Two long heartbeats followed in the reverberating silence and then a woman screamed.
Chapter Twenty
Right away, Enoch Tasker began gesturing towards the President's guards at either end of the row. While the prophecy didn't identify the President by name, half the audience glanced at him when I uttered the phrase the Eagle's Nest.
Vasilissa turned back and forth, waiting for either me or Brassy to continue the charade. I heard Enoch giving instructions to the soldiers that I was to be apprehended. They were confused as I'd done nothing wrong, yet they seemed likely to carry out the orders.
The crowd murmured, the volume growing as the silence on the stage continued. Everyone in the theatre had heard the power of the prophecy. Even if they didn't believe in magic, they'd been unconsciously moved.
Martha tugged on her husband's navy blue sleeve, indicating they should leave. The President's lips curled towards the sticky floor of the theatre.
A soldier handed his rifle to Enoch so he could climb onto the stage. The sound of my heart beat like a drum in my ears.
"Hark, an eagle comes!"
Brassy, in her raven cloak and plague doctor mask, pointed at the ceiling as if she was staring at the sky. Few patrons reacted. Vasilissa and the mechanical witch were backing towards the curtain.
"Vasilissa, an eagle comes," said Brassy, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Here is your chance to redeem yourself in your forest grandmother's eyes."
The soldier had crawled onto the stage and was busy climbing to his feet. I was frozen to my spot.
A few patrons were moving towards the exit, while others stood up and pointed towards the stage.
Vasilissa took one more glance at me before turning to Brassy. "Why for does the eagle come?"
Brassy's mask twitched with the implication of a question. "Because!" I said, stopping the soldier in his tracks. "Because Ivan is still alive!"
The mechanical witch followed my lead. "When the storm comes, he will come back for you! It's not too late, Vasilissa, to beg forgiveness of your forest grandmother, that I might protect you from him."
The soldier, crouched only a few feet away, hesitated. He kept glancing back at Enoch, who was motioning to grab me. The crowd began to sit again, sensing that the strangeness had passed.
"If you want our protection, darling Vasilissa, from the terrible Ivan, you must fulfill three tasks for us," I said, holding out three fingers to the crowd, careful to hold onto the feathered cape with my gauntleted hand.
If they were unsure before, the announcing of the tasks settled them. These were a familiar theatre trope. Those who had turned to leave, returned to their seats. The soldier on stage shook his head and climbed back down.
"What are these tasks, forest grandmothers?" asked Vasilissa.
"Three is a magical number," I said. "One task for each sister. A trinity. For me, the youngest and most beautiful, you must steal a tail feather from the majestic Firebird!"
Vasilissa's eyes went wide in recognition. I heard faint shouts from the back of the stage. I hoped that they knew the tale, so they could continue the improvisation.
While the action moved to Brassy, who had to announce the second task, I focused on the silvery gauntlet. As I touched the stone with my mind to wake the artifact, I felt Enoch Tasker's small eyes upon me.
I feared that as soon as the gauntlet sensed his magic, he would spring upon the stage and rip out my throat. That was the intensity of his glaring.
But once I was finished with my scan, I found no trace of the arcane within its range, which included the location of the President's assistant. If he were magical, he either hid it well or the gauntlet had failed to detect him.
I shook my head, frustrated at putting so much at risk for naught. The explaining of the tasks was finished. Behind the curtain, I could hear the other members of the troupe gathering materials for the next scene.
The audience was rapt with attention. Enoch Tasker most of all, though his focus was less encouraging. He stood to the side, giving pointed instructions to a group of soldiers. He kept pointing towards the back of the stage. They would apprehend us when we finished our parts.
"When you complete these tasks," I said, noticing the stage had grown silent, "we shall keep you safe. Farewell, for now."
I hurried to the curtain, slipping through the gap as hands grabbed my arms. The mask and wig was ripped from my face, cool air rushing in after. The pale woman with plucked eyebrows stood at the head of the troupe.
"What maddened you to do such a thing?" she asked, lips pinched into a scowl. "Now we have to improvise the rest of the play or they'll think we're amateurs!"
"Then prove you're not," I said, pushing through them, peeling off the feathered cloak.
Shouts came from another section of backstage. The soldiers were trying to get past the stagehands.
"No one's allowed backstage!" they shouted, but the soldiers weren't listening. We needed to leave before these softhearted actors got hurt.
I saw Brassy near the back hallway. I found my knapsack and thrust the gauntlet inside.
"Stop those witches!" yelled Enoch Tasker from the far side of backstage, behind the crowd of actors.
Soldiers trampled through the crowd. There was pushing and shoving. We used the commotion to make it outside and into the fog.
The white mist swallowed us. I ran hand in hand with Brassy. We used each other for balance so we wouldn't slip on the slick cobblestones.
Soldiers flooded onto the street behind. Bull lanterns cut through the fog. Muted shouts followed us.
We ran headlong, arms pinwheeling. A mangy dog appeared, yelped, and ran away startled, with his butt low to the ground. Buildings loomed out of the whiteness. We were running through a maze, sometimes having to let go of each other's hand when we came upon a gas lamp burning dully in the moist air. It felt like we were running through a dream.
After a few minutes of playing hide and seek with the soldiers, we found ourselves trapped in an alleyway. Soldiers had been right on our tail, though we thought we'd slipped into the passage without being seen.
"What will they do if they catch us?" whispered Brassy, huddled close.
The fog was turning to a light rain. Tiny ticking erupted on the steep roofs.
"Let's not find out," I whispered back, searching for a way to climb over the brick wall. The alleyway butted up to an extra large lot. An old crate had been left in the corner amid piles of rubbage. Together we could climb over and escape, assuming the soldiers hadn't cut us off on the other side.
At the front of the alleyway, men were speaking. One of them sounded like Enoch Tasker. I wasn't sure if they were headed into the alleyway or had just stopped to discuss possible directions to pursue.
Remembering the spyder I'd taken from the Thornveld, I crouched down and released the metal creature, motioning in the direction of the voices. Spindly legs burst from the sides of the metallic sphere. At first, the creature lurched drunkenly across the slick stones, but then it compensated for the unfamiliar surface and sped out of sight on eight tiny legs.
It felt like it took forever for the spyder to skitter to the other end of the alley, listen to the conversation, and come back to report. I hoped that it hadn't been seen, though it was unlikely given the fog.
My palm provided a platform. It scurried on, pointed feet tickling my hand.
When I heard Enoch's voice being repeated in my ear, I nearly dropped the spyder, thinking he'd found us. It was rather unnerving to listen to a conversation coming out of a metal spider.
"...the nearest soldiers you can find and bring them back. These witches are dangerous," came Enoch's voice.
"Witches?" replied another voice in a Virginia accent. "I thought they'd been playin' parts?"
"They're real witches, the both of them. They tried to cast a spell on the President. Didn't you see how the rest of the audience acted real weird after the pale one spoke?" asked Enoch.
"I suppos
e," said the other.
"Good then," said Enoch. "I've already sent two others to block off the other side. That's the Bartle Estate. And as soon as you grab a few more soldiers, we're going to march down this alleyway, guns a firing. We'll take no..."
The voice from the spyder grew silent.
"Merde!" I muttered, grabbing for the knapsack.
"What will we do?" asked Brassy.
I slipped the silvery gauntlet over my fist, ignoring Brassy's clutching. Faintly through the fog, I sensed men approaching. The clicks of rifles sliding into place put a knot in my stomach.
Concentrating on the image of my front room in my head, I summoned the portal on the side of the alleyway. Once it appeared, I dragged Brassy through the shimmering void. As we landed on the other side of the city, I heard "Fire!" followed by a hail of bullets exploding into the bricks behind us.
I released the portal, and the foggy streets of Philadelphia disappeared.
We were safe.
Chapter Twenty-One
I stumbled against the divan in my front room, letting go of Brassy's soft hand and blinking away the spots in my eyes from the sudden transition. I sensed another person in the room even before they spoke.
"You're failing me," said an unexpected voice.
I knew the owner, but her appearance in my front room left me confused.
"Lady Chloris?" I asked.
I turned, forgetting that I should not lay my gaze upon her. She was startlingly plain, except for a mossy robe that hung across her body, exposing pale, freckled flesh. Her features were small and timid. Chloris was more a bookkeeper's mousy assistant than a powerful rusalka, a water nymph.
"You're not in the water," I uttered.
This obvious truth made her flinch.
"A farmhouse is being built next to Cutter's Spring. I won't be able to hide there much longer," said Chloris.
The nymph's gaze flitted to Brassy, small eyes twitching. Whether it was brief greeting, a longing for a former friend, or a message, I couldn't tell.
As I was looking at her, I realized that I felt no tug of power from her as I had when she was in her pool or the spring. She derived her magic from the water.
She stroked her wet hair. Water dribbled from the ends and dripped onto the floor.
"I need the Washington Estate," she said, equal parts command and desperation.
"So you knew what you were asking. You knew who lived there," I said.
"I have no choice," she said, grimacing. "I don't want to go back into the river. It's bad enough at the spring." She glanced down. "It makes me...feral."
I didn't want to feel sorry for her. She'd ordered Madam Maria to kill me and had done something awful to the woman when she’d allowed the Magdelen House to burn to the ground. So I hardened myself to her plight.
"I'm doing what I can, but what you ask is the impossible," I said.
Her eyes flashed up, bitter, and her lips moved into a curl. "Don't forget that I own you. Do you really want me to go wild? You can't imagine the thoughts that already go through my head. Drowning would be the least of your problems."
Brassy whimpered from somewhere near the stairs. Both Chloris and I had forgotten her. She had one hand on the railing, backing away.
Chloris' features turned soft. "I'm sorry, Brassy. I forgot you were there. I don't want to go back to who I was. You understand?"
It appeared that Brassy did not because she mewed and ran upstairs, feet pounding, then a door slammed shut.
This seemed to break something in Chloris. Her lips were bone white.
"I'm sorry," I said, splaying my hands out. "I wish I could help you. I truly do."
Chloris' gaze flitted to the other room, the one with the bath. I made connections about the past between Ben and Chloris.
"Ben built that bath for you," I said.
Chloris knew about the bath before she sent me after Washington's Estate, which meant that whatever had happened between her and Ben must have been traumatic for her not to ask about its availability.
The nymph nodded slowly.
"Oh dear," I said, putting my fingers to my mouth. "I could have let you stay here in the bath, but it's broken. More than broken. Ben said it's unfixable."
Chloris looked away. "No matter." Then she sighed. "The rain will stop soon. I should travel while I can easily." She glared in my direction, eyes burning with a feverish intensity mixed with fear. "Get me that house, whatever it takes. Unleash that power in your head, or by all the gods of old and new, I will make you regret it."
She left. The rain was coming down heavy, splattering against the window.
I moved to the kitchen and put a pot of water on the stove. While I prepared a cup of Bohea tea, I pondered the encounter with Enoch Tasker. The gauntlet had detected no magic, but I was certain that he had something to do with Alden Bridgewater and the death of Sally Hemings.
How else had he known that I was someone important beneath the mask? Even as I’d stepped out onto the stage, his gaze had locked onto me.
It made me doubly glad that I'd given William Bingham a false name; otherwise Enoch would be able to track me down. Though William knew I was an acquaintance of Franklin. Which meant he might eventually determine my real name.
I searched my memory for the clue that kept me believing the two were related. Enoch and Alder, what was the connection? As Descartes taught, take a problem and break it down into the smallest pieces possible. This problem was still too large. I needed more information, more clues. I knew something I had to check, something I should have remembered before.
I stood up and called to Brassy. She came running to the top of the stairs. She'd changed into an outfit that made her look like a young boy: pants, shirt, jacket, and short hair tucked beneath a cap.
"Yes, Mistress Katerina?" she answered, bringing a smile to my lips.
"I have a task for us," I said.
She furrowed her brow. "Something with the Washington Estate?"
I caught a sigh between my teeth. That problem would have to wait until later.
"How do you feel about the dead?" I asked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Philadelphian skies were heavy with rain as evening fell. Slick black cobblestones turned to brass in the gas lamp glow. The air had grown chilly for the late spring, but my wool peacoat and scarf kept the worst of the wind away. The storm had moved east over the ocean, and clear skies could be seen further west.
Brassy rode in silence next to me in the steam carriage, her wide eyes flitting around the interior like a restless bird. She rubbed her slender hands together, the glass one ticking softly.
I took her left hand in mine and squeezed. "We'll be alright, Brassy. He's already dead. There's nothing to worry about."
"You said he might have magic. Could he not rise from the cold earth?" she asked.
"If he could, wouldn't he have done so already? I'm more worried about bully ruffians who've taken up residence in the cemetery," I said.
"Highwaymen?" said Brassy, exasperated. "I had not thought of them. Now, I'm doubly worried."
I gave a short laugh, squeezing my lips together when I saw how touchy she was about it.
"You have the pistol I gave you, while I have weapons of my own," I said.
"You do?" she asked, her voice soft and light. "I see nothing."
"Perfect," I said, winking.
We left the steam carriage on Arch Street. The Christ Church cemetery was in the center of the city, surrounded by a brick wall. It was closed for the evening. We circled it looking for a way in, eventually coming back to the entrance.
"Keep a lookout," I said, pulling out my tools.
The lock was amateur work. It only took me a few jiggles to unlock it, but I guess it was mostly used to keep the curious out, since the dead had nothing to hide.
"What are we looking for?" asked Brassy.
A lone, wide building with a sloped stone roof sat in the middle of the cemetery.
&n
bsp; "Alden Bridgewater's body," I said. "First, we'll check the morgue. It's been a few days, so the body probably won't be in there, but we should look for the easiest route."
As we walked down the curving path between the headstones and sparse trees, the light from the street faded behind us, leaving us in a grand pool of shadow. I unbuttoned my woolen coat so I could reach my rapier.
"How do you know Mr. Bridgewater's body is here?" asked Brassy in a timid voice.
"Ben knows the coroner. This is where Ben's body is supposedly buried, though clearly you and I know that's a lie," I said.
The stone door on the morgue was locked twice. Once on the outside and a keyhole for the inside. The double lock was curious, but didn't matter for long, as I unbolted the outside and defeated the inner lock with my tools. We went inside the cool, dark place. I found a lantern on the wall and sparked it to life, the flickering flames dancing with the shadows.
The central room had a slab in the middle, surrounded by drawers in the wall. A wooden table nicked with use was near the slab, upon it a row of knives and other morgue utensils. A mug of pale liquid had been set at the corner of the table, perpendicular to the blades.
I stood over the table, admiring the peculiar organization of the tools. They were set in such strict parallel lines that I gathered if I had a measuring stick I would find them exactly equidistant from each other.
Brassy examined the stained slab, though she did not touch it. Her face was pinched with concern.
The place had an old, bad smell mixed with the scent of chemicals. The scent was not horrific like a flooded sewer, yet it came with the uneasy reminder of what this place held—dozens of dead bodies.
Peering into the mug, I saw a curious sight. A small, round chunk of floating ice. Whoever had organized the tools had only recently left, since there was ice remaining in the mug.
At that moment, the orangish-red light of a lantern approaching erupted in one of the hallways that led from the central room like a spoke. By the way the furnace-like glare climbed the walls in hitching steps, it was clear the holder of the lantern was climbing stairs.
The Franklin Deception (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 4) Page 14