Miss Jesczenka narrowed her eyes at him. “You understand that I must return to the Institute to perform my work. I know Miss Edwards will have to stay, but—”
“You will work from here.” Perun seemed to recall that he hadn’t had a cigarette in quite some time; with a trembling hand he reached for the case on the table and the cigarette he’d tapped against it sometime before. He struck a match and lit it, looking at Miss Jesczenka through the flame.
“Impossible.” Her voice was clipped. “All my things … address books, press lists, contacts … Those are the tools of my trade. How can you expect me to operate without them?”
“You’re a brilliant woman, and I’m sure your memory is excellent.” Perun blew out the flame with a small puff. “I cannot allow you to leave. This location is secret, and must remain so.”
“I was blindfolded when I came. I can be blindfolded again.” She paused. “Are you saying I am a prisoner?”
“I am saying that you must do what you can from here. You will not be allowed to return to the Institute. Miss Edwards’ safety and the safety of Volos’ Anodyne are now one and the same. I will not allow either to be put in jeopardy.”
“I must be able to contact the outside world,” Miss Jesczenka said. “Even you can understand that!”
Perun nodded. “Writing supplies will be provided for you. Dmitri will arrange for messages to be carried.”
Miss Jesczenka glanced at Emily, and Emily could see her internally debating whether to speak the words she spoke next.
“Mr. Stanton won’t be able to hold up without my help,” Miss Jesczenka said finally, quickly. “He’s upset about Miss Edwards’ disappearance. You must let her contact him, or it could destroy the last bit of power he has left before I’m able to execute the Talleyrand Maneuver.”
“No,” Dmitri said curtly. “The less he knows, the less likely he is to send a squadron of his thugs into the streets looking for her.”
“To send men to
rescue
her,” Miss Jesczenka corrected him sharply. “From her
kidnappers
.”
“Miss Jesczenka, why must you continue to hold us up in such an ugly light?” Perun asked. “We saved Miss Edwards’ life. We mean neither of you any harm. We cannot afford the smallest of false moves. You must understand this.”
It was his last word on the subject. He swept from the room in a cloud of smoke, slamming the door behind himself.
“Follow me, Miss Jesczenka,” Dmitri said. “I’ll show you where you’ll be working.”
Upstairs, in another small crate-packed room with a tiny creaky table for a desk and a dusty kerosene lamp to shed light on it, Miss Jesczenka threw up her hands. She looked at a pile of paper and a pen that had been neatly arranged on the table. She picked up the pen, looked at it, and threw it down with restrained fury, as if it was the sole author of her annoyance.
“One day? Without any of my tools? I can’t possibly pull it off!” She sank into the chair and pressed a hand to her cheek. Her brown eyes darted back and forth, unfocused. “But of course, he’s right, it must be on Thursday. Otherwise we’d have no choice but to wait until Tuesday, and by then …”
“Pull what off?” Emily asked. “What is all this about? What’s a Talleyrand Maneuver?”
Miss Jesczenka glanced over at Dmitri, who was standing
guard by the door, then gestured to Emily. Together, they moved to a far corner of the room, sat on a packing crate by a window that overlooked the narrow backyard below. She put her head close to Emily’s.
“There is something I must tell you, Miss Edwards,” Miss Jesczenka said in a low quick voice. “I’m afraid it will be rather shocking.” She paused, drawing in a breath. When she spoke, the words were slow and carefully measured. “I am the one destroying the Institute.”
Emily gaped at her.
“I am the one subverting Mr. Stanton’s power. I have been playing both sides of the fence. But not to destroy him,” she added quickly. “To help him. It’s a very advanced credomantic technique called a Talleyrand Maneuver.”
Emily held her mouth tight, stared at the woman. Fury kindled beneath her breastbone. “Did you put out that book?”
“No.” Miss Jesczenka held up her hands, as if she were afraid Emily might jump her. “I swear to you, that was Fortissimus. I’m sure he had that vicious thing ready and waiting long before the Investment. My suspicion is that he invited General Blotgate and that odious wife of his with the specific intention of reinforcing the book’s destructive power. But everything else, everything after that, was me. I sabotaged the public Haälbeck doors. I made the shelves collapse in Mr. Stanton’s office, and I caused that annoying lawyer to break his leg. Furthermore, I have been in discussions with disloyal professors who believe me to be one of their own. In all ways, I have worked to undermine Mr. Stanton’s authority.”
Emily couldn’t think of even one word to say. Miss Jesczenka saw the hurt and puzzlement in her face. She placed a hand over Emily’s, but Emily snatched hers away.
“Please, hear me out,” Miss Jesczenka said. “What I’ve done, I’ve done for Mr. Stanton’s benefit.”
“Really?” Emily said softly. “Or are you lying, too, just like everyone else? To serve your own ends?”
“I’m not lying,” Miss Jesczenka said. “I really do want to help Mr. Stanton. A Talleyrand Maneuver, if executed properly,
will leave him stronger than he was before, with the full power of the Institute returned to him and then some. Now please stop scowling at me and let me explain.”
She took another deep breath.
“The Talleyrand Maneuver takes its name from a brilliant French politician who was born over a hundred years ago. His name was Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord. He was thoroughly corrupt, he was a blatant opportunist, and he was a traitor to every master he ever served, from the Pope to Napoléon Bonaparte to King Louis Philippe.”
“It sounds as though the two of you have quite a lot in common,” Emily commented frostily.
“While I understand that was not intended as a compliment,” Miss Jesczenka said, “I am honored to be compared to Monsieur Talleyrand. He was one of the greatest credomantic practitioners in recent history. I have made a special study of his life and methods.”
“So Mr. Stanton is to be your Napoléon?” Emily said bitterly. “You’re going to throw him to the dogs for history to chew over?”
“No, Miss Edwards. Mr. Stanton is not Napoléon. He’s not even Louis XVIII—though Talleyrand’s manipulation of that monarch’s fortunes most closely parallels my actual intent. Really, Mr. Stanton isn’t any of the temporal heads of state that Talleyrand used as pawns. Mr. Stanton is larger than that, metaphorically.”
Emily waited for the other shoe to drop. When it did not drop immediately, she prompted: “Metaphorically?”
“Talleyrand was a traitor to every master save one,” Miss Jesczenka said. “France.”
“So Mr. Stanton is France. And while you are a traitor to Mr. Stanton, you are not a traitor to France.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, then,” Emily said. “That clears everything up entirely!”
Miss Jesczenka frowned at her. “Sarcasm really does not become you, Miss Edwards. And there is a difference between not understanding and being willfully obtuse.”
Emily let out a breath. After a moment, she gestured for
Miss Jesczenka to go on. Miss Jesczenka smoothed her skirt and rested one slender white hand over the other.
“Talleyrand once said, ‘The art of statesmanship is to foresee the inevitable and to expedite its occurrence.’ After Emeritus Zeno’s disappearance, it was inevitable that Mr. Stanton would lose control of the Institute. It was inevitable that Fortissimus would attempt to take it from him. It was inevitable that Mr. Stanton would not have the strength to defend against him, even with all the ammunition the Institute has stockpiled against Fortissimus—”
“Ammunition?” Emily lifted an eyebrow.
“Damaging information, slanderous assertions with basis in fact, things of that nature. We collect it on everyone who might be a potential threat. It’s standard procedure for any credomantic institution.” Miss Jesczenka paused, glancing back at Dmitri, who was still sitting by the door. He did not seem to be listening, but Miss Jesczenka lowered her voice anyway. “Unfortunately, the information we’ve collected on Fortissimus is nowhere near damaging enough to destroy and discredit him, not with the level of power he currently enjoys. Unless”—Miss Jesczenka lifted a finger—“it is leveraged.”
“And how does expediting Mr. Stanton’s inevitable defeat make you better able to leverage this damaging information?”
“On n’aime point le tyran, petit connard,”
Miss Jesczenka said.
“What’s a
petit connard
?” Emily asked.
“Never mind,” Miss Jesczenka said. “I was quoting something Talleyrand is famously attributed as having said to Napoléon once, over dinner. Napoléon responded by throwing a glass of wine in his face. Translated, the sentiment is simply this: ‘No one likes a bully.’ This statement was made at about the time Talleyrand had decided to sell out
le Petit Caporal
to Russia and Austria. Talleyrand was not out for glory, nor for gain, but rather for the good of France. Napoléon was destroying it with his savage dreams of conquest. Talleyrand knew that he had to be stopped.”
“So … wait. That means Fortissimus is Napoléon?” Emily was beginning to wish she had a pencil and paper.
“You’re taking this all far too literally,” Miss Jesczenka said. “The point is, in the end, everyone wants to see a bully get his just deserts. A bully who pushes things too far—like Napoléon, or Fortissimus—is laying the groundwork for his own defeat.”
A glimmer of understanding kindled in Emily. She inclined a thinking finger at Miss Jesczenka. “But you knew that Fortissimus wasn’t stupid enough to push things far enough. Not on his own.”
Miss Jesczenka smiled at her. “Very good, Miss Edwards,” she said. “I had to add a little extra malice to the mix. I had to make Fortissimus look even more of a bully than he already is. By making it seem that Fortissimus is behind these relentless, merciless attacks, he comes to be seen as the kind of fellow who’ll kick a man when he’s down. He becomes every villain the Dreadnought Stanton of the pulp novels has ever battled against. And thus, when the information is brought to bear against him, it will be more damaging than it would be otherwise, because the prevailing attitude will be that he deserves what he gets. If all goes as it should, the attack should be sufficient to nullify him as a threat forever.”
“All right, so you destroy Napoléon,” Emily said. “But you tear France apart in the process. I don’t see how this is a good thing.”
“Ah, but France was not destroyed,” Miss Jesczenka said. “Indeed, after the demon Napoléon was exorcized from the poor unwilling body of France, the Bourbons were restored, the country was allowed to retain its original borders, and Monsieur Talleyrand went on to some of the greatest political victories of his career. Napoléon bore the full brunt of disgrace. All the damage was reflected back onto him. Every imperial aspiration, every greedy barbarism, every expansionist impulse. They lashed back and crushed him.” There was a particular relish in Miss Jesczenka’s voice when speaking these last words that made Emily feel surprised at exactly how passionately the woman hated Napoléon. But of course, Napoléon wasn’t Napoléon. He was Fortissimus.
“All right,” Emily said, summarizing for herself. “Mr.
Stanton is France. Fortissimus is Napoléon. The more of a despot Napoléon is made to seem, the more brutal the retribution when he is finally discredited.”
“Exactly,” Miss Jesczenka said. “But there’s one more character in this credomantic drama that I’ve left out. The victim. The martyr. Someone who has been specifically and terribly damaged by the actions of the cruel bully.”
“Well, that would be Mr. Stanton, wouldn’t it?”
“Certainly, he is the logical choice, but he cannot be cast in that role. He must be fit to rule once Napoléon is exiled to Elba, and he cannot do that if he is seen as pitiable or pathetic.”
Emily looked at her warily. She was aware of an uncomfortable certainty growing in the pit of her stomach. “If not Mr. Stanton, then who?”
Miss Jesczenka said nothing, but looked at her for a long time.
“The innocent, blushing virgin with dreams of a happy future, crushed under the loathesome weight of indecent suggestion,” Miss Jesczenka said at last.
Emily let out a long sigh. Miss Jesczenka nodded a confirmation.
“You’re going to be the martyr, Miss Edwards. You’re going to save the Institute.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“I’ve never been more serious.”
“But you said it yourself, I don’t have a dissembling bone in my body!”
“Good,” Miss Jesczenka said curtly. “The more truthful you can be, the more powerful you will be. Remember that.”
“But how can I do that?” Emily said. “I don’t know what the truth is. I don’t know what Mr. Stanton did, or didn’t do … I don’t know what’s true at all, anymore!”
“I didn’t say this was going to be easy,” Miss Jesczenka said.
A long silence hung between them. They stared at each other, calm brown eyes looking into troubled violet ones.
“What if I can’t pull it off?” Emily whispered. “What if the
Talleyrand Maneuver isn’t successful? What if Mr. Stanton can’t regain control of the Institute?”
Miss Jesczenka smiled at her. “Of course it will succeed, Miss Edwards—” but Emily cut her off with a curt gesture.
“Spare me the credomancy,” Emily said. “What happens if the Talleyrand Maneuver doesn’t work? Will it hurt him?”
“Mr. Stanton
is
the Institute. He is the physical body of the Institute as much as the white marble mansion. And you have seen what’s been happening to the mansion.” Miss Jesczenka’s face became serious. “As the power of the Institute crumbles, so does he. As long as the power of the Institute is in decline, he will continue to decline with it. If the Institute is destroyed …”
Miss Jesczenka did not need to finish the sentence.
Stanton regaining control of the Institute was a matter of life and death—not just for the world, but for him as well. She had to save the Institute—save the very thing that would take him away from her. She had to help him become a man who could never really be hers, ever again.