Secrets of the New World (Infini Calendar) (Volume 2) (9 page)

“Could they not decide on one style of clothing?” she asked.

Leopold, who was sitting across from her in the carriage, said “This nation has already become what they call a ‘melting pot’ of different cultures. They welcome the differences of other peoples. It is truly a model for the rest of the world.”

She continued to look out the window. “Are those factories?”

“Those are facilities for the collection and processing of a unique mineral that exists in this region,” Leopold explained.

“How the hell do you know all this?”

“Language, sister!” he chastised. “And I know all this because I studied this country thoroughly before we made this trip, as I instructed
you
to do.”

           She mumbled, “Must have slipped my mind.” And then, “Hey, I just noticed something about this place. There are a lot of moors here. Is that because of the ‘melting pot’ thing?”

He cleared his throat, as if the conversation had taken an unexpectedly uncomfortable turn. “In a matter of speaking. They are slaves.”

“Slaves? You mean they are indentured servants paying off debts.”

Frederick shook his head. He was sitting next to Leopold. “I’m afraid not, Farahilde. I have also studied America, and the truth is that they have incurred no debts. Many of them are enslaved from birth. They were not captured in war, nor did they agree to labor in exchange for passage to this country.”

She had never heard anything so outrageous. “You must be joking! Even the French don’t do that.”

“It’s true, my sister.”

“But—why do the moors stand for it? Why do they not rise up and crush these Americans?”

Leopold shrugged. “I suppose they lack leadership. There is no one to rally them. At any rate, it’s not our concern. We mustn’t interfere in the affairs of this nation.”

Farahilde hated the idea of people being subjugated for no reason. It brought back memories of her older sister’s horrid treatment at the hands of the French worms in Paris. Nevertheless, their fate was in their own hands, not hers; whether or not they allowed themselves to remain in chains was up to them.

***

They soon arrived at the President’s Palace, a large white three-story building with many windows, most of which were lit up. It wasn’t nearly as large as the Hofburg in Vienna, but it was at least fitting for the ruler of a country. The smaller size also gave Farahilde hope that the President’s ego wasn’t as large as she feared.

They were required to surrender their weapons upon arrival, a fact which Farahilde met with open resistance. However, Leopold was able to get her to go along with it by assuring her it was only temporary.

The Austrian delegation, sans Frederick (it seemed the voyage finally caught up to him, as he became ill not long after leaving the ship), was shown into a spacious well-lit room used for diplomatic receptions. They quickly discovered, though, that they were not the only ones awaiting the arrival of the President.

“You!” Farahilde yelled upon seeing the imposter with the purple eye patch sitting on a chair in the center of the room.

“Hello, again,” Deschanel said in an acidic tone. Her two knights sat on either side of her. They sprang to their feet as soon as they saw the Austrians. The Commander remained seated. “Have you forgotten our orders?” she reminded them. “No open violence.”

“Cowards,” Farahilde spat. “Even after I tore up your stolen balloon, you still won’t fight us.”

She felt a sharp pain run through her shoulder, and she turned to see Leopold gripping it tightly. His expression threatened to bore a hole right through her. “We didn’t come here for a fight, you fool,” he said in a subdued but measured tone. “You’re going to ruin everything. Leave the talking—to—me.”

Deschanel, who grinned at Farahilde’s chastisement, said to Leopold, “I have the impression that you may be a man of reason. So I will say this once more. Leave here. We will be securing the treaty with America; we did get here first.”

Leopold removed his hand from his sister’s shoulder. Farahilde forgot what a strong grip he had. “As far as mutual non-aggression goes, I will agree to that,” he said. “However, do not make the mistake of thinking I am in any way empathizing with you. I share my younger sister’s disdain of you. The French people have learned very little since the days of your queen Marie Antoinette.”

After a slight pause, the faux Jeanne de Fleur said with very little sincerity, “She was a great woman.”

Farahilde was a split second away from tearing her to pieces then and there for that grievous insult (weapon or no), but Leopold responded first. “I know you are not really the same Jeanne de Fleur who so faithfully served my sister. The animosity in your voice is impossible to mistake. I will not insult you, so please don’t insult
me
.”

The two knights flanking Deschanel clenched their fists. Leopold had just revealed his knowledge of their commander’s deception, and they clearly wanted to make sure he didn’t tell the President. Deschanel, for her part, remained calm. “Even if what you say were true, you don’t have any proof. The President will never believe the word of one stranger over another. Emil.”

“Yes, Commander,” the larger knight to her left said.

“When you get back to the
Solaire
, make sure the entire crew understands the consequences for revealing secrets to our enemies.”

“Acknowledged, Commander.”

Farahilde hoped the knights never found out it was Celeste the head engineer who had talked. She was a nice girl, and she didn’t deserve to be punished for what she did.

At that point the doors to the room opened. All eyes turned as a well-dressed man entered. “Presenting the President of the United States of America, George Washington!” he announced. Farahilde expected the President to then enter, but instead a marching band filed into the room and formed columns on either side of the door. They began to play music of much pomp and circumstance. This went on for almost a minute before a solitary figure finally strolled in. He was well-aged, with white hair, but a nonetheless commanding figure. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chin, and he was impeccably dressed.

He stopped in front of his assembled guests, and the band ceased playing. They shuffled out of the room—along with the announcer—leaving only the commanding figure. “You have all come a not inconsiderable distance to be here in this newborn nation,” Washington said. His voice was that of a man who had clawed his way through a fiery hell for his country and would gladly do it again. He walked to Leopold, who was closest to him, and proudly shook his hand. “Leopold II, I believe.”

Leopold returned the hand shake. “It is an honor to meet a fellow man of destiny, one who had grasped fate with his own hands and molded it like an artist.”

“You give me too much credit, sir, for in truth the British left only one course for me to travel. I regret that my wife Martha is not here to meet you, but she is away visiting family.” Someone cleared their throat, and they turned around to see Deschanel standing there impatiently. “Yes, the French delegation,” the President said. Leopold stood aside, and Washington took her armored hand in a delicate grip fit for a woman. She seemed annoyed by this, but stayed her tongue.

“President Washington, we have brought the artifact you requested,” she said.

This confused Farahilde. The Americans had offered the same deal to the French? If so, what had they asked for?

She looked towards Deschanel’s flunkies and for the first time noticed a metal trunk sitting on the floor next to the large one called Emil. It was about the same size as the one the Austrians had brought.

“Please show me,” Washington said.

Deschanel shot glances at each member of the Austrian delegation. “With all due respect, Mr. President, I would rather not do this in front of the Austrians. We are not on the best terms with them right now. We were at war with them not too long ago.”

Washington dismissed her concerns. “I can tell you they brought the same thing as you. If this venture succeeds, then very soon the whole of mankind will know about it. There is nothing to be gained by withholding information. If you are concerned about the Austrians getting the treaty, rest assured I am prepared to share technology with both your countries.”

“What?” Deschanel gasped, despite herself. “I was under the impression the first party to make the deal would be granted the treaty.”

“As was I,” Leopold said.

“So great is the potential of the stones,” Washington began, “that I am prepared to offer unprecedented bargains to secure them.”

Farahilde felt increasingly certain she was, in fact, dreaming. Reality and logic seemed to be slipping away from her. “You mean to say there are more stones like the one we brought?”

Although she said it in German, Washington nodded and went over to inspect the metal trunk the knights had brought. Deschanel’s flunkies looked like they were going to stop him, but a subtle shaking of her head told them not to. Washington then opened the trunk, revealing a stone just like the one Farahilde had seen on the
Hapsburg Pride
.

“Just what are they?” Leopold asked, astonished. “Ours has been in our house for generations, yet even I do not know what it is.”

Washington turned back around to address them. “The answer to that question involves the relating of sensitive information. The head of each delegation must be absolutely certain they can trust their subordinates.” He made eye contact with both Leopold and Deschanel. “Can your people be counted on to maintain the utmost secrecy? If you swear that they can, I will tell you.”

“I swear,” Leopold said.

“My knights embody the very essence of discipline. They will obey any order I give them. And I order them to silence about this.”

Washington nodded solemnly. “Very well, then. I will tell you what is known to me.”

Chapter VII: Plurality of Worlds

The President’s Palace, United States, December 11, 1792 (Infini Calendar), 8:00 p.m.

Before George Washington could begin the story, another person entered the room. It was a woman, with short blonde hair, in her early thirties, of average height, wearing glasses and a flowing white dress which Farahilde had noticed was the style in the city.

“Everyone, it is my utmost pleasure to introduce my secretary, Mary Rose,” Washington said.

“This is an honor,” Mary said as she gave them all a big smile.

“Charmed,” Leopold replied.

“Hi,” Farahilde said halfheartedly. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t care about meeting the President’s secretary—even though she really didn’t. Rather, there was something queer about the woman. It was something she couldn’t quite figure out, yet she felt as if she already knew what it was. A part of her brain was telling her snidely
Don’t you know what this is? What the hell is wrong with you?
Farahilde could be sure of only one thing: Mary Rose was looking right at her, still smiling, and the young Austrian didn’t like that.

“Miss Rose is already aware of what I am about to tell you. If I were to leave out anything, she can add it herself,” Washington explained.

“Thank you again for taking me into your confidence,” Mary said.

“As I have already stated, I trust you completely.”

“I humbly request the expedition of this,” Deschanel said. She was trying her damndest to hide her irritation. Strangely, Farahilde could have sworn she was glaring at Mary Rose. What was it about the President’s secretary that was garnering such reactions from the other women present?