Several moments went by in silence. There was no movement from Farahilde. Was that it, then? Had all their effort been for naught?
Jeanne felt a supreme coldness in her heart. Once again she had been powerless to save someone close to her. She fell to her knees and balled her hands into fists.
Frederick, for his part, was more subdued. “Why did this happen? I thought—”
He was unable to finish his oral melancholy, as Farahilde’s eyes suddenly burst open. Her arm shot up into the air as if grasping for something, and her mouth opened for a very audible intake of air.
“Farahilde!” Jeanne yelled. “You’re alive!”
“Thank God!” Frederick added.
Farahilde looked at them. “What happened?”
Jeanne explained, “You were poisoned by Deschanel. Don’t you remember? You lost consciousness and we brought you here for treatment.”
“Oh, yeah. Deschanel—that bitch.” The weroance spoke a few words to her. “Huh? What’s this guy saying?”
“He is glad you have returned to the realm of the living,” Edward translated. The weroance then said something else. “Very soon you will have to fight a crucial battle.”
Farahilde looked at Edward quizzically. She obviously wondered who he was, but she simply said, “Yeah. I have to pay back Deschanel for what she did to me.”
She tried to stand up, but she was still wobbly. Jeanne and Frederick helped her into the other room, where she sat down in front of the hearth.
“Edward, thank you for your help,” Jeanne said.
“Ohhhh, I saved a life! I’ve never felt this good before.”
Jeanne was once again repulsed by the sexual pleasure he seemed to take from helping people, but she held her tongue. “And please tell the weroance ‘thank you’ for us.”
Edward conveyed the message to the Piscataway chief, who by this time had returned to his spot in front of the hearth he had been at when they arrived. He responded to Edward. “He says to look after her for a little longer.”
Jeanne nodded. “Don’t worry; I will.” She suddenly thought of something else. “Can you ask him what he knows about coralite? More specifically, why it only exists on this continent?”
Edward translated for Jeanne, and the weroance responded. “The coralite was not originally present in the earth. One day it simply appeared.”
Jeanne found this to be very perplexing. “It just appeared? When?”
Edward exchanged more words with the chief. “Several hundred years, ago, he says. It coincided with the arrival of the Sky People.”
“Sky People? Who the hell are they?” Farahilde asked.
The weroance explained what he knew. “Centuries ago, his ancestor witnessed a flash of light, and the falling of men from the sky. It was around that time that his people became aware of a new form of energy pulsing beneath the earth. Whether the Sky People brought the coralite, or had simply responded to it, the weroance doesn’t know.”
“Do you think this has something to do with the Gnostagar?” Frederick mused.
“I think it’s quite possible,” Jeanne said. “The Gnostagar are supposed to have come to our world in response to the splitting of time by Jeanen d’Arc. Perhaps the appearance of coralite was a result of that splitting.”
“Who cares,” Farahilde said. “We can’t prove any of this. Coralite exists and it healed me. That’s all I care about. Now come on; we need to get back to the President’s Palace and kick Deschanel’s ass.”
***
Meanwhile, a very different scene was taking place outside the President’s Palace. Leopold stood on the front lawn, watching as smoke poured from the windows. Minutes earlier, he—along with most of the Palace’s staff— had been escorted from the building after a fire broke out on the first floor.
George Washington strode up to him after talking with someone near the entrance. “I do apologize for this, Honored Sir. You are a guest in my house, yet you are forced to stand outside while we deal with a fire.”
“These things happen,” Leopold replied. “But are you not concerned? I understand the fire is quite near to the basement where your Gnostagar stones are.”
Washington nodded. “Indeed it is. But fear not; the fire is being contained, and it shall never reach the basement.”
Leopold said nothing further on the matter, but he was still suspicious. Farahilde being attacked, and now this fire…It couldn’t be coincidence.
An aide came over to them. “Mr. President, the fire has been extinguished.”
“Very good,” Washington said.
“However…we found this among the flames.” He handed a charred object to the American leader. Washington looked aghast at it.
“Dear Lord,” Leopold said.
This could doom them all.
Chapter XII: A Surprising Reception
The President’s Palace, December 13, 1792 (Infini Calendar), 12:00 a.m.
The steam carriage dropped Edward Q. Huffington off at his flat (but not before he creepily thanked them once again for allowing him to be of so much help), and Jeanne and Farahilde returned to the President’s Palace. Frederick, however, insisted on trying to find the doctor who had referred them to the Piscataway. Although Jeanne couldn’t remember his name, Frederick decided to ask around the few places in Washington that were still open if anyone knew where to find him.
However, as soon as they entered the building they could tell something wasn’t right. “Do you smell that?” Jeanne asked.
Farahilde sniffed the air. “Smells like something’s burning.”
“And I’m not sure, but I think I detect a faint smoke in the air.”
Farahilde looked around the foyer. “There’s no one around, fräulein,” she observed.
“I don’t like it,” Jeanne said.
Suddenly, from every door in the foyer burst forth armed guards led by George Washington. They quickly surrounded the two women and leveled their rifles at them.
Washington strode up to Jeanne and Farahilde, his face betraying no emotion. “You don’t like it, Miss Rose? Please forgive my rudeness, but that was precisely my design.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Farahilde growled. President or no, she wasn’t going to stand for this kind of treatment.
Jeanne put a hand on her shoulder. “Please calm down, Farahilde.” She then addressed Washington. “Sir, can you explain this?”
He face remained expressionless, but his tone was stern. “I am asking the questions here. For instance—where were you earlier this evening?”
Jeanne faced him without fear, but also without anger. “Sir, with all due respect, you are well aware that with your leave I rushed Farahilde here to the Piscataway camp to obtain treatment for the poison inflicted on her earlier.”
Washington looked at the young Austrian. “You say that she was poisoned and near death, yet here she stands looking perfectly healthy.”
“The coralite healed her,” Jeanne tried to explain.
“Coralite is only used as a power source. It has no healing properties,” Washington countered.
“None that you know of, ignorant fool,” Farahilde spat.
“For the love of God, please show some restraint,” Jeanne whispered to her.
But the fiery Austrian had had enough of restraint. “No! I won’t stand for any more of this bastard’s hypocrisy. He wants us to believe he’s enlightened, but he enslaves his fellow man for being a different color. So with all due respect, Mr. President…” She let a lone finger end her sentence.
Washington clenched his fist, the first sign he was truly angered. “You are a guest in my home, Farahilde Johanna. I welcomed you and your entourage with open arms. Yet you reply with deceit, violence, thievery, and now vulgar gestures. You have committed grave crimes on American soil, and you shall be tried for them.”
Jeanne couldn’t believe any of this was happening. “Crimes? What are you talking about?”
Washington cleared his thr
oat. “Consider this the formal charges. Earlier tonight, a fire was started near the basement. Most of the Palace’s defenders were evacuated, though a few stayed behind in case the fire was merely a ruse. As it happened, that was indeed the case. The few guards stationed at the entrance to the basement were slain by unknown assailants. The Gnostagar stones were then stolen.
“Farahilde Johanna, you are officially charged with arson, murder and capital theft. And Mary Rose, you are charged with being complicit to said crimes.”
Jeanne vigorously shook her head. “We weren’t even here! Ask Edward Q. Huffington. He’ll tell you.”
“As if I could trust the word of a degenerate,” Washington said. “Besides which—we have proof Farahilde Johanna was involved in this.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a black object, a charred glove with two burned blades sticking out of it: Farahilde’s armored gauntlet.
“That’s the gauntlet Deschanel took from me when I boarded her airship.”
“Deschanel? Who is that?” Washington asked.
“The real name of the woman who claims to be Jeanne de Fleur,” Jeanne explained. “She’s the one who poisoned Farahilde.”
Washington’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You told me you didn’t know who poisoned her.”
Things were rapidly spinning out of control, Jeanne thought. In order to avoid this very situation, she had lied to the American President, a lie which now threatened to send her to prison and could doom Farahilde entirely. She had no choice but to admit her deception. “I lied.”
“Hmph,” Washington said. “I think perhaps that is not the only lie you told me.”
“What do you mean?”
“A member of the French delegation told me he saw your hair slipping, as if it was a wig. Are you, in fact, wearing false hair?”
“Well…” Jeanne’s mind raced to think of a way out of this predicament, but none was forthcoming.
“I have no desire to be rough with a lady, but I must check to see if you are wearing a wig.” To the guards closest to her, he said, “Hold her.”
“Wait!” She said. “Very well.” She pulled off her fake blonde locks, revealing her short-cut auburn hair. She also removed her glasses. “It is true—I am not really Mary Rose. I’m not even American.”
Washington sighed. It was clear he had been hoping this to not be the case. “So Jeanne de Fleur’s suspicions were correct; you are an Austrian spy.”
“I’m Jeanne de Fleur! That other woman is an imposter.
“Enough lies,” Washington said. He sounded very tired. To the guards he said, “Take them away.”
“Doesn’t look like we can reason with this fool,” Farahilde said.
Jeanne took a deep breath to calm herself. “No, it doesn’t.”
“You know what that means, right?”
“I’m afraid I do.” They didn’t have time to be arrested. If Deschanel and her lackeys had in fact stolen the Gnostagar stones, they could leave with them at any time aboard the Minuit Solaire II. If that happened, Jeanne and Farahilde might never be able to prove their innocence.
One of the men leveled his rifle at Farahilde’s head. “Turn around.”
She did so, and Washington said, “These men will escort you to the city jail that lies east of here, and every one of them will see to it you do not escape before your trial.”
Farahilde was nudged in the back by the butt of a rifle. That was, in fact, a mistake; it told her how close the rifle was, and how high it was being held.
She took a step forward, and then, faster than the guard’s eyes could follow, abruptly pivoted, ducked and charged in under the rifle. Before the man could register surprise, she grabbed the underside of the barrel and slammed it into his face.
The other soldiers raised their own rifles to fire at her, but she quickly ducked behind the man whose ego—and nose—she had just wounded. His comrades weren’t willing to shoot an ally, so instead they gathered around Washington in a protective circle.
Farahilde grabbed a knife out of a slot in the man’s belt and quickly secured her hostage. She held the knife firmly to his throat. “That’s how it’s done, fräulein.”
“Is it?” Jeanne had simultaneously acquired her own human shield and was holding him with equal ruthlessness. To the group surrounding Washington, she said, “Shoot, and our hostages die. Come after us, and they die.”
From behind his wall of troops, Washington replied, “You will never escape this city. Surrender now and we may yet show you leniency.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Farahilde said. “But I do have one question for you. Where is my brother?”
“He is unharmed, you can be sure of that.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“He is in our custody, and that is all I will tell you. If you wish to know his exact whereabouts, you will have to surrender to us.”
From behind her human shield, Farahilde shrugged. “Meh. You keep him. He’s a bastard anyway.”
She and Jeanne began backing out of the building, their captives in tow. Washington and his armed entourage made no attempt to follow. When they were halfway across the Palace’s front lawn, they knocked out their hostages and bolted.
They soon ran into Frederick, who was walking across the front lawn. “What’s going on?” he asked when he saw them running at full speed in his direction.
“Never mind that; just start running!” Farahilde yelled as she and Jeanne sped past him.
The sudden crack of a rifle shot evidently convinced him she was dead serious, so he took up the chase and went after the two women. “Is someone shooting at us?”
“Yes,” Farahilde replied. “Well—us, as in me and Jeanne. Not you. Well, probably you now that you’re with us.”
“Who’s Jeanne?”
“I’m Jeanne.”
“I thought your name was Mary Rose.
“Long story.” Farahilde said. “Fräulein, where are we going?”
Jeanne intentionally ripped her white dress as she ran to have more freedom of movement. “There’s a good chance Deschanel knows who I am. If that’s true, then Pierre could be in trouble. We need to go check on him.”
“What happened back there?” Frederick asked.
“Ugh,” Farahilde groaned impatiently. “We’ll explain along the way.”
“But first: did you find the doctor?” Jeanne asked.
Frederick huffed as he ran behind them. “No, I’m sorry. There aren’t many places open at this hour, and the few people I could find were unable to tell me anything about the doctor without his name.”
“Too bad,” Farahilde said. “He could have vouched for us.”
***
Deschanel sat in her chair aboard the Minuit Solaire II’s bridge. Everything was going according to plan. She and her subordinates had started the fire in the President’s Palace to get most of the security detail out of the building, killed the few fools who remained, planted Farahilde Johanna’s confiscated gauntlet on one of the corpses, and made off with the Gnostagar stones.
Granted, this wasn’t part of the Emperor’s plan, but she had little doubt he would complain once she returned with not only the new treaty with America, but news of Jeanne de Fleur’s downfall. He probably couldn’t care less what happened to Farahilde Johanna, though; her defeat was simply a bit of extra gratification to Deschanel. After all, the two people she hated most would soon spend years rotting in a jail cell or worse. Deschanel hoped for worse. All that remained for the Ordre was to dump the stones somewhere, preferably somewhere that would help to implicate the Austrians even further, such as their ship.
Emil came in to report what had happened at the President’s Palace. “Commander.”
“Report.”
“The President confronted Farahilde Johanna, as well as his secretary ‘Mary Rose’.”
“And?”
He was about to answer, when Jean-Louis appeared behind him. “She ‘fessed up! She really is J
eanne de Fleur.”
Emil looked at him with annoyance, but simply said, “Yes. She took off her wig and revealed her auburn hair. There can no longer be any doubt that she is Jeanne de Fleur. The President, fortunately, didn’t believe her. He still believes her to be an Austrian spy because of her relationship with Farahilde Johanna. He ordered the arrest of both of them.”
Deschanel burst into laughter. “That will teach them! You can’t defy fate!”
Emil and Jean-Louis exchanged nervous glances. Emil said, “With all due respect, Commander…I…didn’t say they were actually arrested.”
Her good mood came to a crashing halt. She turned to look at him with a deadly serious look that would have overcome a lesser man and sent him to the floor in a fetal position. “What do you mean?”
He nervously blurted out, “They escaped.”
Deschanel sent a fist crashing down onto her chair’s arm rest, accompanied by an enraged roar. “How dare they! They think they can defy fate? No one escapes their fate.”
She took a deep breath to calm herself. After all, she had taken steps to prepare for this scenario. Unbeknownst to anyone outside her group, she had brought some new acquaintances of hers to America aboard the Minuit Solaire II. The fire she and her subordinates started in the President’s Palace was a cover for not only the theft of the Gnostagar stones, but the release of Deschanel’s new ‘friends’ as well. While George Washington and his underlings were dealing with the fire, the ‘friends’ took the opportunity to sneak out into the city. Soon they would make themselves known to Jeanne de Fleur in a very violent way.
***
Pierre dreamt of the moments he had shared with Jeanne, and of moments yet to come.
Without warning, though, he was roused from his sleep. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard a sound coming from downstairs in the smithy.
It was too dark to see in the bedroom he shared with Jeanne, but he felt her side of the bed and discovered she was not in it. It was most likely her downstairs, though what she was doing down there he didn’t know.
He walked downstairs to the forge. There was a little bit of light coming in through the front windows, but not enough to really see by. “Jeanne? Are you in here?”
Secrets of the New World (Infini Calendar) (Volume 2) Page 11
