Empire of Unreason (29 page)

“But, as you said, time is short.”

“It’s true, so I will explain some first principles. The foremost is
that all men should be admitted equally to the nation—Cherokee,
Muskogee, German, French, English— all nations and all hues will
be dissolved in paradise and become one.”

“Laudable enough,” Voltaire replied, sounding interested but still
skeptical.

“All things shall be held in common,” Priber went on. “No one man
will own a single thing that is not shared with every other man. You
see the reason of that, don’t you? It’s the great divide of power and
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wealth that destroyed the Old World. Paris fell apart like a rotten
cloth because the burden on the poor to support the ridiculous
excesses of the wealthy could no longer be borne. Eliminate the
possibility of wealth and you eliminate the possibility of poverty.”

He hunched over as his enthusiasm grew. His fingers tapped the
table like ten little gavels. “Even women will be shared. No man
may claim a single woman as wife. And the children shall be raised
by all, in common, and so count the entire nation as their parents.”

Franklin glanced at Voltaire, wondering how a diplomat was
supposed to respond. He cleared his throat and attempted a smile.

“Mr. Priber, I do agree with you in some measure— avarice and
happiness are often not acquainted with each other, and wealth is
more often the possessor than the possessed. Your notions of
equality are likewise laudable, and I account many of the world’s
troubles have their root in the mildewed soil of aristocracy and
privilege.”

Priber nodded enthusiastically.

“But—what would become of industry, of thrift, of hard toil to
better oneself—if there was no bettering to be had? If the sluggard
benefited much from the sweat of the industrious, and the hard-working from the slothful not af all? And as for your idea of sharing
women—I have shared a few in my time, and it never
evenpromised

a happy end.”

“I notice, too,” Voltaire remarked, “that as you are prime minister
of an empire, this equality seems not to extend to the ruling classes

—or do you intend to open your office to election?”

Priber frowned. “You will note that in nature, certain beasts in a
herd are better able to lead than others. So it is with men.

In the society I propose, those more able to lead would naturally
come forward and be recognized.“

“And they would take on this added responsibility, despite that they
would obtain no more or less in the way of goods and things than
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those who, for instance, carry the slop buckets for the hogs?”

Voltaire asked. “Just so.”

“That is an optimistic vision, I think.” “Do you?” Priber asked
coldly. “And Mr. Franklin?” “Just what is it you want of me, sir? My
endorsement? Your system will either work or it will not.”“

“I know you seek for a unified country, Mr. Franklin, one that
encompasses all the peoples of this continent. How did you put it?

A single arrow may be easily broken—a bundle of arrows proves
stronger. My paradise is a single arrow. I wish to add to the
bundle.”

“You wish for the colonies to join your Utopia?”

“Yes, of course. But I know that such a desire is not entirely
realistic. Still, I am secure that, given time, my nation will convert
others by its example, if it is allowed to flourish. I want firm
promises to
that
effect, sir.”

“I can’t guarantee that, of course.”

“But you can endorse it, and that would go far.”

“The best endorsement you can give is to aid in the fight for the
freedom of us all,” Franklin told him. “Surely you don’t think the
Pretender will grant your philosophic principles substance, if he is
triumphant here.”

“No. But I do think my people might profitably benefit from
watching the two big dogs in the yard fight until one is dead and the
other much tired and wounded. Then my little nation might give
the remaining cur a swift kick and a bon voyage.”

“Profitably benefit? I thought there was to be no profit in your
Utopia.” “Profit always for all, sir, and never for one.”

“Sir, as witnessed by the airship you saw today, it is not two big
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dogs fighting, but a mastiff worrying at a terrier.”

Priber set his jaw stubbornly. “Do I have your endorsement?”

“I cannot give it. I find too much about your scheme impracticable
and in some instances as detestable as what you would replace.”

Priber drew himself back, eyes blazing. “In that case, sir, I must
advise my emperor to withhold his support from your cause. If my
choice is between two evils, I will choose neither.” He stood, bowed
stiffly, and exited.

“Well,” Franklin said dryly after he was gone, “there went the one
ally we were sure of. How much better can we fare with the rest?

My career as ambassador is off to an auspicious start.”

7.

Siberian Vision

The forest had a funereal quality.

Boughs should not be green, not when snow lay on the ground. It
was as if they were dead but had preserved their color, their
semblance of life: flowers at the graveside. And the silence! A green
forest should be alive with trilling birds, scampering squirrels, the
startled scuttling of a rabbit in the brush.

Even after years in northern climes, when Adrienne ventured into
these forests, heavy with their pitchy perfumes, she felt a sense of
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dread totally unrelated to the wonder she had known in the forests
about Montchevreuil when she was a little girl.

She wasn’t alone in her dislike. The Russians didn’t like their
forests either, populating them with cold, lonely phantasms, the
ghosts of drowned maidens, and much less human things. Things
which, given what she knew, might well have some basis in fact.

But, no, to the malakim and their kin one human country was very
like the next. Climate and the color of trees did not enter into their
nature or choice of habitation, so far as she could tell.

“How very like the forests about Saint Petersburg,” Emilie
commented, as they walked along, reflecting her thoughts.

Adrienne felt reasonably safe. Their airship and one other rested
on a marshy meadow within sight, the other two stationed above as
sentinels. Hunters and patrols had ridden off in all directions—and
still, though she did not entirely trust them, she had her djinni.

And Crecy, of course, came armed with musket, pistol, and sword.

“Why should they be different?” Elizavet asked. “A forest is a
forest, yes?”

“Begging the tsarevna’s pardon,” Linne said, “but no. The forests of
Tahiti, for instance, or Guinea or Peru, are quite different from
these.”

“Even in France they are different,” Adrienne commented. “There
are more sorts of trees. Here they are all of a kind.”

“Most,” Linne corrected apologetically. “I’ve noted many here
which are subtly different from those in our native forests.”

“It must be a very subtle difference,” Elizavet sniffed, “for I see
none at all. Which puzzles me more, actually. We have traveled a
long way, yes? As far as Tahiti?”

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“Perhaps not so far,” Linne said, “but a long way.”

“Well, I do remark now the strange and wondrous plants in my
father’s hothouse. I suppose I imagined them only as curiosities,
and thought that otherwise the forests at the far edges of the Earth
were much like our own. But you seem to suggest that the farther
one goes, the stranger the plants become. Yet surely we have gone
farther than France, which mademoiselle our teacher claims is
indeed different…” She trailed off, perhaps unsure of the point she
meant to make.

Linne saw a point in it, though, and nodded enthusiastically.

“I don’t think it has to do with distance but with climate. Traveling
eastward as we are, at similar latitude to Saint Petersburg, we
encounter climate similar to what we left. Traveling south, toward
the equator, finds warmer environs. I have noticed that food left
out too long in a warm room encourages all manner and varieties
of mold to form; but in cooler weather, there may be little or none.

I hypothesize that the heat in tropical lands stimulates a greater
variety—and stranger sorts—of flora and fauna.”

Elizavet frowned. “You speak as if these things come about of their
own accord. But surely God made all varieties of things. Why would
he so impoverish Russian forests?”

Linne nodded vigorously. “You catch the imprecision of my speech,
Princess. You have a keen mind. What I meant, of course, is that
God created those forms which benefit best from their climate. You
see? In India and Africa, elephants are very nearly bald, but in
these Siberian lands we find the remains of elephants altogether as
shaggy as bears. Both are elephants, but God fitted the ones in the
North with hair, to match them to their climate.”

An amused smile played on Elizavet’s lips. “You are from Sweden,
are you not, Monsieur Linne? That is farther north than Saint
Petersburg, if I remember my geography. Do you then have more
hair than other men, beneath your garments?” She eyed him
speculatively.

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Linne looked mortified.

“And I, being French, must be substantially less hairy than
you,
a
Russian,” Emilie said, her tone somewhat caustic.

“Less hardy, maybe,” Elizavet demurred. “Perhaps, for hairiness,
we could propose a comparison. As Monsieur Linne is our
naturalist, perhaps he would agree to judge.”

Emilie flamed scarlet. Linne seemed to have something caught in
his throat.

Emilie recovered before Linne. “Monsieur Linne—weren’t you
planning on collecting examples of the local flora?” she asked
rather pointedly.

“Ah—yes, I was planning that. I would be glad of help—”

“That sounds delightful,” Elizavet said tranquilly.

“Oh, I should think that would be dreadfully boring for you,” Emilie
responded quickly.

“I can judge that,” Elizavet haughtily replied.

“I thought the two of us might take in some target practice,
Tsarevna,” Crecy interjected.

“Your pardon?”

“You expressed an urge to hunt.”

“So I did,” Elizavet said, tapping her chin. She looked up
innocently. “I thought that was what we were doing.”

Crecy beckoned with crooked finger. Elizavet shrugged and started
after her.

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“Do you mind, Adrienne?” Crecy asked. “I promised.”

“Not at all. I’ve a mind to walk alone for a bit.”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

“I will stay within sight and protection of the ships,” she promised.

Crecy nodded. She and Elizavet went back toward the ships, while
Linne and Emilie went off along the edge of the forest.

“Don’t get lost, you two.”

“We won’t,” Linne promised. He did not sound altogether happy.

He probably guessed—as Adrienne did—that he was going to
receive an upbraiding from Emilie for his part in the exchange of a
moment before.

In a few moments, Adrienne was alone, in the mausoleum of the
trees; the train of her hunting dress brushing fir needles made
almost the only sound. She heard the occasional call in the
distance, the report of a musket, and wondered if the hunters
would find anything. Apparently Hercule counted not so much on
actually hunting game as on locating native tribesmen who would
sell it. There were many, hereabouts, she had heard—strange dark
peoples with tongue-twisting names, as primitive and wild as the
natives of America. They had spied an encampment and landed
some distance from it, to avoid frightening them. Hercule had
taken a detachment and a supply of trade goods.

Which was why, just a few moments later, she thought she was
hallucinating when she made him out, on horseback, moving
through the trees at some pace, head turning this way and that, as if
searching for something.

It struck her that he was probably looking for her. She had
carefully avoided him since Irena’s murder attempt. He must want
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to talk about it—and it was a conversation they must have, someday

—but today she could not bear it, nor did she wish to inflame Irena.

Especially not here, in the forest, where all kinds of suspicions
might be aroused. She stepped behind the massive trunk of a tree,
gathering her skirts so that they did not bell out, and waited for
him to pass.

When she looked again, he was nowhere to be seen.