The messenger smiled and nodded. “At present, Captain Marin is content to leave this” — he looked around — “trading post in English hands. If you comply with his terms.”
“And what might those be?” Washington asked, reading the letter.
The messenger looked past Washington and scanned the faces of the Society members. “Captain Marin demands the flying ship.”
I gasped, but recovered myself. They’d known about the de Terzi since at least the break-in at our farm. But how had they known we would be here at the Forks?
“With due respect,” Washington said, “such a request might call a man’s sanity into question. A ship that flies, you say? What else does the captain demand? A carriage that swims?”
The messenger’s smile remained, but his eyes held none of it. “We know it exists and it is here somewhere, Major.”
I resisted looking over my shoulder, but apparently the de Terzi wasn’t visible over the trees.
“And we will take it by force if necessary,” the messenger said.
“You may convey to Captain Marin that I have received his terms.” Washington folded the letter. “And I will do my utmost to provide him with a fictional flying ship.”
The Frenchman lost all traces of his smile. “You would be wise to do so.”
“Where is the ship?” Marin asked, his accent thick, his voice menacing.
It surprised me to hear him speak, and even Washington seemed caught off guard. “It isn’t here, Captain.”
“You are lying,” Marin said. “But it does not matter.” His gaze battered each of us as he turned his back and stormed away, his interpreter close behind him, off into the trees the way they had come.
Washington nodded to the traders who had escorted the Frenchmen. “Follow them. Make sure they head back up the river. I don’t want them scouting around.”
“Yes, sir.” The men left.
“Corporal,” Washington said. “Take some men and watch the banks. I want to know the minute they’ve landed.”
The scout saluted. “Yes, sir.”
Washington turned to Colden. “Marin seems to want your ship even more than he wants the Forks, which I find hard to believe. That fact alone makes it imperative that he not get his hands on it.”
“We’ll leave at once,” Mr. Colden said.
Washington held up a hand. “No. Wait until we receive word that their boats have landed. That will purchase you the most time. But you should return to your ship and be ready for my signal.”
Mr. Colden extended his hand. “Thank you, Major.”
Washington shook it. “I still think you’re all mad, but I’ll do what I can to make certain your escape. Go, now.”
Mr. Colden led us back down through the trees to the shore, and one at a time we climbed the rope ladder. The process seemed interminable. Mr. Kinnersley and Mr. Godfrey both labored up slowly, while each passing moment brought the French closer. I paced around, waiting, listening, and watching for any signs of Marin’s men. When at last it was my turn, I scurried up as fast as I could, grateful when my feet hit the deck.
My father landed behind me, and then he turned to face the river and the trees. “Now we wait for Major Washington’s signal.”
No one spoke. We listened. We watched.
“Where is Jane?” Mr. Colden asked.
I looked around. She wasn’t on deck. “I’ll go look below,” I said.
“Hurry, Billy,” Mr. Colden said.
Only she wasn’t below. Not in her bunk, not on the Science Deck, not in the galley, and not in Mr. Kinnersley’s cabin. I ran back up. “She’s gone!”
“Mr. Faries!” Mr. Colden shouted. “Get the ship ready to fly.” He headed for the rope ladder. “She must have followed us to the trading post. I’ll hurry, but if we’re not back before the signal, you must leave without us.”
“I’ll come with you,” Andrew said.
“No,” my father said. “I’ll go.”
I swallowed. What if the signal came before my father returned? What if he was captured? I stepped forward. “I’m coming with you.”
“No,” my father said, already climbing down. “Stay here.”
But I ignored him and started down the ladder.
“Billy! Get back up there!”
“I’m coming with you!” I said, and kept climbing.
My father looked down, then up at me, then down again, and seemed to decide he couldn’t stop to argue. When we reached the ground, he grabbed my neck. “Stay close to me.”
We ran into the trees, following Mr. Colden.
“Jane!” he shouted. “Jane!”
My father and I did the same.
Several minutes later, we reached the post. The traders had all taken up strategic positions behind the buildings and trees. They all held guns. Major Washington stood in the middle, giving orders. When he saw us, he marched our way, pointing toward the river.
“What are you fools doing? Get aboard that ship!”
“My daughter!” Mr. Colden shouted. “Has anyone seen her?”
“You brought your daughter?” Washington said.
“No! Of course I — !” Mr. Colden sputtered. “There isn’t time to explain. Has anyone seen her?”
Dozens of blank faces met Mr. Colden’s question.
“Jane!” Mr. Colden spun around, his gaze scrambling around the trading post. “Jane!”
“She’s not here,” my father said. “She must be in the woods.”
“Major!” The corporal sprinted into view from the east. “They’ve landed.”
“You have to leave,” Major Washington said. “Now.”
Mr. Colden’s voice broke. “She’s my daughter.”
Washington regarded him for a moment, then cursed. “Corporal, take five men and find the girl. The rest of you, with me. We’ll harry them and hold them off as long as we can.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Colden said. “Bless you.”
But Major Washington hadn’t waited to hear it. He and his men were already racing into the trees. The corporal and his men took up the call for Jane, fanning out in different directions. Mr. Colden raced off to the north.
“Let’s stop and think,” my father said. “Where could she have gone?” He looked in all directions, seeming to consider each one. Then he stopped and looked at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“She may be east of here. She knew she wasn’t supposed to leave the boat. I wonder if she tried to sneak around and reach the trading post through the trees, overshot it, and ended up lost on the other side.”
My stomach was starting to hurt. “But that’s where Marin is.”
“Go back to the ship, Billy.” My father ran off in the direction Washington had gone. “Go now!”
It was like the moment on the stairs during the break-in at our farm. I stood there, frozen, wanting to obey and get myself to safety, but also wanting to follow him. Wanting to find Jane.
And then I heard the first gunshot, a loud crack in the trees, and I jumped. I sprinted after my father.
“Jane!” I shouted. “Jane!”
For several yards I could still see my father ahead of me, barely. But then I lost sight of him.
“Father! Jane!”
Another gunshot. I realized that my shouting might draw the enemy. I fell silent, dropped to a crouch, and pressed forward. The trees and the brush thickened, and I pushed through, fending off branches and listening. Before long, I worried that I, too, could become lost. But I checked my bearing and made sure I knew the direction I’d come.
The sound of gunfire multiplied, getting closer.
“Jane!” I hissed, as loudly and as quietly as I could. “Jane!”
And then I heard voices up ahead yelling in French. Something grabbed the shoulder of my coat from behind and pulled me to the ground. I yelped.
Jane slapped her hand over my mouth and held a finger to her lips.
“Where is the ship?” she mouthed.
I pointed the way I had come.
She nodded, released my mouth, and started off in that direction. But my father was still out there somewhere. Jane glanced back at me, and made an urgent motion for me to follow. I shook my head. The shouting was getting closer, the gunfire was loud enough to leave a ringing, and I could smell the tang of gun smoke.
Jane hurried back to me and leaned in. “What is it?” she whispered, her lips touching my ear.
I got in close to her. “My father,” I whispered.
She started scanning the trees, and I did the same. That was when I noticed the figures darting through the woods in the distance. They were Washington’s men, which meant the French would be upon us in moments. There was no time. I decided to take a risk.
“Father!” I shouted.
Nothing.
“Father!”
“Billy!” came a distant reply.
“Father!” I smiled at Jane. “I found her!”
A short pause.
“Go back! I’ll meet you there!”
That was enough for me. “Come,” I said to Jane. Together we ran back toward the trading post. Once there, we continued through it, feet pounding the ground, down the path to the river. I gave her a gentle push toward the rope ladder.
“You first.”
After she had started up, I put my weight on the lower rungs to pull the rope tight and ease her climb. She reached the top, disappeared over the rail, and then looked back down at me.
“Billy, come!”
“My father,” I said. But just then he burst out of the woods.
“Up, Billy!” he shouted, and then, “Faries, weigh anchor!”
Something whipped and whizzed through the leaves above my father’s head, shredding them. A bullet. And then another, and another.
I started to climb. As I did, the ladder lurched and lifted off the ground. The rising anchor had freed the de Terzi of her mooring, and the movement made the ladder more difficult to scale. I looked down as my father reached the bottom and latched on, his feet dangling. And then I heard a rushing sound and a blast of wind hit me and set the ladder twisting and spinning. Mr. Faries was venting the spheres to get us higher. The ground fell away, ten, twenty, thirty, fifty feet, and we slid out over the river.
“Climb, Billy!” my father shouted.
I wanted to, but I couldn’t get my fingers to let go of the rope. I couldn’t move. I could only watch as French soldiers rushed the shore below us, shouting, and pointing their rifles at us. A bullet struck the de Terzi’s hull an instant before I heard the report and saw the smoke.
And then the ladder jerked upward, lifting me. They were raising it from the deck. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the wind and the swinging of the rope, the sound of the guns, and before long, I heard someone say, “Hurry, Billy.”
I opened my eyes as Andrew grabbed my arms and dragged me onto the deck. A moment later, I turned and helped him do the same for my father. We all kept our heads down, bullets striking the ship and her instruments all around us, splintering wood, breaking glass, sparking on metal.
Through it all, Mr. Faries stood bravely at the helm and finally announced that we were out of the French weapons’ range. Even so, I only allowed myself a peek over the rail. We were sliding down the Ohio, the jut of land at the Forks growing distant. The French soldiers had stopped shooting. I felt like collapsing.
We had made it. We were safe. I started laughing, I don’t know why. I couldn’t help it. But when I looked at the others, all I saw were somber faces.
“Where is Cadwallader?” my father asked, recovering his breath.
I scanned the deck. He wasn’t there.
“Where is my father?” Jane asked.
“He did not return in time,” Phineas said.
“You left him?” Jane cried.
Phineas looked away. “We had no choice.”
Jane raced to the helm. “Mr. Faries, take us back. You have to take us back!”
“I’m sorry, Jane,” he said.
“No!” She tried to wrest the ship’s wheel from his hands, sobbing, but my father hurried over and gathered her into his arms. She hit him, and scratched, and fought him, but he lifted her away from the helm and led her below deck.
“It looks like they might be following us,” Mr. Kinnersley said from the stern, a spyglass to his eye. “They’re getting back into their boats.”
“We’ll outrace them,” Mr. Faries said. “Phineas, hoist sails.”
Phineas just stood there.
“Phineas!” Mr. Faries shouted.
“Yes?”
“Hoist sails!”
“Aye,” he murmured.
Mr. Faries worked the levers from the helm, and Phineas hauled the lines. Moments later, the sails billowed and snapped taut, and before long, the de Terzi had put several miles between us and Marin.
Between us and Mr. Colden.
“Gentlemen, we must reexamine our situation,” my father said.
We were gathered on the Science Deck, some seated at their desks, others standing, forming a circle around the central mast where my father stood. Jane sat in a chair by the bookcase, hunched and red-eyed. Phineas stood behind her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Mr. Faries, have you been able to assess the damage?”
Mr. Faries nodded. “We lost several instruments, but nothing that can’t be replaced from the spares we brought. Injury to the ship’s hull was superficial. But … we aren’t maintaining altitude.”
“What does that mean?” my father asked.
“It would appear that at least one bullet struck either a sphere or a pipe, allowing a small amount of air to leak in. We’re losing vacuum in one of the spheres.”
“Meaning?” Mr. Kinnersley asked.
“Meaning we won’t be able to achieve higher altitudes. Mountains could be problematic going forward.”
“Can you repair it?” my father asked.
“If I can find the leak, yes.”
“Good. That will be your first priority once we’re finished here.” My father rubbed his chin. “For our next order of business, we must attend to the matter of leadership.” He looked in Jane’s direction. “The expedition needs a new commander. Are any of you willing to take on such duties?”
No one spoke, at first.
“I nominate you, John,” Mr. Faries said.
“I second that,” Mr. Kinnersley said.
“I would be willing to lead,” Phineas said.
My father sighed. “Then according to the procedure of our Society, we must vote. William?”
Mr. Faries frowned and stood. “Very well. We’ll do this election by raised hand. All for John Bartram, show by that sign.”
Every hand but Phineas’s went up, and for the first time since we’d landed in Aughwick, I felt proud of my father again.
“All for Phineas Bond?”
Phineas raised his hand.
“The matter is settled. This election has named John Bartram the interim leader of the Madoc expedition.” Mr. Faries took his seat. Phineas bore a measured scowl on his face but tipped his head in acknowledgment.
“I thank you for this honor,” my father said. “I shall strive to my utmost to lead you with wisdom, prudence, and temperance. Now, while we knew the French were aware of the existence of this ship, what we do not know is how they determined our location. I have a theory, but I would like to hear yours first.”
“The most likely explanation,” Mr. Godfrey said, “is that someone back in Philadelphia disclosed our plan. Did anyone here, however innocently, share our objective with someone outside the Society?”
“No one here would do such a thing,” Phineas said. “But Ben had several conversations with those in government, to which none of us were privy. Perhaps someone higher up is a spy for the French.”
“Both are plausible,” my father said. “But I would suggest that our betrayal occurred more recently. But days ago.”
“Who?” Mr. Godfrey
asked. “You suspect Croghan?”
My father turned to Andrew, who sat silently nearby. “Or one of his associates. Your mother was French, was she not, Andrew?”
Andrew faltered as he spoke. “She was of mixed birth, sir. Her past is something of a mystery, even to me.”
“Why did you want to come on this expedition?” my father asked. “Why did you volunteer to go with Mr. Colden in search of Jane?”
“I …” Andrew blinked. “I wanted to help.”
He appeared sincere to me, and I started to believe him. But my father would not be suspicious of him without cause.
“You wanted to help?” My father began to circle the room. “Or did you simply see an opportunity to join up with your French allies?”
“Sir, I —”
“Admit it,” my father said. “You volunteered because you and Croghan are working for the French.”
“Lex parsimoniae, John,” Mr. Godfrey said. “This theory of yours calls for too many new assumptions.”
“Such as?” my father asked.
“We left Aughwick scarcely more than a day ago, and we are traveling by air. You therefore assume Croghan had enough time to send word to the French. You assume him to be in league with the very men who have ruined his trade. And you assume the French then had time to reach the Forks of the Ohio.”
My father folded his arms. “The French may have already been near the Forks.”
“And further,” Mr. Godfrey said, “how would Andrew have made contact with these hypothetical French allies? He has been on this ship the entire time. I think your biases are blinding you to the impossibilities in your theory. They are so obvious that I — Well, to be perfectly frank, I am embarrassed for you.”
My father glowered. I was embarrassed for him, too, but also angry at Mr. Godfrey for shaming him. But I also knew Mr. Godfrey was right. Andrew bore no blame in this. But that did not mean I should now trust him.
My father spoke slowly. “You are right, Francis. The other two theories offer simpler solutions.”
“Where is my father?” Jane asked from the corner.
Everyone turned to look at her.
The Lost Kingdom Page 9
