The Shadows of God - J. Gregory Keyes [112]
He watched as four burly soldiers loaded the holds, grunting with the weight of heavy casks full of grenades and other weapons.
“We ought to have called her the Turtle,” Robert noted.
“Well, we can sure tuck in our head,” Franklin allowed. “It has an aegis and some other scientific protections. But those below us will know we are a storm, never fear.”
Vasilisa stuck her head out of the top hatch.
“It's prepared, Benjamin, and we are all here. Shouldn't we get started?”
“Not quite. We're waiting for two more. But see, there they are.” He gestured at the sedan chair, born across the muddy plaza in front of the palace by two stout Lorraine guards.
“Adrienne? You've made peace with her, then? I knew nothing of this.”
Red Shoes seemed pleased with their new passenger. “It is good,” Franklin heard him murmur, from where he sat on an empty rum cask, smoking a pipe and watching the philosophers at their tasks.
“But she hasn't been prepared,” Vasilisa protested, “nor studied the equations.”
“It doesn't matter.”
Franklin walked over to see if he could help. The Frenchwoman could not move on her own, of course. Two of her guard carried her to the ship, then brought a special couch for her, which they tied to braces on the floor. There were similar braces everywhere, with leather straps attached, in case the air road became a bit bumpy.
Franklin was confronted by the formidable Crecy, who still regarded him with something between a hard winter and a glacier in her eyes.
“I'm going, of course,” she said simply.
“Of course,” he replied. “I'm happy to have you.”
Crecy didn't answer but went to help settle Adrienne onto the ship. Franklin shrugged, returning his attention to the Lightning, hoping he hadn't missed anything.
“You can carry one more, I hope?”
Don Pedro. Franklin hadn't even heard him come up.
“I would be more than happy for your help,” Franklin said, “but I fear your wounds—”
“Are of no consequence, I assure you. I have given command of my men to Governor Nairne, but if you cannot make room for me here, I will lead them in the defense of the redoubts.” His eyes blazed.
“Aye. Let ‘im come,” Robert said, from behind him. “We might need an extra sword, if things go wrong.”
If things go wrong, it's scant good swords will do us, Franklin thought. But he held it in. With his wounds the Apalachee was better off in the Lightning than charging into battle. And Franklin, after all, bore a large measure of responsibility for the wounds.
“It is my honor, Don Pedro, to have you aboard. And speaking of aboard”—he raised his voice—“all aboard that's coming. ‘Tis time to fly this thing.”
And so they crowded on—Vasilisa, Euler, Red Shoes, Grief, Adrienne, Crecy, Robert, Tug, Don Pedro, and him.
Franklin twisted the valves that engaged the engines, and the Lightning began to rise. He watched New Paris diminish into a patchwork of huts and muddy paths. For the first time, he hoped that he would see it again.
Flame exploded in columns in front of them as the wing ship flew over, tossing Mongols, Indians, and Russians aside like rag dolls. It was a terrible and wonderful sight.
“There, let them drink some of their own beer,” Oglethorpe shouted, “and now, forward!” As he said it he urged his own mount into motion. Now the guns in the redoubt started pounding, too, and belatedly the enemy artillery answered, and they were in the midst of the fireworks. Men and horses screamed, the air was choked with smoke, and the din was so great as to bring tears to the eyes.
The charge had begun. Led by the airships and their grenadiers, three companies, ranged along the defensive line perhaps half a league apart, broke northward at once. In the center were the Swedes, with the French to the east and Oglethorpe and his men to the west. They had drawn lots for the more exposed flank positions, and Charles had lost.
“Hold it together, lads,” he shouted. “There they are!”
The cavalry they faced was like none he had ever seen before. Though some bore muskets, most of them wielded bows with improbably