Jack turned around to see planks fluttering down all over the neighborhood, and stray wagon-wheels bounding along the street. The right fork of the Y, where the barricade had once stood, was just a smoky mess. Above it, on the rooftop, Nasr al-Ghurab had dragged himself into position despite a flayed and butchered thigh. He whipped out a cutla.s.s, threw his good leg over the parapet, shouted "Allahu Akbar!" and fell into the inferno, landing on two musketeers, crushing one and cutting the other in half.

At the same moment, Jack saw movement down the left fork of the Y, which had not figured much into the battle as it led to a place directly in front of the musketeers. But all of a sudden a lone man on horseback was galloping across that s.p.a.ce: It was Excellentissimo Domino Jeronimo Alejandro Penasco de Halcones Quinto, mounting a one-man cavalry charge on his Arab steed. He almost reached the enemy without suffering any injuries, for he had timed his charge carefully, and none of the musketeers were in position to fire. But as he galloped the last few yards, screaming "Estremaduras!" a shower of blood erupted from his back; some officer, perhaps, had shot him with a pistol. The horse was. .h.i.t, too, and went down on its knees. This would have pitched any other man out of the saddle, but Jeronimo seemed to be ready for it. As he flew out of the saddle he shoved off with both feet, pitching his hindquarters upwards; tucked his head under; landed hard on one shoulder, and rolled completely over in a somersault. In the same continuous movement he sprang up to his feet, drew his rapier, and drove it all the way through the body of the officer who had shot him. "How do you like that, eh? El Torbellino made me practice that one until I p.i.s.sed blood; and then he made me practice it some more until I got it right!" He pulled out the rapier and slashed its edge through the throat of another Frenchman who was coming up from one side. "Now you will learn that a man of Estremaduras can fight better when he is bleeding to death than a Frenchman in the pink of health! I judge that I have sixty seconds to live, which-" plunging his rapier into a a musketeer's neck "-should give me more than enough time to-" cutting another musketeer's throat "-kill a dozen of you-four so far-" he now revealed a dagger in the other hand, and stabbed a fleeing musketeer in the back "-make it five!"

But then several musketeers finally converged on El Desamparado, realizing that there was no escape from the man unless they killed him, and plunged their bayonets into his body.

"Yevgeny!" Jack shouted, for the Russian was only a few yards away from him, lying on his back in the street as if asleep. "We will be back with the heavy carts in a minute to get you."

Then Jack, Padraig, the Nubian, and Gabriel Goto charged the barricade four abreast, and got through what was left of it with no difficulty. Padraig stayed behind to batter the surviving musketeers into submission with a quarter-staff, and to pick over their bodies for better weapons. Above them, several of Nyazi's clansmen were charging across the rooftops, having overcome the Janissaries up there.

They came into the rear of the formation of musketeers that had been blocking the main street. At a glance Jack could not tell whether El Desamparado had slain his full quota of a dozen; but it was obvious that he would not slay any more. The rest were milling around, out of formation, and so Jack and his comrades simply discharged all of their remaining loaded firearms into their midst and then fell upon them with swords. The ones who survived all of this stumbled back over the bodies of El Desamparado and his victims and retreated into the side-street that had formed the left fork of the Y, where the men of Nyazi's clan were able to rain stones and a few musket-b.a.l.l.s on their heads.

Finally, now, the clansmen of Nyazi were able to bring the horses out of the stable-yard and hitch them to the gold-wagons, though various dragoons, musketeers, and Janissaries continued to hara.s.s them from all around; and now the thieves of Cairo were beginning to make their presence known, too. Flocks of them began to coalesce in doorways and corners, hidden by the greedy shadows of late afternoon, and made occasional sorties into the light in the hope of fetching some gold. In spite of this, within a quarter of an hour they were able to drive away from the stables-a cyclone of flame now-with four of the original six gold-carts.

Jack and Gabriel Goto were riding on the last of these, supposedly to act as a rear-guard. But both of them had another errand in mind as well. When they came abreast of the side-street where the barricade had been exploded, they reined in the cart-horse, jumped off, and ran up to recover Yevgeny.

Because of the smoldering debris that half-choked the street, they could not see the place where he had fallen until they were almost upon it. But then they found nothing except a wide smear of gore. Yevgeny's blood had outlined the paving-stones in narrow red lines as it trickled between them, seeking the gutter. But Yevgeny himself was nowhere to be seen. The only other traces of him that remained were his left hand, which had been shot off, and a few rude characters drawn in blood on the pavement. An uneven line of b.l.o.o.d.y footsteps meandered up the street toward the stables, and disappeared into dust and smoke.

"Can you read it?" Jack asked Gabriel.

"It says, 'Go the long way round,' " Gabriel answered.

"What the h.e.l.l does that mean?"

"Specifically? I do not know. Generally? It suggests that he will go some other other way." way."

"Spoken like a Jesuit."

"He has gone that that way," said Gabriel, pointing toward the caravanserai, "and we must go way," said Gabriel, pointing toward the caravanserai, "and we must go this. this." Pointing back towards the gold-carts.

"We are needed there anyway," Jack said, breaking into a run. For their cart had already come under attack from a mixed mob of thieves, Vagabonds, Janissaries, and French soldiers. The appearance of Jack and Gabriel on their flank, b.l.o.o.d.y sabers held high, got rid of most of them. But looters better armed and more determined were close behind them, and so Jack and Gabriel and a few of Nyazi's men rattled the half-mile down to the ca.n.a.l hotly pursued, though at a prudent distance, by a sort of wolf-pack.

At the foot of the street where it gave way to the ca.n.a.l, Mr. Foot, Vrej, Surendranath, and van Hoek were waiting-looking as if they had been through some adventures of their own this afternoon. They had thrown a heavy platform across the gap between the quay and the river-boat, and the other three gold-carts had already rumbled across it, spilling many of their contents on the deck.

Parked to one side of the street was a humble-looking hay-wain, harnessed to a camel. As the last cart, carrying Jack and Gabriel, jounced past it, a whip cracked and this vehicle bolted out into the middle of the street. By this point nothing could have prevented the gold-cart from reaching the platform, so Jack vaulted off of it, and turned round to face the hay-wain, antic.i.p.ating some sort of attack. But by the time he had recovered his balance, the hay-wain had stopped in the middle of the street, directly in the path of the pursuing horde. The driver (Nyazi!) and another man (Moseh!) jumped off and chocked its wheels there, and at the same time the pile of hay on the cart's back seemed to come alive; most of the load showered into the street. Revealed were a long tubular black object (a cannon!) and, clambering to his feet next to it, a black man (Dappa!).

Now in a way this was not surprising, for it was all a part of the plan-they'd spent all of yesterday buying the d.a.m.ned piece. In another way it was, was, for it was supposed to have been set up at dockside, loaded, aimed, and ready to be fired. Instead of which it had just gotten here- for it was supposed to have been set up at dockside, loaded, aimed, and ready to be fired. Instead of which it had just gotten here-in the nick of time, Jack thought, Jack thought, if it had been loaded. if it had been loaded. But Dappa, rather than jamming a torch against its touch-hole, now began to rummage through a clanking a.s.sortment of implements strewn about his feet, while from time to time casting a glance up the length of the street to (at first) count, and (presently) estimate the number of heavily armed, screaming men sprinting their way. But Dappa, rather than jamming a torch against its touch-hole, now began to rummage through a clanking a.s.sortment of implements strewn about his feet, while from time to time casting a glance up the length of the street to (at first) count, and (presently) estimate the number of heavily armed, screaming men sprinting their way.

"I have not done this before," he announced, fishing out, and inspecting, a long, rusty pick, "but have had it all explained to me, by men who have."

"Men who have lost sea-battles and been taken as galley-slaves," Jack added.

Dappa brushed hay from the b.u.t.t of the cannon and shoved the pick into the touch-hole.

"Help load the boat!" Jack screamed at Moseh and Nyazi. To Dappa he suggested, "For Christ's sake, don't worry about clearing the b.l.o.o.d.y touch-hole!"

Dappa returned, "If you'd be so good as to get the tampion out of my way?"

Jack scurried around to the muzzle-side of the wagon, turned his back to the on-rushing horde-which was not a thing that came naturally to him-reached up, and yanked out a round wooden bung that had been stuffed into the gun's muzzle. It was shot out of his hand by a pistol-ball.

Dappa had an arrow through his sleeve, though not, apparently, through his arm. He was regarding a long-handled scoop. "As you are in such a hurry today," he announced, "we shall dispense with the customary procedure of swabbing out the barrel." As he spoke he shoved the scoop into some crunchy-sounding receptacle, which was hidden from Jack's view by the side of the wagon, and raised it up heaped with coa.r.s.e black powder. Balancing this in one hand he produced a copper-bladed spatula in the other, and leveled the powder-charge; then, moving with utmost deliberation so as not to spill any, he turned the scoop end-for-end and introduced it to the cannon's muzzle, then, slowly at first, but quicker as he went along, hand-over-handed it until the entirety of its long handle had been swallowed by the barrel. He then gave it a half rotation to disgorge its load, and began gingerly to extract it.

Jack had until now been caught between a desire to make sure that Dappa didn't do it wrong, and a natural concern for what was approaching. To describe the foremost of the attackers as irregulars irregulars would have been to give far too high an estimate of their discipline, motives, armaments, and appearance; they were thieves, avaricious bystanders, micro-ethnic-groups, and a few Janissaries who had broken ranks when they had caught sight of gold bars. Most of these had faltered when they had caught sight of the cannon. But awareness had now propagated up the street that it was still in the process of being loaded. Meanwhile the French platoons had re-formed and begun marching in good order down the hill, reaming the street clear in a manner very like what the gun-swab would have done to the barrel of the cannon, had Dappa not elected to omit that step. The emboldened rabble swarming out from their places of concealment mingled together with the not-so-emboldened ones being rammed down the street by this piston of French troops and all joined together into- would have been to give far too high an estimate of their discipline, motives, armaments, and appearance; they were thieves, avaricious bystanders, micro-ethnic-groups, and a few Janissaries who had broken ranks when they had caught sight of gold bars. Most of these had faltered when they had caught sight of the cannon. But awareness had now propagated up the street that it was still in the process of being loaded. Meanwhile the French platoons had re-formed and begun marching in good order down the hill, reaming the street clear in a manner very like what the gun-swab would have done to the barrel of the cannon, had Dappa not elected to omit that step. The emboldened rabble swarming out from their places of concealment mingled together with the not-so-emboldened ones being rammed down the street by this piston of French troops and all joined together into- "An avalanche, or so 'tis claimed by certain Alpine galeriens Alpine galeriens I have rowed with, may be triggered by the sound of cannon-fire." Dappa had torn off his shirt, wadded it up, and stuffed it down the barrel, and was now feeding in double handfuls of shot. He followed that with his turban, and finally took up his long rammer. "I wonder if we may I have rowed with, may be triggered by the sound of cannon-fire." Dappa had torn off his shirt, wadded it up, and stuffed it down the barrel, and was now feeding in double handfuls of shot. He followed that with his turban, and finally took up his long rammer. "I wonder if we may halt halt an avalanche thus." His long dreadlocks, freed from the imprisonment of the head-wrap, fell about his face as he bent forward to get the pad of the rammer into the muzzle. an avalanche thus." His long dreadlocks, freed from the imprisonment of the head-wrap, fell about his face as he bent forward to get the pad of the rammer into the muzzle.

"Don't bother taking the rammer out-at this range 'twill serve as a javelin," was Jack's last advice to Dappa, as he turned his back and began to stalk up the hill towards the Mobb. For there were one or two fleet-footed scimitar-swingers, far ahead of the pack, who might arrive soon enough to interfere with the final steps of the rite.

"Where did that horn of priming-powder get to?" Dappa wondered.

Jack feinted left left long enough to convince the long enough to convince the hashishin hashishin on the on the right right that he had a clear path to Dappa; then Jack lashed out with a foot and tripped him as he ran by. Moseh emerged from nearer to the quay. He had located another boarding axe, his tongue was coming out, he had an eye on the man who'd just planted his face in the street, and he was followed by Nyazi and Gabriel Goto, who had been watching all of these developments with interest and decided to leave off ship-loading work. that he had a clear path to Dappa; then Jack lashed out with a foot and tripped him as he ran by. Moseh emerged from nearer to the quay. He had located another boarding axe, his tongue was coming out, he had an eye on the man who'd just planted his face in the street, and he was followed by Nyazi and Gabriel Goto, who had been watching all of these developments with interest and decided to leave off ship-loading work.

A scimitar slashed downward from the left; Jack angled it off the back of his blade. A tapping sound from behind suggested that Dappa had found his priming-powder and was getting it into the touch-hole.

"Has anyone got a light?" Dappa said.

Jack b.u.t.t-stroked his opponent across the jaw with the guard of his sword and yanked a discharged pistol out of the fellow's waist-band, then turned round and underhanded it across five or six yards of empty s.p.a.ce to Dappa. Which might have got him killed, as it entailed turning his back on his opponent; but the latter knew what was good for him, and prudently flung himself down.

As did Jack; and (as he saw now, turning his head to look up the hill) as did nearly everyone else. A small number of utterly unhinged maniacs kept running toward them. Jack got to his feet, making sure he was well out of the way of the cannon's muzzle, and backed up to the wagon. Nyazi, Moseh, and Gabriel Goto closed ranks around him.

There followed a bit of a standoff. Crazed hashishin hashishin aside, no one in the street could move as long as Dappa had them under his gun. But as soon as Dappa fired it, he'd be defenseless, and they'd be swarmed under. Pot-shots whistled their way from a few doorways up the street; Dappa squatted down, but held his ground at the cannon's breech. aside, no one in the street could move as long as Dappa had them under his gun. But as soon as Dappa fired it, he'd be defenseless, and they'd be swarmed under. Pot-shots whistled their way from a few doorways up the street; Dappa squatted down, but held his ground at the cannon's breech.

It bought them the time they needed, anyway. "All aboard!" called van Hoek-a bit late, as the boat had already cast off lines, and the gap between it and the quay was beginning to widen. "Now!" called Dappa. Jack, Nyazi, Gabriel Goto, and Moseh all turned and ran for it. Dappa stayed behind. The French regulars leapt to their feet and made for him double-time. Dappa c.o.c.ked the pistol, held its pan above the small powder-filled depression that surrounded the orifice of the cannon's touch-hole, and pulled the trigger. Sparks showered and, like stars going behind clouds, were swallowed in a plume of smoke. A spurt of flame two fathoms long shot from the cannon's muzzle, driving the ram-rod, some pounds of buckshot, and half of Dappa's clothing up the length of the street. The riot that came his way a moment later suggested that none of it had been very effective. But by the time the Mobb engulfed the cannon, Dappa was sprinting down the quay. He jumped for it, caromed off the gunwale, and fell into the Nile; but scarcely had time to get wet before oars had been thrust into the water for him to grab onto. They pulled him aboard. Everyone went flat on the decks as the French soldiers discharged their muskets, once, in their general direction. Then they pa.s.sed out of sight and out of range.

"What went awry?" van Hoek asked.

"Our escape-route was blocked by a company of French musketeers," Jack said.

"Fancy that," van Hoek muttered.

"Jeronimo and both of our Turks are dead."

"The rais rais?"

"You heard me-he is dead, and now you are our Captain," Jack said.

"Yevgeny?"

"He dragged himself away to die. I suspect he did not want to be a burden on the rest of us," Jack said.

"That is hard news," van Hoek said, gripping his bandaged hand and squeezing it.

"It is noteworthy that both of the Turks were killed," said Vrej Esphahnian, who had overheard most of this. "More than likely one of them betrayed us; the Pasha in Algiers probably planned the whole thing, from the beginning, as a way to screw the Investor out of his share."

"The rais rais seemed very surprised when he was shot by a Janissary," Jack allowed. seemed very surprised when he was shot by a Janissary," Jack allowed.

"It must have been part of the Turks' plan," said Vrej. "They would want to slay the traitor first of all, so that he would not tell the tale."

Upstream, a Turkish war-galley had been dispatched from Giza to pursue them. But it had feeble hope of catching them, for the Nile was not a wide river even at this time of the year, and such width as it had was choked by a jam of slow-moving grain barges.

Night fell as they were approaching the great fork of the Nile. They took the Rosetta branch to throw off their landward pursuers, then cut east across the Delta, following small ca.n.a.ls, and got across to the Damietta Fork by poling the boat over an expanse of flooded fields several miles wide. By the time the sun rose the following morning, they had struck their masts, and anything else that projected more than six feet above the waterline, and were surrounded by tall reeds in the marshy expanses to the east.

At the end of that day they made rendezvous with a small caravan of Nyazi's people, and there a share of the gold was loaded onto their camels. Nyazi and the Nubian both said their farewells to the Cabal at this point and struck out for the south, Nyazi visibly excited at the thought of a reunion with his forty wives, and the Nubian trusting to fortune to get him back to the country from which he had been abducted.

Eastwards on the boat continued Jack, Mr. Foot, Dappa, Monsieur Arlanc, Padraig Tallow, Vrej Esphahnian, Surendranath, and Gabriel Goto, with van Hoek as their captain and Moseh as their designated Prophet. It was a role in which he seemed uncomfortable until one day, after many wanderings and lesser adventures, they came to a place where the reeds parted into something that could only be the Red Sea.

There Moseh stood in the bow of the boat, lit up by the rising sun, and spoke a few momentous words in half-remembered Hebrew-prompting Jack to say, "Before you part the waters, there, please keep in mind that we're on a boat, and have nothing to gain from being left high and dry."

Van Hoek ordered the masts stepped and the sails raised, and they set a course for Mocha and the Orient, free men all.

Book 5

The Juncto

Eliza to Leibniz LATE SEPTEMBER 1690.

Doctor, I have been a few days in Juvisy, a town on the left bank of the Seine, south of Paris, where Monsieur Rossignol has a chateau. This is a natural stopping-place for one who has come up from the south. I have been in Lyon for almost a month tending to some business, and am just now returning to ile-de-France. Juvisy is a sort of fork in the road; thence one may follow the river into Paris, or else strike cross-country westwards toward Versailles. Monsieur Rossignol placed his stables and staff at my disposal so that my little household, and our brief train of horses and carriages, could refresh themselves while they waited for me to make up my mind. Jean-Jacques is at Versailles, and I have not seen him since I departed for Lyon, and so my heart told me to go that way; but there is much to be done in Paris, and so my head bid me go thither. I am going to Paris. I have been a few days in Juvisy, a town on the left bank of the Seine, south of Paris, where Monsieur Rossignol has a chateau. This is a natural stopping-place for one who has come up from the south. I have been in Lyon for almost a month tending to some business, and am just now returning to ile-de-France. Juvisy is a sort of fork in the road; thence one may follow the river into Paris, or else strike cross-country westwards toward Versailles. Monsieur Rossignol placed his stables and staff at my disposal so that my little household, and our brief train of horses and carriages, could refresh themselves while they waited for me to make up my mind. Jean-Jacques is at Versailles, and I have not seen him since I departed for Lyon, and so my heart told me to go that way; but there is much to be done in Paris, and so my head bid me go thither. I am going to Paris.When I woke up this morning, the estate was strangely quiet. I drew a blanket over my shoulders and went to the windows, where I beheld a grotesque scene: during the night the garden had become matted with unsightly lumps of damp straw. The gardeners, sensing an unseasonable drop in temperature yester evening, had been out late into the night packing straw around the smaller and more delicate plants, like nurses tucking their babies in under duvets. All was now dusted with silver. Taller plants, such as the roses, had frozen through. The little pools around the fountains were glazed, and the statues had picked up a frosty patina that gave keen definition to their rippling muscles and flowing garments. The place was quiet as a graveyard, for the workmen, having toiled half the night to erect ramparts of straw against the invading cold, were all sleeping late.It was quite beautiful, especially when the sun came up over the hills beyond the Seine and suffused all of that frost with a cool peach-colored light. But of course for such cold to strike France in September is monstrous-it is like a comet or a two-headed baby. Spring was late in coming this year. France's hopes for an adequate harvest depended on a long, warm autumn. As much as I admired the beauty of those frosted roses, I knew that grain, apples, vines, and vegetables all over France must have suffered the same fate. I sent word to my staff to prepare for an early departure, then tarried in M. Rossignol's bedchamber only long enough to bid him a memorable farewell. Now-as you will have discerned from my wretched penmanship-we are in the carriage, rattling up the Left Bank into Paris.During my earlier life here, I'd have been beside myself, for this early frost would have sent the commodities markets into violent motion, and it would have been of the highest importance for me to get instructions to Amsterdam. As matters stand, my responsibilities are more profound, but less immediate. Money surges and courses through this realm in the most inscrutable ways. I suppose one could construct some sort of strained a.n.a.logy-Paris is the heart, and Lyons the lungs, or something-but in any event, the system does not work, and money does not flow, unless people make make it work, and I have become one of those people. At first I worked mostly for the it work, and I have become one of those people. At first I worked mostly for the Compagnie du Nord, Compagnie du Nord, which imports Baltic timber to Dunkerque. Through this I came to know more than I should care to about how which imports Baltic timber to Dunkerque. Through this I came to know more than I should care to about how le Roi le Roi finances the war. Lately I have also become embroiled in some scheme of M. le duc d'Arcachon whose details remain vague. It was the latter that took me down to Lyon; for I traveled down there in August in the company of the Duke himself. He installed me in a finances the war. Lately I have also become embroiled in some scheme of M. le duc d'Arcachon whose details remain vague. It was the latter that took me down to Lyon; for I traveled down there in August in the company of the Duke himself. He installed me in a pied-a-terre pied-a-terre that he maintains in that city, then journeyed onwards to Ma.r.s.eille where he planned to embark on his that he maintains in that city, then journeyed onwards to Ma.r.s.eille where he planned to embark on his jacht jacht for points south. for points south.We are coming up on the University already, we move too fast, the streets are empty as if the whole city mourns for the lost harvest. All is frozen except for we who move quickly so as not to freeze. Soon we shall cross the river and reach the hotel particulier hotel particulier of Arcachon, and I have not got to the main points of my letter yet. Quickly then: of Arcachon, and I have not got to the main points of my letter yet. Quickly then: What do you hear from Sophie concerning Liselotte, or, as she is addressed here, Madame? For a few weeks, two years ago, she and I were close. Indeed I was prepared to jump in bed with her if she gave me the sign; but contrary to many steamy rumors, it never happened-she wanted my services as a spy, not as a lover. Since I returned to Versailles, she and I have had no contact at all.She is a lonely woman. Her husband the King's brother is a h.o.m.os.e.xual, and she is a lesbian. So far, so good; but where Monsieur gets to indulge in as many lovers as he pleases, Madame must find love furtively. Monsieur, even though he does not desire Madame, is jealous of her, and persecutes and sends away her lovers.If Court gossip has any truth in it, Madame had become close, in recent years, to the Dauphine. This is not to say that they were lovers, for the Dauphine had been having an affair with her maid, a Piedmontese woman, and was said to be quite faithful to her. But as birds of a feather flock together, Madame and the Dauphine, the maid, and a few other like-minded women had formed a little clique centered upon the Private Cabinet of the Dauphine's Apartment, just next to the Dauphin's quaint little library on the ground floor of the south wing.I was aware of this two years ago, though I never saw the place with my own eyes. For I was engaged in those days as a tutor of the niece of M. la d.u.c.h.esse d'Oyonnax, who was lady-in-waiting to the Dauphine. By no means was the d.u.c.h.ess ever part of this little circle of c.l.i.toristes, c.l.i.toristes, for she is clearly an admirer of young men. But she knew of it, and was in and out of the Private Cabinet all the time, waiting on these people, attending their levees and couchees and so on. for she is clearly an admirer of young men. But she knew of it, and was in and out of the Private Cabinet all the time, waiting on these people, attending their levees and couchees and so on.Now as you must have heard, a few months ago the Dauphine died suddenly. Of course, whenever anyone dies suddenly here, foul play is suspected, especially if the decedent was close to M. la d.u.c.h.esse d'Oyonnax. Over the summer, everyone was expecting the Dauphin to marry Oyonnax, which would have made her the next Queen of France; but instead he has secretly married his former mistress-the maid-of-honor of his half-brother. Not a very prestigious match!So nothing is clear. Those who cannot rid their minds of the conviction that the Dauphine must have been poisoned by Oyonnax, have had to develop ever more fanciful hypotheses: that there is some secret understanding between her and the Dauphin, for example, that will bring her a Prince of the Blood as her husband, &c., &c.Personally, while harboring no illusions as to the moral character of Oyonnax, I doubt that she murdered the Dauphine, because she is too clever to do anything so obvious, and because it has deprived her of one of the most prestigious stations at Court: lady-in-waiting to the next Queen. But I cannot help but wonder as to the state of mind of poor Liselotte, who has seen her most intimate social circle exploded, and no longer has a comfortable haven within the Palace. I believe that Oyonnax may have positioned herself so as to be drawn into that vacuum. I wonder if Madame writes to Sophie about this. I could simply ask M. Rossignol, who reads all her letters, but I don't wish to abuse my position as his mistress-not yet, anyway! Speaking of M. Rossignol:Though my stay at Chateau Juvisy was cut short by the frost, I was able to notice several books on his library table, written in a queer alphabet that I recognized dimly from my time in Constantinople but could not quite place. I asked him about it, and he said it was Armenian. This struck me as funny since I had supposed that he would have his hands quite full with all of the cyphers in French, Spanish, Latin, German, &c., without having to look so far afield.He explained that M. le duc d'Arcachon, prior to his departure for Ma.r.s.eille in August, had made an unusual request of the Cabinet Noir: Cabinet Noir: namely, that they examine with particular care any letters originating from a Spanish town called Sanlucar de Barrameda during the first week of August. The namely, that they examine with particular care any letters originating from a Spanish town called Sanlucar de Barrameda during the first week of August. The Cabinet Cabinet had a.s.sented readily, knowing that letters came into France from that part of the world only rarely, and that most were grubby notes from homesick sailors. had a.s.sented readily, knowing that letters came into France from that part of the world only rarely, and that most were grubby notes from homesick sailors.But oddly enough, a letter had come across M. Rossignol's desk, apparently postmarked from Sanlucar de Barrameda around the fifth day of August. A strange heathenish-looking thing it had been, apparently penned and sealed in some Mahometan place and transported none too gently across the sea to Sanlucar. It was written in Armenian, and it was addressed to an Armenian family in Paris. The address given was the Bastille.As bizarre, as striking as this was, even I might have let it pa.s.s without further notice had it not been for the fact that on the sixth of August a remarkable act of piracy is said to have taken place off Sanlucar: as you may have heard, a band of Barbary Corsairs, disguised as galley-slaves, boarded a ship recently returned from New Spain and made off with some silver. I am certain that M. le duc d'Arcachon is somehow implicated.[Written later in a more legible hand]We have reached the Paris dwelling of the de Lavardacs, the Hotel d'Arcachon, and I am now at a proper writing-desk, as you can see.To finish that matter of the Armenian letter: I know that you, Doctor, have an interest in strange systems of writing, and that you are in charge of a great library. If you have anything on the Armenian language, I invite you to correspond with M. Rossignol. For though he is fascinated by this letter, he can do very little with it. He had one of his clerks make an accurate copy of the thing, then re-sealed it, and has been trying to track down any surviving addressees, in hopes that he may deliver it to them. If they are alive, and they choose to write back, M. Rossignol will inspect their letter and try to glean more clews as to the nature of the cypher (if any) they are using. Speaking of letters, I must get this one posted today, and so let me raise one more matter. This concerns Sophie's banker, Lothar von Hacklheber.I saw Lothar recently in Lyon. I did not wish wish to see him, but he was difficult to evade. Both of us had been invited to dinner at the home of a prominent member of the to see him, but he was difficult to evade. Both of us had been invited to dinner at the home of a prominent member of the Depot. Depot. For various reasons I could not refuse the invitation; I suspect that Lothar orchestrated the whole affair. For various reasons I could not refuse the invitation; I suspect that Lothar orchestrated the whole affair.To shorten this account somewhat, I shall tell you now what I only divined later. For as my driver and footmen would be tarrying in the stables for some hours with Lothar's, I had given instructions to mine mine that they should find out all that they could from that they should find out all that they could from his. his. It had become obvious that Lothar was trying to dig up information concerning me, and I reckoned that turnabout was fair play. Of course his grooms and drivers could know nothing of what Lothar had been thinking or doing, but they would at least know where he had gone and when. It had become obvious that Lothar was trying to dig up information concerning me, and I reckoned that turnabout was fair play. Of course his grooms and drivers could know nothing of what Lothar had been thinking or doing, but they would at least know where he had gone and when.Through this channel, I learned that Lothar had set out from Leipzig in July with a large train, including a praetorian guard of mercenaries, and made his way down to Cadiz, where he had transacted certain business; but then he had withdrawn up the coast to Sanlucar de Barrameda, where he had apparently expected some momentous transaction to come off during the first week of August. But something had gone wrong. He had flown into a rage and made a tremendous commotion, despatching runners and spies in all directions. After a few days he had given orders for the whole train to ride up to Arcachon, which is a long hard journey over land; but they had done it. Lothar meanwhile accomplished the same journey in a hired barque, so that he was waiting for them when they arrived at Arcachon late in August. Immediately he announced that they would turn around and make for Ma.r.s.eille. Which they did, at the cost of several horses and one man; but they reached the place a few days too late-late for what, what, these informants knew not-and so they withdrew up the Rhone to Lyon, which is a place where Lothar is much more comfortable. Of course I was already in Lyon, having been dropped off there by M. le duc d'Arcachon a week earlier; from which it was easy enough to guess that the person Lothar had hoped, but failed, to intercept in Ma.r.s.eille had been M. le duc. Now perhaps it was his intention to tarry in Lyon, and wait for the return of d'Arcachon. I was going to add "like a spider in his web" or some such expression, but it struck me as absurd, given that Lothar is a mere baron, and a foreigner from a country with which we are at war, while the duc d'Arcachon is a Peer, and one of the most important men in France. I stayed my quill, as it would seem ludicrous to liken this obscure and outlandish Baron to a spider, and the duc d'Arcachon to a fly. And yet these informants knew not-and so they withdrew up the Rhone to Lyon, which is a place where Lothar is much more comfortable. Of course I was already in Lyon, having been dropped off there by M. le duc d'Arcachon a week earlier; from which it was easy enough to guess that the person Lothar had hoped, but failed, to intercept in Ma.r.s.eille had been M. le duc. Now perhaps it was his intention to tarry in Lyon, and wait for the return of d'Arcachon. I was going to add "like a spider in his web" or some such expression, but it struck me as absurd, given that Lothar is a mere baron, and a foreigner from a country with which we are at war, while the duc d'Arcachon is a Peer, and one of the most important men in France. I stayed my quill, as it would seem ludicrous to liken this obscure and outlandish Baron to a spider, and the duc d'Arcachon to a fly. And yet in person in person Lothar is much more formidable than the duc. At the House of Huygens I have seen a spider through a magnifying-gla.s.s, and Lothar, with his round abdomen and his ghastly pox-marked face, looked more like it than any other human I have beheld. Spider-like was he in the way that he dominated the dinner-table, for it seemed that every other person in the room was noosed to a silken cord whose end was gripped in his dirty ink-stained mitt, so that when he wanted some answer from someone he need only give them a jerk. He was absurd in his determination to find out from me precisely Lothar is much more formidable than the duc. At the House of Huygens I have seen a spider through a magnifying-gla.s.s, and Lothar, with his round abdomen and his ghastly pox-marked face, looked more like it than any other human I have beheld. Spider-like was he in the way that he dominated the dinner-table, for it seemed that every other person in the room was noosed to a silken cord whose end was gripped in his dirty ink-stained mitt, so that when he wanted some answer from someone he need only give them a jerk. He was absurd in his determination to find out from me precisely when when M. le duc would be returning from his Mediterranean cruise. Every time I beat back one of his forays he would retreat, scamper around, and attack from a new quarter. Truly it was like wrestling with an eight-legged monster. It demanded all of my wits not to divulge anything, or to tumble into one of his verbal traps. I was tired, having spent the day meeting with one of Lothar's compet.i.tors discussing certain very complicated arrangements. I had gone to this dinner naively expecting persiflage. Instead I was being grilled by this ruthless and relentless man, who was like some Jesuit of the Inquisition in his acute perception of any evasions or contradictions in my answers. It is a good thing I had come alone, or else whatever gentleman had escorted me should have been honor-bound to challenge Lothar to a duel. As it was, our host M. le duc would be returning from his Mediterranean cruise. Every time I beat back one of his forays he would retreat, scamper around, and attack from a new quarter. Truly it was like wrestling with an eight-legged monster. It demanded all of my wits not to divulge anything, or to tumble into one of his verbal traps. I was tired, having spent the day meeting with one of Lothar's compet.i.tors discussing certain very complicated arrangements. I had gone to this dinner naively expecting persiflage. Instead I was being grilled by this ruthless and relentless man, who was like some Jesuit of the Inquisition in his acute perception of any evasions or contradictions in my answers. It is a good thing I had come alone, or else whatever gentleman had escorted me should have been honor-bound to challenge Lothar to a duel. As it was, our host almost almost did, so shocked was he by the way that Lothar was ruining his dinner-party. But I believe that even this was a sort of message that Lothar intended to send to me, and through me to the duc: that so angry was he over what had occurred off Sanlucar de Barrameda that he considered himself in a state akin to war, in which normal standards of behavior were cast aside. did, so shocked was he by the way that Lothar was ruining his dinner-party. But I believe that even this was a sort of message that Lothar intended to send to me, and through me to the duc: that so angry was he over what had occurred off Sanlucar de Barrameda that he considered himself in a state akin to war, in which normal standards of behavior were cast aside.You are probably terrified, Doctor, that I am about to demand a formal apology of Lothar, and that I have designated you as the luckless messenger. Not so, for as I have told you, it is obvious that Lothar has no intention of apologizing for anything. Whatever M. le duc d'Arcachon took from him is more important than his reputation or even his honor. He was announcing as much by his behavior at dinner, and I doubt not that word of it has already gone out among all of the members of the Depot. Depot. The bankers I was dealing with there suddenly lost their nerve, and broke off negotiations with me-all except one, a Genoan with a very tough reputation, who is demanding a large rake-off "to cover the extraordinary precautions," and who insisted that a peculiar clause be inserted into the agreement: namely, that he would accept The bankers I was dealing with there suddenly lost their nerve, and broke off negotiations with me-all except one, a Genoan with a very tough reputation, who is demanding a large rake-off "to cover the extraordinary precautions," and who insisted that a peculiar clause be inserted into the agreement: namely, that he would accept silver, silver, but never but never gold. gold. I fear that in the end I failed utterly to keep Lothar at bay. I fear that in the end I failed utterly to keep Lothar at bay. How long will Mademoiselle be staying in Lyon? How long will Mademoiselle be staying in Lyon? I have no fixed plans, mein Herr. I have no fixed plans, mein Herr. But is it not true, mademoiselle, that a soiree is planned at the Hotel d'Arcachon on the fourteenth of October? But is it not true, mademoiselle, that a soiree is planned at the Hotel d'Arcachon on the fourteenth of October? How did you know of this, mein Herr? How did you know of this, mein Herr? How I know of it is none of your concern, mademoiselle-but that is a fixed plan, is it not? And so it is not truthful, is it, to a.s.sert, as you have just done, that you have no fixed plans? How I know of it is none of your concern, mademoiselle-but that is a fixed plan, is it not? And so it is not truthful, is it, to a.s.sert, as you have just done, that you have no fixed plans? And so on. Lothar knew more than he should have known, for he must have spies at Versailles or in Paris; and whenever he divulged some morsel of information he had thus acquired, it was as if he had punched me in the stomach. I could not hold my own against him. He must have known, by the end of the dinner, that le duc would be pa.s.sing through Lyon at some time during the first or second week of October. He is down there now, I am certain, waiting; and I have sent word, every way I know how, to the naval authorities in Ma.r.s.eille, that when le duc returns he must take great care. And so on. Lothar knew more than he should have known, for he must have spies at Versailles or in Paris; and whenever he divulged some morsel of information he had thus acquired, it was as if he had punched me in the stomach. I could not hold my own against him. He must have known, by the end of the dinner, that le duc would be pa.s.sing through Lyon at some time during the first or second week of October. He is down there now, I am certain, waiting; and I have sent word, every way I know how, to the naval authorities in Ma.r.s.eille, that when le duc returns he must take great care.Thus forewarned, le duc ought to be perfectly safe; for how much power can one Saxon baron wield, in Lyon? Yet Lothar's bizarre confidence jangled my nerves.It was not until later, during my third round of negotiations with the said Genoan banker, that I began to get some inkling of what motivated Lothar, and how he knew so much. This banker-after a lengthy discussion of silver vs. gold-rolled his eyes and made some disparaging reference to Alchemists.Now, during that dreadful dinner, Lothar had, more than once, made some dismissive comment about M. le duc, along the lines of "He does not know what he has blundered into."On the admittedly fragile basis of these two remarks, I have developed a hypothesis-a vague one-that the ship that was looted off Sanlucar de Barrameda contained something of great importance to those-and I now number Lothar among them-who put stock in Alchemy. It appears that M. le duc d'Arcachon, in concert with his Turkish friends, has stolen that cargo-but perhaps they do not comprehend what it is. Now, all of the Alchemists are up in arms about it. This would explain how Lothar has come to be so well-informed as to what is happening in Versailles and in Paris, for many members of the Esoteric Brotherhood are to be found in both places, and perhaps Lothar has been getting despatches from them.I have seen you, Doctor, standing next to Lothar on the balcony of the House of the Golden Mercury in Leipzig. And it is well known that Lothar is banker to Sophie and Ernst August, your patrons. What can you tell me of this man and what motivates him? For most Alchemists are ninehammers and dilettantes; but if my hypothesis is correct, he he takes it seriously. takes it seriously.That is all for now. Members of this household are queued up six deep outside the door of this chamber, waiting for me to finish so that they can importune me to make this or that decision concerning the party planned for the fourteenth. Between now and then, I shall be absurdly busy. You shall not hear from me until it is all over, and then everything is going to be different; for on that evening, many dramatic changes may be expected. I can say no more now. When you read this, wish me luck.Eliza

Leibniz to Eliza EARLY OCTOBER 1690.

Mademoiselle, Please accept my apologies on behalf of all German barons. Please accept my apologies on behalf of all German barons.I have already told you the tale of how, when I was five years old, following my father's death, I went into his library and began to educate myself. This alarmed my teachers at the Nikolaischule, who prevailed upon my mother to lock me out. A local n.o.bleman became aware of this, and paid a call on my mother, and in the most gentlemanly way possible, yet with utmost gravity and firmness, made her see that the teachers in this case were fools. She unlocked the library.That n.o.bleman was Egon von Hacklheber. The year must have been 1651 or 1652-memory fades. I recall him as a silver-haired gentleman, a sort of long-lost, peregrine uncle of that family, who had spent most of his life in Bohemia, but who had turned up in Leipzig around 1630-driven there, one presumes, by the fortunes of what we now call the Thirty Years' War, but what in those days just seemed like an endless and mindless succession of atrocities.Shortly after he caused the library to be unlocked for me, Egon departed on a journey to the west, which was expected to last for several months, and to take him as far as England; but on a road in the Harz Mountains he was waylaid by robbers, and died. By the time his remains were found, they were nothing more than a skeleton, picked clean by ravens and ants, still clad in his cloak.Lothar had been born in 1630, the third son of that family. None of those boys had attended school. They had been raised within the household, and educated by tutors-some hired, others simply members of the family who possessed knowledge, and a willingness to impart it. Egon von Hacklheber, a man of exceptional erudition, who had traveled widely, had devoted an hour or two each day to educating the three von Hacklheber boys. Lothar had been his brightest pupil; for, being the youngest, he had to work hardest to keep up with his brothers.If you have done the arithmetic, you'll know that Lothar was in his early twenties when Egon departed on his fatal journey. By that time, dark days had fallen on that family, for smallpox had burned through Leipzig, taken the lives of the two older boys, and left Lothar-now the scion-mutilated as you have seen him. The death of his uncle Egon perfected Lothar's misery.Much later-rather recently, in fact-I became aware that Lothar maintains some peculiar notions as to what "really" happened. Lothar believes that Egon knew Alchemy-that he was, in fact, an adept of such power that he could heal the gravest illnesses, and even raise the dead. Yet he would not, or could not, save the lives of Lothar's two brothers, whom he loved almost as if they were his own sons. Egon had departed from Leipzig with a broken heart, with no intention of ever coming back. His death in the Harz might have been suicide. Or-again this is all according to the eccentric notions of Lothar-it might have been faked, to hide his own unnatural longevity.I believe that Lothar is simply out of his mind concerning this. The death of his brothers made him crazy in certain respects. Be that as it may, he believes in Alchemy, and phant'sies that if Egon had stayed in Leipzig a few years longer he might have imparted to Lothar the secrets of Creation. Lothar has not ceased to pursue those secrets himself, by his own methods, in the thirty-some years since.Now, as to the infamous d.u.c.h.ess of Oyonnax-

"I LEFT INSTRUCTIONS NOT LEFT INSTRUCTIONS NOT to be disturbed." to be disturbed."

"Please forgive me, mademoiselle," said the big Dutchwoman, in pa.s.sable French, "but it is Madame la d.u.c.h.esse d'Oyonnax, and she will not be put off."

"Then I do do forgive you, Brigitte, for she is a difficult case; I shall meet her presently and finish reading this letter later." forgive you, Brigitte, for she is a difficult case; I shall meet her presently and finish reading this letter later."

"By your leave, you shall have to finish it tomorrow, tomorrow, mademoiselle; for the guests arrive in a few hours, and we have not even begun with your hair yet." mademoiselle; for the guests arrive in a few hours, and we have not even begun with your hair yet."

"Very well-tomorrow then."

"Where shall I invite Madame la d.u.c.h.esse to wait for you?"

"The Pet.i.t Salon. Pet.i.t Salon. Unless-" Unless-"

"Madame la d.u.c.h.esse d'Arcachon is entertaining her cousine, cousine, the big one, in there." the big one, in there."

"The library then."

"Monsieur Rossignol is toiling over some eldritch Doc.u.ments in the library, my lady."

Eliza took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Tell me, then, Brigitte, where there might be a room in the Hotel Arcachon that is not crowded with early-arriving party-guests."

"Could you meet her in...the chapel?"

"Done! Give me a minute. And, Brigitte?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Is there any word of Monsieur le duc yet?"

"Not since the last time you asked, mademoiselle."

"THE J JACHT OF THE DUC OF THE DUC d'Arcachon was sighted approaching Ma.r.s.eille on the sixth of October. It was flying signal-flags ordering that fast horses and a coach must be made ready at dockside for immediate departure. That much we know from a messenger who was sent north immediately when everything I have just described to you was perceived, through a prospective-gla.s.s, from a steeple in Ma.r.s.eille," Eliza said. "This news came to us early this morning. We can only a.s.sume that d'Arcachon was sighted approaching Ma.r.s.eille on the sixth of October. It was flying signal-flags ordering that fast horses and a coach must be made ready at dockside for immediate departure. That much we know from a messenger who was sent north immediately when everything I have just described to you was perceived, through a prospective-gla.s.s, from a steeple in Ma.r.s.eille," Eliza said. "This news came to us early this morning. We can only a.s.sume that le duc le duc himself is a few hours behind, and will show up at any moment; but it is not to be expected that anyone in this household could know any more than that." himself is a few hours behind, and will show up at any moment; but it is not to be expected that anyone in this household could know any more than that."

"Monsieur le comte de Pontchartrain will be disappointed," said the d.u.c.h.ess of Oyonnax in a bemused way. She nodded at a page, who bowed, backed out of the chapel, then pivoted on the ball of one foot and bolted. Eliza, comtesse de la Zeur, and Marie-Adelaide de Crepy, d.u.c.h.esse d'Oyonnax, were now alone in the private chapel of the de Lavardacs. Though Oyonnax, never one to leave anything to chance, took the precaution of opening the doors of the little confessional in the back, to verify that it was empty.

The chapel occupied a corner of the property. Public streets ran along the front, or altar end, and along one of the sides. That side had several stained-gla.s.s windows, tall and narrow to fetch a bit of light from the sky. These had small cas.e.m.e.nts down below, which were normally closed to block the noise and smell of the street beyond; but Oyonnax opened two of them. Cold air came in, which scarcely mattered considering the tonnage of clothing that each of these women was wearing. A lot of noise came in, too. Eliza supposed that this was a further precaution against their being overheard by any eavesdroppers who might be pressing ears against doors. But if Oyonnax was the sort to worry about such things, then this chapel was a comfortable place for her. It contained no furniture-no pews-just a rough stone floor, and she had already verified that there was no one crouching behind the little altar. The chapel was hundreds of years older than any other part of the compound. It was unfashionably Gothick, dim, and gloomy, and probably would have been knocked down long ago and replaced with something Barock were it not for the windows and the altar-piece (which were said to be priceless treasures) and the fourth left metatarsal bone of Saint Louis (which was embedded in a golden reliquary cemented into the wall).

"Pontchartrain sent no fewer than three messages here this morning, requesting the latest news," said Eliza, "but I did not know the controleur-general controleur-general had had also also contacted contacted you, you, my lady." my lady."

"His curiosity on the matter presumably reflects that of the King."

"It does not surprise me that the King should be so keen to know the whereabouts of his Grand Admiral. But would it not be more proper for such inquiries to be routed through the Secretary of State for the Navy?"

The d.u.c.h.ess of Oyonnax had paused by one of the open cas.e.m.e.nts and levered it mostly closed, making of it a sort of horizontal gun-slit through which she could peer at the street. But she turned away from it now and peered at Eliza for a few moments, then announced: "I am sorry. I supposed you might have known. Monsieur le marquis de Seignelay has cancer. He is very ill of it, and no longer able to fulfill his obligations to his majesty's Navy."

"No wonder the King is so intent on this, then-for they say that the Duke of Marlborough has landed in force in the South of Ireland."

"Your news is stale. Marlborough has already taken Cork, and Kinsale is expected to fall at any moment. All of this while de Seignelay is too ill to work, and d'Arcachon is off in the south on some confusing adventure of his own."

From out in the courtyard, beyond the rear doors of the chapel, Eliza heard a m.u.f.fled burst of feminine laughter: the d.u.c.h.ess of Arcachon and her friends. It was was curious. A few paces in one direction, the most exalted persons in France were donning ribbons and perfume and swapping gossip, getting ready for a Duke's birthday party. Beyond the confines of the Arcachon compound, France was getting ready for nine months' starvation, as the harvest had been destroyed by frost. French and Irish garrisons were falling to the onslaught of Marlborough in chilly Ireland, and the Secretary of State for the Navy was being gnawed to death by cancer. Eliza decided that this dim, chilly, empty room, cluttered with gruesome effigies of our scourged and crucified and impaled Lord, was not such a bad place after all to have a meeting with Oyonnax. Certainly Oyonnax seemed more in her element here than in a gilded and ruffled drawing-room. She said: "I wonder if it is even curious. A few paces in one direction, the most exalted persons in France were donning ribbons and perfume and swapping gossip, getting ready for a Duke's birthday party. Beyond the confines of the Arcachon compound, France was getting ready for nine months' starvation, as the harvest had been destroyed by frost. French and Irish garrisons were falling to the onslaught of Marlborough in chilly Ireland, and the Secretary of State for the Navy was being gnawed to death by cancer. Eliza decided that this dim, chilly, empty room, cluttered with gruesome effigies of our scourged and crucified and impaled Lord, was not such a bad place after all to have a meeting with Oyonnax. Certainly Oyonnax seemed more in her element here than in a gilded and ruffled drawing-room. She said: "I wonder if it is even necessary necessary for you to kill Monsieur le duc. The King might do it for you." for you to kill Monsieur le duc. The King might do it for you."

"Do not talk about it this way, if you please!" Eliza snapped.

"It was merely an observation."

"When le duc planned tonight, it was summer, and everything seemed to be going perfectly. I know what he was thinking: the King needs money for the war, and I shall bring him money!"

"You sound as though you are defending him."

"I believe it is useful to know the mind of the enemy."

"Does le duc know your your mind, mademoiselle?" mind, mademoiselle?"

"Obviously not. He does not rate me an enemy."