The Dakota Cipher

by William Dietrich

  ‘When the gag burns through you can scream, because by that time it will be impossible to hear you over the explosions,’ a captor said, not altogether helpfully. ‘Each shout will suck burning air into your lungs.’ And then they lit a slow fuse and departed without so much as an adieu, their oars quietly dipping as they made for shore.

  I was doomed, unless my chocolate melted.

  Having been tied before, upon return to Paris I’d made some study of the matter. It seems that the knack of getting out of knots is to have some slack, and that expanding the chest and bulging the muscles is a trick escape artists use to get them started on their bonds. In the case of my wrists, the chocolate in my sleeves had made their circumference bigger. Now, as the hard candy turned liquid, I squeezed my wrists together and the confection squirted out, loosening my ropes. Thank goodness for culinary invention! Being able to twist and move my hands, however, was not the same thing as being free. I saw with growing panic that the crowd from the party had come outside the château to watch the fireworks, their gaiety backlit by the glowing windows. Flirtatious laughter floated across the water and paper lanterns were set afloat on the lake. I could smell the burning fuse.

  Sweating, unable to call out, I worked my wrists raw, thumbs pulling at strands, the mess of chocolate both lubricating the ropes and making them sticky. Finally, a key cord came loose.

  Then there was a flash at the corner of my vision, and a sizzle. The pyrotechnics were about to ignite!

  Thrashing my lower arms, I got the last bonds off my aching hands, freeing my arms to my elbows. By reaching up I managed to snag my gag and haul it to one side. ‘Help!’

  The bloody orchestra, however, had broken into a rousing version of ‘Yankee Doodle,’ as cacophonous as a flight of geese. The crowd whooped as the fuse flamed towards the arsenal, its spark bright as a tiger’s eye.

  So I clawed at the ropes holding my torso to the pole. My upper arms were still tied to my chest, but I had enough freedom below my elbows to get one end of the bond free and begin to awkwardly fling it to unwind myself, moaning at my own slowness. There was a whistle of powder and the first cluster of skyrockets soared up, smoke blinding anyone to my presence on the island. They exploded in a galaxy of stars, bright bits raining down. Some of the mortars coughed and burped, shells soaring. It was getting damnably hot damnably fast, and I was sweating. On and on the loose rope flew, growing longer and beginning to burn, even as the vile choir of exploding fireworks increased. If the climax was reached and the ground display turned the island into a fountain of flame, I was cooked, and dead.

  ‘Help!’ I called again.

  Now they were playing the ‘Marseillaise’!

  Finally I unwound myself free of the pole, went to run, and fell. My feet were still bound! Something was still strapped to my back! I didn’t have time for this! Skyrockets were screaming up in every direction, hot sparks were raining on my hair and clothes, and I was dazed and half-blinded by the excruciating light. I began hopping towards the water, clawing at the bonds at my chest.

  Then the island seemed to erupt.

  To the shrieking delight of the crowd, the ground display went off like a sun’s corona. Huge sheets of sparks shot up in pulsing arcs, the air a hell of sulphur, smoke, and stinging ash. The cords around my ankles caught fire, and if I hadn’t still had my boots on (Pauline and I had been in a hurry) I would have been badly burnt. On I hopped like a panicked rabbit, until I spied the saucer-shaped coracle I’d been towed out in. I collapsed on it, my momentum pushing it into the lake and dragging my own feet into the water. The flames extinguished with a hiss. Now I had my arms mostly free, but some rope still around my chest and biceps. My hair was smoking, and I threw water on that and got the now-burnt-through ropes off my feet. Finally I knelt, barely balancing in the wobbly craft, and hand-paddled towards the crowd, Hades in tumult behind me.

  ‘Look, what’s that! Something’s coming from the island!’

  The damned idiots began to applaud, drowning my complaints once again. They thought I was part of the show! And just when I finally got near enough to shout about brigands and kidnappers, my hair nearly ignited again!

  Or, rather, a molten fountain my torturers had cruelly stuck to my back, held by cords still around my chest, went off with a whoosh. The wooden tail was tucked in the back waist of my trousers, and apparently its fuse had ignited as I was fleeing the island. Now it – I – was a flaming torch. I reached behind and yanked the missile out of my bonds before it could finish roasting me and desperately held the spouting tube away from me by its hot nose, sparks shooting great, pulsing gouts of flame out the tail. The exhaust illuminated my figure, and actually gave me slight propulsion as I drifted towards the onlookers. Now everyone was cheering.

  ‘It’s Gage! What a character! Look, he’s holding up a torch to celebrate our convention!’

  ‘They say he’s a sorcerer! Lucifer means ‘light-giver,’ you know!’

  ‘Did he plan the entire show?’

  ‘He’s a genius!’

  ‘Or a prima donna!’

  Not knowing what else to do, I held my rocket upside down as flames spewed skyward and tried to muster singed dignity, my smile gritted against the pain of the burns. There! Were hooded onlookers melting into the trees? The final sparks were cascading past my figure to hiss into the water as I grounded and finally stepped ashore, like Columbus.

  ‘Bravo! What a scene stealer!’

  I bowed, more than a little shaken. I was half-blind, coughing from the acrid fumes, and wincing from my burns and abrasions. My watering eyes cut rivulets down my blackened cheeks.

  The American commissioners pushed their way to the front of the throng. ‘By heavens, Gage, what the devil are you trying to symbolise?’ Ellsworth asked.

  I dazedly tried to think fast. ‘Liberty, I think.’

  ‘That was quite the performance,’ Davie said. ‘You might have been hurt.’

  ‘He’s a plucky daredevil,’ said Vans Murray. ‘It’s an addiction, is it not?’

  Then Bonaparte was there, too. ‘I might have known,’ he said. ‘I’m grateful you are not in politics, Monsieur Gage, or your instinct would be to upstage me.’

  ‘I’m afraid that would be impossible, First Consul.’

  He looked sceptically from me to the island. ‘You were planning this stunt all along?’

  ‘It was a last-minute inspiration, I assure you.’

  ‘Well.’ He looked at the others. ‘Holding that torch aloft was a nice touch. This will be an evening for us all to remember. The friendship of France and the United States! Gage, you obviously have flair. It will stand you in good stead as you carry my messages to your president.’

  ‘America?’ I glanced around for Pauline’s husband, Egyptian snake worshippers, Muslim fanatics, or British agents. Perhaps it was time to go home.

  An arm went around my shoulder. ‘And now you have new friends to keep you safe!’ said Magnus Bloodhammer, squeezing me like a bear. He smiled at Napoleon. ‘Gage and I have been looking for each other, and now I will go to America, too!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Magnus pushed me into shadows at the edge of the crowd, his embrace rough and his breath smelling of alcohol. ‘You should not have crept off with that Bonaparte wench,’ the Norwegian lectured quietly. ‘You would have been safer with me!’

  ‘I had no idea her husband’s men were lurking around. Nor that he was so possessive. My God, her reputation …’

  ‘Those were not Leclerc’s men, you fool. Those were Danes.’

  ‘Danes?’ Why did they care whom I was rogering?

  ‘Or they were the church, or worse. It’s too late for you now, Gage, you’ve been seen with me. They know how crucial you are to our cause. Your life is in terrible danger.’

  ‘Who knows? What cause?’ I swear I draw lunatics like bees to honey.

  ‘Were they going to burn you on the island?’

  ‘Yes. If it hadn’t been for this
newfangled solid chocolate …’

  ‘They’re trying to warn me off. And make a statement. Don’t think they didn’t mean for us to mark the similarities to the medieval stake of the Inquisition. Your incineration was to be a signal to the rest of us. Which only convinces me the map is real. I tell you Gage, your nation needs me as much as I need it.’

  ‘What map?’

  ‘How many are there? Are they well-armed?’

  ‘Frankly, I didn’t get a good look. I was rather busy …’

  ‘Who can we trust? The odds appear long. Do you have any allies at all?’

  ‘Bloodhammer …’

  ‘Call me Magnus.’

  ‘Magnus, can you take your arm from my shoulder, please? We’re barely acquainted.’

  Reluctantly, the big man did so, and I got some breathing room. ‘Thank you. Now, I don’t know any Danes, the church has been thrown out of France by the Revolution, and I know nothing of any map. We’re here to celebrate a Franco-American peace treaty, if you’ll recall, and I try to be a friend to everyone, when I can. Including Pauline Bonaparte. Perhaps my assailants made some mistake. They gagged me, so I couldn’t explain who I really was.’

  ‘Your new enemies don’t make mistakes.’

  ‘But I don’t have any new enemies!’ I glanced about. ‘Do I?’

  ‘I’m afraid my enemies are now yours, because of your fame and expertise. You are an electrician, are you not? An investigator of the past? A protégé of the great Franklin?’

  ‘More of an assistant, at best.’ It was beginning to occur to me that while boasting of my exploits might win me alliance with fine ladies, it also seemed to draw the attention of the worst kind of men. Someday I’m going to be more careful. ‘I’m a wastrel, actually. Hardly worth caring about.’

  ‘Gage, I’m on a quest, and there’s only one man in the world with the curious combination of talents I need to help me succeed. That man is you, and everything you’ve said tonight only confirms it. No, don’t protest! Has not Bonaparte himself put his trust in you? Destiny is at work. What I am after is important, not only to Norway but to your own young nation. You are a patriot, sir, are you not?’

  ‘Well, I like to think so. God rest George Washington. Not that I ever met the man.’

  He leant close, his whisper masked by the noise of the milling, inebriated crowd. ‘What if I were to tell you that Columbus was not the first to reach your shores?’

  ‘The Indians were there, I suppose …’

  ‘My own ancestors reached North America centuries before those Italian and Spanish interlopers, Ethan Gage. Norse voyagers were the real discoverers of your continent.’

  ‘Really? But if they did, they didn’t stick, did they? It doesn’t count.’

  ‘It does!’ he roared, and people looked at us. He dragged me back even farther, to the shadow under an oak, and seized my shoulders in the dark underneath. ‘The Norse came, and drew a map, and left behind an artefact so powerful, so earthshaking, that whoever finds it will control the future! I’m talking about the fate of your own United States, Ethan Gage!’

  I was suspicious. ‘What do you care about the United States?’

  ‘Because the rightful return of this artefact to my own nation will be a rallying point for its independence at the same time it saves your own from foreign domination. We have a chance to change world history!’

  Well, I’d heard this kind of talk before, and what did I have to show for it? I’d run around Egypt and Jerusalem on the hinge of history and ended up bruised, singed, and heartbroken. ‘I’m not much for affecting history, I’m afraid. It’s hard, dirty work, quite tiring, with very little recompense, I’ve found.’

  ‘And we’ll discover something worth more than an emperor’s crown.’ He looked at me with the crafty expertise of a mule salesman.

  That stopped me, shameless mercenary that I am. ‘Worth more? As in money?’

  ‘You’re a gambler, Ethan Gage. Wouldn’t you like to be rich?’

  This Bloodhammer, who had the gleam of a Pizarro eyeing a roomful of Inca gold, was suddenly more interesting. I coughed to clear my throat. ‘My primary interest is the advancement of knowledge. I am a man of science, after all. Yet if there is reward to be had, I’m not opposed to compensation. As my mentor Franklin said, ‘Rather go to bed without dinner than to rise in debt.’

  ‘You didn’t have dinner?’

  ‘I’m chronically in debt. Just what is this treasure, Magnus?’

  ‘I can only confide in a place less public than this.’ He surveyed the assembly, now drifting back inside and preparing to go home, the way Bonaparte took in a battlefield. ‘Soon they will scatter, and we will be at risk again from the foul brigands who accosted you. Our first challenge is to make it out of Mortefontaine alive.’

  When you’re watchful, every stranger seems to be watching. What had seemed an hour before to be an assembly of friends now looked ominous and menacing. With so many soldiers about, my assailants could most easily have infiltrated by being invited guests – but if so, which ones were they? I hadn’t got a proper view in the dark. Gaiety still reigned, inebriation was almost universal, laughter and wit were loud, and the only person who looked out of place was the one proposing to be my companion, Magnus Bloodhammer. Wouldn’t Danes be blond? I looked at every light-haired male with suspicion, but none even noticed my scrutiny.

  Perhaps they were lurking by the gate. My hired coach wouldn’t be hard to spot and follow, once I climbed in, and in the dark forest between the château and Paris I’d be easy prey. I could ask Bonaparte for escort, but then I’d have to explain about Magnus, treasure, and his married sister. Better to steal off discreetly. I was considering how when a small hand pulled my arm.

  ‘Come,’ Pauline whispered. ‘There’s time for another round in a boudoir upstairs!’

  By Cupid’s arrow, the randy girl didn’t discourage easily, did she? I’m dragged off, half-cooked, have to boat myself back to the party with my hair on fire, and she behaves like all we’ve had is a lover’s recess. I couldn’t imagine what a full night with the minx would be like. Actually, I could imagine, and it was intimidating.

  ‘I’m afraid I have to leave.’ Then inspiration struck. ‘Say, could I share your carriage? I’m trying to avoid those men who interrupted us.’

  Her eyes sparkled. ‘Such delightful temptation! But if you were seen by my brother or his officers, word could get back to my husband.’ She cast her eyes down, as if demure. ‘I do have my reputation.’

  Indeed she did. ‘I could disguise myself as a footman. Do you have one my size I could trade clothes with? It would be a great favour to have him draw those rascals off. He could have my coat as payment.’

  Now she looked impish. ‘And how might you repay me, monsieur?’

  I bowed. ‘By discussing the customs of a Cairo harem I once visited.’ No need to tell her it had been more discouraging than a cold tub in an unheated woodshed.

  ‘I do adore geography.’

  ‘There are all kinds of places we could explore,’ I encouraged. ‘Say, I have a friend …’

  ‘Monsieur!’ Her eyes widened. ‘Ménage à trois?’

  ‘Who would be happy to ride outside beside the coachman.’

  I swear, the girl looked disappointed that there would be no threesome. But I didn’t have time to gauge her full reaction, instead quickly ushering her through the crowd so she could send a message to the stables where the servants loitered. Two of her men were to trade places with Magnus and me. While the lads were fetched, I retrieved my rifle and tomahawk to secrete in her coach. Then I sought out Jean-Etienne Despeaux, the organiser of the festivities, and asked if there were any leftover fireworks from the display.

  ‘You didn’t get a close enough look on that island, Monsieur Gage?’ he asked with raised brows.

  ‘It was such a powerful experience I’d like to do some experimentation. Might electricity be harnessed to augment such a magnificent spectacle?’
>
  ‘Do you ever rest, American?’

  ‘It’s surprising how difficult that is to do.’

  He did have some pyrotechnics remaining – it hadn’t been clear just how much of the arsenal would fit in the middle of the pond – and I carefully packed as many explosives as I could in a small trunk liberated from the château. I sprinkled loose powder on top and fastened a spare rifle flint on the lid against the lock so that when the box opened, there would be a spark. Then I made something of a show of carrying it through the dispersing crowd, looking secretive and important, and lashing it to the back of the carriage I’d ridden to reach Mortefontaine. Once this pantomime was acted out, I disappeared to change clothes with Pauline’s servants, inspecting the laundry of the lower class for fleas.

  ‘You can keep my coat as payment for this favour,’ I told a strapping lad.

  ‘And you mine, conjurer,’ he said cheerfully. ‘And now I get to play the Yankee, with sprawling stride, loose elbows, and gaping curiosity.’ He pretended to imitate me in an annoying manner as he marched out in the dark to my carriage, cloak and hat masking his features. I daresay my posture and walk is more elegant than that.

  At the same time Magnus and I made our way to Pauline’s coach where it waited in line. He had a leather cylinder strapped on his back like a quiver, but I took it to be a case for his promised map. He’d also bundled an old cape and slouch hat under one arm. He went to climb inside but I blocked him. ‘Up on top, Bloodhammer, where the servants ride. Unless you’d rather hang off the back.’

  ‘Your disguise is no different than mine, Gage,’ he hissed. ‘Why do you get to be inside and I have to be outside?’

  ‘Because I’m the servant with the service our hostess requires.’

  ‘Are you mad? Hasn’t she caused you trouble enough?’