“That’s too bad,” Farahilde lamented. “The world could have used more men like him.” She offered the coralite sample back to Jeanne.
“You keep it,” Jeanne said. Farahilde put the rock in her pocket.
Frederick said, “I would have enjoyed meeting such a powerful figure. My father once told me never to pass up the opportunity to be in the presence of great people and learn from them.”
“Your father sounds very wise,” Jeanne said.
“So I’ve been told,” Farahilde said under her breath. She had been wondering for a while if her future husband had any opinions of his own. Every idea he had seemed to come from his father.
“Oh! Stop here, driver,” Jeanne said.
The steam carriage came to a halt and they got out in front of a simple one-story building. Jeanne led them inside and they discovered the place was a smithy. It was devilishly hot inside, and the pounding of a hammer onto white-hot metal filled the air.
At the opposite end of the room was a large man with broad shoulders and long dark hair. Jeanne called out to him. “Aren’t you going to greet your visitors, blacksmith?”
He turned around and Farahilde’s gaze fell upon his rugged, bronzed face. “I’ll be damned,” he said in fluent French.
“Well, well, well,” Farahilde replied as a smile lit up her face. “If it isn’t the man who brought down meine airship in the Austrian Netherlands. The former vice-commander of the Ordre de la Tradition, Pierre…forgot your last name.”
“Just Pierre is fine, Farahilde Johanna. And as much as I hate to admit it, it is good to see you again.”
“Is that so? I remember when you used to look at me with nothing but disgust.”
“Maybe so, but you kept Jeanne here safe when you two stormed the Tuileries. For that, you have my eternal gratitude.”
Farahilde shifted on her feet uncomfortably. “I think I liked it better when you hated me.”
Pierre’s attention turned to the young man standing next to her. “And who is this?”
Frederick shook his hand and said, “I am Frederick William III, heir to the throne of Prussia. It is a pleasure to meet you.” True to his nature, there wasn’t a single drop of condescending arrogance in his introduction, something which could not be said of many people of similar status.
“You brought me some lofty figures today, ‘Mary’. An Austrian princess and a Prussian prince.”
“It’s better than letting Farahilde run around causing trouble,” Jeanne shrugged.
“I wasn’t going to cause trouble, fräulein,” Farahilde argued.
Jeanne snickered. “Who are you trying to convince?”
They chatted for a few more minutes before Jeanne, who was burning up in the forge, decided to show Farahilde and Frederick other sights.
***
“And so, Pierre and I obtained passage on a ship bound for America,” Jeanne said as the steam carriage took them through Washington. “After we arrived here, Pierre was hired as a blacksmith. This city may be technologically advanced, but most of the people living here aren’t especially wealthy, so there is still demand for a blacksmith.
“I was able to pick up the American accent rather quickly and so I decided to pass myself off as one of them. A chance meeting with President Washington led to my being employed as his personal secretary.”
“But why go to such lengths to be American?” Frederick asked.
“You didn’t see what Napoleon Bonaparte was willing to do to force me to work for him. I couldn’t let him or any of his dogs find me.”
“Why didn’t you fight back? I know you could have. We stormed Paris to take down one despot,” Farahilde reminded her.
Jeanne shook her head. “And where does it end? We defeated one villain and another took his place. Am I supposed to break into the Tuileries every time a tyrant seizes power? I like it here. Pierre and I have a comfortable life in Washington.”
Jeanne had a point, so Farahilde decided not to pursue it any further. So instead she looked out the window of the steam carriage. Building after building went by; a barber shop; a delicatessen; a general goods store; the Law Office of Gibson and Sterling; a bank. Some were small, some were large.
***
A ways behind them, another steam carriage kept a discrete distance.
“Whadya think?” Jean-Louis asked Emil who was sitting across from him in the vehicle.
“Hard to say,” the big Frenchman responded vaguely. The two knights had been ordered by the Commander to follow Farahilde Johanna and see if they could find anything they could use against her. For this trip, they wore American business suits instead of their irodium armor. “There’s definitely something going on between those two women. But that isn’t enough to satisfy the Commander. We’ll need more.”
“What else do we need? They’re obviously friends, somethin’ the President would be very interested in knowin’.”
“Or they could be on an official tour of the city, like they said,” Emil countered.
Jean-Louis rolled his eyes. “Fine—let’s keep following them. But you’ll see; there’s somethin’ not right about those two.”
***
On the bridge of the Minuit Solaire II, Deschanel’s thoughts kept going back to Farahilde Johanna. Although she tried to focus on other things, she couldn’t get her mind off the brash Austrian. Furthermore, the more she thought about Farahilde the more her patience wore thin. As the day went on, her desire to destroy the target of her hatred intensified. While on some level she knew it was not really Farahilde Johanna she wanted to crush—but rather the one who had truly ruined her life—she had no better quarry at present. And, of course, Deschanel couldn’t forget that Farahilde had contributed to her present state of living hell.
She began to grit her teeth and dig her nails into her chair’s armrests. She didn’t know how much longer she would be able to wait.
***
Jeanne took Farahilde and Frederick to see the hanger on the northern edge of Washington where American airships were being constructed. Because of the area’s higher security, they had to be content with looking on from behind a five-foot-high stone wall surrounding the complex.
“Now you’ve got me interested,” Farahilde said. Up until that point she hadn’t been particularly enthused about a tour of Washington. Her main desire had been simply to kill time waiting for Leopold to finish his negotiations with the President. She had wanted nothing more than to go home to Vienna. Now she was looking into a building full of technological marvels and thinking about how she herself would have put them to use in Austria.
“I thought you’d like this,” Jeanne said, satisfied at her choice of destinations. The airships within the hanger were notable not only for the mere fact they existed (at least as mere frames for the moment), but also because of their elliptical shape which did not require a balloon to keep them aloft.
“Interesting,” Frederick said. “There seem to be at least half a dozen dirigibles being built in there. But how can that be? As I understand it, just two such airships were enough to cripple your own country’s economy, Miss de Fleur. And even when Austria managed to build that many,” he said, pointing to the hanger, “they had the combined resources of multiple nations.”
Jeanne explained, “It’s all thanks to the power of coralite, you see. The energy it produces when harnessed is even greater and more efficient than electricity. In this city it is known as the Breath of God.”
Farahilde frowned. “But why does it only exist on this continent?”
Jeanne shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is, it’s here and this nation has prospered because of it.”
“You think it could have something to do with those Gnostagar the President was talking about?” Frederick asked.
“As I said, your guess is as good as mine. The existence of coralite does lend credence to the legend of the Gnostagar, in my opinion. When you put it together with the stone found underneath the Presid
ent’s Palace, it starts to make sense.”
“I’m starting to wish the Gnostagar would visit Austria,” Farahilde laughed.
***
The two knights continued to observe the enigmatic women from the steam carriage, a block down the street from the airship complex.
“Now they’re lookin’ at those airships,” Jean-Louis said.
“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Emil replied.
“Dontcha find that suspicious?”
“Not if they’re really on a tour.”
“Or maybe the secretary is really an Austrian spy.”
“I doubt that’s the truth.” Emil shut his eyes. He was tired of this futile busywork. As far as he was concerned, the only spies present were himself and Jean-Louis.
“It doesn’t hafta be the truth,” Jean-Louis snickered. “We just need enough circumstantial evidence to convince the President the Austrians are tryin’ to steal American technology rather than negotiate for it.”
Emil sighed. “Well, we’re going to need a lot more than what we’ve got so far.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s almost time to report in.” A thought suddenly struck him. “Later, I want to check out that blacksmith’s shop.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because of all the places they visited, that one was completely uninteresting. Why did they go there?”
***
It was now close to six o’clock in the evening. The report from Emil and Jean-Louis was due any minute. Deschanel was aware of this as she paced back and forth in her cabin aboard the Minuit Solaire II.
By now her patience was reaching its lowest end, and her anger was reaching its highest. She couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to crush Farahilde Johanna and she needed to do it soon. In order to do that, she would have to get the young Austrian alone some place where the latter could be attacked without anyone knowing it was Deschanel who had committed the act. That was how the current commander of the Ordre de la Tradition had been trained to operate. It was second nature to her and in that regard she couldn’t have been more different than the previous commander.
She headed to the bridge to await the report from her subordinates. Within minutes there was a clacking from the telegraph console and a single sheet of paper crawled out. Deschanel ripped it free and examined it. The message was brief, simply mentioning the places where Farahilde Johanna and the President’s secretary had gone that day.
She quickly fired back a response. She ordered them to notify her when the two women stopped some place with less than excellent lighting.
Chapter IX: Konnichi Wa—Ima, Anata wa Shinde Imasu!
Potomac Park, Washington, December 12, 1792 (Infini Calendar), 7:03 p.m.
After sundown, Jeanne took Farahilde to a wedge-shaped island south of the President’s Palace—and in a body of water known as the Washington Channel—called Potomac Park. As it turned out, this was the area Farahilde and Frederick had seen upon their arrival to Washington, the place with strange-clothed people and lanterns strung across the trees. Said trees had petals of a light red or pinkish hue. Jeanne explained that these trees were called sakura, or cherry blossoms. This island was the only place in America where the sakuras grew. This was because they had been brought here from the island nation of Japan by Potomac Park’s residents, Japanese immigrants who had come to the United States, partly because they were interested in adventure, but also as a defiant response to their country’s isolationist policies.
Wooden ramshackle houses lined the perimeter of Potomac Park, but on this night the residents were gathered in the center of the island for their annual Fuyuki Festival. According to Jeanne, the event was held to celebrate the passing of the seasons and to honor their ancestors. That last part, at least, Farahilde could appreciate. She made it a point to keep her own ancestors’ memories alive inside her.
The Fuyuki Festival consisted of a multitude of booths, most of which offered either games or assorted foods. The booths were labeled using characters Farahilde didn’t recognize.
As they walked among the booths, Farahilde asked Jeanne, “Why do they all wear robes?”
“They’re called kimonos. It’s simply the style where they come from.”
“The ki-mo-nos are certainly fancy, I’ll give them that.”
Suddenly Jeanne said, “So, you’re engaged. I would never have picked you as the type to settle down.” Frederick had stayed back at the President’s Palace to observe Leopold’s negotiations with George Washington. Farahilde had little doubt this was why Jeanne had chosen now to bring up the subject of her arranged marriage.
“Ugh. Please don’t remind me, fräulein.”
“He seems very well-mannered. The opposite of you,” Jeanne laughed.
Farahilde rolled her eyes. “He’s boring. Always going on about what his father taught him. I wonder if he has any thoughts of his own.”
“Everyone has their own thoughts. Sometimes it just takes a while for them to come out.”
A Japanese woman in an ornate blue kimono waved at them up ahead. “Mery-san!”
Jeanne waved back. “Kyoko-san! Konban wa!”
The Japanese woman ran up to Jeanne and bowed politely. “Konban wa. Genki?”
“Genki,” Jeanne replied.
Farahilde’s eyes darted between the two of them quizzically. “You know their language, fräulein?”
Jeanne explained, “It shouldn’t surprise you. Growing up in a house of nobility, I received only the best education. That, combined with the amount of time I’ve spent in this country, enabled me to learn a few of the languages spoken here. Oh—this is Kyoko, a friend of mine.” She then addressed Kyoko. “Kore wa watashi no tomodachi desu. Farahilde Johanna desu.”
Kyoko looked a tad too excited, but maybe that was just how her people were. “Ah, hajimemashite!”
“What did she say?”
“She said it’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh. Uh…likewise.”
Jeanne translated Farahilde’s lackluster reply. “Farahilde mo ‘hajimemashite’ toitte imashita.”
Kyoko bowed to Farahilde and then said to Jeanne, “Tomodachi wa Amerika-jin desu ka?”
“Iie. Austria-jin desu.”
“Ohstria! Omoshiroi da ne.”
Farahilde didn’t know what they were saying, though she definitely heard the word “Austria,” so they must have been talking about her. “You’re not saying anything unflattering about me, are you, fräulein?”
“Fortunately for you, I haven’t yet learned the words for ‘insane’ and ‘reckless’. She simply asked me your nationality and I told her.”
Kyoko must have been interested in something Farahilde said, because she asked, “‘Fu-roh-rein’ wa nani desu ka?”
“What did she say?”
“She wants to know what a ‘fräulein’ is. Let’s see…ano…kore wa…onna desu.”
Kyoko seemed satisfied by Jeanne’s answer, but she quickly changed gears. “Mitte! Mitte!” She grabbed Jeanne and dragged her off to one of the booths they had passed earlier. Farahilde shrugged and went off in the opposite direction, wanting to check out the other booths. She soon stopped in front of one that seemed to involve bringing a hammer down onto a tiny see-saw in order to launch a rubber frog into a small cup.
While she was looking at this, something suddenly struck the lantern hanging next to the booth. It went out and a shadow was cast over the immediate area. She turned her attention to where the lantern was and narrowly avoided a sharp object thrown at her head. “What the hell?” she yelled.
She was further alarmed by a cloaked figure which jumped out of the darkness at her.
***
Farahilde was yelling about something. Jeanne turned away from the booth Kyoko had been showing her, and there was Farahilde perhaps fifty feet away being attacked by a mysterious figure. “Farahilde!”
She was about to rush over there when two more mystery assailants jumped out from behind the booth she was at and g
rabbed her. The largest one got her from behind in a bear hug. He was definitely strong; maybe not as strong as Pierre but he still held her in a vice-like grip, pinning her arms to her sides. “Unhand me, you rogues!” She said in English.
The smaller one said in French, “Shut that bitch up. She’s annoyin’.”
The large man who held Jeanne replied, “Our orders are to keep her from interfering. I’m not going to hurt a woman if I have a choice.”
So these two were French. That narrowed it down significantly. They had to be Deschanel’s lackeys. “Well, now,” she said using her own French, “I have a choice!” Using all the force she could muster, she drove the back of her head into the big man’s nose. He grunted in pain but did not let go, so she did it again. This time there was a crack and he released her.
“Too bad for you, I aint as nice as him,” the other man said. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a dagger. He came at her with it, but her years of combat experience kicked in, and she side-stepped the attack. Simultaneously, she brought her hand down on the wrist holding the dagger and, using her other hand, thrust her palm upwards, catching him in the chin. He stumbled backwards.
“‘Too bad’ is right,” the big man said with strained patience. “If you insist on fighting us, we’ll have to take you down.”
“Hmph. You fools have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Jeanne replied.
The smaller idiot yelled, “Neither do you!”
Jeanne motioned to both of them. “Then let’s find out, shall we?”
***
Farahilde struggled to avoid the swift and unpredictable attacks of her mystery assailant. Both of the enemy’s hands held stilettos. The enemy clearly favored close-quarters combat. That was OK, though; so did Farahilde.
Fortunately, Farahilde was wearing her latest model of armored gauntlet. This one kept the blades tucked inside it until she flicked her wrist, at which time they emerged. She wasted no time doing this.
Secrets of the New World (Infini Calendar) (Volume 2) Page 8
