Free The Shadows of God by J. Gregory Keyes Page A

overtures. He vanished, and a few moments later, the pages reappeared with fresh clothing for all of them.
    “It seems they have their standards here,” Franklin remarked, “and we are not THE SHADOWS OF GOD
    up to them.”
    “It’s a good sign,” Voltaire said, “in a way. It means that they will see you even if you aren’t up to snuff.”
    “Hmm.”
    The outfit he was given was all of bright red watered silk, reminding him of his one-time master, Sir Isaac Newton, who had favored rich, scarlet garb. It fit him loosely and had an unpleasant odor. Franklin wondered, unhappily, if its last wearer had died in it.
    Then more waiting, and finally the thin man appeared again.
    “The king will see Mr. Benjamin Franklin now.”
    “And my companions?”
    “He will see Don Pedro of the Apalachee at another time. All others are invited to dine this evening.”
    Franklin looked to his friends apologetically. “I suppose this means I’ll see you later, fellows.”
    He followed the thin man through a warren of corridors and chambers, which he supposed were meant to be grand. Actually, they seemed somewhat askew, with corners not quite square and tilting floors. Each step felt like a league separating him from his companions.
    “How do you find the royal palace?” the thin fellow asked.
    “Large,” Franklin said truthfully.
    The man smiled indulgently. “Yes. Large.”
    “You pardon, Monsieur—”
    The fellow stopped. “My deep apologies. I am d’Artaguiette, the minister of THE SHADOWS OF GOD
    New France.” He paused in the darkened hall. “I wonder what you must think of us.”
    “Monsieur d’Artaguiette, I have little basis on which to think anything.”
    “You will find this court rather—despondent. I would not hope for much.”
    “Well, we all must hope. I think I have things of great importance to say to His Majesty.”
    “His Majesty is not often disposed to hear important things. I wish you luck.”
    Franklin thought the minister could have sounded more sincere.
    They continued on, eventually reaching two large doors that admitted him into not a throne room, salon, or council chamber, but a bedroom with a huge, canopied bed. The walls were light and papered, and the room cheerfully lit by a rather large, misted window beyond the bed. Seven men in florid clothing watched him enter with varying degrees of disapproval. The room reeked of perfume. In the bed lay the man Franklin supposed to be the king.
    At first he thought the king might be dead, for he seemed motionless, glassy-eyed, dressed in a high wig and silk gown, covers drawn to his waist. He sat propped against pillows in such a way that did not require life to maintain the position.
    But then the royal head nodded, almost imperceptibly.
    “Monsieur Benjamin Franklin,” the thin man announced, “I present you to the most glorious king of France and her colonies, Philippe VII.”
    “Your Majesty,” Franklin said, bowing in the complex fashion that he had learned at court in Prague.
    Everyone in the room took in sharp breath, followed by titters of laughter.
    “I was not told Mr. Franklin was a grandee of the Spanish court,” the king remarked, a little smile on his plump, red face.

    THE SHADOWS OF GOD
    There was louder giggling at the king’s remark. It occurred to Franklin that he should have had Voltaire instruct him in the French style of bowing, but it had been a long time since court etiquette had concerned him, and the steaming forests of America had not encouraged thoughts of such.
    “Your pardon, Majesty, but as I understand it, you are also Philippe VI of Spain, are you not, and thus due the Spanish genuflection?”
    “A good point,” the king replied, a certain weariness entering his tone, “and one not to be giggled at.”
    The courtiers fell immediately silent.
    “Well, Mr. Franklin. You have come here for some purpose other than entertaining my courtiers, I suppose? It has been long since we heard from the English