would have been badly burned. On I hopped like a panicked rabbit, until I spied the saucer-shaped coracle I’d been towed out in. I collapsed on it, my momentum pushing it into the lake and dragging my own feet into the water. The flames extinguished with a hiss. Now I had my arms mostly free, but somerope still around my chest and biceps. My hair was smoking, and I threw water on that and got the now-burnt-through ropes off my feet. Finally I kneeled, barely balancing in the wobbly craft, and hand-paddled toward the crowd, Hades in tumult behind me.
“Look, what’s that! Something’s coming from the island!”
The damned idiots began to applaud, drowning my complaints once again. They thought I was part of the show! And just when I finally got near enough to shout about brigands and kidnappers, my hair nearly ignited again!
Or, rather, a molten fountain my torturers had cruelly stuck to my back, held by cords still around my chest, went off with a whoosh. The wooden tail was tucked in the back waist of my trousers, and apparently its fuse had ignited as I was fleeing the island. Now it—I—was a flaming torch. I reached behind and yanked the missile out of my bonds before it could finish roasting me and desperately held the spouting tube away from me by its hot nose, sparks shooting great, pulsing gouts of flame out the tail. The exhaust illuminated my figure, and actually giving me slight propulsion as I drifted toward the onlookers. Now everyone was cheering.
“It’s Gage! What a character! Look, he’s holding up a torch to celebrate our convention!”
“They say he’s a sorcerer! Lucifer means ‘light-giver,’ you know!”
“Did he plan the entire show?”
“He’s a genius!”
“Or a prima donna!”
Not knowing what else to do, I held my rocket upside down as flames spewed skyward and tried to muster singed dignity, my smile gritted against the pain of the burns. There! Were hooded onlookers melting into the trees? The final sparks were cascading past my figure to hiss into the water as I grounded and finally stepped ashore, like Columbus.
“Bravo! What a scene stealer!”
I bowed, more than a little shaken. I was half-blind, coughing from the acrid fumes, and wincing from my burns and abrasions. My watering eyes cut rivulets down my blackened cheeks.
The American commissioners pushed their way to the front of the throng. “By heavens, Gage, what the devil are you trying to symbolize?” Ellsworth asked.
I dazedly tried to think fast. “Liberty, I think.”
“That was quite the performance,” Davie said. “You might have been hurt.”
“He’s a plucky daredevil,” said Vans Murray. “It’s an addiction, is it not?”
Then Bonaparte was there, too. “I might have known,” he said. “I’m grateful you are not in politics, Monsieur Gage, or your instinct would be to upstage me.”
“I’m afraid that would be impossible, First Consul.”
He looked skeptically from me to the island. “You were planning this stunt all along?”
“It was a last-minute inspiration, I assure you.”
“Well.” He looked at the others. “Holding that torch aloft was a nice touch. This will be an evening for us all to remember. The friendship of France and the United States! Gage, you obviously have flair. It will stand you in good stead as you carry my messages to your president.”
“America?” I glanced around for Pauline’s husband, Egyptian snake worshippers, Muslim fanatics, or British agents. Perhaps it was time to go home.
An arm went around my shoulder. “And now you have new friends to keep you safe!” said Magnus Bloodhammer, squeezing me like a bear. He smiled at Napoleon. “Gage and I have been looking for each other, and now I will go to America, too!”
Chapter 8
M AGNUS PUSHED ME INTO SHADOWS AT THE EDGE OF THE crowd, his embrace rough and his breath smelling of alcohol. “You should not have crept off with that Bonaparte wench,” the Norwegian lectured quietly.
“Look, what’s that! Something’s coming from the island!”
The damned idiots began to applaud, drowning my complaints once again. They thought I was part of the show! And just when I finally got near enough to shout about brigands and kidnappers, my hair nearly ignited again!
Or, rather, a molten fountain my torturers had cruelly stuck to my back, held by cords still around my chest, went off with a whoosh. The wooden tail was tucked in the back waist of my trousers, and apparently its fuse had ignited as I was fleeing the island. Now it—I—was a flaming torch. I reached behind and yanked the missile out of my bonds before it could finish roasting me and desperately held the spouting tube away from me by its hot nose, sparks shooting great, pulsing gouts of flame out the tail. The exhaust illuminated my figure, and actually giving me slight propulsion as I drifted toward the onlookers. Now everyone was cheering.
“It’s Gage! What a character! Look, he’s holding up a torch to celebrate our convention!”
“They say he’s a sorcerer! Lucifer means ‘light-giver,’ you know!”
“Did he plan the entire show?”
“He’s a genius!”
“Or a prima donna!”
Not knowing what else to do, I held my rocket upside down as flames spewed skyward and tried to muster singed dignity, my smile gritted against the pain of the burns. There! Were hooded onlookers melting into the trees? The final sparks were cascading past my figure to hiss into the water as I grounded and finally stepped ashore, like Columbus.
“Bravo! What a scene stealer!”
I bowed, more than a little shaken. I was half-blind, coughing from the acrid fumes, and wincing from my burns and abrasions. My watering eyes cut rivulets down my blackened cheeks.
The American commissioners pushed their way to the front of the throng. “By heavens, Gage, what the devil are you trying to symbolize?” Ellsworth asked.
I dazedly tried to think fast. “Liberty, I think.”
“That was quite the performance,” Davie said. “You might have been hurt.”
“He’s a plucky daredevil,” said Vans Murray. “It’s an addiction, is it not?”
Then Bonaparte was there, too. “I might have known,” he said. “I’m grateful you are not in politics, Monsieur Gage, or your instinct would be to upstage me.”
“I’m afraid that would be impossible, First Consul.”
He looked skeptically from me to the island. “You were planning this stunt all along?”
“It was a last-minute inspiration, I assure you.”
“Well.” He looked at the others. “Holding that torch aloft was a nice touch. This will be an evening for us all to remember. The friendship of France and the United States! Gage, you obviously have flair. It will stand you in good stead as you carry my messages to your president.”
“America?” I glanced around for Pauline’s husband, Egyptian snake worshippers, Muslim fanatics, or British agents. Perhaps it was time to go home.
An arm went around my shoulder. “And now you have new friends to keep you safe!” said Magnus Bloodhammer, squeezing me like a bear. He smiled at Napoleon. “Gage and I have been looking for each other, and now I will go to America, too!”
Chapter 8
M AGNUS PUSHED ME INTO SHADOWS AT THE EDGE OF THE crowd, his embrace rough and his breath smelling of alcohol. “You should not have crept off with that Bonaparte wench,” the Norwegian lectured quietly.
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