Ethan Gage Collection # 1

by William Dietrich

  The banquet was as European as possible. Chairs had been assembled so nobody would have to sit on the floor in Muslim style. The china plates, the wine and water goblets, and the silverware had been packed and carried across the desert as carefully as cartridges and cannon. Despite the heat, the menu included the usual soup, meat, vegetables, and salad of home.

  Silano, in contrast, was our Orientalist. He’d come in robes and a turban, openly wearing the Masonic symbol of compass and square with the letter G in the middle. Talma would have been fuming at this appropriation. Four of his fingers bore rings, a small hoop adorned one ear, and the scabbard of his rapier was a filigree of gold on red enamel. As I entered, he stood from the table and bowed.

  “Monsieur Gage, the American! I was told that you were in Egypt, and now it is confirmed! We last enjoyed each other’s company over cards, if you remember.”

  “I enjoyed it, at least. I won, as I recall.”

  “But of course, someone must lose! And yet the pleasure is in the game itself, is it not? Certainly it was an amusement I could afford.” He smiled. “And I understand the medallion you won has brought you to this expedition?”

  “That, and an untimely death in Paris.”

  “A friend?”

  “A whore.”

  I could not disconcert him. “Oh, dear. I won’t pretend to understand that. But of course you are the savant, the expert in electricity and the pyramids, and I am mere historian.”

  I took my place at the table. “I’ve modest knowledge of both, I’m afraid. I’m honored to have been included in the expedition at all. And you are a magician as well, I’m told, master of the occult and Cagliostro’s Egyptian Rite.”

  “You exaggerate my capabilities as I, perhaps, exaggerate yours. I am a mere student of the past who hopes it might provide answers for the future. What did Egyptian priests know that has been lost until now? Our liberation has opened the way to fuse the technology of the West with the wisdom of the East.”

  “Yet wisdom of what, Count?” rumbled General Dumas past a mouthful of food. He ate like he rode, at full gallop. “I don’t see it in the streets of Cairo. And the scholars, be they scientists or sorcerers, haven’t accomplished much. They eat, talk, and scribble.”

  The officers laughed. Academics were viewed with skepticism, and soldiers felt the savants were pursuing pointless aims, pinning the army in Egypt.

  “That is unfair to our savants, General,” Bonaparte corrected. “Monge and Berthollet aimed a crucial cannon shot in the river battle. Gage has proven his marksmanship with his longrifle. The scientists stood with the infantry in the squares. Plans are underway for windmills, canals, factories, and foundries. Conte plans to inflate one of his balloons! We soldiers begin liberation, but it is the scholars who fulfill it. We win a battle, but they conquer the mind.”

  “So leave them to it and let’s go home.” Dumas went back to a drumstick.

  “The ancient priests were equally useful,” Silano said mildly. “They were healers and lawgivers. The Egyptians had spells to heal the sick, win the heart of a lover, ward off evil, and acquire wealth. We of the Egyptian Rite have seen spells influence weather, provide invulnerability to harm, and cure the dying. Even more may be learned, I hope, now that we control the cradle of civilization.”

  “You’re promoting witchcraft,” Dumas warned. “Be careful with your soul.”

  “Learning is not witchcraft. It puts tools in soldiers’ hands.”

  “Saber and pistol have served well enough up to now.”

  “And where did gunpowder come from, but from experiments with alchemy?”

  Dumas belched in reply. The general was huge, slightly drunk, and a hothead. Maybe he would get rid of Silano for me.

  “I am promoting the tapping of unseen powers, like electricity,” Silano went on smoothly, nodding at me. “What is this mysterious force we can observe simply by rubbing amber? Are there energies that animate the world? Can we transform base elements to more valuable ones? Mentors like Cagliostro, Kolmer, and Saint-Germain led the way. Monsieur Gage can apply the insights of the great Franklin…”

  “Ha!” Dumas interrupted. “Cagliostro was exposed as a fraud in half a dozen countries. Invulnerable to harm?” He put his hand on his heavy cavalry saber and began to pull. “Try a spell against this.”

  Yet before he could draw there was a blur of motion and Silano had the point of his rapier against the general’s fist. It was like the flicker of a hummingbird wing, and the air hummed from the swift arc of his drawn sword. “I don’t need magic to win a mere duel,” the count said with quiet warning.

  The room had gone silent, stunned by his speed.

  “Put your swords away, both of you,” Napoleon finally ordered.

  “Of course.” Silano sheathed his slim blade almost as quickly as he’d drawn it.

  Dumas scowled but let his saber drop back into its scabbard. “So you rely on steel like the rest of us,” he muttered.

  “Are you challenging my other powers as well?”

  “I’d like to see them.”

  “The soul of science is skeptical test,” the chemist Berthollet agreed. “It is one thing to claim magic and another to perform it, Count Silano. I admire your spirit of inquiry, but extraordinary claims demand extraordinary proof.”

  “Perhaps I should levitate the pyramids.”

  “That would impress all of us, I’m sure.”

  “And yet scientific discovery is a gradual process of experimentation and evidence,” Silano went on. “So it is with magic and ancient powers. I do hope to levitate pyramids, become invulnerable to bullets, or achieve immortality, but at the moment I am a mere investigator, like you savants. That is why I have made the long journey to Egypt after inquiries in Rome, Constantinople, and Jerusalem. The American there has a medallion that may prove useful to my research, if he will let me study it.”

  Heads swung to me. I shook my head. “It is archeology, not magic, and not for alchemical experiment.”

  “For study, I said.”

  “Which real savants are providing. Their methods are credible. The Egyptian Rite is not.”

  The count had the look of a teacher disappointed in a pupil. “Are you calling me a liar, monsieur?”

  “No, I am,” Dumas interrupted again, throwing down his bone. “A fraud, a hypocrite, and a charlatan. I have no use for magicians, alchemists, savants, gypsies, or priests. You come here in robe and turban like a Marseille clown and talk of magic, but I see you sawing your meat like the rest of us. Flick that little needle of yours all you want, but let’s test it in real battle against real sabers. I respect men who fight or build, not those who talk and fantasize.”

  Now Silano’s eyes flickered with a dangerous annoyance. “You have impugned my honor and dignity, General. Perhaps I should challenge you.”

  The room stirred with anticipation. Silano had a reputation as a deadly duelist, having slain at least two foes in Paris. Yet Dumas was a Goliath.

  “And perhaps I should accept your challenge,” the general growled.

  “Dueling is forbidden,” Napoleon snapped. “Both of you know that. If either tries it, I will have you both shot.”

  “So you are safe for now,” Dumas said to the count. “But you’d better find your magic spells, because when we return to France…”

  “Why wait?” Silano said. “May I suggest a different contest? Our esteemed chemist has called for skeptical test, so let me propose one. For dinner tomorrow, let me bring a small suckling pig I have shipped from France. As you know, the Muslims will have nothing to do with the animal; its only caretaker is me. You imply that I have no powers. Let me then, two hours before dinner, present you with the pig to prepare in any way you desire: roasted, boiled, baked, or fried. I will not come near it until it is served. You will cut the meal into four equal parts, and serve to me whichever quarter you prefer. You will eat another portion yourself.”

  “What is the point of this nonsense?” Dum
as asked.

  “The day after this dinner, one of four things will happen: either we will both be dead or neither of us will be dead; or I will be dead and you will not; or you will be dead and I will not. Of these four chances I will give you three and bet five thousand francs that, the day after the meal, you will be dead and I will be well.”

  There was silence at the table. Dumas looked flustered. “That is one of Cagliostro’s old wagers.”

  “Which none of his enemies ever accepted. Here is your chance to be the first, General. Do you doubt my powers enough to dine with me tomorrow?”

  “You’ll try some kind of trickery or magic!”

  “Which you said I can’t perform. Prove it.”

  Dumas looked from one to the other of us. In a fight he was confident, but this?

  “Dueling is prohibited, but this bet I would like to see,” Bonaparte said. He was enjoying the torment of a general who’d challenged him on the march.

  “He would poison me with sleight of hand, I know it.”

  Silano spread his arms wide, sensing victory. “You can search me from head to toe before we sit down to eat, General.”

  Dumas gave in. “Bah. I wouldn’t dine with you if you were Jesus, the devil, or the last man on earth.” He stood, shoving his chair back. “Coddle his investigations if you must,” he addressed the room, “but I swear to you there’s nothing in this damned desert but a bunch of old rock. You’ll regret listening to these hangers-on, be it this charlatan or the American leech.” And with that he stormed out of the room.

  Silano turned to us. “He is wiser than his reputation, having turned down my challenge. It means he will live to have a son who will do great things, I predict. As for me, I only ask leave to make inquiries. I wish to hunt for temples when the army marches upriver. I give you brave soldiers all my respect and ask for some small portion in return.” He looked at me. “I’d hoped we could work together as colleagues, but it appears we are rivals.”

  “I simply feel no need to share your goals, or my belongings,” I replied.

  “Then sell me the medallion, Gage. Name your price.”

  “The more you want it, the less inclined I am to let you have it.”

  “Damn you! You are an impediment to knowledge!” He shouted this last, his hand slapping the table, and it was as if a mask had slipped from his countenance. There was a rage behind it, rage and desperation, as he looked at me with eyes of implacable enmity. “Help me or prepare to endure the worst!”

  Monge jumped up, the very picture of stern establishment admonition. “How dare you, monsieur! Your impertinence reflects on you poorly. I’m tempted to take you up on your wager myself!”

  Now Napoleon stood, clearly annoyed that the discussion was getting out of hand. “No one is eating poisoned pig. I want the animal bayoneted and thrown into the Nile this very night. Gage, you’re here instead of the docket in Paris at my indulgence. I order you to help Count Silano in every way you can.”

  I stood too. “Then I must report what I was reluctant to admit. The medallion is gone, lost when I went overboard at the battle at Abukir.”

  Now the table broke into a buzz, everyone betting whether I was telling the truth. I rather enjoyed the notoriety, even though I knew it could only mean more trouble. Bonaparte scowled.

  “You said nothing of this before,” Silano said skeptically.

  “I’m not proud of my mishap,” I replied. “And I wanted the officers here to see the greedy loser that you are.” I turned to the others. “This nobleman is not a serious scholar. He is nothing more than a frustrated gambler, trying to get by threat what he lost by cards. I’m a Freemason too, and his Egyptian Rite is a corruption of the precepts of our order.”

  “He’s lying,” Silano seethed. “He wouldn’t have come back to Cairo if the medallion were not still his.”

  “Of course I would. I am a savant of this expedition, no less than Monge or Berthollet. The person who hasn’t come back is my friend, the writer Talma, who disappeared in Alexandria the same time you arrived.”

  Silano turned to the others. “Magic, again.”

  They laughed.

  “Do not make jokes, monsieur,” I said. “Do you know where Antoine is?”

  “If you find your medallion, perhaps I can help you find Talma.”

  “The medallion is lost, I told you!”

  “And I said I don’t believe you. My dear General Bonaparte, how do we know which side this American, this English-speaker, is even on?”

  “That’s outrageous!” I shouted, even while secretly wondering which side I should be on, even while firmly determined to stay on my own side—whatever that was. As Astiza had said, what did I truly believe? In bloody treasure, beautiful women, and George Washington. “Duel with me!” I challenged.

  “There will be no duels!” Napoleon ordered once more. “Enough! Everyone is acting like children! Gage, you have permission to leave my table.”

  I stood and bowed. “Perhaps that would be best.” I backed through the door.

  “You are about to see just how serious a scholar I am!” Silano called after me. And I heard him speaking to Napoleon, “That American, you should not trust him. He’s a man who could make all our plans come to naught.”

  It was past noon the next day that Ash, Enoch, Astiza, and I were resting by Enoch’s fountain, discussing the dinner and Silano’s purpose. Enoch had armed his servants with cudgels. For no obvious reason, we felt under siege. Why had Silano come all this way? What was Bonaparte’s interest? Did the general desire occult powers as well? Or were we magnifying into a threat what was only idle curiosity?

  Our answer came when there was a brief pounding at Enoch’s door and Mustafa went to answer it. He came back not with a visitor, but with a jar. “Someone left this.”

  The clay-colored container was fat, two feet high, and heavy enough that I could see the biceps flex in the servant’s arms as he carried it to a low table and put it down. “There was no one there and the street was empty.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s a jar for oil,” Enoch said. “It’s not the custom to deliver a gift this way.” He looked wary, but stood to open it.

  “Wait,” I said. “What if it’s a bomb?”

  “A bomb?”

  “Or a Trojan horse,” said Astiza, who knew her Greek legends as well as her Egyptian ones. “An enemy leaves this, we carry it inside…”

  “And out jump midget soldiers?” asked Ashraf, somewhat amused.

  “No. Snakes.” She remembered the incident in Alexandria.

  Now Enoch hesitated.

  Ash stood. “Stand back and let me open it.”

  “Use a stick,” his brother said.

  “I’ll use a sword, and be quick.”

  We stood a few steps back. Using the point of a scimitar, Ashraf broke a wax seal on the rim and loosened the lid. No sound came from inside. So, using the tip of his weapon, Ash slowly raised and flipped the covering off. Again, nothing. He leaned forward cautiously, probing with his sword…and jumped back. “Snake!” he confirmed.

  Damn. I’d had enough of reptiles.

  “But it can’t be,” the Mameluke said. “The jar is full of oil. I can smell it.” He cautiously came back again, probing. “No…wait. The snake is dead.” His face looked troubled. “May the gods have mercy.”

  “What the devil?”

  Grimacing, the Mameluke plunged his hand into the jar and lifted. Out came a snakelike fistful of oily hair entangled with the scales of a reptile. As he hoisted his arm, we saw a round object wrapped in the coils of a dead serpent. Oil sluiced off a human head.

  I groaned. It was Talma, eyes wide and sightless.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  They killed him as a message to me,” I said.

  “But why would they kill your friend for something you said you didn’t have? Why didn’t they kill you?” Ashraf asked.

  I was wondering the same thing. Poor Talma’s head h
ad been temporarily dipped back into the jar, his hair like river weed. I didn’t want to guess where the body might be.

  “Because they don’t believe him,” Astiza reasoned. “Only Ethan knows for sure if the medallion still exists and what it might mean. They want to coerce him, not kill him.”

  “This is a damned poor way to do it,” I said grimly.

  “And who is they?” Enoch asked.

  “The Bedouin, Achmed bin Sadr.”

  “He’s a tool, not a master.”

  “Then it must be Silano. He warned me to take him seriously. He arrives, and Antoine dies. All this is my fault. I asked Talma to investigate Bin Sadr in Alexandria. Talma was kidnapped, or followed Silano to spy on him. He was caught and wouldn’t talk. What did he even know? And his death is supposed to frighten me.”

  Ash clapped my shoulder. “Except that he doesn’t know what a warrior you are!”

  Actually, I was human enough to have nightmares for a month, but that’s not what one confesses at times like this. Besides, if there was one thing I was certain of, Silano would never, ever get my medallion.

  “It’s my fault,” Astiza said. “You said he went to Alexandria to investigate me.”

  “That was his idea, not mine or yours. Don’t blame yourself.”

  “Why didn’t he just ask me his questions directly?”

  Because you never fully answer them, I thought. Because you enjoy being an enigma. But I said nothing. We sat in gloomy silence for a while, wrestling with self-recrimination. Sometimes the more innocent we are, the more we blame ourselves.

  “Your friend will not be the last to perish if Silano gets his way,” Enoch finally said heavily.

  It sounded as if the old man knew more than he’d let on. “What do you mean?”