The Shadows of God - J. Gregory Keyes [78]
He handed Vasilisa over to McPherson with some stern cautions, then went in search of Lenka. He bumped into Voltaire in the hallway.
“You, damn you!” Franklin snapped. “I ought to straighten my fist in your face.”
“Will you give me a cause, first?”
“You didn't tell me about Lenka.”
“Ah. But surely you understand she made me take an oath—and that I never break an oath to a lady.”
“How could you have— Good God, she was there when the Coweta were trying to makes riddles of us! How could you have let her ride into such danger?”
“Benjamin, Fort Moore fell and lost half of its troop complement, as did Fort Montgomery. Where do you suppose she would have been safe?”
Franklin had no answer to that, but he tried furiously to find one. Voltaire didn't give him much time, though. “Was it really her safety that was uppermost in your mind, Ben? You talked little enough about her on the journey. Maybe a few years of marriage have begun to feel constraining? Maybe you half hoped you might have some rendezvous with a comely Indian lass or a Frenchwoman? Be honest.”
Ben's jaw dropped. “By God, Voltaire. You don't have designs on my wife, do you?”
“Someone ought to. You don't seem to have any. And she's a most remarkable woman.” He cocked his head. “Caught you doing something foolish with Vasilisa, didn't she?”
“None of your damn business. What did the two of you do on the ride? Now that I think of it, you had a way of disappearing at night.”
“Talked. About you, mostly, you great idiot. She tried to paint you in a good light, but the truth is, I wonder how she puts up with you. And I'll tell you this—you don't deserve her. Maybe she won't put up with you much longer.”
“And then she'll be yours, I suppose?”
“A man could do worse. But no, Benjamin, I have more honor than that. And if you wish to question the status of my honor, we shall provide more entertainment like tonight's for the court, you and me.”
Franklin was about to reply when someone coughed behind them. He spun angrily to see who was eavesdropping.
It was McPherson. “What do you want?” Franklin snapped. “Were you in on this, too?”
McPherson's eyes tightened. “I dunno what th’ hell y'r rattlin’ about, but keep it off me,” he said. “A visitor has just arrived I thought you might want to see, is all. The king wants you t'see ‘im, too.”
“Nairne? Oglethorpe?”
“The tsar of Muscovy.”
“Mr. McPherson, I'll own I was rude to you just now. I apologize. But if I can't get a straight answer from you—” McPherson suddenly grinned. “The tsar of Muscovy,” he repeated, then left, laughing softly.
The tsar was a tall man who seemed uncomfortable with the fact; his shoulders hunched enough to take off several inches. He wore a torn and faded green coat of European cut but a shirt, leggings, and shoes of Indian design. His ragged beard and hair were dark, shot liberally with gray; his eyes black and fierce; his face overlaid by an anger that seemed habitual.
He paced like a bear in a cage. That made a certain amount of sense—he was in a cage, along with two other men. It was one of these who captured most of Franklin's attention.
“Tug?”
The big man looked up and squinted.
“Mr. Franklin?”
“Tug, what's going on here?”
“Damn if I know. We ride up to the town an’ they throw us in jail right away.”
“No, I mean—” He looked over at d'Artaguiette, who stood by, watching the exchange.
“This man is a friend of mine. I can vouch for him. Would you let him out?”
“He broke the nose of a musketeer, Monsieur.”
“Naturally. They arrested him, yes?” He stepped closer and whispered to the minister.
“He is who he says he is—the other? The tsar of Muscovy?”
D'Artaguiette nodded almost imperceptibly. “The tsar once visited the French court, where he met my lord when he was still the duke of Orléans. He is unmistakable, even with the beard.”
“Then you should let me talk to Tug, alone.”
“And the Indian?”
Franklin looked again. It wasn't Red Shoes. “I don't know him. Just Tug, for the moment.”
The tsar was staring at them. His face twitched like a madman's.
“Very