Read Revolutionary Magic (with Bonus Content) Online
Authors: Thomas K. Carpenter
Tags: #witch, god, steampunk, historical fantasy, urban fantasy, gods, russia, myths
Revolutionary Magic (with Bonus Content)
Revolutionary Magic
Book One of the Dashkova Memoirs
By
Thomas K. Carpenter
Copyright
Information
Revolutionary Magic
Book One of the Dashkova Memoirs
Copyright © 2015 by Thomas K. Carpenter
Published by Black Moon Books
www.blackmoonbooks.com
Cover Design Copyright © 2015 by Ravven.com
Discover other titles by this author on:
www.thomaskcarpenter.com
T
his is a novel work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictitional.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or trasmitted, in any form, or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquires may be addressed via email to [email protected]
CONTENTS
Chapter
One
Some revolutions begin with the gunpowder sonnets of cannon fire, others with the fiery words of tyrannical men. This one began with a middle-aged gentleman wandering the cobblestone streets of Philadelphia in his knickers—and nothing else.
Ben Franklin and I had been called to investigate, not because half-naked mid-level functionaries of the Custom Hall were particularly interesting to the pair of us, or because he'd broken into a Quaker family's home on an idyllic spring afternoon and was caught trying to put on the oldest daughter's beige dress and petticoat. What drew us was the way the man's memory had been cleaved like an apple struck with a saber, suggesting an air of sorcery.
"You say he has no knowledge of what happened to him?" asked Ben with that familiar twinkle in his eye.
The horrified wife, one Harriet Cooper, tugged on the neckline of her muslin gown and glanced at her husband, who was slurping porridge in the other room at the dining table. Her brow knotted and raised, then bunched in the middle with a concern that bordered on exasperation.
"He still thinks it's 1798," she said, then raised her voice. "That was
two years ago
."
The woman barely paid me any attention, speaking directly to Ben, though she did not know him as such. Ben went by his grandson's moniker, William Temple Franklin, due to his youthful appearance—one born of alchemy. But Ben had that quality—of sincere competence and a worldly optimism—that led people to trust him implicitly, even when they'd just met him.
Anonymity suited me fine. I'd spent my fair share of time in the spotlight of the public. I'd been a princess of the Russian Empire—thankfully, not one with much claim on the throne—and the head of the Russian Academy of Sciences, a position that had eventually led to my exile by Emperor Paul.
With attention on Ben, I moved around the parlor, examining its contents for clues that might hopefully explain the odd behavior of Theodore Cooper. The gilded tea set on the darkwood armoire surprised me due to the nature of the man's profession. A lowly manager would doubtfully earn enough to purchase such luxuries, which suggested either that he was not above a little bribery to grease goods through the port, or he was a man moving up the chain—heavy emphasis on
was
.
The furniture had the markers of French craftsmanship— curved backs and satin cushions. The whole setup could have been a lounge in a Paris salon. The house was the typical Philadelphian style, decently sized with a portico on the front, though the newness of the furniture indicated the wealth was recent.
"Excuse me, madam," I said, trying to practice my English without a heavy French accent. Yes, French. I was born in St. Petersburg and we spoke French rather than Russian since we were a city on the edge of Europe. "Is that your family's steam carriage outside?"
An insincere exclamation slipped out of Harriet Cooper's thin lips. "Oh? And you are?"
"Katerina Carmontelle," I said, giving a brief curtsey even though I was wearing men's attire, "Temple's assistant in these matters."
In truth, my real name was Yekaterina Romanovna Vorontsova-Dashkova, sometimes called Princess Dashkova, or Catherine the Little. Ben liked to call me Kat, though only in private when we were discussing important matters. We weren't amours, but I can't say the thought hadn't crossed my mind.
"Katerina is an expert on these sorts of things," said Ben, adding his trademark wink for my benefit.
Expert was a bit of a facetious graying of the truth. The word expert connoted a vast wealth of knowledge about the arcane and poorly understood phenomena that had begun to plague our poor world. I was an expert, along with Ben and the rest of the Transcendent Society, only in the idea that our ignorance was slightly less pronounced than the common folk’s, but our studies had begun in earnest as strange events seemed to be happening more frequently as of late.
"Oh, well," said Harriet, her uneasy gaze surveying my attire with a puritan's level of distaste. "Why yes, my dear Theodore purchased it only three weeks ago. He was up in the boughs about it, said it was the latest fashion to own your own steam carriage. Blazes if I know why he bought it, we live two blocks from the Delaware River, not even a brisk walk in the springtime. Next thing, he'll be wanting to purchase an airship. Well"—her voice quivered—"if he recovers."
"I'm sure he'll recover," said Ben, giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder.
"Is your husband an elbow-shaker?" I asked.
Harriet recoiled as if I'd poked her with a hot branding iron. "Madam," she said, disdain dripping from her words, "have you no decency? He does not gamble, throw the bones, or any of those things. He doesn't even know what the inside of a tavern looks like. My Theodore is an upstanding member of the Philadelphia government offices, soon to be, well I hope"—a pained realization began to dawn on her dignified face—"that he is to be promoted to the Head of the Customs Hall, a position that comes with a generous salary."
"I see," I said, raising an eyebrow in Ben's direction and receiving a shrug in turn.
"Madam," said Ben, turning to the woman, "may we speak to your husband in private? Nothing untoward, but we don't want to disturb you unnecessarily."
She paled, straight to a greenish tint. "What under the merciful sun do you think has befallen my dear husband?"
Ben put his arm around Harriet in a comforting fashion, giving her shoulder a little squeeze as he guided her from the room. "Could be a number of things: the French pox, a witch's curse, maybe worms eating his brains out from the inside, it's really hard to say."
When Harriet's knees buckled, Ben gave her a little push out the parlor door and quickly closed it behind her.
"You really don't believe those things," I said, quirking a smile at him. "Trying to figure out if she was behind it?"
"Partially," he said with a wry smile. "The other half was to keep her from gossiping. I have it from a reliable source she couldn't keep her mouth closed if she was drowning. Any of those possible causes would diminish her reputation, if it hasn't already been dragged through the gutter because of this incident."
"The dockmaster's daughter?" I asked. "Or is it the tanner's wife?"
"Who injured Mr. Cooper?" he asked, nose wrinkled in confusion.
"No, the gossiping strumpet you've been sleeping with," I said.
Ben looked as pleased as a pickle. "Wouldn't you like to know." He pressed a finger against the bridge of his nose, a habit from when he wore bifocals. "Either way, Mrs. Cooper has fled to the bedroom for a bout of honest tears. I think we can take her off the list."
"I hadn't been so daft as to consider her," I said.
"Why the blazes not?" he asked.
"For the very reason you just mentioned. Her reputation has been tarnished. We women have little power in this world, a reputation is one of them. A good wife knows that a dead husband is worth more than a diminished one," I said.
"I'll keep that in mind should I ever be foolish enough to court you," he said.
"My dalliance with the Warden should be warning enough for you," I said with considerable regret.
Ben offered a comforting nod. He had that way about him that I'd never encountered in another, to always know when the mood of the conversation had shifted. The twin reminders of my failed romances—the death of my beloved Mikhail when he was in his twenties and the recent incident with the Warden of the city—bookended my life, leaving me with a tragic distaste for entanglements.
"Shall we?" asked Ben, marching into the dining room.
We addressed Mr. Theodore Cooper from across the mahogany table. He had a handlebar mustache and a sloping belly that made him look like a walrus. Porridge dripped from his chin. I could see a pinhole of conscious thought in those beady eyes, as if he was trapped in a tower inside his head.
"Good evening, Theodore," said Ben. "May we ask you some questions?"
Theodore grunted and shoved the empty spoon in his open mouth like an infant.
"What year is it?" asked Ben.
Theodore blinked. "1798."
We shared an uneasy glance. Mrs. Cooper had told us she'd shown him the local paper to prove that it was 1800. Ben waved us back into the parlor.
"Is it possible someone attacked him?" I asked. "Maybe a blow to the head? I've heard of concussions from falling, or a hoof blow from a wild horse. There once was a promising son of Count Razumovsky who was trampled by a cow. He didn't even know his name afterwards and spent his days drooling into a cup. They called him Cow Boy from that day forward."
Ben rubbed his palm across the arching back of the green velvet divan. Even though I'd known him for almost a year, I was still surprised at how energetic he was, always moving, thinking, or conspiring.
"The physician gave him a thorough examination. There was no evidence of a head trauma, though he did find a scab at the base of his neck right in the hairline," said Ben, frowning.
"A wig rub?" I asked.
"Most likely. Probably hadn't yet invested in higher quality wigs," he said. "The physician also said there was a sticky material on his arm that came off with a bit of vinegar—unrelated, I'm sure."
"His furniture is quite new. I'll ask the wife if he ordered a custom fit wig recently," I said, feeling a little guilty we were conversing about the poor sot right in the other room.
"Good idea." Ben glanced at me. "What do you think?"
"More questions, we've naught to go on yet," I said.
We returned to the dining room.
"What if I told you that it was the year 1800?" Ben asked Mr. Cooper.
Theodore squinted as if he was trying to squeeze out a coherent answer. His stare turned watery. He seemed to know deep down inside how trivial the question was and consequently, what it meant that he couldn't answer.
"It's 1798," he repeated with much consternation.
"I assure you with some authority that it's the glorious year of 1800, the turn of the century and another page in the storybook of history. And since it is 1800, do you remember what you did last week?" asked Ben.
"Last week...? I, uhm, greatly apologize, it's rather difficult, I think. Maybe, no wait, yes, I'm sure of it. Last week I painted the parlor for my dear Harriet. A difficult job, that one. I knocked the paint bucket over right in the middle, created such a mess, and Harriet put me under her cat's paw for the rest of the job," said Theodore in an unsteady voice that grew more confident as he spoke.
Ben tapped on his chin. "Well, then, what about—"
"Excuse my interruption, my dear Temple," I said, putting a hand on Ben's arm. "On what street is your house located?"
"Pine and Fifth, madam," Theodore said, and realizing he had porridge on his chin, he mauled it off with a wad of handkerchief.
I raised an eyebrow in victory towards Ben, who shrugged and tilted his head as if to say
go on
.
"Sir, might I ask you to take a short trip outside to inform us of the street on which you currently reside?" I asked.
Theodore looked about, as uncomfortable as a banker in a poorhouse. "I just told you where I live. What would I gain by reaffirming what I already know?"
"Humor an old lady," I said, receiving a cleared throat and sharp glare from Ben. The alchemical mixture Ben Franklin had devised to extend life also made one's appearance youthful in every way. Since I'd arrived in Philadelphia one year ago, under his tutelage and taking regular supplements of the powder, my fifty-seven year old body looked and felt half that age. Thankfully, Theodore hadn't noticed my slip, and he reluctantly proceeded as requested.
