The King's Beast

by Eliot Pattison

  Madeline took the broken ribbon from Duncan and gazed at it. “My great-uncle was an early missionary, then when he was older he formed the charity to help the tribes. My father allowed me to renew that work in my modest way, because I convinced him it gave me reason to meet with lords and ladies and so I might find a husband among the high ranks. But I did it because it gave me an excuse to travel to America every few months. Four years ago, Sarah found me in New York town and invited me to live with her in Edentown. I was so excited, and told her it would allow me to realize my dream of starting a tribal school, but we stayed up all night talking and we finally decided I could do more to help the tribes by continuing to strut on this stage. Soliciting funds for tribal orphans and missionaries is within the province of a proper English maiden.”

  “Your uncle Alpheus would be proud of you.”

  Madeline pushed herself into a sitting position. “You know about Uncle Alpheus?”

  “I have seen his book, and his portrait. It would have been a great honor for the tribes to give him a strand of white beads.”

  “He was the black sheep of the family,” Madeline said with a melancholy smile. “I think I would have liked him very much. I had heard about him in my village long before I knew he was my great uncle. He died protecting Mohawk children from some Huron raiders.”

  Duncan gestured to the drawings on the desk. “You would never be satisfied to merely sit in some meetings soliciting English patrons. I had begun to believe those were Noah’s work but now I believe they are yours. The robin sends songs to the colonies. No one would closely scrutinize the travel or baggage of Lord Faulkner’s daughter.”

  Madeline studied Duncan in silence. “Sarah says you will soon be married,” she said. “She says you are a great friend not just of Conawago and Ishmael, but of the Haudenosaunee,” she said, meaning the Iroquois tribes, “and also of Patrick and Hannah.”

  Duncan hesitated as he saw her meaningful gaze, and he realized she was offering another piece of the puzzle. “Patrick’s wife,” he said, “she was the link, the one who sent Conawago to you.”

  “She was the third sister. Hahnawa lived in the same lodge as Sarah and me. The three of us were inseparable when we were young.”

  “Hannah. Hahnawa,” Duncan repeated. “Turtle.”

  “We usually called her Dancing Turtle, for she was always jumping and skipping.”

  Duncan returned her smile. Among the Iroquois the women were often unseen and only subtly present in tribal councils, but they were also often the most influential participants. “The Disciples of the Forest are part of your London disguise,” he ventured. “You really belong to the Covenant.”

  “There are many in the colonies like you, Duncan, who understand and respect the tribes. That is their great hope for survival. If their fate is to be determined by the bewigged men of Whitehall, they are doomed. The men who have the king’s ear would prefer that the tribes be annihilated. The tribal elders greatly fear war between the colonies and Britain, because no matter which side they take, the other will have the power, and incentive, to destroy the tribes. And sometimes,” she added, “there are more direct roles for the tribes in supporting the non-importation efforts, as Ezra and the Shawnee were doing. To avoid war there needs to be more of a balance of power between America and England.”

  “So the colonies need to strengthen, to become as self-sufficient as possible,” Duncan observed. “That’s why you copy plans of English machines to secretly send to America. You do it for the tribes. The Covenant. I should have known. It was the term used by the tribes and the early British colonists for the alliance that gave them peace for decades.”

  Madeline nodded and touched her beads as she spoke, as if they gave her strength. “I listen with dumb adoration as the self-important owners of factories and mills boast of their new inventions. They are not shy about speaking of such things in private. They think it will impress me, and I swoon appropriately and have them convinced it just goes in one ear and out the other.” Madeline paused, seeming to collect herself, then leaned forward with a more urgent air. “But Duncan, what you said about Major Hastings being sent. We must find a fast ship and send word this very day! God help it is not too late.”

  At last Duncan recalled what had caused Madeline to faint. “Dr. Franklin is planning to write to Sam Adams, though it will probably take hours to compose a note and apply his secret ink.”

  Madeline hesitated a moment. “The good doctor never uses the ink, for we discovered he was too awkward in its application, smearing and spilling it. That is done here, in this very chamber, by Noah and me. And a single letter just to Adams won’t suffice!”

  “You mean a letter for Mulligan in New York. And also one for Hephaestus, the leader of the Covenant,” Duncan suggested. He lowered his voice. “Franklin told me, Madeline. Hephaestus is a woman. He is a bit too loose with confidences sometimes.”

  He could not entirely understand the petulant look she gave him.

  “Your friends in the harbor must find the swiftest conveyance!” Madeline rose and hurried to the desk, where she pulled paper from a drawer. “It must be three private letters, not by post but by private courier. One to Boston, one to New York, and one to Edentown.”

  Something icy crept into Duncan’s belly. “Edentown?”

  “Duncan, are you really so blind? You never tried to understand. Her venture with the buttons was just a way to get you and the settlement more involved in her work. It happened while you were away on business for the Sons last year. Sarah said she felt it her duty to help at a higher level, as you did, and Mr. Adams and Mr. Thomson said she was the perfect choice, and that her plan for the Covenant was the perfect way to shield their non-importation work. No one would ever suspect three women and their harmless charity, or that some of the blankets we send have plans and drawings sewn inside them. And she wrote that while you are gone to send them to her in Boston because she would be going to Boston for important meetings with artisans who support the Sons, and with those who might provide funds for new manufacturing shops. She said she didn’t want you to know, because you would just worry unnecessarily.”

  Duncan struggled to grasp her meaning. “I don’t understand. Perfect choice for what?”

  “The coordinator for bringing in English secrets! The Greek god Hephaestus! Samuel Adams suggested the name of the Greek god to help obscure her identity, and she agreed, saying that Conawago, scholar of Greek literature, would love it. I told you, the Covenant was born on the frontier. The secret head of the Covenant is Sarah! Sarah Ramsey is the Hephaestus whom Major Hastings seeks to kill!”

  It took him a frustrating two hours to locate the captain of the Galileo, but Duncan finally found Rhys pacing impatiently along the dry dock where workmen were finishing the installation of new copper sheets below the bark’s waterline.

  “The lubbers should have had this finished ten days ago!” Rhys snapped. “Stop for an ale, stop for a bite, stop to order more nails, stop to look at one more shiny thing dragged out of Thames mud, then stop for another ale. By God, if I had them on board I would teach them proper discipline! And the owners were no better. It will be good to leave them behind.” He spoke toward the workers down in the dock but cast a quick glance at Duncan. “You seem to fare better with your blood inside rather than outside.”

  “Darby says five days now. Is that truly possible with the Galileo not yet in the water?” His heart had been racing ever since his conversation with Madeline, and he fought the temptation to jump on the next ship to Boston. Hastings meant to kill Sarah. He kept hearing her words, spoken as the Preston House burned. A warrior needs to be blooded. She might be expecting battle, but she would never see Hastings’s attack until it was too late. All that protected her now was the final secret. Hastings did not know her name, or face.

  “I told the superintendent here that she floats in the morning or by God he’ll know a Cardiff flogging.” He saw the question in Duncan’s eyes. “A beati
ng with a dead cod, lad,” he explained. “Five days, that’s what I tell the yard and the crew. We shall hold true, if it means working through the nights, so long as I conclude my business with the owners. It may mean we raise the new topgallant mast while underway, but Darby can manage it.”

  Duncan extracted the urgent messages he and Madeline had drafted, with Noah’s help. Their letters would all go to Boston, and Hancock would see they reached the right hands, for he could not risk sending a letter to Edentown that missed Sarah because she had already left for Boston. Noah had insisted on adding a short note to his brother, who did special work for the Sons and was familiar with comings and goings on the Boston waterfront. “These must be in Boston as soon as wind and tide allow,” he said to Rhys. “They can’t wait for the Galileo and can’t be trusted to the post. Who has the fastest ship on the New England run?”

  Rhys took off his hat and scratched absently at his thick black hair, then gestured Duncan down the walkway, out of earshot of any workers. “I know a sleek schooner out of Salem that’s leaving at midnight. She has declared a cargo of woolens, though she be mostly loading whisky for Boston, to be offloaded under the moon, if ye get my drift. Her skipper is a friend of mine from the old days. He owes me a favor.”

  “A smuggler would be perfect.” Duncan handed Rhys the sealed letters. “And your man can say Duncan McCallum told John to pay him a full guinea for the delivery.”

  Rhys eyed the addressee and raised an eyebrow. “John Hancock? Shouldn’t be hard to find the merchant prince. I’ll hire a wherry over to the schooner this very hour.” He began to turn, then paused. “Unless I hear otherwise, Duncan, the Galileo will be waiting in the Lower Pool on the appointed night, provisioned and ready to sail. I will burn two red lanterns on the port side.”

  The captain lingered a moment more, studying the addressee of the letter Noah had added. He wrinkled his brow. “Where would such a man be found? Is that the right spelling?”

  “He works with Mr. Hancock in his shipping business and is often on the docks. You met Noah, Miss Faulkner’s groom. This man is his half brother. The spelling is correct, yes. Crispus Attucks.”

  The hackney driver had to wake Duncan as they reached Faulkner House. His last sleep had been the fitful naps on top of St. Paul’s, and now the climb up to his room proved exhausting. Madeline had gone to find Olivia and he was grateful for the quiet as he finally collapsed onto his bed.

  He had slept less than an hour when someone began shaking his shoulder. “Duncan! There’s a woman at the kitchen door,” Noah announced.

  Duncan rolled over, away from the groom.

  “She is most insistent! I can make out your name and that of Dr. Franklin, but I’m not sure about the rest. I have no German.”

  Greta Huber was nearly inconsolable. Although Duncan knew she had a good command of English, apparently her native tongue prevailed in her distress. They sat in the kitchen, encouraging her to drink tea. Noah finally offered her a small glass of brandy. She quieted, staring at the glass, then drained it in one gulp. She gasped, clenched her fists on the table, and when she looked up her eyes had cleared.

  “Duncan, it is all my fault!” she groaned, finding her English. “He is gone. The great man vanished!”

  It took another few minutes and another glass of brandy before Duncan was able to piece the story together. Franklin had slept for several hours after his breakfast with the Hubers, but when he woke he was very restless, and despite Duncan’s warnings had insisted on making a quick visit to his home to fetch clothing. Heinz and Greta had argued with him, and it was finally agreed that he would not go home but to a safe house close to home, whose owner could retrieve what Franklin needed.

  “Dr. Hewson’s,” Duncan suggested.

  “Ja, ja, Hewson,” Greta confirmed. Heinz had customers in his shop, so it was agreed that Greta would accompany Franklin. She had accepted Franklin’s suggestion that they climb out of their cab a block away from their destination, to “gauge the territory” in Franklin’s words. All seemed fine until they were fifty feet from Hewson’s door, when suddenly there was a loud whistle and four large men ran at Franklin, knocking Greta to the ground. They threw him into a coach and sped away. On her tearful return, Heinz had insisted Duncan should have the news and Greta had resisted her husband’s offer to go, saying it was her duty to carry the message.

  Noah had a strangely calming effect on the German woman, holding her hand and explaining in his slow, deep voice that she had done no wrong and that surely no one would harm the famous inventor, only confine him for a few days. By the time she had collected herself sufficiently to depart, she had warmed to Noah enough to extend an invitation to him for tea.

  A quarter hour after Greta’s departure Ishmael arrived, gasping for breath. “He’s taken, Duncan!” he announced. “Franklin is taken!”

  Duncan and Noah exchanged a confused glance. “How could you know that?”

  “The Natural Philosophers!” Ishmael said. “Archimedes! Copernicus! Newton!”

  “Ishmael, have a seat,” Noah suggested. “Collect yourself. You are making no sense.”

  “Hastings and his men stole him away and brought him there this afternoon! Taggart the keeper was troubled by it and took me upstairs. I saw him! Benjamin Franklin is imprisoned in the Natural Philosophers chamber at Bedlam!”

  Noah insisted on accompanying them to Bethlem Hospital, but without explanation separated from Duncan and Ishmael as they approached the entrance, hurrying along the front of the building as if bound for a different entry. With an hour left in the visiting period. Ishmael led Duncan at a fast pace to a chamber on the top floor not far from the Immortals. Images of Franklin’s likely plight as an inmate gnawed at Duncan. The inmates were capable of violence when their doors were closed, and in some chambers the long-term patients resented the arrival of a new member of their personal asylum. Even if there was no harm done to Franklin’s person, Duncan feared for what he might do under the influence of Bedlam’s drugs. The inventor in his normal state did not always conform to social expectations. Would he climb into the tub with Archimedes and squabble over the toy boat? Would he decide to take one of his air baths?

  They slowed as they reached the cell, encountering a surprisingly large crowd of onlookers, who were eagerly tossing coins and pieces of fruit through the bars. With a wrench of his heart Duncan saw Franklin sitting in a wooden armchair near the rear wall. The keepers had thrust a willow branch into a wall sconce above him and fastened a string to it. A key was tied into the string and the other end of the string was tied to Franklin’s wrist. The tension of the willow was enough to gently lift his wrist, the weight of which then dropped it back into his lap after a second or two, giving the impression that he was flying his famous kite. As if the props weren’t sufficient, a pasteboard placard over his neck, like those worn by Archimedes, Copernicus, and Newton, proclaimed FRANKLIN in bold letters. The wizard of lightning had been hidden in plain sight.

  Franklin gazed absently at the side wall as his left hand methodically rose and fell. Every few seconds he reached into the air with his right hand as if trying to touch something invisible to the rest of them. The kindhearted inventor had been heavily dosed, probably with a strong mixture of laudanum to sedate him and henbane to trigger hallucinations. Duncan clenched his fists, trying to control the fury that seized him. Ishmael sensed his reaction.

  “Do nothing,” he warned. “At least we know where he is. Tip our hand and he will be locked away far from view.”

  “Dr. Granger,” came a whisper from beside him. Duncan turned to see Noah, wearing one of the tunics for the lower staff and holding a stack of towels as part of his disguise. “He was brought here by soldiers under orders from the Earl of Milbridge, they said. He underwent treatment by Dr. Granger, who announced that he was suffering from a pathological delusion that he was the electrical inventor from Philadelphia. Everyone on the staff is laughing about how similar he looks to the famed invent
or, though most say this man is fatter than the real one.”

  Granger. The name was like a bitter pill on Duncan’s tongue. The instructions of Granger, royal physician and allied with Milbridge and the War Council, would never be questioned by the keepers.

  Duncan felt a pressure on his arm and discovered that Noah had clamped one of his big hands around his bicep. Ishmael stepped in front of him, partially blocking his view. He realized he had slightly bent, as preparing to launch himself in battle. If Milbridge had been in his reach at that moment Duncan would have beaten him to within an inch of his life, no matter the cost.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Noah said.

  Duncan gazed forlornly at Franklin, who was clearly no longer connected to reality. The inventor took no notice of the obese man in the empty bathtub who cried “Eureka!” every few moments or the pretend Copernicus gazing through a pasteboard tube and randomly shouting out the names of planets. Franklin mindlessly let his hand rise and fall with the tension on the make-believe kite string.

  “Watch out for the lightning, Ben!” an onlooker hooted.

  “A penny saved is a penny earned,” cackled another, raising laughter. Duncan wanted to pummel the man.

  “It’s only a few days,” Ishmael said. “We will retrieve him the night we remove my uncle.”

  Duncan choked down his rage. “A few days in there can crush a man’s soul,” he replied. He said nothing more and allowed his friends to shepherd him to Conawago’s cell. Ishmael reported that he had instructed Taggart to stop serving his uncle the doctors’ brew. The keeper had refused, saying it would be the end of him if the doctors discovered it, but he did take over the distribution of the tea and was making sure Conawago received only half the usual amount.