• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

‘Knock knock,’ grinned the machine.

Duquesne hesitated, fists still clenched.

‘Do I take it that this is my cue to wake up?’ she asked.

‘Knock knock,’ it repeated, and the dream fell to pieces.

‘Come in,’ said Duquesne, rubbing her eyes.

Even before the cabin door opened, she knew the caller had to be her contact in America, the sentinel – some would say

‘spy’ – that her employers had set to watch over New York.

She guessed it was nine o’clock, or thereabouts. She’d meant to sleep for only an hour or so after dinner, readying herself for her first trip into the towns, but the dream had pulled her deeper into sleep than she’d wanted to go.

‘My lady,’ said Tourette, removing his hat with an unnecessary flourish.

She considered offering him her hand, then decided that he’d probably think she was flirting, and just sat up with the bedsheet wrapped around her torso. Tourette’s body was thin and angular, with a face to match, his chiselled features leading him to the false conclusion that he had some kind of regal charm about him. His wardrobe had obviously been designed to reflect this, his bright velvet jacket and oversized cravat making him the most conspicuous agent Duquesne had ever been forced to work with.

‘Good evening, Monsieur Tourette,’ she said, mechanically, as she slid out of the bed. Tourette didn’t seem at all intimidated by the fact that she was only half-dressed, which irked her slightly. He obviously felt that morality was for the peasants. ‘You bring news from the towns?’

‘I do, my lady, I do indeed.’ Tourette bowed extravagantly, and for no immediately obvious reason. ‘For strange things are afoot there, and those of superstitious and irrational demeanours are claiming devilry is at work. These past nights, there have been dreams both weird and unfathomable amongst the townsfolk. A sensation of unease has swept across these harbours, like a great wind of... er... unease.’

Duquesne gritted her teeth. The colonies were littered with idiot agents like Tourette, ‘expendables’ who knew nothing but were led to believe that they knew everything. Duquesne politely turned her back on him as she dragged her chemise over her shoulders. ‘Your last dispatch to the Directory mentioned the Renewal Society...?’

‘Indeed, my lady. And since that time, I have infiltrated the local lodge of that group, in the hope of hearing some rumour amongst the enlightened. My cover is faultless, as one might expect from an agent of my experience, and they have accepted me as a man of great learning and philosophical insight.’

‘I don’t doubt it, Monsieur Tourette.’ Duquesne tried to smile sweetly as she crossed the cabin floor, barefoot on the splintered boards.

‘Even amongst the rationalist minds of the Society, there are feelings of ill-omen,’ Tourette continued. ‘Many members have begun to discuss ancient and absurd magics as if they were founded in science, and secret meetings are held that smack of Freemasonry. Some in the town suspect the rationalists of being the cause of their ill-feeling, though they cannot seem to explain why. I, myself, have been spat at in the street.’

‘Ah, good.’

‘My lady...?’

‘Good that you have so, ah, successfully infiltrated the Society. But these secret meetings...’

‘I have not yet been invited to any of them, my lady.’

‘I see.’

Tourette looked crestfallen, like the dog that had failed to bring back the bone. ‘But it is only a matter of time, my lady, I assure you. I have the trust of the Society.’

Duquesne stepped out through the cabin door and on to the deck of the ship, Tourette at her heels. ‘I’m sure you do,’ she said, lips still forced into a smile. ‘I’m sure you do.’

No one else on the street. No witnesses, thought Roz, crouching in the alley by the church. The nearest human sounds came from around the corner, where the man from the general store was having a loud argument with someone about the legality of his opening hours.

Quiet enough.

Abraham Lincoln. Born in the