Empire of Unreason (38 page)

Lying is their
science.
They cannot
do
things in the world without
us. And so while our sciences are alchemical and physical and
natural—about the things of matter and how to change them—

theirs are about
us.
Their sciences are aimed at getting
us
to do
what they want. They have done this for thousands of years,
keeping careful notes, I assure you. There was no fall of Rome for
them, no sacking of Greece. Everything they have ever learned from
the beginning of time they still know. And about mankind, they
know much. They know about our hearts, the circulation of our
blood, the reason we sweat. Think how they were able to cure King
Louis, once agency was introduced into him by the Persian elixir.

Think how they did the same for the tsar! How they made my own
body stronger and faster as I grew. They learned all this by
experimenting with such as myself, we unlucky few that are born to
their touch. Now imagine that they know a thousand times as much
about the ways in which we think, feel, understand. They have
equations for hatred and desire, theorems of love and passion.

They tell you things to make you
do
things. Do not credit them—

believing them can only bring disaster.”

“But sometimes it must be the truth—not a lie—which obtains the
desired reaction,” Adrienne replied.

“Sometimes,” the redhead admitted grudgingly.

“And if
this
is the truth—
can you kill me?”

“Adrienne, I would see the world burn to ash before I did you
harm.”

“That’s not what I want of you.”

“Nor do I care. I love you, which is not the same as being obedient.”

Adrienne searched for a response, but none was there. She looked
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at her reflection in the mirror as Crecy finished, wondering what
she saw there. Of all of the things she could look at, name, dissect,
understand—what she saw in the mirror remained beyond her
comprehension.

Coiffed, powdered, and in a fresh gown, she settled in front of the
magic mirror. It was another invention of Swedenborg’s, and like
most of his inventions, useful. She did not like it or trust it, because
like all Swedenborg’s devices, it was angelic. A single malakus
connected her mirror with the Chinese one. It seemed obvious,
now, that a similar, nonangelic device could be built—one that
operated like the aetherschreiber but transmitting sound and light
instead of the motions of a pen.

No one, least of all herself, had bothered to give it thought.

Swedenborg’s device was simple if expensive to make, already
present, and, of course, sanctioned by the church. Its only defect
was that the image was blurry to those who had no affinities to the
malakim. Swedenborg, Tsar Peter, herself, and a few others could
see through it clearly.

By his look, the Chinese official was not such a one. His gaze was
never exactly on hers, his eyes squinting and somewhat unfocused.

All that work on her hair, and she probably looked like a wet
painting smeared by a mischievous child.

He looked less…
Chinese,
somehow… than she had imagined. His
head was shaved except for a long, plaited queue, but put that and
his outlandish clothing aside and he could easily be a darkly
colored Russian.

When he spoke, however, she understood not a single word.

“Do you speak Russian,” she asked, “or French?”

“Of course,” came the reply in oddly clipped Russian. “Who does
this humble person have the honor of addressing?”

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“I am Adrienne de Mornay de Montchevreuil.”

“A woman?”

“Yes.”

“I was told I would be speaking to the commander of the aerial fleet
encroaching on our border.”

“I am she.”

A long pause, during which time she took notice of the background.

The ambassador had placed himself strategically in front of a
window, so that she could see the sweep of Peking beyond. It was a
city of low buildings: few towers, no sky-challenging, multitiered
structures. But for all of that, it was fantastic, with its curling, gilt
roofs. And it went on forever. There seemed no end to it, though
this prospect was raised. She felt a sudden, odd thrill. It could—it
must—be the largest city in the world.

After years of trade with China, they still knew almost nothing
about it. Travelers from Russia were allowed only at markets on
the border and in certain parts of Peking, never anywhere else. It
was strictly illegal for a Russian to purchase Chinese maps or
geographies, or anything of the sort.

What might such a vast place hide? What secrets, sciences, demons?

The ambassador finally decided he would speak to her, though he
was clearly reluctant.

“This person is Sa-Fin Yakao, of the Bordered Yellow Banner, sixth
grade official of the Li-Fan Yuan. This person may also be named
Yakov Savin, if it is pleasing to you.”

“You are Russian?”

“This person is of the Bordered Yellow Banner, the Russian
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company. He was born in Peking of Russian parents.”

“But you are an official of China?”

“Of the Li-Fan Yuan, yes. The Siberian Department.”

From her reading, Adrienne remembered that it really meant
something more like “department for barbarian control” or some
similar and equally insulting thing.

“We are searching for news of our tsar.”

“The
O-lo-ssu Khan
—your pardon—the
tsar
was in Peking four
months ago. He has been gone for almost as long. Your governor—

Menshikov?—was informed of this some time ago.”

“The tsar has vanished. We would like to come to Peking, to learn
what we might of his destination. Do you know where he stayed, to
whom he spoke? We would like to interview them.”

“He and his people stayed in the O-lo-ssu Kuan, east of the Jade
Canal, which is set apart for Russians. He met with the emperor
Yung-cheng, an honor the like of which there is no other, and
whom you certainly may not interview. Two days later, he left.”

“Yes, but certainly he spoke to some of our Russian merchants.

They stay also in the Russian house, yes? Or to some geographers,
perhaps one of the Jesuits in the city, concerning his route to
America?”

Sa-Fin Yakao shook his head. His queue swung behind like a
pendulum. “You will not be allowed in the imperial city. Indeed,
our reports put you perilously near our border. The peril, I might
add, is yours, not ours. This person’s intent is to warn you that if
you cross it, you will be met with great force.”

“I wish to negotiate on this matter.”

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“I am not authorized to do so.”

“Pass me on to someone who is, then.”

Did he smile slightly? “Your request for a conversation with this
unworthy person was registered two weeks ago. I received
authorization today, only because your ships cause us to worry you
will trouble the emperor’s serenity. You may approach no closer.

You may wait for authorization to speak to a higher official, but it
will take time.”

“How much time?”

“Much more than the two weeks it took for you to reach this
unworthy person.”

Adrienne tried to keep her face and voice neutral. “Can you tell me
anything at all about the tsar?”

“It is a matter of record that he took his airship east, toward the Olo-ssu and Zunghar settlements across the sea. That is all I am
permitted to say.”

I bet it’s all you know
, Adrienne thought grimly.

She tried one more direction. “Three men passed this way not long
ago: Prince Golitsyn, a philosopher named Swedenborg, and the
metropolitan of Saint Petersburg. Did you receive them?”

“This humble person knows nothing of that.”

“Would you know if they came there?”

“For Russians, there is no gate to China save the Li-Fan Yuan. I
assure you, this person would know if they were received in any
circle.” For an instant, the official’s voice and face became a bit
more candid, almost conspiratorial. “This person earnestly
suggests you seek in the east. Much is moving there. You are aware
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that vast numbers of Siberians— Russian, Zunghar, Mongol—have
immigrated there?”

“In the past, yes. We helped resettle Tartars that were causing you
some… concern where they were.”

“Many more have gone recently, however, for lands have been
discovered much to the liking of the horse barbarians. Surely you
know the activities of your own government?”

She almost answered but didn’t, for she detected a certain slyness
in the question and suddenly suspected that the whole shift in
demeanor was an attempt to learn exactly what was going on in
Russia. The Chinese must have some inkling that there was unrest,
but they didn’t know the extent of it. Looking beyond that
ambassador to that enormous city, she suddenly felt the less the
Chinese knew, the better.

“You can be of no more help to me?”

“I am miserable, because that is the extent of my knowledge.”

“Very well. We will do as you suggest.” “Commendable.” He smiled,
and the mirror blanked.

“Isn’t the sea magnificent?” Elizavet sighed. “It looks dressed in
scales.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Adrienne remarked, gazing
down at the mixed ice and ocean.

“You, thinking the same thing as me? You make fun of me,
Mademoiselle.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“It’s no secret that I am the stupidest woman on the ship. How
could your mind work in the same fashion as that of someone so
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stupid?”

“Elizavet, you are not stupid—you are lazy. There is a great
difference. And, of late, you have been more industrious than I
have ever known you to be.”

Elizavet opened her mouth, almost as if to protest. Instead she
inclined her head, once. “Thank you Mademoiselle. I
have
been
trying. I have a sense that I am among greats, people who will be
remembered for all time.”

“You are a tsarevna. Surely there will be a place in history for you.”

“Not if we don’t find my father. Maybe even if we do.” She
shrugged. “What sea is it?”

“The charts call it Bering, after the man who discovered it, a
captain in your father’s aerial navy.”

“Surely those who live near it discovered it first. How could they
not know it was there?”

“Yes, of course,” Adrienne remarked. “Yet I saw no cities or roads
in those lands we crossed last, so perhaps no one lives there.”

“And what will we find in America?”

“I very much wish I knew. Some Russians, some Cossacks. Tartars
of various sorts. But what have they been doing? I don’t know. We
will find out.”

* * *

The next day they reached a mountainous, cloud-shrouded coast,
and, looking at their charts, Adrienne understood that this was her
first glimpse of the New World. On the charts, the coastline was all
that was represented. Past the mountains was nothing, a vast
blankness beyond which, somewhere, lay the English, French, and
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Spanish colonies. Knowing the size of the Earth, knowing the
latitude, it was possible to calculate exactly how vast that blank
spot on the map was, but it in no way helped to fill it up or make it
in the least more comforting.

They rose above the mountains, still following her compass. The
charts showed an inlet, and then another range, and their eyes
showed them the same thing, despite the filmy bed-cloth of clouds
that lay upon it all. They could not, however, see the other feature
the map named, a dot marked “New Moscow.”

But a little later they were able to infer its approximate location, as
red globes began emerging from the mists, dragging after them a
fleet of airships.

3.

Coweta

Franklin flinched as muskets snapped at the sky. Across the
stream, a dense cloud of iron-gray smoke billowed and then hung
motionless in the hot, still air. Earsplitting war cries sounded from
the forest.

“Easy, Robin,” McPherson said. “They’re shootin‘ in the air, not at
us.”

“Or are damn poor shots,” Robert commented, reluctantly putting
his pistol back in the case on his saddle.

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Franklin noticed most of the rangers seemed unconcerned. Like
Robert, he had trouble mustering that same level of indifference.