A Calculus of Angels by J. Gregory Keyes Read Free Book Online Page B

English?”
    Red Shoes grinned broadly. “I? No. But if the day comes that we must, I will be there to do so.”
    “I see. What if the day should come that the French cannot provide you with trade goods as cheaply as the English?”
    “Governor, we have seen no goods from France or England in several years now. We should like new muskets, powder, shot—wherever it may come from.
    We will negotiate with whoever has it, I think.”
    “You are an honest man,” Bienville said.
    “I have heard you are, as well,” Red Shoes answered. “You are still respected among my folk, and I do you the honor that my uncle would have.”
    “In that case, my friend, I fear I must ask you a favor.”
    “I must hear the favor, of course.”
    “Of course.” Bienville chewed his lip for a moment, and then drew his musket from its place at his saddle and laid it across his lap. “It may come too late, for I have seen you much with Nairne, who was an English spy during the last war.”
    “He visited my folk, if that’s what you mean.”
    Bienville nodded absently. “Everything that I’ve said in the meetings is true. I do have ships, and my oaths concerning the voyage are good. But I have not told them the condition of Louisiana.”
    “Ah.”
    “Red Shoes, have you told them that we are dying? That there are scarcely a thousand Frenchmen and women left in the colony?”

    A CALCULUS OF ANGELS
    “I have not mentioned it.”
    “I beg you, do not speak of it. They must believe me strong. They must believe I allow them to crew my ships because of my goodwill, not because I cannot do it. Otherwise…”
    “You think they will turn on you?”
    “I do. Or they will turn the expedition to their own ends. I have agreed that we will visit England first, but I must be able to insist on a visit to France, you understand? I must renew trade, or else all my people will die—and your own be without goods, as you say.”
    “And if I make you this gift?”
    “I know your people are fond of trading gifts,” Bienville said. “I will give you this in return.”
    He reached into his holster and pulled out something that looked much like a pistol, save that its shaft was coal-black iron, solid and drawn to a point. He handed it to Red Shoes.
    He took the weapon, feeling the ornately carved ivory of the grip. “A krqftpistole” he breathed.
    “It is yours,” Bienville said.
    Red Shoes raised the deadly weapon and pointed it at the ruggedly laced trunk of an elm. “How many charges remain?”
    “Twelve.”
    Red Shoes held the weapon for a moment longer, and then reluctantly proffered it back to Bienville.
    “I had no plans to tell the English how poorly the French fare,” he replied. “It is better for the Choctaw if the English think we have strong allies, not sickly, dying ones. So you need not present me with a gift.”

    A CALCULUS OF ANGELS
    Bienville’s hard face softened somewhat, and he nodded. “Then I give it to you in hope that it may begin the two of us on a path to friendship.”
    “Well,” Red Shoes said, admiring the krqftpistole once more, “on those terms, I will accept it. May we walk a white path together.”
    “Thank you,” the Frenchman said. “And now, I think if I am not mistaken, those are the droppings of a deer.”
    Red Shoes looked down, saw the spoor. “Indeed,” he replied. “And so shall we hunt now, or is our business not done?”
    “Hunt, I think,” Bienville replied, and together, they continued into the forest.
    Red Shoes found it difficult to concentrate on eating, with Mather watching him. There was something about the man— quite apart from his words and appearance —that he found troubling. Part of this was the rude use he made of his eyes, but that was a common trait of most white people. It was as if they spoke with glances, the many words they uttered no more than a noise to accompany a battle of wills. Choctaw engaged in such combat, too, but not when discussing the flavor of food