Age Of Unreason - Newton's Cannon Part 23

They had to drop anchor nearly a league from London, as it turned out, when the tide receded. Ben's fidgeting increased five-fold, for even from there, the London skyline was visible, and it was unbelievable indeed. It compa.s.sed the whole of the northern and eastern horizon, its buildings so legion that Ben could sort little sense into them. Only the church steeples gave him any notion of scale, thrusting into the lavender dusk like the sharp silhouettes of twenty or more fingers pointing the way to G.o.d. Twenty gesturing preachers in a crowd of thousands, packed shoulder to shoulder.

Among these giants stood a t.i.tan, the majestic domed profile that Robert identified as Saint Paul's Cathedral. Closer by, the right bank of the Thames was betowered by the hulking shadows of windmills; five of the monstrous engines were in sight, their great wheels creaking in the evening breeze.

When night fell, it did not fall uniformly. The sky north of them glowed. It was unnatural, in its own way the strangest thing Ben had ever seen, including the sorceries of Bracewell.

A thought came to him then: This invasion of light was what Bracewell sought to prevent. Perhaps he feared that every town would become as London, banis.h.i.+ng night's dark mantle and perhaps robbing darker things than night of their strength as well.

"Amazin', i'nit?" Robert said from the nearby rail. "Even a few years ago, when I was a boy, "tweren't as much light as mis." He looked speculatively at Ben. "Let's you and me take a boat and row up to the city. We can be there in under two hours."

"Steal?" Ben replied, raising his fist to his chest as if horrified "Heavens, no. We could just borrow one, though..."

Behind them, the lights of the Berks.h.i.+re were lost among those of the thousand or so other boats. This near the city, the river itself was a town. Merchantmen and frigates were its churches, masts thrusting up like steeples. Steam barges and pleasure craft were its gaily adorned missions; houseboats and smallboats the common dwellings. As they moved through this floating village toward the greater brightness of the city, conversations waxed and waned around them, s.n.a.t.c.hes of Dutch, French, Spanish, and languages that Ben could not even begin to guess at "What'll we tell 'em when we land at the Tower?" Ben asked Robert as he pulled on the oars.

"That'll be no problem. They'll just a.s.sume we got permission to come ash.o.r.e. By the time anyone tells 'em different, you and I will be to Fleet Street. And after all, there's no harm done; the cap'n'll get his boat back from the Tower-it has the Berks.h.i.+re written on it, plain as day."

"Good enough," Ben replied.

At about an hour before midnight Benjamin Franklin first set foot in the City of Science. Above him loomed the Tower of London-castle, prison, mint-an ancient medieval edifice resplendent with alchemical lanterns.

Beyond was an endless sea of stone and light, a million-strong tide of humanity, that Ben had to navigate to a single man: Sir Isaac Newton.

Menagerie

The beast slammed into the bars with such force that they screeched in their sockets. Fatio gave a little gasp and hopped back, but the king stood impa.s.sively, watching the huge animal.

"It looks like a cow," Louis complained.

It did not look like a cow to Adrienne. No cow Adrienne had ever seen possessed s.h.a.ggy fur and a mountainous hump of muscle above its shoulders, nor stood near five feet at the shoulder. And no cow expressed such utter rage at its captivity as to shatter its horns against adamantium bars.

"What is it called, Sire?" Fatio asked.

"A boeuf-a-l'eau," Louis replied, disappointment still edging his voice. "I am told they are quite dangerous." He turned his still blind-seeming eyes toward them and shrugged. "But to me it looks like a cow."

Louis gestured them on. "Come and see my lion. I acquired it some years ago, and it at least, is quite impressive."

The lion, actually, was rather old and bony. The wildness in its eyes had dimmed to a memory. In a horrible way, the lion reminded Adrienne of Maintenon in her last days.

How long before she reached that state? What did the king see when he looked at her! That anomalous vision that perceived a cow in a raging monster and a rampant lion in this shrunken kitten-what did it see in her? Whatever he looked at, whomever he was making love to, it was not her.

Her throat tightened, but she was nearly past the grief of her lost virginity. She might have resisted the king longer, she knew, but why delay the inevitable? Why risk his displeasure?

Madame de Maintenon had taught her that one should not expect too much from the carnal act. And yet she had hoped mat Maintenon was wrong. She hoped when Louis came to her- for he had once been a famous lover-that she might gain something to compensate for what she lost.

But Louis was old and fat, and she had discovered no undreamed-of ecstasy but only a form of revulsion that she had never known.

She tried to comfort herself that she was serving a higher purpose, but in her honest moments she knew that was not why she was marrying the king. She did not believe in the prophecies of Crecy, or in the Korai-for they saw her only as an instrument No, she had taken Torcy at his word: she became queen because she feared being a p.a.w.n more.

"Come, my dear," Louis said, "these are mere samples of what you shall see in the menagerie proper." The king, Fatio, and the rest of the retinue had moved on. She joined them and caught Nicolas watching her, an expression of concern upon his face. She flashed him a wide smile.

I should ask the king for a different guard, she thought, for perhaps the hundredth time. But three months ago she had begged Louis to retain Nicolas, despite his failure to prevent her abduction. He had been in a generous mood after her acceptance of his marriage proposal and so had agreed. She was selfish to keep him near, but it would be harder to send him away.

"Well, de Duillier," the king said as they walked along to the next beast, "may I plan my wedding now?"

"Indeed, Majesty," Fatio replied, his voice bubbly. "The completion of our project can be named to the day."

Louis nodded, his face nearly as radiant as the Apollo he thought himself to be. "This is wonderful news, my good fellow. Please pa.s.s on my compliments to your staff." He paused to glance at Adrienne. "And accept my apologies for stealing away its loveliest member."

"You rescued her only from dreariness, Sire," Fatio said.

They finished their tour of the menagerie at the Triannon Palace and then returned to Versailles on foot. On the way, Fatio made the mistake of venturing a few questions about the war against England and her allies, which the king dismissed brusquely, despite his obvious good cheer. Back at Versailles, Louis kissed Adrienne, sent her back to her rooms, and then swept Fatio along to a closed meeting with his ministers.

Her suite had become her sanctuary. Not for her body, of course-the ornate doors could not protect her from the King's lechery-but for her mind. Alone there, she could take pen and ink and contemplate the hidden places in her soul where the king could never go-and conceal the written evidence of her explorations with comparative ease.

That evening, however, she found little comfort as she pored over the results of three months' work. Her attempts to discern the purpose of Fatio's project had not met with complete success, so she had diverted herself with her own speculations. She designed a craft for flying to the moon and painstakingly calculated its trajectory, then recalculated voyages to Jupiter and Saturn. Improving upon Ja.n.u.s' formula, she outlined the basics of a "universal" aetherschreiber that would carry the voice and image of its operator. Other, less pertinent theoretical explorations had yielded a mirror that could "remember" what it reflected for an indefinite time and other, sillier things. But she could neither perform experiments to bear out her calculations nor publish her hypotheses. The only positive result she could perceive from her efforts was her certainty that Fatio was not laboring at any of these projects. "Newton's own cannon," he'd said. What could that mean?

If only she had her copy of the Principia she might be able to find a clue.

So she sat, considering burning her calculations when she heard a scratch at the door. Sighing, she hid her papers in Maintenon's old secret drawer and called out, "Come in."

She found herself confronting the tall form of Crecy.

"h.e.l.lo, Mademoiselle," Crecy said. "We have not met. My name is Veronique de Crecy. I am to be your lady-in-waiting."

"What?" she demanded. Why was this woman pretending not to know her?

And then she realized a guard stood no more than twenty paces away. When the tale of her abduction and "rescue" had been told by the d.u.c.h.ess, Crecy must have been left out of it.

"May I come in?"

Once the door was closed, Crecy favored her with a small smile. "You understand, of course."

"Of course. My lady-in-waiting? How did you manage this?"

"I did not manage it. Madame de Castries did and at some risk. It was, however, thought to be best."

"And why would anyone think that? I have no love for you, Mademoiselle. It was your prophecy-and the unbelievable superst.i.tion of our sisterhood-that placed me in these straits."

An opalescent fire flickered in Crecy's smoky eyes. "Surely you don't believe that. Certainly you do not think Castries is superst.i.tious."

Adrienne slumped into a chair. She pointedly did not invite the redhead to sit, but to her annoyance Crecy did so anyway.

"She has shown me no formula to explain your supposed prophetic powers. She has offered me no proof or principle. She demands mat I accept you on faith, when only G.o.d should be accepted so!"

"And yet you do."

"No, Mademoiselle, I do not. I have done what Castries asked of me, only because I have no one. Because I could think of nothing better to do."

"And that is why I am here," Crecy said, her tone softer, less imperious. "Look, I have brought you something."

Adrienne reluctantly accepted the package Crecy bore, but once the wrapping was removed, she could not repress her delight.

"The revised Principia Mathematical she gasped. "And the Corrections of Planetary Motions."

"I knew that you would have a difficult time obtaining such books," Crecy explained. "I will bring you new volumes whenever possible. The Korai have opened their libraries to you."

"Mademoiselle... thank you," she finished woodenly.

After a moment Crecy spoke again, almost shyly. "I have always admired your work, you know," she said. "Even your first paper, "On the Likelihood of a Seventh Planet," displayed a rare sort of genius. How old were you when you wrote that?"

"Fifteen," Adrienne murmured. "I had to compose it at night, in secret. One of the other girls informed on me, and the matrons thought I must be writing love letters."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. One of the Blacks was a Korai, and she warned me. That night I stayed up writing, but they found me copying devotions, In fact, it was that 'piety' that first brought me to the attention of Madame de Maintenon."

"This Black-she was the one who introduced you to the order?"

Adrienne nodded. "Yes." She frowned. "Now she pretends not to know me."

Crecy knelt before Adrienne and took her hand. "I am sorry, Mademoiselle, for your pain. I am here now to try and make amends. I realize that you do not trust my prophecies. But I beg you to forget that and let me be your friend, your confidante. I can deliver your letters-past Torcy-publish your works in the inner circle, bring you scientific correspondence. I can be your link to the Korai, Mademoiselle, if you will only let us back into your heart and life." She squeezed Adrienne's hand and lowered her head.

"It is not so simple," Adrienne said, inexplicably blus.h.i.+ng. "I trusted the Korai as I never trusted anyone. I trusted my mentor at Saint Cyr. I thought she loved me, and yet at a word from Castries, that love evaporated."

Crecy rose, her expression enigmatic. "Your friend was a weakling, then," she said. "For it is not in the power of anyone to command love."

"I think perhaps I am near to going mad with no friend in the palace. But someone cannot merely proclaim herself my friend," she said, in a voice so cold it surprised her. "She must prove herself."

"Perhaps that is why you have no one," Crecy remarked. "But I understand you. In the meantime-as you come to realize that I am your friend-I can do things for you. I have spoken to your guard-" "Nicolas?"

"Oh, Nicolas is it?"

"It is just an arrangement we have," Adrienne explained, "to call each other by our Christian names. No one does that in Versailles."

Crecy shrugged. "So I think you do have at least one friend here. But it is not so much the guard himself who concerns me as what he tells me about you: That you do nothing but mope about your rooms and wait for the king to call or come to you."

"What else is there?" Adrienne snapped. "I have my work still. I have been trying to determine what de Duillier is up to."

Crecy shrugged. "You have the whole of France at your feet. Make the most of it."

Adrienne frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

Crecy's smile suddenly had something of the cat about it. "Then you do need my counsel, Mademoiselle. I can help you find out what secret experiment Fatio de Duillier is engaged in," Crecy said, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Listen to me, and in two days' time we shall know all."

"Through your sorcery?" Adrienne asked sarcastically, unwilling to admit how intrigued she was by the offer.

"Not mine alone," she replied, strolling toward the window, bunking against the sunlight. "No, we shall need a bit of your sorcery, too, Mademoiselle." She turned back. For an instant, Adrienne thought a small red spark flashed in her eyes.

"Tell me more," Adrienne said.

Coffeehouse

"Will y' be needin' more coffee, sir?" a young woman asked. Ben looked up from his paper into a wide, warm pair of brown eyes and honey yellow hair. If he allowed his eyes to stray again he would notice her dangerously low-cut bodice, the spray of freckles below her throat. He concentrated instead on her smile, which seemed lavish considering that she was only offering to refill his coffee bowl.

"Um... yes, please," he said.

"I've not seen y' in here before," she murmured, tipping the pot so that its aromatic contents gurgled into his empty cup.

"I've never been here," he admitted. "I'm waiting for a friend of mine."

"A him?" she mused. Ben glanced up at her, startled.

"Um, yes," he replied stupidly.

"Y' know," she said, confidentially, "I pride myself on bein' capable of placin' a man's home by his speech. Those that's from Islington talks in one way, them from Cotswald another. But your tongue baffles me. You are an Englishman, and yet..."

"I'm... I'm from the Colonies," Ben explained, wondering exactly what he had done to draw her attention and hoping he could do more of it. Around him, the clinking of china, the low mutter of men discussing politics or reading their papers aloud to one another receded. The air-fragrant with smoke from half a dozen long-stemmed pipes and the fire in the poorly vented hearth-suddenly seemed rather rarefied.

"The Colonies!" she exclaimed. "Are they's full of wild Indians as they say?"

This had gone beyond pa.s.sing comment, Ben realized. This young woman actually wanted to talk to him.

"You see Indians in Boston now and then," he replied. "And those as ally with the French are wild enough, I suppose." He sipped the coffee and wondered where Robert was; he was very late.

"I see," she said. "And what brings such a likely lad across the deep to the city, "f I may ask?"

How would Robert reply to that? How would he fan this little flame of interest? "I... well, I can't say," he managed at last. "It's a secret sort of thing."

"More an' more fascinatin'," she said. "Mr... ?"

"Oh!" Ben stood so quickly he nearly upset his coffee. "My apologies. My name is Benjamin Franklin." He gave an awkward little bow.

She curtsied, giving him a good view of her abundant a.s.sets. "Sarah Elizabeth Chant at y'r service."

Ben felt his face glowing as brightly as a beacon, but he reached for her hand in an attempt to be gallant. When she saw that he meant to kiss it, however, she gently disengaged.

"Sir," she protested, her eyes dancing merrily," 'tis clear that y've not been in London fer very long, or y' would know how't' greet a lady." And with that she took a single step, and planted a warm, quick kiss on his lips that sent a rush of sparks dancing down his chest. Then she winked at him, picked up the silver decanter, and moved on.