A Calculus of Angels (38 page)

“There are no troops,” Adrienne said. “My djinni would tell me of them.”

“You are not the only sorceress, my dear,” Karevna replied, “nor have you been at it the longest. There are tricks of which you are doubtless unaware. The djinni, as you call them, are not bright creatures—at least not those you and I deal with. They are limited and easily deceived.”

Adrienne could hardly argue with that. Were they really surrounded? She hoped that did not mean the sentries were dead. “What do you want?”

“I want my sister Korai at my side, of course. In this world of men, we need each other, you and I.”

It sounded almost like something Crecy would say.

“That is no answer. You want me for what? To do what?”

“Why, to join me, of course. To join me where we might talk in the flesh, where we might—”

“Whom do you serve?”

“I serve the Korai.” And then, it seemed, reluctantly, “I serve the tsar of all the Russias. He values our kind, Mademoiselle, as other kings do not.“

“Values the Korai?”

“Ha. Of course, he knows nothing of the Korai. No, I mean to say that he values philosophers, scientifics. He gives us refuge, solace—the things we need to continue with our studies. Do you have that now, Mademoiselle?”

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“Until your tsar’s troops slaughtered my friends, yes.”

“That was unfortunate, but not my doing. The duke was bound for Bohemia, and Russia is at war with Bohemia.”

“I remember no chance to surrender.”

“These are hard times, and, as I say, that was not my doing. Still, I find it difficult to believe that you had library and laboratory in your camps along the way. If you believe the so-called Holy Roman emperor would have supplied you

—a woman—with such things—then you are mistaken.”

“But the tsar is different,” Adrienne said skeptically.

“The tsar is a realist. He is not bound by the nonsensical conventions and delusions of the European courts. He chooses people by their merit, rewards them by their merit. Under his rule, the lowliest peasant can become like a lord if he—or she—has sufficient talent and ingenuity. His own empress was a Lithuanian slave, his closest advisers of common birth. And I—also of humble origin—occupy a regarded position in his court.”

“How did you find me?”

“Need you ask? You have used the power of the malakim freely, without guile.

Naturally you have been noticed; the reports came to me by aetherschreiber, and I hastened here to find you. Now I have found you, and I am glad. And you should be glad that it was I who discovered you first.”

“I’m sure I am.”

“Mademoiselle, you must understand me. I can save your life; more, I can save .the lives of your companions. But I will not mislead you: to his friends, the tsar is magnanimous. To his enemies he is remorseless. You eluded him for a short time, but that time is over.”

Adrienne smiled without humor, her head still pressed against Hercule’s gently moving chest. “Then it is a matter of joining you or dying?”

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“I suppose.”

“Well, what an unusual offer. I think I should discuss this with the others.”

“Please do so.”

“And I think you should come here, in the flesh, to present your terms.”

“I agree completely. Shall we say tomorrow afternoon, around six? I shall bring repast.”

“I fear I have forgotten my clock,” Adrienne retorted.

“I shall send a—what did you call them?—djinn to remind you. On the morrow then?”

“Tomorrow,” Adrienne agreed.

“How can we trust her?” Hercule asked.

“Oh, that answer’s simple,” Crecy replied. “We can’t.”

“What have the scouts seen, Hercule?” Adrienne asked.

Hercule grimaced and brushed mud from his riding boots. They sat together in a copse of ancient oaks, gazing out over a plain, speckled purple with thistle.

Behind them spread a dense forest whose unfriendly inhabitants had been sniping at them for three days.

“They are there,” he said, thrusting his arm toward the western horizon, “and there,” pointing north. “There,” east. “Of the forest I don’t know, but if I were at a gambling table, I would not wager against it.”

“Then in that sense we can trust her,” Adrienne said.

“In another as well,” Crecy said, tilting her nose east, where Adrienne suddenly made out eight horses approaching.

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Hercule nodded. “Just eight of them. They have stones on them, these Russians.”

Adrienne chuckled. “At least one of them does not.”

Hercule leaned and kissed her ear. “The women of my acquaintance these days carry bigger stones than most men.”

“Can we escape them? Fight our way through?”

“That all depends upon you. Can you best this sorceress of theirs?”

“I would guess not,” Adrienne admitted.

“Do not be deceived by her, Adrienne,” Crecy warned. “She may present herself as accomplished, but it may well be a facade. This could all be a trick by your lesser, a peasant conniving to rid a knight of her sword.”

“That could be true. But that many men…”

“Let us hear their terms,” Hercule said reasonably.

“Agreed,” Adrienne replied.

Crecy only shrugged, and decapitated a thistle with the point of her sword.

Vasilisa Karevna was a tiny woman with night-black hair and slanting, almost Oriental eyes. She wore a riding habit of bloodred velvet, a cape of heavy black fur, and a cylindrical hat of sable. The men with her wore the typical green Russian coat and black tricorns, but their faces had the same foreign cast to them that Karevna’s did. Their saddles bore twin
kraftpistole
holsters, and exceedingly heavy, curved sabers flapped at their sides.

“Good day,” the Muscovite said as she approached. “I hope you are in the mood for a picnic.”

One of her men dismounted, carefully keeping his hand far from his weapons, A CALCULUS OF ANGELS

and began to unload baskets.

“I would prefer to talk,” Adrienne said quietly.

“Surely we can do both. You are…”

“Adrienne de Mornay de Montchevreuil. These are my companions Monsieur d’Argenson and Mademoiselle de Crecy.”

Karevna made to slide down from her saddle and, pausing, glanced at Adrienne. “If I may?”

“Please.”

The sorceress finished her descent and then curtsied. “So happy to meet you all. Mademoiselle Crecy, your reputation precedes you.”

Crecy smiled faintly. “How unfortunate,” she said.

Despite Adrienne’s admonition, the horseman had begun unpacking the baskets. Adrienne suddenly found her resolve to refuse the meal weaken as plump quail, black bread, wine, and roast boar appeared. It was a violent assault on senses weakened by hunger and rough meals.

Trying to ignore her salivating mouth, Adrienne gestured at the ground. “I’m afraid we left our
chassetes
and armchairs back with the duke.”

Karevna shrugged, and, carefully arranging her skirt, folded gracefully down.

“You’re certain you won’t eat first?”

“Very certain,” Adrienne replied.

“Ah, well—then shall we cover the business at hand, so that we might then enjoy our meal?”

“I very much doubt that we will enjoy it, Madame,” Hercule interjected, “after we hear what you have to say.”

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She looked at him in surprise. “Is monsieur a reader of thoughts and futures?

If so, he should know that I am a mademoiselle, not a
madame.”

Hercule frowned, but did not answer. Karevna took this as a sign to continue.

“This is what the tsar offers you,” she said briskly. “For you and your close companions, Mademoiselle de Montchevreuil, rooms in the palace in Saint Petersburg.”

“Rooms? Prison cells?”

Karevna shook her head. “Not at all. You shall have freedom of movement not only within the palace but also within the city, on certain provisions. You must swear to serve the tsar, and you must not leave the city itself without permission from the tsar—or perhaps from the director of the scientific academy.”

Adrienne tilted her head at that, and Karevna smiled. “Yes, I thought that would interest you. You, Mademoiselle, may join the academy as a full member.”

Adrienne blinked. “How can such a thing be possible?”

“Because it is so, Mademoiselle. I will not pretend to you that all masculine philosophers are particularly happy about this state of affairs, but it is nevertheless true. The tsar places men—and women—as he sees fit.”

“And Mademoiselle de Crecy, Monsieur d’Argenson?”

“Why, they may do what they wish, though the tsar is most pleased by those who show some industry. Crecy, I know, has manifold qualities, as, no doubt, does monsieur.”

“And the men?” Hercule asked, waving at the nearby clusters of faded and bloodied uniforms.

“The men shall be well cared for, or they may remain here, whatever you please. They must be disarmed, of course, but aside from that…”

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Hercule frowned deeply. “If you leave them here, disarmed, it is as good as killing them.”

“They may come with us, I said, if they swear allegiance to the tsar. Some useful work can be found for them, too—in the shipyards, casting cannon—”

“They are soldiers,” Adrienne interrupted. “They keep their weapons and remain as my personal guard.”

Karevna’s smile took on a slightly frozen quality. “That is quite impossible,”

she replied.

“Well, then, pack your picnic back up and return to your tsar. We will all die together.”

“Mademoiselle, do not be extreme. Be prudent.”

“This is prudent. I can only be certain these men are treated well if they are near me. I personally guarantee that they will never lift arms against your tsar, so long as he keeps his word. But they remain with me, under the command of Monsieur d’Argenson, or we fight.”

Karevna looked steadily at her for a few moments. “This is not within my power to grant you, Mademoiselle.”

“Who has the power, then?”

“Only the tsar himself.”

“Well, then, tell your tsar.”

Karevna lifted her delicate shoulders. “Very well,” she agreed. “What do you say we go see him together?”

“In Saint Petersburg?”

“Ah, no, he is much nearer than that. We will march together. In the A CALCULUS OF ANGELS

meantime, your men can keep their arms and remain under your command.

Agreed?”

Adrienne searched the other woman’s face for some signal of deception, but nothing palpable presented itself. If she refused this offer, in all probability they would not live until morning. Lie or not, this journey the Muscovite proposed gave her more time to gauge the strengths and weaknesses of their foes. She looked to Hercule, who lifted one brow slightly, his sign that it was her decision. Crecy pursed her lips, the same signal.

“Very well,” she said. “We agree.”

“Good. And now can I convince you to join me in a meal?”

Crecy coughed quietly. “I, for one, would be delighted. But I hope you do not take it ill if I ask that you have yourself served first.”

Karevna grinned broadly at that, and said something in Russian. The men with her chuckled, too, and one replied to Karevna in the same tongue.

“They say you have the heart of a Cossack,” Karevna told Crecy. “I quite agree.”

“I would be much obliged,” Adrienne said, “if you would provide our men with food. I shall not eat until they have at least bread.”

Karevna smiled even more broadly. “And you, my dear, have the heart of the tsar.”

2.

Charles

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“I’ll assume that was our way out a‘ here,” Robert remarked from behind him.

“Damn, damn,” Ben answered, pounding the windowsill with his fist. “Why couldn’t he wait another two—” He broke off and looked around wildly.

“Lenka!” he called.

But he already knew that there would be no answer.

“What are those?” Frisk asked, surprisingly calm, gesturing at the flying ships.

“Death from the sky,” Ben muttered. “And all I could think of was comets. It could have been anything.”

“Ships. Ships in the air. Tsar Peter must be so pleased,” Frisk remarked.

Ben leaned against the wall, vaguely aware of the disjointed nature of the conversation. But one did not see an armada aloft every day.

“Well, then, what now?” Robert asked, voice suddenly briskly practical.

“Flee another way,” Frisk said. “In the confusion of the battle, that should be simple enough.”

“Not so simple,” Robert answered. “Someone is coming up the stairs. A lot of someones, by the sound.”

“Lock the door,” Ben snapped. “Give me a moment to think.”

Robert was already at the door, but instead of closing it right away, he drew a pistol and leaned around the frame. An instant later, the room reverberated hollowly with a sharp explosion, and gray smoke billowed in. A chorus of shouts went up from below, and then Robert had slammed the heavy portal shut and drawn the bolt.

“Not a long moment, please,” he said.

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“No, it’s clear what we must do,” Ben said. He went to the crack where he had hidden the compass bar, pocketed it, and then turned back to the others.

“We’ll have to jump.”

Robert glanced dubiously at the steep hillside some fifty feet below. “I assume that in scientifical language ‘jump’ has some other meanin‘ than in common speech.”

Ben, grinning mordantly, shook his head no. “Have you heard the story about the governor who was defenestrated?”

“Who what?”

“In times past, Prague was Protestant, but the governor was Catholic. One day a mob threw him and his secretary out an upper-floor window of the palace.

They survived because their cloaks billowed out, resisting the air and slowing their fall.” He nodded his head toward the corner of the room, where the envelope he had placed the gas generator beneath had developed a pronounced hump.

“Oh, no,” Robert said. “No.

“We could tear it’t‘ strips and braid a rope,” Robert protested, nervously knotting his fingers into the silk.

“We’ve no time. They’ll break through soon.”