up with me in the gondola. We stood on opposite sides of the traveling carriage.

  "How are your plans to win the vote?" I asked.

  He was a skilled diplomat and smiled in all the right places. But even before he spoke, I saw the tightness in his chest.

  "Progressing. Behind schedule, but progressing," he said.

  "Is that what you're doing down here? Progressing those plans?" I asked.

  "Always have a backup plan. And a backup plan for your backup plan, if you can," he said.

  Before I exited the gondola, Ben gave me a brass disc that fit perfectly in my palm.

  "What's this?" I asked.

  "Squeeze it between your palms and concentrate on it," he said.

  I closed my eyes, forgetting how near he stood until I felt his breath on my neck. He'd been chewing mint.

  The brass disc was warm from his touch, but nothing seemed odd. I almost peeked out from under my eyelids, thinking it a trick, but then a sensation leaked out of the disc like smoke from a bottle.

  I felt the urge to tap my feet. A twitch formed at the base of my neck. I wanted desperately to know what time it was and what was going on in Philadelphia. Lists of things to do sprung to mind, and I was calculating everything I needed to do before the vote, feeling empowered and frustrated at the same time.

  Eventually it became too much and I pulled my palms away, letting the cooler air soothe my sweaty palms.

  "What was that?" I asked.

  "An ego disc. It records your emotional state," he said. "I thought you might find it useful in your investigations into Sally's murder."

  "Aren't you going to help?" I asked.

  "Of course," he said, "just send Aught down to fetch me when you have need. But you'll have more time. When you want it to record someone, press it against their skin; willing or unwilling, it still works."

  "You feel this way all the time? So full of thoughts and ideas and plans?" I asked.

  He gave me a smile that only Ben Franklin could give. Part bravado, part what-can-you-do? He was always a contradiction, practicing his Virtues at times, while playing the part of the cunning rogue at others.

  "Adieu," I said.

  We parted ways, and I placed the object into my jacket pocket. I meandered back towards my home, thinking about the feelings I'd encountered with the ego disc. There were other emotions beneath the first, layered liked silt after years of flood and drought.

  The disc gave me ideas about the investigation, but it also put thoughts in my head about more personal matte
rs. Rather than return home, I caught a ride across town on the back of a farmer's wagon.

  The Warden was surprised to find me knocking on his door. He answered in breeches and a white shirt, without his tricorn hat. He appeared to have been sleeping despite it being late afternoon. His gaze was outlined with wrinkles and dark circles.

  "Katerina?" he asked, squinting from the sun.

  "I'm glad to see you, Simon," I said, admiring the way the shirt hung on his lean body.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. "How can I help you? Is something wrong?"

  I had two purposes for seeing him. The first was to solicit help with Chloris' task and the other more personal.

  "I need your advice. Can we talk?"

  "Let me get my boots and a proper vest. We can take a walk. I could use the fresh air," he said.

  He returned a minute later, looking more presentable for the streets of Philadelphia. We made our way towards the Delaware River in a slow stroll. Simon had his hands shoved in his pockets, while I fidgeted with the brass disc.

  "Are you well?" I asked after a time of silence.

  "Up late on investigations. Philadelphia has become quite strange as of late, something you're quite aware of," he said.

  "Can I help?"

  The lines around his mouth creased. "I can handle these incidents, but I'll keep you in mind if things get over my head."

  "Aren't you using your deputies?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Can't trust most of them not to start screaming about witchcraft and stirring up trouble. Not that the whispers haven't been going round in the city and the government. I might have to soon enough, except I'm afraid when we have the talk, they'll just accuse me of being a part of it."

  His concerns hit me right in the gut. Now that I could wield a little magic, I was at risk for being accused of witchcraft, which would make me a pariah. While the events in Salem were well known, and most put it off as a sort of collective insanity, the danger of overreaction was still there. Especially when the Puritans were involved.

  "And you?" he asked.

  "The upcoming vote consumes our efforts," I said, feeling safe to discuss the topic with the Warden since he opposed the Federalists.

  "The specter of war doesn't help people's moods. When mothers and wives fear for their sons that'll get sent off to war, it puts people in an uncommon mood," he said, frowning.

  The river flowed gently along the edge of the street. A massive steamship neared the city, headed in from the sea. I recognized the S.S. Independence. The trail of black smoke behind the engine was unmistakable. The ship dwarfed the white sails of the traders in port.

  A man's shout drifted down on us from above. An airship was passing overhead. A man in a blue cap was leaning out a window, yelling at a group of ladies in colorful gowns and bonnets strolling along the river.

  "What was your question?" the Warden asked.

  "Do you know of a way to force someone to move out of a house? Legally speaking," I said.

  He reacted by leaning away from me and hunching his brow. "What manner of question is this?"

  "An important one," I said.

  He let out a grumbling sigh. "You're always getting into some sort of trouble. Why I haven't taken you to the courthouse in stocks, I haven't the slightest."

  I had a good idea why, but kept my mouth shut.

  He shook his head as if he couldn't believe he was offering advice on the topic. "The legal method for removing an owner is through eviction. Is this theoretical owner behind on payments with the bank?"

  I let out a chuckle. "No. Money is not an issue for this theoretical owner."

  "There really is no other option, except sale or abandonment," said Simon. "Is this important to you?"

  "Unfortunately, yes. Complications I cannot explain further," I said.

  Simon screwed his mouth up sideways, as if it pained him to make his comment. "I'll ask around the courthouse about the matter. Maybe one of our legal scholars can illuminate other methods, since I can only explain what a simple Warden knows."

  "You're not so simple," I said, admiring his no-color eyes.

  He looked down at my hands, noticing the brass disc.

  "What is that? An item of magic?"

  I handed it to him, brushing his hands with my fingertips. "Something Ben gave me to help with my investigations."

  Simon turned the brass disc over in his hands. "It feels slightly warm to the touch."

  He held it up, squinting at it flatways. "Is there something inside of it? The thickness is rather slight. What does it do?"

  I took it from his hands, quickly dropping it into my pocket for later examination.

  "We should go back," I said, smiling into his sunlit face.

  We walked back in silence, the only communication the occasional nod towards something interesting: a newer compact steam engine on a carriage, a wind-up cat watched over by an excited boy, a soldier coming back from the day's drills with dirt smudged on his face and a strange mask hanging around his neck.

  We received our fair share of pointing, waves, and comments. The Warden was a well-known figure in the city, while I was a woman in breeches and a riding jacket.

  Standing outside Simon's apartment, we said our farewells.

  "We should do this again," said Simon, holding back a smile. "I enjoyed that our time together didn't involve a dead body maimed by magic."

  "I as well. I hope we get a chance to do this again," I said.

  With nothing left to say, I moved away. Simon moved up the wooden stairs towards his apartment.

  The information that lay on the ego disc was tempting. Within it was the Warden's state of mind, including how he felt about me. As I reached to pull the object from my jacket pocket, a stab of guilt hit me in the gut.

  Why did I care about knowing what Simon felt about me? It wasn't like I could do anything about it. Chloris had warned me that until I could control my magic, I was too dangerous for moments of passion.

  Better that I left the disc untouched, despite my overwhelming curiosity.

  But as for my magic, I needed to learn to control it. Not only for matters of affection, but for the coming struggles ahead.

  I wasn't going to learn how to control it by myself, and I couldn't trust Chloris, leaving only one option.

  My mental plans were interrupted when a young man in a tricorn hat lurched towards me from a doorway. I hadn't noticed him before because he'd been leaning against the frame and I was lost in thought.

  Even before I saw his face, I noticed the short, blunt object in his hand. I thought I was about to be robbed in broad daylight until I heard the voice from under the tricorn hat.

  Chapter Ten

  "Whadya doin' here, Miss Dashkova?"

  It took a moment to place the feminine voice.

  "Brassy?" I exclaimed.

  I took a good look at the gentleman before me. It was Brassy, alright. Except with her hair up inside the hat and no trace of makeup on her face. She passed as a young, beardless man in his late teens.

  The dark blue jacket hid her mechanical arm, and she wore gloves. Brassy was holding a rolled letter with a string tied around it. I'd thought it was a head-knocker or some other blunt object.

  "I might ask you the same," I said. "Why are you here? I thought you were watching the ink shop."

  She tugged on my jacket, bouncing excitedly. "I was. I saw your gentleman. The one you were inquirin' about. I followed him home. It's not far from here. I can take you if you'd like."

  "Brassy, no. I only wanted you to watch him," I said.

  "Don't worry, Miss Dashkova, I'm more careful than a cat in a room full of rockin' chairs." She held out her hands. "Plus I'm not recognizable like this. You didn't even know who I was until I said something."

  "How did you know to do this?" I asked, indicating her disguise.

  "We had lots of time without clients at the Magdelen House. Me and the other girls used to dress up and act out plays. Madam Maria ga
ve us books with the words in them and we took turns in the parts. I was pretty good at the boy parts," she said.

  Brassy squinted at me, in an exaggerated way. "Looks like you're pretty good at dressing like a boy, too, except you still look like a lady in them."

  "Sometimes a dress can be a liability," I said.

  Brassy grinned knowingly.

  "Well, where does this man live?" I asked.

  "Chestnut and Tenth. Not far from here. His name's Alden Bridgewater," she said.

  "By the blazes, you shouldn't have," I said.

  "It was an accident that I learned it. After Mr. Bridgewater left the ink shop, another man came up to speak with him, said his name and everything. They talked a while. Mr. Bridgewater seemed mighty put off, like he was going to be late for something, but never said otherwise, letting the other ramble on for a while," said Brassy.

  "And who was this other man and what were they speaking about?"

  Brassy screwed up her face in thought, pursing her lips into a bow. "Seems Alden Bridgewater works for the other man—his head of the house, or something like that. He seemed surprised to find him on that street."

  "Did you learn the other's name?" I asked.

  Brassy shook her head. "No, but he was a well-to-do with tailcoat and fancy shirt. Spoke real clean. I've heard men like him when I worked at the Magdelen House. They come in and talk and talk, just wanting someone to listen to them. Men like them in power have secrets they want to spill, and we're just the girls to hear them since they don't think we're important or anything. Plus, Madam Maria would be real mad if we said anything."

  "Well, you don't work for Madam Maria now, you work for me, so you can spill those secrets. Did you ever see this man in the House?" I asked.

  Brassy tapped on her lip with a gloved hand. "You're right! I have. I never met with him, and I don't remember his name, but I remember what Madam Maria said about him."

  "And what was that?" I prodded.

  "Something about him holding the strings of government," she said.

  "The purse strings?" I asked as my stomach tightened.

  "Yes, that's it!" Her eyes lit up.

  "Was his name William Bingham, by chance?"