The Shadows of God - J. Gregory Keyes [95]
“De Mornay de Montchevreuil?” Vasilisa asked. “For the pity of God.”
“That's it. You know her?”
“Yes. A very powerful sorceress. Benjamin, she might be our friend, but she might be our worst enemy. I cannot tell you which.”
“Well, more of the same, eh? Will you come with me to talk to her?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I intend to meet them outside of town, as unfriendly as that might seem. I'm going to see if I can get Tug and the tsar to go with us.”
“More good news, by the way,” Robert said.
“What's that?”
“Charles of Sweden won his skirmish at Apalachee and is on his way to join us here.”
“Warn them of the mines,” Franklin said. “And— Oh, heavens.”
“What?”
“King Charles and Tsar Peter, both here in New Paris? That will be trouble.”
“’Trouble’ isn't the word I would use,” Robert replied. “There ain't no word t’ use for what's going t’ happen when they know about each other.”
“We'll deal with that when we get to it. We'll have to keep it from Charles as long as we can. Besides, he's an honorable fellow—”
“For an absolute madman,” Robert finished. “Still, I'm glad to see his ships. Makes me think we might win this little brawl.”
“Ja,” Euler said, “but when we win, that's when the trouble actually starts.”
Franklin, Vasilisa, Peter, Tug, Robert, ten musketeers, and four Apalachee—the recovering Don Pedro included— dismounted half a mile from New Paris and waited.
Tug was visibly nervous. “I don't know as I can face ‘im. The things he done—well, nothin’ worsen’ I saw in my time as a pirate, ‘cept the way he did it, and ‘cept this is Red Shoes, who used to be a decent fellah.”
“Well, we'll see directly.”
Each of them wore an aegis, and two of the musketeers carried devil guns, as the soldiers had taken to calling the depneumifiers.
Ten minutes later, riders appeared through the trees.
Franklin prepared himself. Even if Red Shoes and the French sorceress were on the level, come to cooperate, there might still be troubles, here—what with the tsar, Tug's feelings about Red Shoes, and Vasilisa's clear worries about the Frenchwoman. He hoped he had learned enough, being an ambassador, to smooth over whatever troubles there might be.
But when he saw them, he was the first to raise his pistol and cock the hammer, his finger twitching on the trigger.
“You!” Franklin snarled.
He scarcely noticed that five muzzles were now trained on him, all borne by the men in blue military uniforms. He only noticed the woman, whose black tresses and dark eyes haunted his nightmares, rising in the air on the backs of demons, laughing as she killed his mentor, Sir Isaac Newton.
In dream, as in life, he could do nothing but stand rooted and watch, and curse himself, and most of all curse her.
And here she was—he would know her anywhere, through however many years. And this was no dream.
“Father!” another woman shouted.
“Elizavet!” That came from his left, from the tsar.
Franklin's hands were shaking.
“Monsieur, if you do not lower your weapon in the next five seconds, I shall kill you,” the witch's redheaded guard said. “Here, I shall count them for you. One—”
“Just hold still,” Robert said quietly. His own weapon was pointed at her. “Let's sort this out.”
“Don't you recognize her, Robin? She's the one from Venice. The one who killed Sir Isaac.”
“All of you, lower your guns,” Tsar Peter roared. “My daughter is in your line of fire, and I swear by God or the Devil that whoever brings her to harm will suffer for it!”
“Ben?” Robert said.
Franklin took a deep breath, shaking even more. “She killed him, Robin.”
About that time his gun got heavy, heavier than ten cannonballs, and tore itself out of his hand. With a curse he reached for his sword, but it was also heavy, dragging him to the ground. He toppled, noticing as he did so that almost everyone else had, too.
The only ones still standing, as a matter of fact, were Red Shoes, two young women—and her, the murderess, who still placidly sat her horse. He noticed for the first time that she was heavily bandaged.
“Your pardon, gentlemen