The Franklin Deception (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 4)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  "I'm sorry, Ben. I couldn't stop it in time," I said.

  He took a long drink of the whiskey. "No, Kat. Not your fault. It was my plan. I put the city at risk by creating that weapon."

  "No," I said. "I should have figured out that something was wrong when I met with the false Djata. I was so close to figuring it out. When we investigated Alden Bridgewater's body, I missed that he was already dead when I shot him."

  Ben's eyebrow went up.

  "A story for another time, but we had a lovely visit with your friend Santiago. Just warn me next time about your dangerous friends," I said.

  Ben gave a sheepish grin. "What about the ink on Sally's body?"

  "A false trail," I said. "The doppelganger was trying to lead us astray. Though in doing so, he made a mistake, which led me to Alden. I just didn't see the rest of it in time."

  Suddenly, Ben went pale, nearly dropping his glass. "The Thornveld. It's been compromised."

  "I think it's still safe. The doppelganger got Djata when he was in the city. It was a recent capture," I said. "Which means..."

  "Which means...?" asked Ben.

  "That he can't be far away!" I said, standing up. "It sounded like it was a lucky break that Djata was captured, which means he couldn't be in a location we wouldn't expect."

  I recalled my encounter with the doppelganger. Something he'd said came to mind, something about ironic consequences.

  "I know where he's at," I said, rushing out the front door with Ben, Brassy, and Aught on my heels.

  The rain had slowed to a light drizzle. The cobblestones were slick, and I had to run with my arms out.

  I ran into the building, the one we were going to destroy.

  "Search the building, especially behind those building materials," I said.

  Brassy found Djata right away, bound and gagged behind a pile of wood. The African scientist was relieved when we undid the gag. Thankfully, the doppelganger had left the wheelchair. We helped Djata back into it.

  "Thank you, Ben," said Djata with a weak voice.

  "It wasn't me, but Kat," he said, winking in my direction.

  That I was his rescuer made him grimace slightly. "I am in your eternal debt." Then after a moment. "Princess."

  I chuckled. "Well, now I know it's the real you. And because your eyes are the normal brown, rather than gray."

  "My eyes are gray," said Ben, crossing his arms.

  "I'm not worried. No one can imitate you, try as they might," I said. "I would know it wasn't you in an instant." I looked back to Djata. "I should have known it wasn't you, but I wasn't paying enough attention."

  "How did you determine he was here?" asked Ben.

  "First, opportunity. If he'd taken Djata, this was the likely location. Plus, he spoke of ironic consequences. If I had fired the spectral cannon at this building, it would have killed him," I said.

  "How could anyone doubt your inclusion into the Society?" said Ben with a sideways grin. "We should return to the estate and ready ourselves."

  I raised an eyebrow.

  "The vote," he said. "It's tomorrow. We shall find out if all our efforts were in vain."

  "Are they?" I asked.

  Ben rubbed his chin playfully. "Though events took a tumble for the worse, I think we all recovered quite nicely. Especially due to the efforts of our Princess Dashkova."

  The others, including Djata, applauded. Aught's tiny metal hands sounded like coins clinking together. We returned to the estate, and Ben poured another round of whiskey. They discussed adjustments to future plans now that the gauntlet was lost, while I sat in the corner rolling the events of the last few weeks around in my head.

  Though Franklin's deception had been a success and none of our little group had been killed, I still felt like I was missing something important. I decided that it was only a case of frayed nerves from jumping out of an airship into the Delaware River.

  At the end of the night, with my concerns annihilated by the whiskey, Brassy and I stumbled home arm in arm and passed out in bed together.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The morning of April 17th, 1802, was idyllic, though not in the sense that most people mean it.

  A steady wind tore the clouds into long streamers and many a top hat from a well-to-do head. From the wide square outside the House of Representatives, I saw at least two men and one dog chase a hat tumbling over itself on its way to the river. A chill blew through Philadelphia, and no one had thought to tell the men and women of the city as they came out in sunny spring day dresses and no overcoats, awaiting word of the vote. They rubbed their arms and huddled together, taking refuge from the abnormally cold weather. Noses were pink from being rubbed, and a squinting nod while holding your hat was the greeting of the day.

  So it was not the weather that had put me in a good mood. Rather it was that so many people had peacefully come to observe a war vote with calamitous consequences for all, leaving an unexpected juxtaposition between the looming specter of war and the fancy dress of those in attendance.

  Even if Franklin's deception didn't work, I was quite proud of my adopted home. In Russia, these events balanced on the whims of the nobility, who had less sense than the average Pennsylvanian farmer.

  That so many had come left no room for observers in the House, so I waited outside with Brassy, both of us wearing gowns, hers in lavender and mine in a pale yellow. Staying outside was safer, since William Bingham would be in attendance, and I wanted to avoid him.

  A crier stood near the steps, tricorn hat in hand. A runner appeared and whispered in the crier's ear while the assembled watched with anticipation. The crier dusted off his hat and climbed onto a wooden box with markings for Pear's Soap on the side.

  "Here ye. Here ye. The House has begun counting the vote," he cried.

  Then he climbed down off the box. A nervous titter formed in the crowd as the assembled chattered about the potential result.

  "Oh, the results," Brassy said hopefully.

  "Not for a bit longer. There are one hundred and forty-two members of the House. This will take a bit," I said.

  Brassy sidled up to me for warmth and squeezed my arm. I wished Ben or Djata could be with us, but Franklin was inside with Bingham and Djata had stayed in the Thornveld.

  The whole vote depended on how the attack had swayed the Democrat-Republicans. Franklin had been a little distraught as Mr. Amberger was bedridden with a pox and had sent his eldest son to speak on his behalf, and he was a poor substitute. This left the lion's share of the work to Thomas Jefferson, who was still mourning Sally Hemings.

  "Where's your friend the Warden? I haven't seen him," said Brassy.

  "The House deemed to honor him at the beginning of the session. He stayed for the vote, sitting with President Washington in a place of honor," I explained, though it wasn't the whole truth. Franklin had been cagey about something else involving the Warden, but he wouldn't say what it was.

  "Oh, the President! I got to serve him at the party," said Brassy. "His wife was so sweet. She gave me a couple of coppers when I brought her a drink. Lovely lady. Do you think it would be alright if I thanked milady for the gift today?"

  I rubbed her arm, smiling wistfully at Brassy's innocence. "Mrs. Washington will not be in attendance today. The President's home was hit by the spectral cannon. She's spending time caring for the wounded."

  The answer to the prophecy hit me. Before Martha Washington married George, her maiden name had been Dandridge.

  ...the House of Dandridge will be no more...

  I guess we were lucky that didn't mean Martha herself.

  "I had had no idea," said Brassy with her hand covering her mouth.

  "Ben sent a note this morning explaining the details. We were late, and I forgot to tell you," I said.

  We were blowing warm air into our hands when the news of the vote was announced. The crier took the runner's news with a heavy nod and climbed reluctantly onto the box.

  "Here ye. Here ye. With a c
ount of one hundred and twelve to thirty, the vote for war passes," he cried.

  A brief scattered applause broke out that quickly petered into whispers and concerned nods. A few steam carriages burst away from the square. Probably the larger pamphleteers sending word of the vote. New York would know about the result by morning, and the outlying states by the weekend.

  The result, though disappointing, was not surprising. In the end, President Washington, as Commander in Chief, controlled the military. Ben had hoped the old soldier would be cautious now that the homeland had been attacked.

  But I paused in my mental review when I noticed that the crier hadn't gotten off his box yet. He turned back towards the runner, confirming some point before he spoke. The crowd hushed as he put his cupped hands around his mouth.

  "After the vote, a procedural motion was made to the floor. Due to the declaration of war against the cowardly Russian Empire and the incapacitation of Vice President John Adams from wounds suffered during the surprise attack and to maintain the government in its current fashion." The crier paused, checking with the runner, who nodded. "A motion was passed to replace the Vice President on a temporary basis while the full resolution can be considered by our fellows in the Senate."

  At this, the crowd reacted as if they'd been collectively slapped. News about the Vice President's injuries had been kept quiet. That they'd made a motion to replace him meant the injuries were quite serious and possibly eventually fatal. Wartime put strain on governments to have a functioning hierarchy, and for whatever reason, though it seemed unusual, it had been decided to name a successor rather than follow the normal channels.

  When the crowd quieted enough for the crier to speak again, I had a premonition. It wasn't the prophecy in my head revealing its secrets. Rather, I'd spent enough time with Franklin to understand his stratagems.

  "The nominee to replace John Adams has been proposed to be the honorable and steadfast Warden Simon Snyder," yelled the crier.

  Brassy, on the other hand, along with the rest of the crowd, nearly swallowed her tongue at the announcement. As if it'd been planned, President Washington and Simon, streamed out of the House of Representatives with a sizable retinue.

  The crowd applauded, and the Warden obliged them with a wave. He took the attention better than I would have thought. A few men ran up to pump his hand while President Washington patted Simon on the back, showing the crowd his favor.

  Franklin was at the back of the retinue. I could see his smirk from across the square. He was as pleased as a milkmaid with a full bucket about his political maneuverings. I'd heard him mention before that a time of crisis was a time for change. He had not wasted his opportunity.

  President Washington was looking worn down from his four terms. By placing the Warden in the Vice Presidency, Franklin had ensured that Simon would be the logical candidate to replace Washington at the end of the term in 1803, putting an ally in control. And in the interim, Simon could argue the side of keeping a defensive force in the homelands rather than taking the fight to Russia.

  Which made me realize that Simon wasn't going to have a lot of free time, leaving it doubtful that he would court me. Even before I finished the thought, I knew the answer. I was a former Russian princess. Whatever ideas he'd had a few days ago would have to change. He had a part to play.

  And I couldn't congratulate him since William Bingham was standing in the group.

  Brassy, mirroring my thoughts, leaned on my shoulder and said, "Might as well forget him. He'll probably be the next President of the United States after Washington. He won't have time for the likes of us."

  "You speak the truth," I said. "We should move on. Back to the house. We'll get no opportunity to speak to Simon or Ben now. Everything is as finished as it's going to be."

  I realized it wasn't the potential romantic involvement that I would miss, but rather I had enjoyed investigating the occult happenings about the city with him.

  I had parked the steam carriage on a street near the docks. Brassy held my hand and hummed to herself, some revolutionary war song that had picked up popularity since the impending vote.

  We reached the carriage and coaxed the engine to life after throwing a few chunks of coal in the fire chamber. Sitting down on the front bench, Brassy said something that I didn't catch the first time.

  Maybe it was because I was thinking about Simon as President that I reacted the way I did when Brassy spoke, but I squeezed her arm so hard she yelped.

  "What did you say?" I asked, trying not to lose the train of thought.

  She looked at me strangely. "I said, I bet Simon never thought in his wildest dreams he'd be the one to guide the direction of the country."

  The phrase “guide the direction of the country” reverberated through my head. I'd heard it before.

  Then I realized who'd said it and what else they'd admitted to me in that moment. It was the doppelganger on the Mother's Hammer. It'd said its task was to guide the direction of the country, and if it failed it would be tortured by the Winged One.

  There was that title again. I guessed that I would not like this Winged One if I ever met him, since even the doppelganger feared him. Which meant that the doppelganger had returned from Otherland to finish what he'd started, which hadn't been to destroy the city, but to take control from inside of the government. If the States didn't go to war with Russia, then the Winged One would be disappointed, putting the doppelganger at risk. It'd said that it had no intention of failing the task and since it had the gauntlet, it could easily return to Philadelphia.

  And what important individual had no one living with them and would be easy to gain access to? Simon Snyder. I couldn't be sure, but it was possible that the doppelganger was impersonating the Warden.

  "Is something wrong?" asked Brassy.

  I quickly formulated a plan. I needed to make sure it was the real Simon before he was confirmed as Vice President.

  "When we get back home, I have two things for you to do," I said. "The first is that I need to ask Ben for a loan."

  "And the second?" she asked.

  "I'll need you to deliver a letter," I said.

  "What kind of a letter?" asked Brassy, lips pursed in a bow.

  I gave her a wicked smile.

  "A love letter."

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Brassy returned that evening with Simon's reply. He had agreed to meet me at my modest home, mentioning that he would arrive shortly. I sent Brassy to Franklin's, letting her know the intent of my invitation to the Warden in case I was right about his identity and things didn't go as planned.

  In the event I had to confront the doppelganger physically, I changed into trousers, a white blouse, and a riding jacket. The doppelganger had taken my weapons with it when it portaled out of the Mother's Hammer, so I hid a kitchen knife on top of the armoire, another in my jacket, and an axe behind the door to the bath.

  If worse came to worse, I would use my sorcery, which due to my horrific control would probably turn my house into a pile of rubble.

  Lastly, I placed a pair of manacles on a tray in the kitchen. My plan was to claim I was going to fetch a bit of tea and when I returned, clamp them on his wrists after wrapping the chain around the armrests of the heavy rocking chairs that I had strategically set up.

  I had just returned from the kitchen for a last second review of the front room when a knock on the door startled me. Swinging the door wide revealed Simon in his buckskin jacket and tricorn hat.

  "Katerina," he said with a boyish grin, stepping inside my door immediately and closing it behind him. "I didn't know you felt this strongly."

  The part of me that had been having erotic dreams for the past few months wanted to tell him that my only interest was in what he could do for me in the bedroom, but if it was the real Simon Snyder, he'd probably break a blood vessel blushing, and if it was the doppelganger, it might take me up on it, which would ruin my plan.

  "I have...feelings," I offered. "Have a seat
, I'll fetch us some tea."

  When he moved past me, I tried to get a glimpse of his eye color, but remembered it was a shade of gray-green that would only leave me confused. At least Djata had had the decency to have a proper eye color.

  "How do you like the place since I changed it?" I asked as I went into the kitchen.

  A moment later, he replied, "I didn't realize anything had changed."

  Which was the truth, but I was testing to see if I could determine it was the doppelganger before I tried to put manacles on him. I put a pot on the stove and went through some cabinets as if I were readying tea.

  "Congratulations on your nomination," I called. "Did you know that was going to happen?"

  "Franklin warned me about it this morning. Though I believe there are much better candidates available, I agreed to the change in professions, due to his considerable arguments," said Simon.

  I scowled. That was a perfectly acceptable Simon Snyder answer. Maybe I was wrong about my assumption.

  "Tea's almost ready," I said loudly. If the doppelganger had captured Simon, then it couldn't have had much time to question him. I tried to think of something only Simon and I would know.

  "Do you remember that time we found that dead gentleman in Franklin's parlor?" I asked.

  "Of course. How could I forget?" He paused. "Do you still have the cauldron?"

  My stomach sank. Only a select few knew about the cauldron, and I couldn't imagine that the doppelganger had extracted that information out of Simon. Still, I had to be sure, which wasn't going to be pleasant if I were wrong.

  Simon was digging something out of a fingernail when I returned. I removed the manacles and threw the tray over Simon's head to clatter across the table, startling him to sit back into his chair in alarm. I slapped a heavy iron manacle around his left wrist, twisted the chain through the spindles, and then captured the right before he knew what was happening.

  "Katerina?" he asked, tugging on the chain.

  I retrieved the knife and stood in front of him. I almost grabbed the axe, but decided it would be hard to recover from if the person sitting manacled to the chair wasn't the doppelganger.