The Crafters Book Two Read online

  “Please,” said Andrew. He followed her into the great room.

  The tables were still half-full of people breakfasting. It seemed a clean, scrubbed place. Andrew would come here for his meals, he decided. “I’m in Philadelphia for a reason, too, Calliope. You misdirected me also this morning.”

  She handed him a chilled pewter mug. “What could it be? Mother says you never leave your house and your precious electrical machines. It is a real surprise to find you outside of Boston.” She bent and brushed his cheek. “Still can’t grow a beard, I see.”

  He jerked his face away. “I’m here on a scientific mission. My friend Count Volta is expecting me to get an audience with Franklin to discuss some of his electrical theories. And I leave my house all the time—I see your mother once a week at least. And she never said anything about you leaving your cousin’s house for Philadelphia.”

  Calliope sat down and sighed. “She doesn’t know. I traveled here with a nice family who hired me to watch their babies. As soon as I’m successful, I’ll go back.” She stroked Andrew’s arm imploringly. “Please. It’s probably best that Mother not be told. We could help each other, you and I.”

  “Oh,” said Andrew, looking at her roguish dark eyes and glossy hair with new appreciation. “I imagine you could get closer to Franklin than I. He has been known to flirt.”

  “So have I.”

  “And I could offer astrological consultations to any of the delegates who want to check the auspices. If Mr. Madison is a Virginia farmer—?”

  “He is.”

  “Then we may find him altogether disposed to meet with me. With us. Farmers plant their fields and breed their livestock according to the stars.”

  “So you’ll help me with Billy and I’ll help you with your electricity. We always dealt so well together, brother.”

  “Sister,” said Andrew, and finally gave her a welcoming kiss. She returned it heartily, which made his heart heavier. All he kept thinking was, she has a sweetheart. His name is Billy.

  * * *

  Andrew was at the tavern the next day taking a supper of squab and boiled vegetables when Franklin came in. He almost choked on a cold potato, then waggled his fork at Calliope to attract her attention. She had proved to be very popular at the tavern; one young rooster after another set his cap for her.

  Now Calliope saw Andrew’s signal. The look she gave the older man standing at the doorway, leaning upon his cane, was a considering one. Then she left the bumpkin she’d been talking to to greet Franklin. Andrew saw her say something that made Franklin smile. Then he bent close and said something in return that caused Calliope to throw back her head and shake with laughter. As they moved to the back room reserved for special customers, Andrew saw Franklin make a great show of being infirm so that Calliope, who was as tall as he, tucked his arm in hers and all but supported him.

  As they passed closer to Andrew, he noticed bits of thread and lint all across the brown worsted of Franklin’s suit. His grey hair seemed unduly flyaway for such humid Philadelphia weather.

  Calliope came back into the great room and sat at Andrew’s table. He tried to wave her away. “No, don’t let him see us together. He may remember me and suspect something.”

  Calliope just put her head to the side. “You flatter yourself, Andrew. His eye is all for the ladies. He’s such an old man—you never mentioned that. And still so spry. I think he likes me, too.”

  “Good,” said Andrew, then had a pang of conscience. “You must not allow him any liberties, Calliope. We only want a meeting with him. Take care.”

  She looked at him with uncomprehending eyes. “Take care of what?”

  “That he doesn’t—Well, some men—Oh, go tend your customers.” She shook her head, but went. Andrew was greatly encouraged. And it was only fair he make some effort on Calliope’s behalf. This very eve he would write a letter to Madison offering his services.

  Calliope returned from the back room several times that night. Each time she had something new to tell Andrew. Franklin was conferring with some of the other patriots. Franklin had complimented her eyes. Franklin had presented her with a shilling when she brought him his dinner.

  Finally she emerged, pewter pitcher in her hand, triumphant smile on her face. “I got you your interview!” she told Andrew.

  “Really? You told him about me and he’s willing to meet with me?”

  “Not quite.” Calliope brushed a crumb from the table. “I thought I would explain things once I was in his house.”

  “You got an invitation for us to go to Franklin’s house?” Oh, she was an excellent girl!

  “Just me this first time, but I know I can convince him to see you also once I’m there.” Her smile was sly. “I can convince anyone of anything.”

  Andrew was uneasy. “Exactly what did Franklin invite you to do?”

  “To visit him. Tonight. He even told me to come to a special door so we wouldn’t disturb anyone else.” She began rubbing her hip absentmindedly. “Surely he’ll be easy to persuade; he seems quite enthusiastic about my company.”

  Andrew watched her. “Did he touch you?”

  Calliope shrugged. “I think, maybe, he might have pinched me—”

  “That does it,” said Andrew. “You’re not going alone to his house. I’ll be there with you.”

  * * *

  They were still arguing as they stood at the side gate of the house on Providence Street. Calliope had charged Andrew again and again to tell her why he’d insisted on coming along. Embarrassed to explain such things as lecherous old men to such an innocent, Andrew had not let her from his sight, striding beside her as she made her way to the address Franklin had given her. They’d had to loiter on the street until the night watchman passed with his lantern and billy club before darting up to the tall iron gate.

  “All right now, Andrew, just wait for me here.” Calliope straightened her bonnet.

  Andrew shook his head and folded his arms. “No. I’m coming inside.”

  Calliope threw out her arms. “For heaven’s sake, why? It’s me he made the appointment with.”

  “It’s not safe for you alone.” That was as much as Andrew would admit.

  “He’s not a brigand, not a robber. I have no purse for him to take even if he was. Just wait here. Oh, it is open.” She’d pushed the gate and discovered it wasn’t locked. She sighed loudly as Andrew followed her inside.

  The garden inside was well-established, even a little overgrown. Calliope looked around a moment, then stomped over to a small green door on the side of the white clapboard house. She put a tentative hand on the doorknob, finding it, too, was unlocked. Andrew stood right at her elbow as she went in.

  “Now where?” he whispered, then he saw the narrow set of stairs leading up.

  It was too dark to see, but he could hear the scow I in Calliope’s voice. “Up these stairs to a sitting room, he told me. I don’t know what he’ll do when he sees you came too.”

  “Be more optimistic, can’t you?” whispered Andrew.

  Light came from the edges of a doorjamb at the top of the dark stairway. Calliope, on the top step, pushed the door open. Andrew watched her expression change from a scowl to a smile. She gave a curtsey, and a male voice inside the room called, “Delightful to see you, my dear. Please, come in.”

  Calliope turned; from the look she gave Andrew, he knew she was planning to shut and bar the door. He grabbed the door edge and pushed himself through to prevent her.

  “Who’s this?” said the male voice.

  Andrew turned and saw a small room with a rope bed in one corner. Benjamin Franklin, wearing a dark green robe and slippers, sat in an upholstered chair, his cane across his knees. The satin folds of the robe clung to his skinny shanks and arms. His hair seemed to be standing out from his head. He ducked his chin to glower over the tops of his glasses at Andrew
. Andrew thought he saw a glow around Franklin, a faint one.

  “Mr. Franklin, I asked Calliope to help me meet you. It wasn’t her fault, sir. I only wanted to importune you in person for an audience.”

  “Who are you?” said ‘Franklin through gritted teeth.

  “Andrew Smithson, sir. I’ve written you about some electrical experiments—”

  “And I wrote you I had no time for such concerns anymore. My interest tonight lies with this young lady. I’ll ask you to grant us some privacy.” When Franklin reached a hand to the table beside him, a spark of light jumped from his forefinger to the table’s edge. Franklin jerked back his hand in irritation, “I have some matters to take up with young Calliope here. Please go.”

  “No, sir. Not without Calliope.” Andrew put an arm around her shoulders.

  Calliope snorted and shrugged him off. “Let me stay and talk with Mr. Franklin, Andrew. ‘Twill do more good if one stays than if both of us go.”

  Andrew muttered in her ear, “He doesn’t want to talk to you, Calliope.” Aloud he said, “You’ve misjudged her, Mr. Franklin. She’s an innocent. You’re much too popular a man to chase such girls as her.”

  “Ah, now I see your game!” cried Franklin. “It’s money you want. Some intrigue, some blackmail. Well, let’s see who the law believes, the patriot or the young cur and his wench.” Franklin stood and went to the open window. Another spark popped as he put his hands on the windowsill, but he grimaced and ignored it. His head out the window, he hollered in a voice amazingly loud for one so old, “Constable! Night watchman! I’ve intruders in my house! Ben Franklin calling for aid. Hoy! Hoy!”

  “Ah, no.” cried Andrew. Calliope was gaping, for once silent. “Please sir, don’t! We’ll go! We’ll go!”

  The street began to stir. Andrew could see lights as men with lanterns came running. He heard distant whistles; then a bell began to clang. They’d be arrested, jailed, and all because of his obsession with science.

  Just then a second Ben Franklin, also dressed in robe and slippers, stepping with a cane, came into the room. This Franklin was glowing like phosphor; his face, his hair, his raiment were all a shining pale yellow. Flickers of electricity danced around him in a corona. He took the chair the first Ben Franklin had vacated.

  “Evening,” he said to Andrew.

  * * *

  “There’s a what in my chair?” said Franklin, the first one.

  “Another you,” said Andrew timidly. “Can’t you see it?” Calliope was goggling at Andrew; obviously she couldn’t see it either.

  Andrew pointed. In a firmer voice, he said, “There is a man who looks just like you sitting in your chair. Only he is glowing bright with flickers of electricity about him.”

  “I’m not Franklin,” said the figure in the chair. “I’ve just begun to look like him after all these years. Tell him I’m the elemental he caught when he flew that damned kite in the lightning storm.”

  “He says he’s not you,” relayed Andrew. “You caught him in a lightning storm years ago. He’s an elemental.” He remembered something Franklin had proposed in his papers. “Didn’t you say electricity was probably an element, like fire, only unrecognized until now? And just as some say fire has its creatures, its salamanders, so may electricity have its creatures also.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Franklin.

  From a door downstairs came a heavy knocking.

  “He can’t hear me, can’t see me,” said the salamander, adjusting its robe. “What a frustration it’s been all these years. He trapped me and didn’t even know it. All I could do was torment him by increasing the charge flowing through his body. It’s why he needs all those women.”

  “He—he says he torments you by charging your body with electricity,” said Andrew. He needed to convince Franklin before the constabulary came in. “That’s why you need women like you do.”

  Franklin’s jaw dropped. He eyed the chair as though now he could see the being there. Then he put his head back out the window. “Thank you, Constable!” he called. “I’ve mishandled a family prank, I think. I’m fine. Please excuse me. Yes. Yes. Thank you all. Thank you.”

  Franklin pulled his head in. His hair was still wild and crackling with electricity. He smoothed it down with one hand. “An elemental, eh? My own salamander. Well, well. You don’t know what a plague this has been to me. Thirty-five years. It starts each time as a tingle, then my clothes begin to cling and crackle. Finally I can touch nothing, approach nothing, neither food nor friend nor furniture—nor even the floor—without the most painful shocks.” He shot a look at Calliope, but addressed Andrew. “Yes, I will admit more than an ordinary number of intrigues and affairs. But, by damn, it was the only way to obtain relief. That intimate sharing was the one way to mitigate the symptoms.”

  “He deserved it,” said the elemental. “Enticing me into that jar, keeping me from home and kin. All I want is to be released.”

  “All he wants is to be released,” said Andrew. “He’d probably never devil you again if you’d release him, Mr. Franklin.”

  “Andrew!” cried Calliope, finally finding her tongue. “You know what this is? This is like that story of your great-grandmother talking with that earth elemental—when she found the Chaos for Amer. It’s your Talent, Andrew. You’ve finally found it!”

  “Oh,” said Andrew, his hand to his mouth. This was what Talent felt like? It was so natural.

  “Release the thing?” said Franklin. “How?” He made as if to sit on the upholstered chair, then thought better of it and sat on the bed instead.

  “He needn’t be so coy,” said the elemental. “He sits on me and walks through me all the time. And to release me, all he needs to do is the opposite of that damned procedure that trapped me in the first place.”

  “He wants you to fly another kite, sir,” said Andrew. “Only this time send the key aloft.”

  “But when will we ever have another lightning storm?” said Franklin. “It’s been damnably still weather—”

  “Tomorrow night. There will be a storm tomorrow night.” The elemental stood and walked to the door. “Trust me. I know these things.” Light flashed from the spectacles on its glowing nose. “Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.” On that platitude, it turned on its heel and left.

  “You can expect a storm tomorrow night,” said Andrew.

  “And we’ll be glad to help, Mr. Franklin,” said Calliope, “for we have need of your aid also.”

  “Yes, yes, the discussions of electricity,” said Franklin. He was gingerly touching the bedpost to see if he still made sparks.

  “Those, yes, for Andrew,” said Calliope. “For me, an introduction to James Madison.”

  “Jim?” Franklin looked up. “He and I take breakfast tomorrow morning. What say I bring him to your victualizing house?”

  Andrew was still looking down the hall. “The interview I’d really like,” he murmured, “is with him.”

  * * *

  Madison was the rabbity man in grey Andrew had met that first day at the State House. The small man pushed aside his egg pasty and breakfast cider when Andrew and Calliope came into his private room at the Dragon. “Ben has told me about you two,” he said quietly. “He has vast reasons for gratitude, he says, and as his good friend, then so must I. What is it I can do for you?”

  Franklin rose, his own plate in hand. “I must tell you both how wonderfully I slept last night, anticipating the surcease tonight’s work will bring. Thank you, thank you. Well, eat not to fullness, drink not to elevation, a wise man said. I’ll leave you to your private audience with Jim.”

  Madison was massaging the bridge of his nose with one small hand.

  “You seem tired, sir,” said Andrew. “Will you play a large role in today’ s Congress?”

  “A large but quiet one.” Madison�
��s voice was high and light. “I’ve prepared an extensive proposal which my good friend Hamilton will explain to the Congress, his voice and manner being more suitable for public speaking than mine. It will be, I’m afraid, a challenging summer.”

  “Maybe more so for you,” said Calliope, “for I hear you are a considered and just man, both in your governing and in your personal affairs.”

  “Doubtless my Dolley would disagree with you somewhat, but thank you just the same. And I’m sure you would like to call upon those very qualities in me now, would you not?” When he smiled, Madison looked almost charming.

  “Oh yes, sir. Please, sir. It’s about a most honorable man, a man who only wished for the freedom to marry his true love and establish a family that he would support by his own honest work. The simple dream of many a man.” Calliope sat beside Madison, her dark eyes moist. Andrew thought how beautiful she was, how much love she had for this lucky Billy. “Mr. Madison, many of us sacrificed for the Revolution. But we won our freedom. And this man has been jailed merely for coveting that liberty for which we all paid the price of so much blood. That liberty we have proclaimed so often to be the right and worthy pursuit of every human being.”

  “Miss Calliope,” said Madison. “How appropriate the name. I declare, you would challenge my old friend Hamilton for persuasiveness. I must reward such ardency, if I can. But what man is this whom I can so affect?”

  Calliope laid her hand lightly on his sleeve. “Your valet, Billy.”

  “Ah.” Madison sat straighter. “I see. You’re an Abolitionist then, Miss Calliope? That’s what inspires your words so.”

  “I’m a Negress, Mr. Madison.” Calliope stretched her own neck to its most regal. “That’s what inspires my words so.”

  Madison blinked several times. Then he took Calliope’s hand into his own. “I had no notion. It’s as I’ve grown to understand. There is no difference among men, among races.” He looked at her pale gold skin a moment. “Say we make special arrangements for Billy. His case is not popular with my neighbors in Virginny. So say we send him someplace more accommodating. Philadelphia perhaps. Perhaps to work in a victualizing house, much like this one. For a good master, much like Mr. Gant. And say we draw him the contract of an indentured servant, so that at the end of seven years, his freedom is his own and he can live and work—and marry as he likes.”