The Trojan Icon (Ethan Gage Adventures Book 8) (10 page)

I bowed. “I’m honored by your patronage.” Doesn’t hurt to inject a note of expectation.

“Patronage is a reward for loyalty and service.” He picked up some papers for nighttime reading and I backed from the library.

Our bedroom was ornate in the 17th Century baroque style, but again under-furnished. Its soaring ceiling only emphasized the chill, and the Gage family shared the single bed for warmth, since the chamber’s ceramic stove seemed under-fueled. Louis couldn’t afford the firewood either.

Harry nonetheless slept with the rhythmic, reassuring breath of childhood. How we envy their oblivion! Astiza woke and asked in a whisper about my interview. I quietly told her what I remembered. “It went rather well.”

She frowned. “Ethan, I don’t trust Czartoryski’s strategy to send us here. Once more we’re dependent on ambitious ministers and scheming monarchs. We need to get away and rely on ourselves.”

“How? We’re penniless. And go where?”

“Egypt. America.”

“And do what? What do I know beyond being a spy and envoy? Now we’ve this chance to deliver a Polish relic and be rewarded. Some flattery of Louis, his loan of a sleigh, and we get to Czartoryski’s mother and refuge. Finally we have powerful patrons.”

“Who always keep us in their debt.”

“At Pulawy all this will be finished. I might even have a title.”

“Oh, my hopeful, naïve husband.”

We eventually slept, sleet rattling the great window, the grand home creaking in the night. I awoke with the ambition of securing breakfast.

Instead there was pounding as morning dawned gray. When I opened our door a half-dozen guards pushed into the chamber with fixed bayonets. Harry and Astiza watched from the bed covers, his eyes wide with surprise, hers with resignation.

“What’s this?” I blustered. “I’m under the protection of Louis.”

“You mean the prosecution of Louis. Ethan Gage, the king has received information that suggests you may be guilty of murder, theft, conspiracy, and high treason.”

“Not treason. I’m an American.”

“What you are, American, is under arrest.”

CHAPTER 12

I
demanded explanation and got none. I pleaded that they not imprison my family and was ignored. I suggested there was a monstrous misunderstanding and that a second audience with Louis would clear up all confusion. No one would even reply. We were given our laundered traveling clothes and marched down a servant’s stairway and deep, deep, into the bowels of Jelgava Palace. At a windowless cellar where the only illumination was from candles, we were pushed into a barren room.

A heavy wooden door with small grilled window slammed behind us.

“So much for royal patrons,” my wife said.

“Well, he’s not a king yet.”

“Be patient,” our jailer said through the grill, and I thought he meant Louis’s ascension. But then he said, “The Prussians will be here soon.”

So we were boxed for delivery to Von Bonin. What foul luck. Lothar must have told Louis about the swords.

The three of us stood dispiritedly. From the smell of it the cell had once stored food and wine, but now was empty and damp. I was proud of Harry for not crying. Still, he looked understandably depressed. He’d been underground before. Eventually Astiza and I sat on dirty straw, the stone of the floor like ice. Our captors hadn’t let us bring our coats. Harry prowled the small perimeter like a caged cub. He rapped on the door as if gauging its thickness, and fingered the rough wood.

“We need Mama’s magic, Papa.”

“Indeed we do.”

“Will the king bring us breakfast?”

“Probably not.”

“I thought he was a good king.”

“I thought so too. People are peculiar, Harry.”

“I’ll be glad when we get to the better palace.”

I remained bewildered by this reversal. Hadn’t my audience with Louis gone well? Hadn’t my son amused him? But I hadn’t offered the swords, had I?

“Hug us, Ethan,” Astiza said. “It’s cold.” It was the most useful thing I could do.

Bread and water didn’t come until midday, and we got no more than that as the hours on my pocket-watch stretched to night again. Neglect and hunger are crushing, and I felt increasingly morose as we waited for fate. Nothing is crueler than helplessness.

Finally a lantern lifted on the other side of the little grill, providing a flare of illumination so its holder could inspect us. Prussians? I shuffled to the door.

“Are you ready to tell the truth?” The voice was gruff. “It will go better for your family if you do.”

I tried to look out but the lantern was held to the window, blocking my view of our interrogator. The voice didn’t sound like Von Bonin or any other Prussian, but the man’s French did have an accent.

“I always tell the truth, unless matching wits with liars. I’m the most honest of men, which gets me in constant trouble. Come in or let me out, and ask anything you want. The price is a blanket for my wife and child.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Don’t bargain for a mere blanket, Ethan Gage. No man who settles for such low stakes will ever rise.”

What game was this? “What would you suggest, then?”

“Your lives and your freedom.”

I could hear the intake of Astiza’s breath.

“You’re in graver danger than you know,” the voice went on.

“Who are you? What do you know of our enemies?”

He ignored my question. “Prove yourself. What talents do you have?’

This took me aback. “What kind of interview is this? Move the lantern. Show your face.”

“Answer, if you wish to survive.”

“Are you a friend?”

“Answer!”

“By the ashes of Vulcan…”

“Quickly now!”

What did we have to lose? “I’m an electrician. I told your sergeant.”

“I’m that sergeant, fool. And how did you learn God’s fearful lightning?”

“From the savant Franklin. One of many learned men I’ve partnered with. Cuvier. Monge. Jomard. Fulton.”

“Yes, yes, we’ve heard your boasting. What else?”

“What else what?”

“Talents, I said.”

This was very odd. “I’m a good shot.”

“From a man with no rifle.”

“Give me one and I’ll prove it.”

“What else?”

“A good card player.”

“With no cards.”

“A treasure hunter.”

“With no treasure.”

“A diplomat. A spy. A go-between. An ambassador.”

“With no patron and no portfolio.”

“A husband and a father.”

Another long pause. “Yes. Surprising. Who was
your
father?”

“
My
father? Why does that matter?”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten him? Perhaps you never knew him? Are you a bastard or an orphan?”

“Certainly not. Josiah Gage of Philadelphia. A gentleman and a patriot, sir, wounded fighting with Washington at the Battle of Princeton. A respected businessman whom I suppose I disappointed.” How distant my American childhood seemed.

“Your siblings?”

I was becoming exasperated. “It’s you who are wasting time! What’s the point of this?”

“The point is your life, I said, and perhaps the future of Europe, should you be believed.” His tone was impatient, but not hostile. What was going on?

“Erasmus. He was the responsible one, I suppose. Susan. She married well. Caleb, who disappeared on a privateer in the American Revolution. He was the oldest. The unhappiest. The bravest.”

“Is it brave to disappear?”

“I can’t judge him. No word ever came.”

There was a long silence. A click as the lantern was set down on the floor outside. I heard nothing, and then a sigh.

“That’s all my family,” I finally said. “Are you still there?”

“Don’t you recognize me, Ethan?” The question was sad.

I started. A flood of memories, and yes, there was
something
familiar in his voice, faintly remembered from a quarter century ago. I had a jolt of embarrassment and astonishment. Could it possibly be?

My older brother Caleb! My closest sibling, and my first real enemy. Suddenly I felt soaring hope. And forbidding fear.

Yet surely I’d have recognized Caleb had I seen him. And how had he seen me? But a muffler had masked the sergeant-at-arms, and how could a long-lost teenaged brother be a royalist guard at Jelgava? Impossible! “Caleb? I assumed you dead.” And now felt guilt, relief, and confusion, all at once. “How in the world?”

“Listen, Ethan. Louis hopes to sell you to the Prussians. He’s desperate for money and they’re negotiating right now. It was I who warned that the notorious Gage family might slip away if left unconfined, in order to get you locked in a place where I could speak to you alone. But you must trust me and flee tonight, before you’re handed over to a one-armed scoundrel.”

“Von Bonin.”

“I don’t know what trouble you’re up to this time, little brother, but I’ve spent the day preparing. Do you know that you’re famous in the taverns and whorehouses of Europe as the worst spy and antiquarian on the Continent?”

“I’m famous?”

“These royalists know me as Caleb Ruston. Like you, I hire on where I can. It‘s a wicked world we navigate.”

“It
is
, brother! With rare angels! We’re of the same heart!”

“We shared a heart.”

I winced. “Yes.”

“You made me grow up, Ethan, and bitterness tempered me. Since then I’ve been a privateer, mercenary, smuggler, swordsman, and soldier. I was hired on at Jelgava to help keep French spies at bay. Louis had been informed of your coming but didn’t believe in you for a minute. He fears anyone close to Bonaparte, and resents that you wouldn’t trust him with your secrets. If the Prussians don’t buy you, he intends torture to ferret out your treasure.”

“Not treasure. Antique junk.”

“I’d heard rumor of a Gage in St. Petersburg, but it’s a common name. The last I heard, you were lost in a hurricane. Or was it a sea battle?”

“I’ve made a specialty of being dead. You’re willing to help after all these years?”

“I’m willing to use you after all these years.”

“For what?”

“Half of what you gain. As fair payment.”

I hesitated only a moment. If offered a miracle, don’t quibble until it’s occurred. “Agreed. Let us out.”

“We’d be instantly discovered if I did so.”

“Then how are we to escape?”

“Like all palaces, Jelgava is riddled with secret staircases and passageways. The wall at the end of your storeroom separates you from a tunnel leading to the kitchens. Built to aid a secret rendezvous for lovers, perhaps, or to transfer food, or as an escape route during war. From the kitchens at midnight you can slip outside unseen.”

“But the cell wall is solid.”

“Near the bottom you’ll find a stone with loose mortar. Pry it out and make your way to the trees at the far end of the garden. I’ll meet you there. If you’re caught, swear that you discovered the escape hatch by yourself.”

“Of course. Such a claim enhances the reputation.”

The grill opened. “Use this spike to pry the stone, and if discovered before escaping, say you smuggled it down. Don’t implicate me! Feel your way through the passageway and don’t hesitate. Now, before the Prussians come for you.”

“Wait! Are there sentries outside?”

But Caleb was already trotting up the stairs.

There was no choice but to trust. I hastily went to work, using the small spike to attack the broken mortar and lever the massive stone.

“That was your brother?” Astiza asked. “How is that possible? Can good fortune be that coincidental?”

“I doubt it.” I was sweating despite the cold. The leverage was awkward, and we needed to hurry. “If it’s even good fortune.”

“What does that mean?”

“Only that more is afoot than we know. But let’s get away from Jelgava first. We don’t want to be sold to One-Arm.”

The stone shifted a millimeter at a time. Slowly I wiggled it just free enough to seize the edges and pull, dragging the rock into our cell. A puff of air chilled us.

“You made a hole, Papa,” Harry said.

“Me and your uncle.” How odd to say that.

I peered through the opening. Pitch black. I tucked the spike in my waist just as we heard the tread of footsteps. Men were descending. Astiza went to the grill and listened.

“Von Bonin,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 13

“Q
uickly!” I pushed Harry. “We’re right behind.” Astiza tore her skirt while squeezing through, and getting my shoulders into the secret passageway was like stuffing and pulling a cork. I wriggled just as the Prussians were unlocking our prison door. The tunnel was bigger once I got through the wall. I wormed around and pulled the stone to stopper our escape hole.

The cell door squealed as it opened, threads of light piercing the stone’s edges. I pressed my face to the crevices to hear.

“Have they been moved?” Von Bonin asked.

“They’re gone!” said a guard who was not my brother, announcing the obvious. “But it’s impossible!”

“Is this some joke? Is Louis cheating me?”

“Go, go,” I hissed to wife and son. “Feel your way!”

“It looks as if they’ve escaped,” the guard said.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me how, imbecile? And where?”

“Perhaps someone let them go.”

“Perhaps that someone was you, muttonhead?”

“No, no, I locked them in. No one has seen them leave. They couldn’t get through the palace.” There was a puzzled silence. Then, “Look, mortar. They moved a stone! Maybe you can follow.”

Von Bonin took a step, studied the wall, and hesitated. “Crawl in the dark with one hand and one eye, offering myself for ambush? This is your plan?”

“To follow …”

“Where does the passageway go?”

“The storerooms? The kitchens? Who knows?”

“
Gott im Himmel,
you’re a dumbkin. We’re in a race.” And I heard the door bang and boots thump as Von Bonin dashed back up the stairs.

I scrambled after my family on hands and knees. “We have to get out ahead of the German. Harry, go as fast as you can!”

“Something ran across my hands, Papa.”

“Then crawl back over it. Go, go!”

We scrambled forward, the passageway turning once, and then turning again. “Stairs,” Harry finally reported. “It’s bigger here.”

“Let me go first.” I squeezed by and felt my way up spiral stone steps. There was a door, bolted on our side and not the other. I slid the bolt free and peeked out. A single candle cast wavering light in a deserted pantry. We crept into a storeroom with a brick barrel roof. Shadowy hanks of meat hung from ceiling hooks. Wine and beer barrels were stacked horizontally. Flour and pickle barrels sat upright and jugs crowded crude shelves. The cooks and bakers were asleep. Caleb had timed our reunion to avoid them.

“Just minutes to sneak clear,” I warned.

We ventured into the main kitchen. The stove fires were banked and the copper pans hung neatly. The floor was still damp from the day’s final mopping. Somewhere would be an outside door. The finger to my lips was unnecessary. Astiza and Harry crept like cats.

“A door might be guarded,” Astiza whispered. “Look: A chute for wood and coal.” She pointed towards the shadowy far end of the kitchen, where a ramp led to a hatch that must give access to a supply courtyard. Yet even as she gestured there was a crash of a door flung violently open on a landing above, and the slap of boots as someone hurriedly descended. Von Bonin! We had to hide until he gave up and looked elsewhere. Interestingly, we’d not heard a general alarm. He wanted to hunt us down alone.

Had he not paid Louis? Who was cheating whom?

There were several hutches holding food, china, and tablecloths. The last, the size of an armoire, was empty enough to barely fit the Gage family. We crammed inside and I squeezed the doors shut with my fingers, peeking through the joint.

Steps cautiously approached. Yes, it was the accursed Prussian. Von Bonin was breathing hard, his one good eye peering like a telescope, trying to guess which way we might have gone while being alert to ambush. He aimed his prosthetic arm as he rotated his body, as if pointing to a distant horizon.

“Gage? I’ve run you to earth, haven’t I?” The words echoed in the empty kitchen. He hesitated, not at all certain we were really there.

We held our breath.

“I sense you, American. I can smell you, I think.”

He turned a full circle, examining the room.

I could burst out to try to tackle him, but had nothing but the crude spike.

“Come, save your family. Let’s talk.”

I risked a shallow breath, but felt he could hear the pounding of my blood. A few more seconds silence …

Then—thump.

Harry’s foot bumped the side of our cubby.

Von Bonin cocked his head like a bird. Astiza put her hand over our son’s mouth and I gripped his ankles.

It was too late.

“Ah, the mouse.” The Prussian slowly advanced on our cabinet as his scowl began giving way to a grin. “Gage? I expected your Judas servant would dispatch you, since Gregor took his thirty pieces of silver. But someone murdered him instead and blamed it on you. Well, no matter. Have you packed yourself for delivery?”

He reached with his good arm to open the hutch and then thought better of it. What if I sprang?

He aimed with his stump, the muzzle hole looking like a cannon, but didn’t fire. A shot would bring others running and he wanted the Grunwald swords for himself. Instead, the wicked blade snapped out.

“But we should shake hands first, I think. Unless you surrender.”

We said nothing.

The hutch was cheaply made, its door thin birch. Von Bonin paused just a moment, savoring our suspected helplessness, and then lunged. With a grunt he rammed the blade into the cabinet, shoving through the joint where the doors met. I pushed Astiza and Harry to one side and I leaned to the other, so the short sword squealed between us. We all tried not to gasp. A thread of light picked out the sharp edge.

Von Bonin paused just a moment and then wrenched his blade back out and checked for blood. Nothing.

“This is a game, yes?”

He stabbed again, harder this time, smashing the wood in the middle of the door on my side of our hiding place. I twisted just enough. The steel sliced my shirt, licking my skin and drawing blood. The blade was thin enough to quiver from the impact. “Yes, I will whittle.”

The English have phrases for men like the Prussian: Mad as a March hare and savage as a meat ax.

He yanked his prosthesis back and inspected it. “I felt something, American. Do you wish to come out, or will you have your family oil my appendage first? A little lubrication from your flesh?”

Von Bonin slammed the blade in a third time, this time piercing the other door. It came within a whisker of my wife’s breast, and a hand’s width of my son’s eye.

That was enough.

I kicked hard as a mule behind me, splintering the cabinet’s back. Astiza squeezed Harry, who had begun bawling.

“Ho! Yes, you finally say hello? So I say hello back.” And he pulled and rammed again, through the thicker wood at the door’s edge, the board splintering and Harry yelling from behind Astiza’s hand.

“No, still shy?”

Von Bonin leaned backward to pull the blade out, but the thicker wood clung. He pulled to unstick it, slightly tipping the hutch toward him. So I kicked again, roared “Forward!” and pushed the cabinet away from the stone behind us with all the force I could muster. In throwing my weight at Von Bonin, Astiza and Harry were toppled to do the same. The hutch leaned, the Prussian roared a curse as his trapped prosthesis twisted, and then the armoire crashed on top of him. There was a twang as his sword snapped and Von Bonin screamed as the device ground against his amputation. Now its gun did go off, the report dampened as he shot into the wood, narrowly missing us. I bucked up and down to slam the doors on him, listening to him groan in pain, and then thrust upward with my torso, breaking the back of the cabinet to smithereens. It was like bursting the ice in a river, or lurching out of a casket. Astiza came up too, pulling Harry with her, all of us balanced on the ruins of the hutch and the prone Prussian. Von Bonin had gone quiet. Was he dead?

I snatched the spike from my waist to make sure.

Astiza grabbed my arm. “If you kill him, the pursuit from the other Prussians will be relentless. He’s finished, and his failure will ruin him in Berlin. Let’s get the swords to Poland.”

Shouts from above. Guards had heard the shot. I hesitated.

“Ethan, we’ve no time! He’s more crippled than ever. We have to get out of here.”

We heard a stampede above, pounding feet and clanging weapons. People were coming down the kitchen stairs.

“Damnation,” I muttered.

“No profanity in front of our son. No murder, either.”

So we kicked free of the broken hutch and dashed for the chute. Up we climbed, dirty in moments, and threw back its outside door to crawl into snow. I jammed the spike beneath the hatch handles to lock it shut.

It was freezing outside and we had no coats. I glanced for sentries but saw none. The soldiers were rushing to the clamor in the kitchen, I guessed.

We crept along a wall. Behind, a bullet punched through the hatch to no effect. New movement caught my eye and I watched a sleigh at the other end of the estate race for a bridge that led from the island toward the main highway, soldiers running after it, its driver lashing the reins. Who the devil was that?

Ahead were the trees. I was about to sprint when Astiza stopped me with her hand, her voice insistent.

“You and your brother collide?” she whispered. “It’s either magic or conspiracy. Can we trust him?”

“Everyone tells me not to trust. Remember?” I kissed her. “But now we have no choice.” Then we rushed across the gardens, feeling hideously exposed. No one shouted.

I looked back just once. The palace loomed cold and seemingly watchful. There were muffled shouts. Candles and lamps passed by windows. Doors opened and slammed. But the activity was concentrated on the far side of the palace where I’d seen the sleigh. For a moment, at least, we’d escaped notice. I looked at our tracks and gave a silent prayer for more snow.

The grove of pines we ran to was dark as tar. We stopped, uncertain what to do next.

A voice hissed. “Here, brother! You look underdressed!” Caleb met us with coats, hats, and mittens, which helped overcome our doubts. “Did you have any trouble?”

“Von Bonin discovered we were missing and tried to stop us in the kitchens. Something fell on him.”

My brother gave just the faintest of smiles. “Will he be getting up?”

“Not for a while. He was disarmed. Literally.”

“Ah. A Gage handshake.”

Caleb had brought knapsacks with food and a device I’d never tried—skis. These were skinny wooden boards nearly nine feet in length, upturned and pointed at the front, and cambered so that they arched where one put the foot. A leather strap held the toe of a boot. I’d seen a few of these odd devices when crossing the Alps, but never had used one.

“The Swedish army can cross a snowy forest in winter faster than a grenadier can march it in summer,” Caleb said. “Here, wooden poles to help balance.”

“We don’t know how to ski.”

“If you can walk, you’ll learn. I brought short ones for your son. It’s hard work at first, but with practice you’ll glide.”

“You can teach us in ten minutes?”

“Or ten days.”

“You’re coming with us? What about King Louis?”

“I suspect I’ve ended my employment at Jelgava. And I’ve always envied the stories of my adventurous brother and his fabulous treasures. Though why you haven’t retired to a castle, I don’t understand.”

“It’s Greek tragedy. I keep trying to rectify our fortunes.”

“And your plan to do so now, Ethan?”

“By completing a mission to Poland and gaining a title.”

“A noble Gage?” He laughed. “A contradiction, I suspect. But, let’s see how far we can get you toward your goal. We’ve a head start. I recruited a disgruntled servant who was planning to quit anyway, and helped him steal a sleigh to drive west toward his Dutch homeland. Any pursuit should follow. The man’s a gambler, like you, and betting he can outrun royalist pursuit long enough to sell the vehicle, pocket the proceeds, and start anew.”

“Caleb, you’ve already risked too much,” Astiza warned. “It’s extraordinary that you and Ethan have had this rendezvous. But you face ever-greater danger if you come with us. We’re fugitives, with contraband that powerful people desire.”

“Which means, Madame Gage, that you have no chance without my expert help.” He broadly bowed, the gesture waist deep. “I think your family’s problem is that you always find yourselves alone. Well, now you have a brother, considerably more handsome and wise than wretched Ethan.” He grinned at her for a fraction more than necessary, and I noted that fraction. My wife is very pretty, and Caleb and I have had a difficult history. What was it that he really wanted?

“You’re not very wise if you accompany my wretched husband,” she quipped in return.

“Brave, then. Desperate. Greedy. I’m betting he’ll lead me to riches.”

“And lose them when found.” Her laugh caught because we were so weary and frightened. The banter was release.

“Your demand for half our reward is certainly bold,” I said, reminding them how fraught this partnership was.

Caleb clapped me on the shoulder. “All right, I’m neither handsome, wise, nor brave. Just curious, little brother. I’ve been a drifter my entire life and now fate has given me purpose. What’s this contraband Astiza speaks of?”

“Relics I’ve hidden across the river. We need to get them to Poland. They aren’t precious themselves, but apparently they have symbolic value to certain rich people.”

“God bless the eccentricity of the wealthy! There’s no time to waste; shoulder your gear. Harry can ride on my back for now while you two learn the skis. When we get some distance I’ll teach him, too.”

Caleb had a musket slung on his back. “Is there another gun?”

“Didn’t think to bring one, brother.”

The hell he didn’t.

“You don’t care where we’re going?” my wife asked him.

“I care that it prove interesting. I care that I do something good for once in my vagabond life. I care that I, a man without a family, has by miracle found one.” He knelt in the snow. “So let me strap you in, Astiza. We’ll ski to this secret cache of yours and into the forest beyond. I smell more snow and by dawn it will cover our tracks. We’ll have all of Latvia and Poland to hide in.”