A Calculus of Angels (20 page)

“Ah. But how to prevent
them
from developing
their
own wills in this place you cannot reach?”

Adrienne lifted her hands in defeat. “Very well, Crecy, you are God. What
is
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your
solution?”

“I am outside the world, a world whose boundaries are made by my very will.

You just said that the universe is precariously built. What if I were to change the law, just a tiny bit, a harmony here, a numeral there—not so much that things fall apart or crash together into a great lump, but just enough to deprive my renegade servants of some of their power, make them as ghosts in the world they have stolen. And what if these adjustments to the law allowed my favored creation— Man—to one day rise against his wrongful masters and cast them out of the universe?”

Adrienne remembered the engraving again: God’s hand reaching from the cloud, grasping the cosmic tuning key. Could He twist it, and thus make the universe different?

She shook her head. “But they
can
kill us.”

“It is difficult. It is easier if they use human agents.”

“You said there was a second reason.”

Crecy leaned her head back. “They have tired of killing you one at a time. The blood of Lilith is everywhere, and will not stay quiet. Age after age, you keep coming back, inquiring after the law. Some malakim think to kill you all, children of Eve and Lilith alike.”

“How?”

“By making you kill yourselves, of course. London, my dear, was only the start.”

That made a horrible sort of sense, and for an instant Crecy’s bizarre explanation seemed perfect, a balanced equation. But then something began to nag at Adrienne, though she could not place what. The wrong integer, somewhere, the wrong operation. At the root, of course, was her distrust of Crecy, but there was something more.

“How do you know all this, Crecy? Did you learn all this from the Korai?”

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Crecy chuckled, a sort of bubbling deep in her chest, and her voice faded to a whisper, her eyelids fluttering. “No, my dear. I know these things because I am one of them. One of the malakim.”

Adrienne awoke, sprawled across open books, wondering where she was, trying to recall what had awakened her. Raising her head she found herself peering at the engraving she had fallen asleep regarding: a seraph, four of its six wings hugged around itself and two spread wide. The wings were covered in eyes, and eyes winked from the palms of its hand, from each finger. She recalled that she had been dreaming, and in her dream her hand had blinked at her.

Someone rather near coughed for her attention.

It was Francis of Lorraine, staring at her with an amused and perhaps slightly worried expression.

“I am sorry, Demoiselle. Hercule should never have set you such a demanding task.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace,” Adrienne managed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“The task is no trouble. I hope you approve of the volumes I chose.”

“I wish I could take them all,” Francis complained. “But you picked the best, almost as if you read my mind. But why do you sleep there, when a good bed awaits you?”

“I was reading,” Adrienne said. “You must understand, it has been a very long while since I have had books.”

“But such books!” Francis said. “These are among my favorites.”

“Mine as well,” she said, smiling as brightly as she could.

“Really? How delightful.” He looked shy for a moment, and exactly his fourteen years. “I wonder, Demoiselle, if you would consent to ride with me at times on the journey. I would very much welcome the opportunity to discuss these matters with someone who understands them.”

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Adrienne cocked her head. “I would enjoy that very much, sir. Though I must also watch my son and friend.”

“Yes, of course,” the boy said hastily, blushing. “I only meant when it was convenient, and to your liking.”

“I am certain it will be to my liking often,” Adrienne replied, rising and curtsying, fully aware of the view that Francis had of her low-cut bodice. It could not hurt either her or Crecy if the young duke had a boyish infatuation with her. She presented him her hand, which he stared at blankly for an instant before nearly stumbling over to kiss it.

“Good night, Your Grace,” Adrienne said.

“Yes, Mademoiselle, good night. But I should to your bed if I were you—it may be the last time you are able to sleep in one for some time.”

“We leave soon, then?”

“By the noon, tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. But my friend Crecy…”

“She will ride in a carriage, and the doctor shall attend her. I’m afraid it is the best we can do.”

Adrienne curtsied again. “That is all we can ask,” she answered.

It was a long morning for Adrienne, for she and Crecy had no chance to talk, and her mind stung with questions as if full of hornets. The preparations of the last several days collapsed into seeming chaos, and no place or room was still—or safe for conversation—for long.

As Francis had promised, however, midday found them under way, beneath a miraculous sky, a vault of turquoise only lightly veined with clouds, and a golden sun. Despite everything, she felt a surge of happiness so strong that she almost wept. Others felt it, too, and the expedition was in an almost carnival spirit, the duke and his guard in bright coats and plumed hats, the horses A CALCULUS OF ANGELS

shining, the infantry singing bravely. It was like a day from the past, before the world was all mud and gray. She wore a beautiful riding habit, practical of cut and warm against the lingering morning chill, yet fretted with gold braid on face and cuffs.

Even her horse danced beneath her, and on impulse she cantered back to Crecy’s carriage and shouted in through the window. Crecy waved wanly. The doctor was still within, and so there was no chance of them talking. Still almost giddy, Adrienne worked on back through the ranks, smiling brightly at the soldiers who bowed to her, until she came to the wagon where little Nicolas rode with the nurse. Adrienne leaned near and took her son up in her arms, laughing at the excited puzzlement in his eyes, as she raised him toward the heavens.

“Look, Nico!” she cried. “That is the sun!”

Nicolas was silent, but when she brought him back down, she saw that his eyes were shut, and he seemed almost on the verge of tears.

“I know, my darling, my Nico. It is very bright, too bright for your little mole eyes. But it will come back, the sun, and your eyes will learn to love it. The world is getting better! I promise you, little one!” She rode together with her boy, and he liked the bouncing motion of the horse, grasping the coarse hair of its mane and cooing.

It could not last all day, or course. Evening darkened before the sun was low, olive clouds squatting like giant toads on the horizon. There seemed no actual danger of rain, but she returned Nicolas to the greater safety of the wagon, and rode out ahead. Her mood began to change with the weather, the strange thoughts and revelations of the past days now demanding their due, and when she looked at the heavens again it was to wonder what monsters might hide there.

They halted not much later to camp. They were still in no hurry; the way looked clear to the border and it seemed unlikely that the Muscovites would try to prevent them from leaving Lorraine essentially defenseless.

She joined Crecy in the carriage once she saw the physician leave, finding the A CALCULUS OF ANGELS

redhead awake but flushed.

“Do you have a fever?” Adrienne asked, touching her friend’s forehead but finding it cool.

“Where is Nicolas, Adrienne?”

Adrienne frowned slightly. “The nurse has him in another carriage.”

“Have you abandoned your son?”

“No. He rode with me most of the day.”

“I wish you would bring him so that I can see him.”

“Crecy! Is this affection?”

“Perhaps.”

“I shall bring him to see you later, for I think he sleeps now. I do not mean to hurry you,” she said, “but we may not be alone for long. I must know what you meant yesterday.”

“It is a strange story.”

Adrienne shrugged.

“I was born human enough, I suppose,” she began. “The Korai say that the blood of Lilith flows more strongly in some, and perhaps that is how they choose us.”

“Choose?”

“Understand that I was seven years old before I knew that aught was amiss, Adrienne. Seven years before I understood that other children could not hear the voices I heard, see the things I saw.”

“You were Joan of Arc, then?”

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“Joan of Arc was one of us, of course.” Crecy sighed.

“One of the Korai?”

“No, not one of the Korai. One of the— Well, we have no name. Call us fey, for the sake of convenience.”

“Fey. Like the forest sprites of peasants.”

“It is only a name. But they take human children and then leave one of themselves… here.” She reached up slowly to tap her temple.

“When I think of my childhood, I think of the voice. My earliest memories are of songs, strange little tunes which I hummed sometimes, and my mother—my human mother— asked me where I had heard them. I told her I just heard them, and she laughed. But my mother was more distant to me than the voice.

The voice was my real mother, Adrierme. It made my body grow stronger, swifter than other children. In short, my dear, it shaped me. By the time I was twelve I knew what I was to do.”

“And what was that?”

“I have told you. I was to work toward the destruction of humanity, to play my part in the great plan. I have assassinated, Adrienne, and I have slept with men to gain secrets. And in the end they put me to being your friend, to fill you and Korai with false prophecies—”

“
False? ”
The word burned her throat like vitriol.

“I never foresaw you marrying the king, Adrienne. It was a lie I was forced to tell you.”

“A lie?” She hissed. “God curse you, Crecy. I ruined my life for that lie! And Nicolas died, Torcy died, everyone died—” She choked off, realizing that she had known it all along. “Do you know—” She had to stop again. She felt stripped naked and tied before the world to amuse it. Almost, she wanted to die, it was so awful.

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“Adrienne,” Crecy whispered, “you must let me finish.”

“Goddamn you,” Adrienne whimpered, not knowing what else to say.

“Surely God has never loved me,” Crecy said steadily. “Yes, I betrayed you. But when I did that, I betrayed a woman I did not know, did not love.”

“You said that you had
seen
us as friends, that you felt a love we had not yet had. That was a lie, too?”

“Not entirely. But I did not see that until the day we first met, when I first touched you in the canal.”

“That was before the lie about the king.”

“Days before. I was confused, Adrienne. I thought I knew what my purpose in life was. I held to duty instead of my heart. That was my sin.”

“Pretty words, very pretty. And now I am to trust you?”

Crecy closed her eyes, and to her utter astonishment, Adrienne saw a tear squeeze from one of them. “I know. I can’t even ask your forgiveness. Why do you think I haven’t told you? But I betrayed them, Adrienne. I helped you attack the king, though it went against the command of the voices. You remember Gustavus, who tried to stop us?”

“Of course.”

“A fey, like me. I fought him for you. I tore the voices out of my head for you, Adrienne, my mother and my sister, and everything I had ever known—” Her breath caught short. “You cannot hate me now. Please do not hate me. You and Nico are all that remain to me.”

“Are you so certain, Crecy?”

The redhead opened watery eyes. “What do you mean?”

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“As you lay injured, you spoke to me, but I do not think it was you. I think it was your ‘voice.” “

“What did I say?”

“You said, ”We have found you.“ ”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I’m sure you do not.” She was in control of herself again, her ridiculous bout of crying being gradually replaced by a sort of cold, hollow anger.

Crecy bowed her head. “Voices have found me again. But not the same voices.”

“No? Perhaps these are the ones who spoke to Mademoiselle d’Arc.”

Crecy ignored the gibe. “I think they must tune us like the chime of an aetherschreiber—the way that the elixir of life tuned the king, made him receptive to ministrations of the malakus that guarded him. I think without the potion, it takes many years; so they must begin with us as infants—perhaps even with our mothers. But somehow I shut them out, cut them from my brain

—These two years, I have never heard my voice. But when I was fevered, and when I dreamed, seraphim came to me. I told you that there were two sorts of malakim. This was the second sort.”

“The ones who wish us well?”

“Yes. They are those Lilith befriended, those loyal to the true God, if we are to believe the Korai mystery. Whatever the reason, they oppose the death of our race. And, Adrienne, they have been searching for us. They are willing to offer their help.”

Adrienne regarded Crecy, and for an instant felt a profound pity for the woman. If everything she said was true…

“Will you accept it?” she asked, softly.

“It is not for me to accept. It is
you
they wish to serve, Adrienne. You.”

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5.

The Mathematical Tower

When Ben awoke he was so pleased to be alive that he spent a moment giving thanks to whatever powers might be listening. It seemed a sensible precaution; though he seriously doubted that the creator of the universe was paying attention to Ben Franklin of Boston, there might well be some provincial god who was doing so—especially considering what he had learned lately.

The night had been hard, as each stirring of air suggested the
thing
slipping up on him; even the flexions of his own heart became a suspicious, fragile commodity. Added to the fear was the anticipation of at last managing to gaze upon whatever secrets obsessed Newton. The sum of that computation came to sleepless hours.