The Franklin Deception (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 4)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  "Merde," I said when I saw his listless, bloodshot eyes.

  He wasn't going to be easy to get out of here. Simon wasn't huge, but he was a man with stature. There was no way I would be able to carry him out. If he didn't come out of his stupor, we'd be trapped when the doppelganger came back.

  Using the knife I had in my jacket, I cut the ropes from his torso. He slumped over and fell on his side.

  I slapped his cheek lightly. "Wake up, Simon, or we're both in trouble."

  He blinked heavily a few times, as if he were trying to dispel the effects of the doppelganger's saliva.

  "Katerina?" he asked, though it sounded more like Catherine, which was probably how the English version had come about, when drunken Englishmen were trying to bed Russian women.

  "You have to get up," I said. "We have to get out of here."

  A stupid smile affixed itself to Simon's face. He looked like he was waking up from an all day drunk. "I have feelings for you."

  Once again, the words were slurred, so it sounded like “I haff fees fo you.” I wanted to tell him that he'd already told me this, but then I remembered it'd been the doppelganger trying to trick me. It was all so confusing.

  I tussled his thick brown hair. "I have feelings for you, Simon, but probably not how you mean it. You're nearly half my age, and we're different people. I'm not sure I should have agreed to let you court me. At best, I'm just looking for a post to scratch my itches."

  "Post?" he asked, heavy-lidded.

  I assumed he wouldn't remember what I said, or what I did, so I slapped him a couple more times, trying to wake him. He didn't seem the slightest bit fazed by it.

  I sighed. We were trapped until he was more awake.

  "You know, Simon," I said, trying to paper over my nervousness, "I've only ever loved two people. My darling Mikhail, who died too young, but at least he gave me a couple of children, Pavel and Anastasia, and my sovereign, Empress Catherine."

  Waiting as we were in the dark, it provided a canvas for my memories. The first time I met her, Catherine was only the Grand Duchess. We'd laughed and conspired the whole evening, ignoring all suitors who attempted to interrupt our conversation. I'd never met someone who so thoroughly understood my heart, and that she could eventually become Empress only proved the possibilities of the divine. At the end of that joyous first meeting, the Grand Duchess Catherine dropped her fan, which I retrieved and tried to return. But she bade me to keep it as a keepsake of our first encounter. I treasured that fan still and hoped it had survived the destruction of my house.

  Reliving the past was interrupted by the rumble of an approaching steam carriage. Gas lamps flooded against the colored glass along the chapel walls, projecting a flowing sea of color against the opposite side.

  "Simon, wake up," I said. "We have to go."

  I tried pulling him up by his arm, but he was like a sack of grain. A carriage door slammed shut. Moments later, a key rattled in the chapel door and then it opened.

  The doppelganger, now in the guise of Mather Amberger, stepped inside with a lantern held high. I saw no point in hiding. There was no place to run.

  "It took you long enough," I said.

  I'd only ever seen Amberger once before, so he wasn't immediately familiar. He had dusty black hair run through with streaks of white that gave him a wise-old-owl look. Despite the wrinkles, the gut, and the double chin, he had a solid presence. He also had my pistol and rapier on his hips. The rapier was extended, since that was the condition in which it'd been taken from me.

  "You finally made it one step ahead," said Amberger. "This whole time, you've been behind. Never quite figuring out what was going on. Too bad it'll get you nothing but a death by your own weapons."

  I hated to admit it, but the creature was probably right. I had no weapons except a kitchen knife and my sorcery, which was useless, as it'd already proved it could counter. The creature was faster and stronger, and had my weapons.

  "Why the ink on Sally Hemings?" I asked. "Was that to throw me off the trail? Why even kill her in the first place?"

  "Her death was unintentional. Sometimes, I can reintroduce people back into their previous lives and they think the lost time was due to madness or the divine. This is my preferred method since death leaves too many questions," he said, taking a few steps forward until he was parallel with the back pew. "But Sally perished due to dehydration before I was finished with her. I'd gotten wrapped up in guiding the vote. A pity, really."

  The mention of madness sparked a memory, and the pieces connected in my mind as I spoke. "Before Philadelphia, you were in New York. The Rothschild family. You were using them to influence the Senators and House members that lived there."

  He made a flourishing bow, twirling one hand like a performer. An appropriate gesture considering his profession.

  "Your experience demonstrates my point exactly. I do not always kill who I impersonate. I was able to return them each to their place in the family," it said. "The interesting thing is that I've encountered those I've temporarily replaced, years and decades later, only to find the stories of madness have become entrenched in family lore. Does that speak to the fragility of human minds that you let temporary weaknesses wound you permanently?"

  I thought of my struggles with my son, Pavel. "We humans are creatures of learning. We seek to fix that which ails us, though sometimes we mistake illusions for reality."

  "Which is how I practice my trade," said the false Amberger, pulling out my repeating pistol and admiring it. He set the lantern on the nearest pew so it shone its light on the altar.

  "It has been centuries," it continued, "since I have been discovered in my trade. So I applaud your keen mind, Princess Dashkova, though I'm certain that is little solace since I am about to kill you."

  The false Amberger advanced down the center of the chapel. I stood behind the altar, preparing to duck at any moment.

  When it raised the weapon to fire, I recalled something Zentrii had said to me. That I could redirect a bullet in midair. The idea seemed impossible, but I had to try.

  The well of magic in my head seemed dull and listless when I tried to access it. I'd used a considerable amount in the battle with the creature in the pipes. The well refilled slowly, and it didn't come readily when I called.

  But I had little choice, so I tried to construct a wall of air to deflect the bullet. I'd never tried to maintain the sorcery for an extended period. Previous usage was more akin to firing a weapon, so the fledgling shield disintegrated mere seconds after I formed it.

  The doppelganger fired the pistol, and I cried out as hot pain hit my side. I dropped to the ground. Leaning against the altar next to Simon, I pulled my blouse up to find a piece of stone embedded in my stomach. The bullet had hit the altar rather than flesh. The stone shard wasn't deep, and I wiggled it out, grimacing.

  "I'll have to admit," said the doppelganger in a loud voice, "that I'm not particularly a good shot. So what a good thing that I get to practice."

  I peeked over the altar. It took some effort not to cry out from the wound in my midsection. The doppelganger aimed his weapon in my general direction, keeping one eye closed. I ducked as he fired. The bullet put a hole in the banner on the back wall, right beneath the double cross of the Orthodox Church.

  I couldn't just wait for him to kill me. I decided I'd rather go down fighting than be picked off in target practice. The next time he fired, I would rush down the aisle and engage him with a mix of sorcery and my knife, before he could set the pistol for another round.

  As I looked over the edge, preparing to charge into my death, I thought I saw movement at the back of the chapel. When I looked again, it was gone. My eyes were playing tricks on me.

  The next bullet nearly took my head off, whistling past my ear and thudding into the wall. I burst around the altar, running at a full sprint towards Mather Amberger's double.

  The doppelganger seemed generally surprised and fumbled to reset the chamber, before droppin
g the weapon and reaching for the rapier the moment before I threw a rolling curl of sorcery. The creature deflected the magic with a backhanded swipe, but couldn't stop me as I slammed into it with my shoulder, jamming the knife into its side.

  We fell in a tangle. The black blood of the doppelganger sprayed over my hand as the creature whelped out a cry of pain. For a moment, I had thoughts of victory, as I'd proved that it could be hurt, which hopefully meant that I could kill it.

  Then with a strength that felt like I was wrestling with a bear, the doppelganger flipped me onto my back, landing on top of me. It'd taken the knife as easily as if I were a child and held it above my head.

  I batted uselessly at its arms as it flaunted a toothy grin. Then Mather Amberger's form shuffled. The sensation of lying beneath the doppelganger, as it changed form, felt like waking up after having slept on a limb. The prickly wave washed over me. Dozens of people flashed into existence for scant moments until the doppelganger settled on a final form.

  My arms almost gave out as I stared up into the dark blue eyes of Empress Catherine. The doppelganger had chosen to portray her not when she was an old woman at the end, but when she was the Grand Duchess with hair dark and lustrous, skin white as cream, and a gaze as keen as a razor.

  "Remember, Princess, I know your secrets," it said, using Catherine's voice. "I thought it fitting that this face should be the last one you see before your death."

  The cruelty of this idea made me struggle against the doppelganger, but it knocked my hands away and raised the knife to plunge into my chest.

  I was to be murdered by the image of my beloved Empress.

  Then something about the size of a short human tackled the doppelganger off me. The interloper was covered from head to toe in a fine fur. My initial instinct was to rush to my fallen Catherine, but I quickly overcame that foolish notion and searched for a weapon.

  The pistol had been knocked somewhere beneath the benches, so I grabbed the rapier and climbed to my feet.

  I watched as the domovoi, the house faerie from the Amberger house, wrestled with the doppelganger. It was disconcerting to witness my beloved Catherine battle with a hairy humanoid about the size of a young boy and cheer against the Empress rather than for her.

  The doppelganger threw the domovoi into the benches, stunning the poor creature. In a rage, the double of Catherine, looking like I'd never seen her before, rushed me. Stumbling backwards, I tried to stab it with the rapier, but it knocked the blade away and hit me with impressive force.

  We landed near the altar, the doppelganger's weight knocking the air from my lungs. Using my final reserves of magic, I threw the creature off and scrambled backwards until I was beneath the altar.

  The doppelganger rushed back in, showing no injury from my sorcerous blast. It easily climbed on top of me and placed its hands around my neck. Though Catherine had the slender fingers of a musician, the doppelganger had the strength of three grown men.

  I flailed uselessly against its grip, banging the hilt of my rapier against the creature's head to no avail. As spots formed in my eyes, I tried to use the blade of the weapon, but the altar was too low and kept me from maneuvering it.

  With gurgles and spit forming on my lips—the last noises I would ever make—and my Catherine strangling me beneath the altar of the Orthodox chapel, I regretted nothing, except that I hadn't seen through the doppelganger’s stratagems sooner.

  Black spots connected in my vision. The domovoi's still form lay against the benches. I would receive no rescue from that quarter.

  As the last thoughts of consciousness faded into oblivion, I slapped the pommel of my rapier against the hard wooden floor. The blade disappeared into the hilt.

  Then I positioned the weapon at my side, angling the hilt perpendicular to the bottom of the altar, and bumped the pommel against the floor, one last time.

  When the oestium blade extended upward, it went through Catherine's chest and into the stone altar. The doppelganger seized up as if it'd been hit by lightning and then collapsed on top of me.

  Rather than shuffle through its forms, the image of Catherine faded away, replaced by a gray skinned humanoid with muted features.

  After a few minutes of recovery, I was able to work my way from beneath the dead doppelganger. The domovoi was gone when I checked, but Simon was more lucid than previously.

  "Is it dead?" he asked.

  With the aftereffects of the battle still trembling through my body, I could do little more than nod. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a few days.

  When we were well enough to move, I took Simon back to the Franklin Estate and found my old bedroom—since my house had been destroyed—and promptly fell asleep. Rest did not come easy, as my dreams were filled with the vision of my blade slicing through the silken gown of Empress Catherine's bosom—piercing her heart.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Brassy finished rewrapping the bandages around my stomach where the stone had sliced through my skin. The wound had healed well, a product of rest and the immortality powder.

  The former bawdy girl looked up at me with what I could only interpret as adoration. Her fierce blue eyes were wet with emotion.

  "I know I've said this before, but you shouldn't have taken a chance like that, Miss Dashkova," she said. "That thing could have killed you."

  "That thing should have killed me," I said, patting her glass hand. "But let's not talk about that. Tell me what I've been missing these last two weeks. Franklin's been about the city, Djata's in the Thornveld, and even you've been absent from the estate on unspecified errands. I feel positively ignorant of current events."

  "Mr. Franklin said I shouldn't be gossiping with you, that I should let you rest," she said, playing with a fallen curl near her cheek.

  "I'm rested enough! I'll admit, it was pleasant at first, but there's so much to do," I said, then gave Brassy a scandalous look. "And why are you listening to Ben? Aren't you my friend? Didn't I put you up in my house?"

  Brassy stuck out her tongue playfully. "He has your best interests at heart, and you don't have a home anymore." She paused. "Did you really release that creature from the pipes?"

  I placed my fingertips against my temples and rubbed. "Not one of my best ideas, but I was trapped. It worked out, after all. But you still haven't told me what's going on. I hate not being able to move about the city."

  The first day back, Ben had warned me that wanted posters with my likeness had been spread about the city. I was accused of witchcraft and would be hung if I were captured.

  "Ben told me..." began Brassy.

  "Fine," I said. "I'll wait, but if you're going to torture me with silence, at least bring me a pot of Bohea tea."

  As if summoned by magic, Ben Franklin appeared in the doorway with a tray upon which sat a porcelain teapot steaming with what could only be my favorite tea.

  "You're lucky you showed up," I scolded. "I was prepared to hunt you down and scorch you with sorcery until you spilled your secrets."

  Brassy moved to get up, but Ben motioned for her to stay. "You've been quite an asset, my dear," he said, winking at the girl, "so you're welcome to stay and hear what I have to say to Kat."

  Brassy gave a little squeal and plopped down on the other side of the bed.

  Ben was wearing a Continental Army coat with bright brass buttons, an outfit that had a clear meaning.

  "You haven't joined the military, have you?" I asked.

  "No," he said. "Just trying not to be noticed while I talk to some friends."

  "Has the attack been delayed?" I asked nervously.

  He nodded. "And good thing. I got word from Rousseau in France about Napoleon. Like us, he saw the strange events coming out of the Russian Empire as a concern. After the early thaw, Napoleon moved his Grand Armée across the Neman River and engaged the Russian army. Reports had his army at around half a million soldiers."

  Brassy made a noise, and Ben, seeing her confusion, gave her
the space to ask a question.

  "I never heard of this million number," said Brassy.

  Ben gave her a gracious smile. "Do you understand a thousand?" She nodded. "Well, imagine that you have five hundred of these thousands, and that's how many men were in the army."

  I noted the significance of the word “were” and “had” when Ben was speaking of Napoleon's force.

  Ben continued explaining the notion of a million to Brassy. "Think of this number as a population ten times the size of Philadelphia."

  The number seemed hard to fathom for Brassy, though I had a good idea of the size. In Catherine's court, I'd seen assembled forces in the tens of thousands. As time marched on, so did the size of armies, and in turn the size of the tragedy.

  "This, of course," Ben continued, "had included various auxiliaries, airships, steam tanks, and other accoutrements of war."

  "And now?" I asked.

  Ben's mood darkened. "Now, it is no more. A few tens of thousands escaped back to France, but the rest were annihilated. The first sign they had that something was wrong was when their airships were destroyed in midair. Pilots reported seeing the airships ahead of them hitting a great invisible shield that turned their ships to ash. The ground forces encountered the shield next, but they were able to fall back. As the army built up near the shield, the Russians, using some eldritch powers, waylaid the Grand Armée. Supposedly, Napoleon was captured and taken back to Moscow."

  The ramifications of the shield became abundantly clear. "The American air fleet would have been completely destroyed had they attacked Moscow," I said.

  Ben nodded grimly. "Even this news isn't official yet. President Washington probably won't hear it for another couple of days."

  "I guess it's good to know that what we did was worth it. For a bit there, I felt like a traitor to my country." The weight of Ben's news hit me. "Half a million soldiers. All gone. What a waste."

  "War is foolish even under the best of circumstances," said Ben. "But now we know why the doppelganger wanted us to attack. With France and America's militaries wiped out, only England would remain."