‘Precisely.’ The chemist considered, turning my medallion over in his hand. ‘And yet what if people did know, in the distant past? What if they controlled powers unattainable in our own time?’
‘They knew electricity?’
‘They knew how to erect extraordinary monuments, did they not?’
‘It is interesting that Ethan finds this medallion and comes to us at this particular point of time,’ Talma added.
‘And yet science does not believe in coincidences,’ Berthollet replied.
‘Point of time?’ I asked.
‘However, one must recognise opportunity,’ the chemist allowed.
‘What opportunity is that?’ I was beginning to hope.
‘To escape the guillotine by joining the army,’ Berthollet said.
‘What!’
‘At the same time, you can be an ally of science.’
‘And Freemasonry,’ Talma added.
‘Are you mad? Which army?’
‘The French army,’ the chemist said. ‘See here, Gage, as a Mason and man of science, can you swear to keep a secret?’
‘I don’t want to be a soldier!’
‘No one is asking you to. Can you swear?’
Talma was looking at me expectantly, his handkerchief to his lips. I swallowed and nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Bonaparte has left the channel and is preparing a new expedition. Even his own officers don’t know the destination, but some scientists do. For the first time since Alexander the Great, a conqueror is inviting savants to accompany his troops to research and record what we see. This is an adventure to rival those of Cook and Bougainville. Talma has suggested that you and he accompany the expedition, he as journalist and you as an expert on electricity, ancient mysteries, and this medallion. What if it is a valuable clue? You go, contribute to our speculations, and by the time you return everyone will have forgotten the unfortunate death of a whore.’
‘An expedition where?’ I’ve always been sceptical of Alexander, who may have done a great deal in a short time but was dead one year younger than my own age, a fact which didn’t recommend his career in the slightest.
‘Where do you think?’ Berthollet said impatiently. ‘Egypt! We go not just to seize a key trade route and open the door to our allies fighting the British in India. We go to explore the dawn of history. There might be useful secrets there. Better we men of science have the clues than the heretical Egyptian Rite, no?’
‘Egypt?’ By Franklin’s ghost, what possible interest did I have there? Few Europeans had ever seen the place, shrouded as it was in Arab mystery. I had a vague impression of sand, the pyramids, and heathen fanaticism.
‘Not that you’re much of a scientist or a Freemason,’ Berthollet amended. ‘But as an American and frontiersman, you might offer an interesting perspective. Your medallion may also be a stroke of luck. If Silano wants it, it could have significance.’
I hadn’t heard much past the first sentence. ‘Why aren’t I much of a scientist or Mason?’ I was defensive because I secretly agreed.
‘Come, Ethan,’ Talma said. ‘Berthollet means you’ve yet to make your mark.’
‘I am saying, Monsieur Gage, that at the age of thirty-three, your achievement is well short of your ability, and your ambition is shy of diligence. You’ve not contributed reports to the academies, advanced in Masonic degree, accumulated a fortune, started a family, owned a home, or produced writing of distinction. Frankly, I was sceptical when Antoine first suggested you. But he thinks you have potential, and we rationalists are enemies of the mystic followers of Cagliostro. I don’t want the medallion slipping from your guillotined neck. I greatly respect Franklin, and hope you might someday copy him. So, you can seek to prove your innocence in the revolutionary courts. Or you can come with us.’
Talma grasped my arm. ‘Egypt, Ethan! Think of it!’
This would completely overturn my life, but then how much life did I have to overturn? Berthollet had made an annoyingly accurate assessment of my character, though I was rather proud of my travels. Few men had seen as much of North America as I had – or, admittedly, done as little with it.
‘Doesn’t somebody already own Egypt?’
Berthollet waved his hand. ‘It is nominally part of the Ottoman Empire but is really under the control of a renegade caste of slave warriors called the Mamelukes. They ignore Constantinople more than they pay tribute to it, and they oppress the ordinary Egyptians. They are not even of the same race! Ours is a mission of liberation, not conquest, Monsieur Gage.’
‘We won’t have to do the fighting?’
‘Bonaparte assures us we’ll take Egypt with a cannon shot or two.’
Well, that was optimistic. Napoleon sounded like a general who was either a shrewd opportunist or blind as a stone. ‘This Bonaparte, what do you think of him?’ We’d all heard his praise after his early victories, but he’d spent little time in Paris and was largely unknown. Word was that he was something of an upstart.
‘He’s the most energetic man I’ve ever met, and will either succeed spectacularly or fail spectacularly,’ Talma said.
‘Or, as is the case with many ambitious men, do both,’ Berthollet amended. ‘There’s no denying his brilliance, but it is judgement that makes greatness.’
‘I will be abandoning all my trade and diplomatic contacts,’ I said. ‘And run as if I’m guilty of murder. Can’t the police find Count Silano and the captain who lost the card game? Put us all in a room and let the truth come out?’
Berthollet looked away. Talma sighed.
‘Silano has disappeared. There’s word that the Foreign Ministry has ordered his protection,’ my friend said. ‘As for your captain, he was fished from the Seine one night ago, tortured and strangled. Naturally, given your acquaintance and the fact that you have disappeared, you are a prime suspect.’
I swallowed.
‘The safest place for you now, Monsieur Gage, is in the middle of an army.’
It seemed prudent that if I was going to join an invasion, it would be wise to go with a weapon. My costly longrifle, dating from my sojourn in the fur business, was still cached in the wall of my apartment. Made in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, its maple stock nicked and stained from hard use, the firearm remained remarkably accurate, as I’d demonstrated occasionally on the Champ de Mars. Equally important, the curve of its stock was as graceful as the limbs of a woman, and the filigree on its metalwork as comforting as a purse of coin. It was not just a tool but a steady companion, uncomplaining, smooth, the iron blue-hued, its scent a perfume of powder grains, linseed, and gun oil. Its high velocity gave its small calibre better killing power at greater range than a big-bore musket. The criticism, as always, was the awkwardness of a firearm that came up to my chin. Reloading took too long for the quick, mass volleys of European combat, and it wouldn’t fit a bayonet. But then the whole idea of standing in a line, waiting to be shot, was foreign to us Americans. The great disadvantage of any gun was the need to reload after one shot, and the great advantage of an accurate rifle was that you might actually hit something with that first shot. The first order of business, I thought, was to fetch my firearm.
‘Your apartment is exactly where the police will look for you!’ Talma objected.
‘It’s been more than two days. These are men paid less than a potter and corrupt as a judge. I think it unlikely they’re still waiting. We’ll go tonight, bribe a neighbour, and pry at the wall from his side.’
‘But I’ve got tickets for the midnight stage to Toulon!’
‘Plenty of time, if you help.’
I deemed it cautious to enter the building as I’d left Minette’s, by a back courtyard window. Even if the police were gone, Madame Durrell would still be lurking, and I was no closer to paying repairs and rent. That evening, Talma reluctantly boosted me up a downspout so I could peek into my own apartment. It was unchanged, the mattress still torn, feathers spotting my abode like flakes of snow. The latch was shiny, however, meaning the lock had been changed. My landlady was trying to make sure I’d settle my debt before getting my things. Given that my
