Napoleon's Pyramids by William Dietrich Read Free Book Online

it!”
    This would completely overturn my life, but then how much life did I have to overturn? Berthollet had made an annoyingly accurate assessment of my character, though I was rather proud of my travels. Few men had seen as much of North America as I had—or, admittedly, done as little with it.
    “Doesn’t somebody already own Egypt?”
    Berthollet waved his hand. “It is nominally part of the Ottoman Empire but is really under the control of a renegade caste of slave warriors called the Mamelukes. They ignore Constantinople more than they pay tribute to it, and they oppress the ordinary Egyptians. They are not even of the same race! Ours is a mission of liberation, not conquest, Monsieur Gage.”
    “We won’t have to do the fighting?”
    “Bonaparte assures us we’ll take Egypt with a cannon shot or two.”
    Well, that was optimistic. Napoleon sounded like a general who was either a shrewd opportunist or blind as a stone. “This Bonaparte, what do you think of him?” We’d all heard his praise after his early victories, but he’d spent little time in Paris and was largely unknown. Word was that he was something of an upstart.
    “He’s the most energetic man I’ve ever met, and will either succeed spectacularly or fail spectacularly,” Talma said.
    “Or, as is the case with many ambitious men, do both,” Berthollet amended. “There’s no denying his brilliance, but it is judgment that makes greatness.”
    “I will be abandoning all my trade and diplomatic contacts,” I said. “And run as if I’m guilty of murder. Can’t the police find Count Silano and the captain who lost the card game? Put us all in a room and let the truth come out?”
    Berthollet looked away. Talma sighed.
    “Silano has disappeared. There’s word that the foreign ministry has ordered his protection,” my friend said. “As for your captain, he was fished from the Seine one night ago, tortured and strangled. Naturally, given your acquaintance and the fact that you have disappeared, you are a prime suspect.”
    I swallowed.
    “The safest place for you now, Monsieur Gage, is in the middle of an army.”
     
     
     
    I t seemed prudent that if I was going to join an invasion, it would be wise to go with a weapon. My costly longrifle, dating from my sojourn in the fur business, was still cached in the wall of my apartment. Made in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, its maple stock nicked and stained from hard use, the firearm remained remarkably accurate, as I’d demonstrated occasionally on the Champ de Mars. Equally important, the curve of its stock was as graceful as the limbs of a woman, and the filigree on its metalwork as comforting as a purse of coin. It was not just a tool but a steady companion, uncomplaining, smooth, the iron blue-hued, its scent a perfume of powder grains, linseed, and gun oil. Its high velocity gave its small caliber better killing power at greater range than a big-bore musket. The criticism, as always, was the awkwardness of a firearm that came up to my chin. Reloading took too long for the quick, mass volleys of European combat, and it wouldn’t fit a bayonet. But then the whole idea of standing in a line, waiting to be shot, was foreign to us Americans. The great disadvantage of any gun was the need to reload after one shot, and the great advantage of an accurate rifle was that you might actually hit something with that first shot. The first order of business, I thought, was to fetch my firearm.
    “Your apartment is exactly where the police will look for you!” Talma objected.
    “It’s been more than two days. These are men paid less than a potter and corrupt as a judge. I think it unlikely they’re still waiting. We’ll go tonight, bribe a neighbor, and pry at the wall from his side.”
    “But I’ve got tickets for the midnight stage to Toulon!”
    “Plenty of time, if you help.”
    I deemed it cautious to enter the building as I’d left Minette’s, by a back courtyard window. Even if the