Revolutionary Magic (with Bonus Content)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  "Don't let the myths of your youth confuse your thinking. These creatures want comfort and companionship as much as we do," he explained.

  "Creatures? What do you mean? You've known one of these things and said nothing? How do you know it's not the one behind these incidents?" I asked.

  His lips tentatively held the semblance of a smile, the memory of some event nearly turning it to a grimace. "The gauntlet led me to Chloris. She was in a bad way and I helped her. For a while, we had an arrangement." He flattened his lips. "And now we don't."

  "If she's one of them, why not ask her who sent the memory thief?" I asked, shading my eyes from the angled sunlight streaming through my side of the carriage.

  "It doesn't work like that," he said. "She only knows this world. I can only guess that one of her forbearers came from Otherland. Escape? Exile? For profit or mischief? I cannot say. She barely knew her mother, who died when she was young."

  "Then how can she help us?" I asked, both curious and worried, because Ben appeared uneasy, constantly shifting in his seat as he steered the steam carriage through the Philadelphian streets.

  Ben mulled his answer over, chewing on his thoughts. He still hadn't answered when we arrived at Ram Cat Alley. My gaze went immediately to the window of the spymaster's apartment that overlooked the street. I wished it was night, so my entrance might be hidden. It would be in a few hours.

  We stopped outside of the Magdelen House. The big front window was boarded up where I'd shot it out.

  Ben turned to me, his hands still gripping the wheel. "Chloris finds things. Answers, people, whatever you want. She's like a magnet, and whatever you want is the iron."

  "Like a magnet, can it not attract over long distances?" I asked, sensing the reason he chose this analogy.

  "Yes," he said. "And Otherland is a long way off. If the desired answer or thing was powerful enough, she might be able to pick it up, but otherwise, it is not within her capability."

  I nodded, and thinking we were done, I reached for the door handle. Ben put a warm hand on my arm.

  "This danger cannot be underestimated," he said.

  "You and her were once friends?" I asked.

  His cheek twitched. "I wouldn't exactly use that term, but circumstances have changed. We must be on our guard." He glanced at the red velvet curtains around the door of the Magdelen House.

  "These are the rules which we must abide by at all times. The first is to never give her anything except a gift that you brought ahead of time. Nothing that she's asked for—no matter how insignificant. Second, the gift cannot have any meaning for you or anyone you know. The more impartial you are to the object, the better," he said.

  Ben's eyes were the grey of stones on a windswept frozen plain. "Lastly, and this is the most important and hardest to achieve, for in her is a natural power that is hard to resist. Do not look at her. Under no circumstances, no matter what you hear, what she says, even if you think you're in danger. Do not look at her."

  "Is she a medusa that will turn me to stone?" I asked.

  "No," he said. "Far worse. You must trust my word in this."

  We left the steam carriage and it took my every effort not to glance towards the spymaster's window. I doubted that he would know to look out, unless he made a habit of it, and even if he did, my face would stay hidden if I did not look.

  The muted laughter that hummed against the door exploded upon us as we entered the bawdy house. Well-dressed men in tailcoats and wigs sat at tables across from scandalously clad women leaning strategically to showcase their ample flesh as they sipped from porcelain teacups.

  Ben raised an eyebrow in my direction. "Not your first time?"

  "I'm not an innocent flower," I said, giving him the proper amount of scowl. "Though I've never been in this one."

  The silvery-haired madam came sweeping down the wide, carpeted stairs. Her attire contrasted with the clothing of her girls. Buttons climbed up the front of her dress, right to her neck on the stiff fabric. One could almost imagine a well-worn riding crop in her hand. When her gaze fell upon Ben, she flinched, but kept going as if nothing was wrong.

  "Temple," she said, spearing him with her gaze. This woman knew his real identity, that much was clear. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Her lips twisted the last word into an insult.

  "Madam Maria, the place has changed. Your finances seem to have improved. As has your clientele." Ben nodded towards a man in a top hat who might have been a Senator.

  "The Magdelen House is quite self-sufficient now," said Madam Maria with her chin tilted upward.

  Ben spoke in a low tone. "Be careful, Madam. She brings with her terrible danger."

  Maria's lips soured. "Danger only to fools that try to use her. So your warning is unnecessary. Or did you come to visit to proffer this obvious advice?"

  "I came to see her," said Ben softly.

  A laugh exited Maria's lips that could have split a hunk of wood. It brought glances from the patrons of the establishment, but not her girls.

  "You think she would see you after what you've done?"

  "I saved her," said Ben.

  Madam Maria was about to speak when a young boy, no older than ten, came running up and whispered in her ear. The tendons on the madam's neck tightened as she listened.

  She stood tall and stretched her chin upward, looking down upon Ben. "It seems she was expecting you. The lady will see you now," she said, her voice crystalline with frost.

  The boy ran up the stairs, motioning for us to follow though it appeared Ben knew the way quite well. Ben pulled me along. The madam's gaze flickered across me as if she'd only just noticed I was standing there. Whatever history they shared, it was a contentious one, that much was clear.

  When the boy left us outside the door, Ben turned to me, his face gravely serious. "Remember what I told you and say nothing while we're inside."

  Before he put his hand on the door, he pulled an object from an inside pocket and cradled it in his hand against his side. We stepped through the door.

  The cavernous room extended into the shadows. My surprise at the vast space was only outmatched by the volume of water in the stone lined pool at the center of the room. The warm, wet air reminded me of time spent in verdant jungles, the richness of the foliage overwhelming and clogging my nose until breathing became difficult.

  The water wrinkled with movement. Something moved through the water towards us.

  "Greetings, Chloris," said Ben, staring at the floor near his boots. "It has been far too long, my friend."

  A woman's voice, musical and soft, filled the room. I kept my gaze on my hands clasped at my waist.

  "Benjamin, once again you prove yourself by coming only when you need something. If we'd truly been friends, you would have visited before now," said Chloris.

  I sensed the woman in the water, right at the edge of my vision. It was tempting to look, just a glance, to get an idea of what she looked like.

  "I can only give you my heartfelt apology at my absence. Things have become more dangerous, which has been keeping me busy," said Ben.

  "Busy," she said, laughing, the trill of her voice wrapping vines around my mind, pulling at my neck to lift up so I could see. "Busy swiping at shadows. Busy spinning in circles. The wise Benjamin Franklin is as blind as the stones beneath your feet."

  "Yet a stone path can lead a man to his destination," said Ben. "I won't disagree. I have been blind. Do you have news for me? Have you learned something about your old home in my absence? The world moves on strange streets these days."

  "Little things. Big things," said Chloris.

  "Can you enlighten an old friend?" asked Ben, hopeful.

  "Nothing specific, but I can feel things moving in the distance, like mountains grinding inexorably in this direction. Answers appear in my mind though I have not asked a question," said Chloris.

  "Then it's as we thought," said Ben. "There is some plot against us."

  "No," said Chloris. "You are mer
ely insects about to be trampled by a battle between giants."

  "You mock us," said Ben.

  "No, I mock you and you alone. Princess Dashkova, she is another matter entirely," said Chloris, all trace of softness missing.

  In my surprise, I almost looked up.

  "Me?"

  The word slipped out unbidden. Even Ben seemed surprised, glancing at me sideways while keeping his head down.

  "You know her?" asked Ben, skeptically.

  "Not all mountains move from Otherland," said Chloris. "Even now I feel a pull from her. Before you came, I did not know her name, but once you stepped inside, the answer carved itself into my mind."

  At this point, I should have kept my mouth shut. Not doing so was a fault of mine that had made Catherine furious often enough.

  "You lie," I said, feeling a tightness in my chest.

  "I do not lie, Princess," said Chloris forcefully. "Deceive, obfuscate, shade the truth? At times. But I do not lie."

  Ben put his hand on my forearm, but I spoke anyway. "Then you are trying to injure me."

  "No."

  The word was so emphatic, final, like the blow of a hammer, I knew it for truth.

  "Yet injury will come," said Chloris. "I sense great pain in your future, confusion, betrayal, a sense of aloneness so vast to make the moon pity you."

  "Is this prophecy?" asked Ben.

  "No." Then Chloris paused. "I don't know. These are the answers I have found without knowing the questions. Or maybe these events are so meaningful they are questions in themselves and I cannot help but hear them," she said.

  We stood in silence. Water dripped from somewhere in the room. My inward breath was thick and cloying. I desired the fresh clear air of the city streets, wanted to claw away the collar of my dress to release my breath.

  Suddenly, Ben's fingers tensed around my arm.

  "Why did you give these answers freely, without a price paid?" he asked Chloris.

  The woman's laughter was a cold slap across the face. "You'll soon find out. But you didn't come here for those answers. You came for something else. Pay me, Benjamin."

  A light splash indicated she'd pulled her hand from the water and held it out.

  While keeping his head down, Ben placed the object on her palm. I caught a glimpse of it: an ivory comb.

  "A fair gift," said Chloris. "Ask your question, Benjamin."

  Ben cleared his throat. "Who does the memory thief desire to attack next?"

  "So close and yet so far," mocked Chloris. "The answer you seek is the Binghams. I trust you know them."

  "Yes," said Ben. "William Bingham is a member of the Bank of North America. He is a rising star. He and his wife, Anne, are devout Federalists."

  "You should hurry," said Chloris. "Chess pieces on a board. They're all moving. Don't want to be the one left without a spot."

  Ben turned, tugging on my arm to leave.

  "And Princess," said Chloris in a lilting tone, "I shall be seeing you again."

  "Doubtful," I said.

  Chloris replied with quiet chuckling.

  Afterwards, we stood outside the closed door of Chloris' abode in silence, Ben's worried brow a thunderhead of thoughts.

  "We must get to the Bingham's house at once," he said.

  Chapter Nine

  The steam carriage had been left idling, attended by one of the Magdelen House's grease boys. We slid onto the cushion, each from our side, the weight of the visit heavy upon us.

  "You shouldn't have spoken to her," he said.

  "It doesn't sound like it would have mattered," I replied.

  He considered the thought before shoving the lever into gear. The carriage lurched forward. The street was wide enough to turn around, unlike the narrow avenues in most locations of the city. Ben stopped the carriage when he saw a gathering of sailors at the other end lifting their mugs high and singing.

  "Let's take the long way then," he said. "We'll pick up Smith and a few items at the estate and then go straight to the Bingham's house."

  While Ben piloted the vehicle, I mulled Chloris' words.

  We came upon a farmer with a broken-down wagon in the middle of the narrow street, his horses tied to a post while he worked on it.

  Ben turned the steam carriage to the right, heading down an alleyway between the tall rows. Far ahead, between the buildings, a ship on the river passed, its white sheets ruffling in the wind.

  The vehicle rumbled across the cobblestones. I glanced up and out the window, gazing at the scattered cloud layer above the city that reflected the pinks and oranges of the evening sky, when a barrel fell over the side of the nearest three story building.

  Grabbing Ben's arm, I screamed, "Stop!"

  He barely hit the brakes before the barrel hit the cobblestones, exploding fire over the vehicle. A wall of flame blocked the way ahead.

  Ben opened the door to check the streets, when a second barrel hit thirty feet behind us, shards of wood and fire bouncing between the brick buildings.

  The flames ahead subsided, revealing a pile of jagged stones smoldering with a greasy smoke that curtained the space between the two buildings.

  Two men appeared from a doorway ahead, the newest repeating rifles in their hands. I recognized the black bushy mustaches and beady eyes of men from the regions around the Black Sea. These were the Emperor Paul's assassins. The spymaster probably lurked nearby.

  The assassins placed the rifles against their shoulders, aiming in our direction. As I slumped beneath the dashboard, Ben angrily jabbed a button, seemingly at random.

  The vehicle shook when a blast flew from the upper portion of the carriage, a net of fine wire sailing through the air and wrapping around the men, collapsing them into a pile.

  Leaning his head back out the door, Ben jammed the gear lever into reverse. We surged in that direction, bouncing over stones that might have stopped a lesser vehicle.

  The assassins climbed out of the net when we were a couple hundred feet down the alleyway, traveling backwards at a hurried pace.

  Before Ben could turn down a cross street, their rifles barked, putting holes in the engine. Steam jetted out of the brass pressure chamber. We were able to make it another hundred feet before the vehicle slowed to a stop.

  Grabbing my pistol and rapier, I slid into the street. Ben had a fine pistol of his own, along with the knapsack with the gauntlet. We ran together, glancing frequently behind us. Right as we turned, the assassins appeared at the cross street. Bits of brick exploded around our heads as we ducked and ran.

  I didn't bother firing my weapon. With only one shot I was unlikely to hit anything.

  We ran recklessly. With weapons in each hand, I couldn't pull my dress up for running, which slowed us considerably. Ben kept pace, even though I knew he could outrun me.

  When we turned into a blind alleyway, I saw the spymaster at the other end with a rifle. His shot nearly tore my head off.

  Trapped between the assassins and the spymaster, we took a staircase to a landing, hoping we might find connecting roofs to make our escape. Luck wasn't with us—we found a lone building top surrounded by unassailable gaps.

  "At least we have a defensible position," said Ben, leaning carefully to see down the narrow wooden staircase.

  I spun in a circle. Around us, the surrounding rooftops had a clear line of sight to us. A heavy easterly wind tugged on my dress and blew hair around my face. The smell of evening woodstoves burning was thick in the air.

  "We have to get off this roof. They'll cut us down like wheat," I said.

  Ben looked around, understanding my meaning. It wouldn't take them long to figure out they didn't need to come up the narrow stairs, and there was nothing to hide behind on the flat, tarry roof.

  Ben beat his fist on his thigh. "Who are these hell-fired men?"

  He must have caught the look of recognition on my face, because his gaze narrowed. I sensed the question he was going to ask, a question I had to answer truthfully. Seizing the mo
ment, I poked the knapsack with my rapier.

  "Can that help us get out of here? Maybe you can make that wall of air that kept me from killing the memory thief?" I asked desperately.

  "I can't make it do anything," he said.

  "We've no other choice unless you wish to charge down these stairs. We're trapped on this roof without a way off. What choice do we have?"

  Ben nodded and pulled the gauntlet out of the knapsack. It fit easily over his hand. I was surprised when he flexed his fingers and the metal moved gracefully, as I could see no signs of hinges or overlapping plates like a piece of armor.

  With arm outstretched and fingers splayed, Ben turned in a slow circle. The smooth dark stone on the back of the gauntlet glowed with a purplish light, crackles of energy deep within its violet depths.

  He shook his head with a disgusted sigh. "I only know how to do one thing with it."

  At the bottom of the stairs, one head kept peeking around the corner. I thought about taking a shot—I would have time to reload—but decided it would be wasteful.

  Then I glanced to the roofs around us. They were yet unmanned, but I knew our time was coming to a close.

  "How do you do that one thing? Is there a lever or button inside?" I asked, my gaze flitting in all directions.

  "Not by button but intention. If I concentrate on the gauntlet, it warms with energy. The closer I am to other magics, the warmer it gets," he said, squinting into the wind.

  "But the time you transported yourself to Otherland. What were you thinking then?" I asked.

  His grey eyes hardened, steeling themselves from some desperate thought. "I've tried that before. It didn't work."

  "Then try again. What choice do we have?"

  Ben spun in another circle, producing nothing but the visible energy of the stone for his effort. At that moment, a figure appeared on a roof, three buildings over. The rifle slung over his shoulder confirmed he was one of our pursuers.

  "Hurry, Ben," I said.

  "This damned thing does nothing but stonewall me," he said, shaking his gauntleted fist. "We should make a try for the stairs. It's our only way out."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the assassin placing his rifle against his shoulder.