The Brazen Woman

by Anne Groß

  “Why ever not?” Mrs. Southill rose from the table and hovered, waiting.

  “What have I to say to any of them? I’ve no time for this. I must return to Dodo.” Despite her misgivings, Adelaide felt her spirit slide from its encasing flesh.

  There, see? Mrs. Southill clapped her hands like an excited schoolgirl. You’re much more amusing when you stop grinding your teeth. Let’s go. She grasped Adelaide’s hand and together they left the clearing to the black void where time was suspended and souls were indistinguishable from thoughts.

  It didn’t take long for the others to join them. Adelaide hadn’t planned on the meeting, but apparently the meeting of la Société had been planned all the same. She didn’t wonder how the women knew she’d be seeking the help of Mrs. Southill at that exact time. Why wouldn’t they know? Once again she was given a stark reminder of the feminine well of power that could slake her thirst should she deign to drink from it, and was chastened by the realization of how much she still had to learn.

  The inevitable tut-tutting from the older women made Adelaide grit her teeth again. Oh, my poor dear, cried Madame Griffe. Your aura is the most putrid color. You are not well. Does she not look unwell?

  It’s the dreadful English weather, grumbled Madame Thierreau.

  There’s nothing wrong with English weather, Mrs. Southill protested.

  Then it’s the cuisine, Madame Thierreau insisted.

  I’ve found a tea made from the flowers of fennel; taken every day will keep a woman strong, said Mademoiselle Hachette.

  No, she needs not tea, countered Madame Thierreau. She must return to Paris at once, for her health.

  I cannot return, Adelaide said. I would be arrested the second I set foot on French soil.

  More and more women were arriving and the tittering grew ever louder as the state of Adelaide’s health was debated. They came from all over the continent and Great Britain, until nearly fifty sorceress spirits were floating about in the black void, representing the most powerful Western women. The women of France, with the most radical minds and libertine notions, and from whom the movement started, were most numerous among them and took the leading roles.

  Mademoiselle Lenormand speaks the truth, a loud voice said imperiously. All activity stopped as Mademoiselle DuBette raised her arms to silence the crowd, her shade shimmering in a call for attention. She cannot return to Paris. Napoleon is furious. He is redoubling his efforts to find her and his lost gemstone.

  Adelaide felt anger bubbling up inside her. For weeks she’d been chasing the golem, first on the astral plane where they were now meeting, reaching towards the creature who was tied to her through the thin line that attached creator to created, then later, by land and over sea, and all the while knowing she herself was being chased by the Emperor’s Ministre de la police, Fouché. She was so, so tired of all the running. Now the witches gather? Now was too late. The golem had set sail for America and, as a result, Adelaide would never be able to return to Paris without risking imprisonment. Where was all this concern for me when I first begged for support? she cried. Your concern no longer matters. The golem is gone.

  You don’t honestly believe that we’ve been sitting back doing nothing, do you? Mlle DuBette asked. I suppose you think you’ve been doing all the heavy lifting while we’ve been exchanging the latest recipes?

  Then give me some news I can use. Tell me la Société’s plan for retrieving the golem. It was hard not to cringe when fifty witches brought together from all over Europe smiled smugly.

  The golem? No, the golem is in play. It is the emerald scarab we want. The scarab is the key.

  In play? Adelaide shook her head, not understanding.

  Yes, dear. The golem is everything Napoleon deserves, and he will have her, in one way or another. But only after you’ve taken possession of the scarab. He must not take the scarab.

  I don’t understand, you wished me to bring forth the golem to remain at the emperor’s side, did you not? If I can secure the golem, and return the stolen scarab, all will be set to rights. I have spent some time with Bonaparte and he is not the enemy we once thought him to be, Adelaide said. She didn’t like to think of her short-lived tryst with Napoleon while she stayed at Malmaison in the employ of his wife. However, her skills had been useful in gathering information. He truly wishes all people to regard each other as equals. His push into Spain was necessary to quell the unrest.

  The black void flared red with outrage, and the eerie sound of a rolled minor chord from a distant guitar was heard. Afrancesados! cried a voice from somewhere in the middle of the crowd. We will remember Dos de Mayo. It is burned onto the hearts of all Spaniards.

  Bonaparte has easily taken Portugal. Adelaide argued. The Portuguese themselves wish for French occupation. Spain, too, will thank Bonaparte for saving them from Bourbon rule. He is, at heart, an egalitarian.

  Mademoiselle DuBette sucked in a breath as though a stiff breeze had blown up her skirts. Egalitarian? Truly? The man who crowned himself Emperor is an egalitarian? DuBette laughed. No, you are wrong. He is a despot. Have you forgotten how he removed Olympe de Gouges’s head from her neck for daring to ask that the rights of women be included in the Declaration? Egalitarian indeed!

  Bonaparte had nothing to do with the death of Olympe, cried Adelaide. She was a Royalist! A Girondin! It was the revolution that killed her.

  And what has he done to right that wrong? Nothing. He’s done nothing but spit in the eye of Woman since he dared to place the crown upon his own brow. Have you not had enough of this, Adelaide? Have you not had enough? They will never accept us into their ranks. They will never extend a hand to pull you up to sit at their sides, no matter how you strive for your voice to be heard. It will not happen until we force it to happen.

  The use of her Christian name was a deliberate breach of formality made to draw her back into the fold. Adelaide knew this to be an attempt to manipulate her, but was no less taken by the tactic. She felt like crumpling into the woman’s arms and allowing herself the mothering she knew she’d receive. She was so tired, so disappointed in having lost the golem, so worried about the continued deterioration of Dodo’s battered body. But she dared not give in to her fears and exhaustion. She did not doubt that, should she allow them to minister to her, the women’s attentions would be genuinely given. However, any show of weakness would remove her from ever being seriously considered for any roles of import. So instead, she set her teeth and questioned further. If the scarab is central to the cause, why did not Mrs. Southill take it when she had the golem in her hands? Adelaide glared at the old English crone.

  Miss Elsie Duboysie didn’t have the emerald. Mrs. Southill said simply.

  Mrs. Southill’s task was to assess the golem—Miss Elise Dubois, as it prefers to call itself—and set it on its path, which she did, Mademoiselle DuBette said. Your task has always been to create the golem and retrieve the emerald, which you haven’t done. This was a task you might have completed had you not let Dodeauvie back into your life. No, no, DuBette put up a hand when Adelaide filled her lungs to protest. You needn’t deny it. Your mentor yearned to own the power of the emerald for himself, and your misguided desire for acceptance would have let him have it. I say once again: leave the golem be. Your concern is now with the emerald scarab.

  Yes, but the emerald is with the golem, Adelaide said with a stamp of her foot. And anyway, it is too late. How am I to retrieve the emerald when it’s already half-way to America? You must send me money—I’ve run out. All of you send money and I can buy passage to follow the golem.

  There’s no time to waste. You cannot wait for money to arrive or you’ll never find the golem again. You should have taken the emerald while the golem was still here, but it’s useless to cry over spilled milk. You’ll just have to retrieve the emerald elsewhere.

  Don’t look at me, snorted Mrs. Southill when Adelaide turned to her beseechingly. Do I look like I have money to give you?

  I don’t understan
d. How can anyone expect me to get to America without money?

  Use your wits, Woman, cried Mrs. Southill. You’re the youngest amongst us. How do young women get anything these days? Wiles and wits!

  But what about Dodo? He’s in no condition to travel.

  Mademoiselle DuBette took a breath and again her aura flickered red before fading back to her lovely, normal azure. The wrinkles around her mouth deepened as she paused to consider her words. Dodeauvie has, as you well know, a modest amount of power, and a slightly larger amount of esoteric education; however. . .and I hesitate to say this considering your attachment. . .he has more ambition than talent. In the normal world, ambition is the worthier trait, but in the world in which you and I live, the world of magic, ambition without talent merely makes one a charlatan. It would be entirely different if he were a charlatan and sympathetic to our cause. However, he is a charlatan and antagonistic. Thus. . . She waved her hand in dismissive circles, letting her sentence trail off. At any rate, I do not foresee you traveling with Dodeauvie. He has not the strength for it, so you will go alone. We will try to protect the outcome of your quest.

  The outcome of the quest. Adelaide repeated wryly. What about Dodo’s outcome? What about my outcome?

  Your path lies directly within your own control. You may, of course, decide to forget about all this entirely. In which case, I suggest you study the English language and return to learning your herbs. I am sure there is plenty of room in the London outskirts for you to have your very own forest clearing. Mrs. Southill has been satisfied with her own position.

  Adelaide looked sidelong at Mrs. Southill, who nodded and winked at her with her one twinkling eye. They all knew there was no chance she’d ever accept a fate less than what she once had in Paris. It was fine for Southill—retreating to solitude had been her choice—but Adelaide could never retreat. France was her body and Paris was her soul. She belonged there, and would do whatever it took to return.

  Good, Mademoiselle DuBette nodded when she saw Adelaide straighten her shoulders in resolve. I know you worry for the safety of your progeny, but rest assured the golem has a protector.

  Oh yes. He’s a sweet boy, said Mrs. Southill. Quite loyal.

  Do you mean Mr. Ferrington? Adelaide thought of the frightful day when the golem’s marriage had taken place, the same day as the beating she and Dodo had received at the hands of the men in Mr. Ferrington’s pub. She’d learned of the union only after they’d been ousted from the Quiet Woman.

  Ferrington? DuBette frowned in confusion. I thought the lad’s name had been changed to MacEwan?

  No, no. I’m quite sure the husband’s name is Richard Ferrington, corrected Adelaide.

  Husband? DuBette’s mouth dropped open in surprise. She looked sharply at Mrs. Southill who hummed nervously to herself.

  I’m surprised you haven’t heard. Everyone was talking about the wealthy publican who married his chambermaid. Adelaide paused and frowned. He is to be the golem’s protector? He didn’t seem like the protective type, she mused.

  The situation is not as dire as it sounds, Mrs. Southill soothed as DuBette’s aura flared.

  Not dire? How can the golem act independently when she’s married? This is most distressing. She cannot be the foil we had hoped for if she’s tied to another in matrimony. You have mismanaged this, madame. I am disappointed.

  You underestimate the power we created, Mrs. Southill said, eye flashing. This golem is exactly what we’d hoped for and more. Let the situation play out. My Tommy is with her. He’ll do his part, bless him. I sense that a rift between them has occurred, but he’s still lurking about like the black wolf that he is. The powers of Isis have their own ways of ensuring success—who are we to question?

  I have never been the type to sit back and let things happen without direction. I am not a fatalist. None of us are—we have all learned to draw down the powers to control them ourselves. The other sorceresses made noises in solidarity with DuBette.

  Excuse me? Wolf? The word caused Adelaide to recall the man with a snarling mouth and eyes that pierced. Then, you are referring to the barman at the Quiet Woman Pub, are you not? He is the one who beat Dodo to within an inch of his life. That beast is to be the golem’s protector?

  That beast is Olympe’s son. He was chosen long ago, replied Mrs. Southill. I did warn you in my letter to be wary. The fault is your own if you tested him.

  Olympe’s son? Olympe de Gouges? Adelaide was floored. I know of no son but Pierre, and he lives in Paris. I heard he is the proprietor of a charcuterie near the Pont Neuf.

  Yes, yes. Monsieur Pierre de Gouges is a fine man, Madame Thierreau trilled. Have you been to his shop? His saucissons secs are quite delicious—he makes one with hazelnuts which adds a surprisingly wonderful crunch to the pork mixture. Next time you are in Paris you must go see him. Ask for the saucisson with the hazelnuts.”

  I’m sure it is not he who created that recipe, another sorceress interrupted. He married the daughter of Madame Gaurant, who, as you’ll surely remember, is a very clever kitchen witch.

  Madame Gaurant is an idiot, cried Madame Griffe. Hazelnuts in saucisson? Can you imagine? Any child of Olympe de Gouges would never put hazelnuts in a saucisson, Olympe would have found it below her, common. Pierre was always such a disappointment.

  Common? Mrs. Southill cried. You fool! You snob! If we discount the validity of plants because of their common nature we remove the majority of our tools.

  Madame Southill thinks curing sausage can cure people, laughed Madame Thierreau.

  Why not? spat Mrs. Southill. A good healer uses anything at her disposal. Madame Gaurant is wise enough to know this, even if she is a mere kitchen witch. I’m surprised you don’t.

  Please, calmed DuBette. Please stop your squabble. Many of us have made sacrifices to assemble today. I’ve had enough talk of saucisson. Monsieur de Gouges is a good man, and a wonderful assembler of sausages. However, he is not the man we chose to protect the golem. Olympe de Gouges had another son after her marriage failed. This boy, likely due to a superior sire, had the gifts that his older brother failed to inherit. When Olympe began to beat her drum for the equality of women, she asked that her youngest son be sent away in order for her to put all the strength of her concentration to the task. Young Thomas was sent to London to be raised by our Mrs. Southill. It was a fortuitous decision as he needed the protection of anonymity after Olympe was beheaded. Not even he knows his true parentage. He is indeed the young wolf you encountered at the Quiet Woman. We placed the golem near him in the hopes he would pull her into his pack and look over her. He did not disappoint.

  Adelaide thought of the barman’s hands. His fists had glowed each time they’d landed, like cool breath on red embers. Olympe de Gouges’s son had indeed inherited her strength, but a tamed wolf was not a dog. A tamed wolf was still a wolf. The thought made her uneasy. Without realizing she was doing so, she reached out for the golem on the edge of her consciousness, but felt nothing but the faintest flutter of a presence. I don’t understand. Why did you not tell me all this before? You could have saved me much trouble.

  Your dalliance with Zenours’s atelier as well as your attachment to Dodeauvie places you in an awkward position with regards to the bylaws and mission of la Société, said DuBette. We did not know how far we could trust you. You are being tested, young Adelaide. Your position in Paris as the city’s premier fortune-teller is compromised, however you may be able to return to prominence should we find you worthy.

  Zenours is dead, she continued. Dodeauvie, if he survives, will never be the man he once was. The magicians with whom you’ve aligned yourself are falling away. It is time to return to your real family. It is time to return to the women who first placed your feet upon the Path. We will be watching to see that you do.

  I must protest! I have never strayed from the Path. I’ve given up my entire life to study it! cried Adelaide.

  You veered towards the masculine, thinking it was worthier. You
deny your femininity in order to receive a nod from men who spend their time with their noses in books. Studying it isn’t enough. Our strength comes from doing, touching, creating. It doesn’t come from gathering knowledge for the sake of knowledge, as though knowledge was gold. Anyone can read books and pontificate. We create the books. We go beyond books.

  Zenours was a powerful alchemist, Adelaide insisted.

  No, he wasn’t. He was merely a gatherer of knowledge. He wasn’t a creator.

  You cannot create unless you understand what it is you’re creating.

  DuBette’s lips became pinched as she paused to consider Adelaide’s words. You hold the man in high esteem, and I am sorry for his loss in your life. He may have taught you much that you would not have learned had you stayed on the more traditional path for our sex in Alençon. However, your pride blinds you to the vast gaps in your knowledge. You are like a book with no binding in a strong wind. Why do you think we convene? What do you think is our purpose? Have you not been listening? Have you not been paying attention? Alchemy is a practical art. The texts show us how it is done.

  Practical? It is a language of symbols, a philosophy. No one has ever made gold from lead, scoffed Adelaide. Certainly not one of you.

  What do you mean, ‘certainly?’ You say that as if we women would be the last people to do so. Aren’t you ashamed? Let me ask you something, Adelaide. What is it that gives a man power?

  Strength, Adelaide replied without hesitation.

  No. You are wrong. Wealth gives men power. The weakest worm will have all the power if given enough wealth. Men control nations because men control the coffers. Not armies, and not intelligence, but wealth and commerce. The world revolves around the economy and the economy revolves around gold. Control the gold and you control the world. It’s really quite simple.

  Yes, but we have no gold.

  Really, Adelaide. Try to follow along. What is alchemy but a collection of recipes? Did Zenours tell you of the Book of Thoth?

  Of course. It was the greatest alchemical treatise known to mankind, carved on tablets of pure emerald. They’ve been lost to us for generations.