The Shadows of God - J. Gregory Keyes [46]
“A traitor?”
“A plotter for the throne, more likely. Several of the officers and noblemen here believe they could govern more efficiently than His Majesty.”
“I'm sure. And just to keep things up front,” Franklin said, “could you tell me where you stand? Are you backing someone other than the king?”
André Penigault coughed roughly. “Don't think we haven't considered it—rule by Junto even, though we don't have anyone highly placed enough to do the job. D'Artaguiette would probably do a better job than the king—he was here when Bienville was our governor, and commanded this city when it was still named Mobile. But no, at least as it stands we support Philippe.”
“Is this d'Artaguiette the chief plotter for the throne?”
“Chief? He's the most likely to succeed at it, if that's what you mean. The others are all posturing fools, and I doubt they could snatch the king's messages from under his nose. D'Artaguiette could.”
“Then he might well know that what's left of our army is marching here, even if the king does not. How will he use that?”
“We think he has made overtures to Sterne; and after last night, my guess is that Sterne will solicit him more carefully. The king, after all, seems to be leaning your way. So d'Artaguiette will use that to bargain with Sterne. If Sterne backs his move against the king with enough force, we may see trouble.”
“Damn.” Franklin sighed. “Can't anything in this diplomat business go easy?”
“How many troops remain?” That was Robert, ever practical.
“They don't say,” Du Pratz told him. “I think they fear even the coded messages might find interception here.”
“And that's well thought, too.” Franklin gulped down the rest of his cassina and waited for the girl to refill his cup. “May I use your aetherschreiber?”
“It is at your command, sir,” Du Pratz assured him.
“I must contact Governor Nairne and Oglethorpe, if I can.”
“Then what?” Robert asked.
“Then do what we can here. Monsieur Du Pratz, what if d'Artaguiette attempts a coup? What then?”
“The Junto has some resources, but we are mostly outnumbered. Your men added may be enough—provided they don't start at the top, with regicide. All we can do is keep our eyes and ears open.”
“No,” Franklin said. “We can't wait for anything, watchful or sleeping. We have to act.”
“You have a plan?”
“No.” He was having trouble breathing. “You got the memoir on the submersible ships?”
“Yes. No sign of them in our harbors, though I expect if the eastern coasts are now secure—”
Franklin saw it. “Yes, damn it. They'll send them south around Florida. That's probably why Nairne doesn't say he will try to hold Apalachee—they have no sea fortress. How long will it take them to get here, I wonder?”
“What was your plan, before all of this?”
“To take my time, play on the king's love of science as I did at the banquet. But I have undermined that already, haven't I? I surely convinced Sterne that he cannot deal with the king. He will move in other ways. With our luck, the coup is already over, the king dead in his bed.”
“Don't be so excitable,” André Penigault said gruffly.
“Didn't we say we have some sense of what's going on? No such a thing happened tonight.”
“Well,” Franklin said. “Something will happen tomorrow night.”
“Is that a prophecy?”
“No. A promise.”
“Ah. Then you do have a plan.”
Franklin uttered a noise enough like a laugh to sound painful. “No. But I will. It may be no better than my last three ill-conceived designs, but I will not sit on my hands.”
“Bravo,” Robert said. To Franklin's surprise, he did not sound altogether sarcastic.
Her third day in bed, the angel Uriel came to Adrienne.
“I thought you were dead,” she said.
The seraph folded and unfolded its six wings, the eyes that covered them winking slowly.