"Sake Dean Mahomed," said Brassy. "He was a traveler and renowned surgeon from the Mughal Empire. When I was in England, he gave me this arm."
"Fascinating," said Ben, stroking the glass arm and peering at its mechanical inner workings like a child with his first toy. "What wonderful craftsmanship of this Dean Mahomed."
"No," said Brassy. "He did not make it. Said he acquired it when he was traveling through the Ottoman Empire. He claimed it'd been made by some fellow named Taqi ad-Din."
Ben stood straight up. "That would make this arm nearly two hundred years old."
Brassy's face went through the contortions of confusion. She was not a learned individual, so she'd not encountered this name before. But Catherine and I had read about him and discussed his many works over tea.
"Taqi ad-Din was a great inventor and astronomer of the Ottoman Empire. It was he that started the steam engine revolution, though his designs have since been improved upon," I explained.
Ben continued where I left off. "We have Taqi ad-Din to thank for much of our technology and knowledge of the observable universe. The Istanbul Observatory continues to be the premier source of astronomical discoveries. So you have quite the artifact on your arm."
We made our way into the stone village. Aught climbed into Ben's arms for the walk. I caught Ben glancing at the glass arm frequently.
"I assume your visit isn't a social one," said Ben.
"It's about the murder of Sally Hemings," I said.
Ben wrinkled his face. "I thought that matter was resolved when you shot Alden Bridgewater?"
"I thought so as well," I said, cupping an elbow and rubbing my chin. "And maybe I did. But when I was at the President's party I saw a man who reminded me of Alden, though I didn't make the connection at the time. His name is Enoch Tasker."
"He looked like him?" asked Ben.
I shook my head. "No. I'm not saying it's him. I think it's a man like him. Alden seemed rather non-human in his escape, don't you think?"
"Agreed," said Ben, stroking the brass head of the golden pangolin. "He moved like an upright panther."
"Well, when I saw this Enoch, he had a reaction to my presence, as if I were his greatest enemy. It seems he's an assistant to the President, much as Alden was the head of house for William Bingham."
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"That these creatures, whatever they are, place themselves in locations of importance. For what purpose, I cannot fathom," I said.
"Maybe they are drawn to power," Ben mused. "Siphon it off like the memory thieves."
"Possibly," I said, "though that doesn't seem right. The manner of Sally's death still perplexes me. I don't understand it. It's a shame we couldn't capture Alden and interrogate him for clues. He taunted me that I didn't know anything, and I'm afraid he's right. We're in the dark about this whole thing, and I'm afraid it has grave implications."
We moved into the great workshop at the center of the stone village. Dozens of galmi worked at different stations. I didn't see Djata though I knew he had to be about. The pangolin left Ben's side, running beneath the tables. The galmi ignored Aught even as she passed near them.
As we passed a pair of galmi carrying a heavy crate, Aught weaved through their legs like a cat, and they dropped the box. Upon hitting the ground, the crate flashed into a bright light.
When the glare faded from my eyes, the crate was gone.
"What was that?" I asked.
Aught, looking quite guilty, returned to Ben's side with her head down. Ben was scowling at the golden pangolin.
"Flashpaper," said Ben.
"I thought it was a crate?" I asked.
"Exactly. But that's not why you came down here," he said, glancing at Brassy. He still didn't trust her and I had to admit, I didn't entirely either, though that lessened the more time I spent with her.
"I need to figure out what other plot has been hatched in Philadelphia," I said.
"The vote is in five days. There's not much time to figure it out. I hope you have an idea," he said, frowning.
"That's why I came to you," I said. "I do have an idea. Actually, Brassy had the idea. But I need something from you."
We stopped in the middle of the workshop. Ben crossed his arms.
"I need to borrow the gauntlet. I need to figure out if Enoch is really what I think he is," I said.
"You sounded certain before," said Ben.
"A theory, but now I must prove it. If Enoch Tasker uses magic in some way, then I believe he's connected to Alden," I said.
"These are faint threads to be chasing," said Ben, shaking his head. "I don't have the time to help you."
"I'm not asking for your help, only the gauntlet. Brassy and I have a plan," I said.
"Hmmm..." He frowned. "How will you get close to the President? If Enoch has a connection to Otherland, he will recognize the gauntlet, or you for that matter, if he's had a reaction already."
"Don't worry, Ben. He won't even know we're there," I said, giving him a confident smile.
He seemed hesitant, glancing between the pair of us before nodding his head. "Fine. I've got too many crows in the grain barn to worry about this. I'll fetch the gauntlet, but you have to promise me you won't lose it. I'm going to need it for the vote."
"I'll keep it safe," I said. "Don't worry, Ben. The plan is nearly foolproof. I don't think there's any way that it can go wrong."
"It's yours on your word alone," he said, leaving to fetch the gauntlet for us.
I shared a smile with Brassy after Ben left. The plan did seem rather lock tight. I wouldn't have involved Brassy if it weren't, even though it was her idea. Unless it was someone else's idea, a certain watery nymph, who had a grudge against me. I hoped I wasn't making a big mistake.
Brassy knocked an errant strand of black hair from her blue eyes. The gray in them made her appear sad, despite her smile. "Miss Dashkova, thank you so much for including me. I really want to make you proud."
"We're going to do really great," I said, forcing myself to return her smile.
"Yes, we will," said Brassy enthusiastically.
I really hope so.
Chapter Nineteen
I was late for the show at the Southwerk Theatre.
A smothering fog choked the city, blown in from the sea. The mist had reduced visibility down to a few feet in front of the steam carriage. An accident on Market forced me to go around, and I got lost trying to come up through the southern avenues and parked too far from the venue.
The mist, swirling and alive, thwarted my attempts at finding the building, which had once been a Quaker church. The air was damp. The lamp posts bled with water, and the stones were slick.
Only a brass horn blown at the back of the theatre—a musician was cleaning out his spit chamber in the street—clued me to the location. I rushed to the back door where the troupe entered. I was arguing with a black bearded man with a gut when Brassy found me and pulled me inside.
"Where have you been?" she asked, fraught with worry. "The play starts in five minutes."
"Complications," I muttered, adjusting the knapsack with the gauntlet on my shoulder so the strap didn't dig into my breast.
I'd lain on the couch for a quiet nap—the latest session with Zentrii had worn me to nubs—and awoke in a damp sweat after having dreams so real I wasn't sure that I wasn't still asleep. The dream had been full of torn clothing and wet kisses with the Warden.
Even now, an hour later, I found myself in a constant state of arousal.
Brassy dragged me along until she found a pale woman with plucked eyebrows in a peasant dress looking into a mirror. She was rubbing blush on her cheeks with her first two fingers while her mouth hung open.
"You're late," she said, keeping her head facing forward while her eyes glanced to the side at us. "Dreselia's already putting on the costume."
"I need to be in that costume," I said.
The woman shrugged. "Maybe if you hurry."
"Whe
re's she at?"
The woman pulled her fingers away from her crimson cheeks and pointed down a cluttered hallway. We ran that way, dodging around players and stagehands preparing for the start of the show.
The plan was a simple one. One of Brassy's friends, a former bawdy girl from the Magdelen House, was a player in a traveling theatre troupe. The company employed a mixture of live actors, automatas, and clockwork puppets for the shows.
I was to play the part of one of the witches in the first act. The gauntlet would be hidden in the costume, allowing me to get close to the President's assistant, who would be seated alongside him in the front row.
Except I'd overslept and gotten lost in the fog. I had no one to blame but myself.
We found the witch at the edge of the curtains right when the announcer went on stage to vigorous applause. The man explained the evening's entertainment in a deep voice.
The woman putting on the witch costume had a baggy robe with a wire harness on her shoulders that looked like building scaffolding. Two stagehands were holding a mechanical witch head. It had ratty black hair, big eyes, and a nose the size of a melon.
"I'm here," I said, dumping the knapsack onto the ground.
The woman in the costume scowled. "Too late," she said in a thick accent I couldn't place.
"I need to be in that costume," I said, while other performers ran on stage. I'd been given the script ahead of time, and I didn't have long before I needed to be out there. I thought about trying to use the gauntlet from the back, but the stage was deep and the front row was back from the edge. I knew its range, and it was too far.
The woman who would be a witch shrugged. "I don't know why you care, this costume is hot and heavy. I was looking forward to not having to play the witch. But you're late. The show must go on, and I have to go out there."
The stagehands carried the witch head over the scaffolding. Latches connected it to her shoulders. The whole thing looked rather top heavy, but the woman widened her stance and ran onto the stage while the stagehands held wires that controlled the various parts of the witch head.
"Blazes."
I slammed my hand into my thigh. Peeking around the edge of the curtain, I could see President Washington and his wife, Martha, watching the play with faint amusement. They both looked rather tired, but put up appearances for the audience. Behind the Presidential couple was the small eyed man with heavy jowls.
"I need to get out there," I whispered. "Enoch Tasker is sitting right behind the President. It's the only way I can get near him."
"What if we wait until they leave?" offered Brassy.
"I can't let him see me," I said.
Brassy nodded towards the knapsack. "Can I help? He won't know me."
"I wouldn't know how to explain how to use it," I said, leaving out that I trusted Brassy, but not enough to let her know about the gauntlet.
A burst of laughter went up from the crowd. The play was about the story of Vasilissa the Beautiful. I was surprised when I heard the subject, as it was a story from Russia, but Brassy said she thought it was from northern France, or the Scandinavian countries across the Northern Sea.
The troupe had chosen it because of the witches. Despite people's fears, the subject matter was quite the attraction. The troupe had been playing to sold-out shows throughout the States. It helped that they played the witches as comic foils to be laughed at rather than feared.
Men and women in costumes moved through the back of the stage. There was a tangible energy, like soldiers marshalling for war, while a battle raged on stage.
Along the brick wall that made up the back of the theatre, a series of crates sat in a row. Inside, I found other costumes, including a couple of plague doctor masks.
"Put this on," I said, handing Brassy a mask. The long hooked nose below the eye holes had much in common with a raven's beak.
She eyed it with distaste. "It looks so...terrible."
While she tugged it over her face, I found a wig of jet-black hair and thrust it onto the back of Brassy's head. Then found a silken black cape and hooked it onto her shoulders.
Brassy looked part witch and part raven. With her glass hand, she pulled the cloak around her body as if she were a bat curling her wings.
The mask I found was bone-white with bright red lips. A black tear was painted beneath the left eye. A wig of spun gold hair completed the disguise. The mask and wig fit comfortably except for the space in front, which tickled my nose.
A cape of pale feathers hid my hands. I fixed the gauntlet around my fist and tucked it behind the cloak. As long as I didn't let go, no one would notice the silvery gauntlet.
"What are we doing?" asked Brassy.
"We're playing the part of the witches," I said.
Brassy raised her arm, indicating the direction of the stage. The movement was ominous because of her dress. "But the witch is already out there."
It was hard to hear her soft voice coming from beneath the mask.
"Then there shall be three witches," I said. "Play a part and distract the audience. Once I check Enoch, we'll leave the stage."
Brassy sounded uneasy. "Are you sure we're not going to get in trouble?"
"There's a good chance we'll get in trouble," I said. "But lucky for me I know the Warden."
"But what do I do?" she asked.
"Make something up," I said. "You said you used to act out plays at the Doll House. Here's your chance."
Brassy, in her plague doctor mask, moved timidly to the far edge of the stage. A few of the stagehands glanced in her direction, but no one moved to stop her.
Already, I was sweating under the cloak of feathers. The weight trapped the warm air around me. I was glad it wasn't the middle of summer. I was moving around the curtain to prepare for my entrance when a loud footfall on stage startled me.
A voice cried out in a commanding tone: "The time for playing with dolls is past!"
The change in Brassy's voice was considerable. She sounded decades older. The actors and hands behind the curtain were sent into a frenzy by the appearance of an unexpected actor.
To their credit, neither the mechanical witch woman or Vasilissa broke their parts.
"Another witch!" cried Vasilissa. "Oh, what should I do?"
To the audience, it was part of the play, and a collective hush prepared for the response. But the actress wasn't just adlibbing a line; she looked back at the woman in the mechanical witch head and wrinkled her face.
The woman in the witch head was quite formidable. With the cloak hanging from the bottom of the head, she appeared wider than three men. The eyelids and lips moved as she responded.
"Begone, pretender, you do not belong here," said the mechanical witch.
A nervous titter traveled through the crowd. They could sense something was wrong, even if most didn't know the story.
President Washington looked alert. The old soldier was sensitive to the undercurrents. He and Martha whispered to each other. Behind them, Enoch Tasker stared tight-lipped at the plague doctor witch, Brassy.
I expected Brassy to respond, but she hesitated and almost appeared she would retreat from the stage. I rushed into the lights before she lost her nerve.
"Silence, Sister, don't you know your kin?" I said. "The girl seeks to trick you. We've come to stop her before she kills you."
The crowd reacted with growing excitement to my entrance. I caught Vasilissa making a gesture of why not with her shoulders.
"I would not trick my favorite forest grandmother," said Vasilissa. "I love her dearly, even if she works me until my fingers are bloody and sore."
The girl spun around, showing her hands to the audience as if they were bloody. The crowd leaned forward to see, and by the trick of expectation, I'm sure they thought they saw something.
When the first witch spoke, her lips were behind the words, as the stagehands had to improvise the timing.
"You would trick me, darling Vasilissa? After all I've done for you. Saving you f
rom that wicked Ivan," said the mechanical witch.
"Me? No, I love it here in the forest, away from my friends and family," said Vasilissa with her hands to her mouth.
Plague Doctor Brassy slammed her foot on the wooden stage, thrusting an accusing glass hand at Vasilissa.
"Liar!"
Brassy advanced on Vasilissa in thundering steps. All eyes were enraptured by the conflict. Feigning that I was sneaking, I crept towards the front of the stage to the area behind Vasilissa.
A man in the back of the audience yelled, "Watch out behind you!"
Vasilissa looked all around but was careful not to look at me. The crowd responded with nervous laughter.
The porcelain mask gave me little peripheral vision, but I could tell I was close to the edge of the stage. George and Martha Washington were only a few steps away.
The tension started to deflate as I failed to move forward. Brassy sensed the gap and turned to the audience.
"Should this poor girl be punished? Has she not plotted to murder her poor forest grandmother who agreed to take her in?" asked Brassy.
Men stood at random spots and shouted out answers: "No!" or "Kill her!" or "Run, Vasilissa!" or "Watch out behind you!"
I turned to the audience and adjusted my grip on the feathered cloak so I did not reveal the gauntlet beneath. Enoch Tasker was watching me strangely, but I ignored him and concentrated on the gauntlet.
I was about to get a reading on nearby magic when Vasilissa spun around.
"Aha! I caught you, Forest Sister! You mean to cause me harm!"
When I opened my mouth, I thought I was going to say something about that it was the other Forest Sister she had to worry about. That I was the nice one. It would have been funny and gotten a positive reaction from the crowd. I'm sure of it. And it would have redirected attention to Plague Doctor Brassy, so I could finish my scan of Enoch Tasker.
Except that's not what came out of my mouth.
The prophecy shifted in my head like a snake uncoiling. The words came flooding out of my lips, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.
"Hear me, o' fateful listeners, for what I say is true. When the birth of a storm crashes over the city, the Architect's Hammer will dethrone the Eagle's Nest!"
The Franklin Deception (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 4) Page 13
