Age Of Unreason - Newton's Cannon Part 34

"Vasilisa, I left two things out of my story. I thought you would all think me stupid. Maybe you will, if I tell you."

"Well, we should find out," she murmured. "Here, drink your wine to give you courage!" and she swallowed more of her own.

I'm going to regret this, Ben thought. But he followed her example.

"Now tell me what you didn't tell us before, and I'll promise not to think you stupid."

Ben drank some more of the wine, and then he told her about Bracewell's strange familiar, about the similar eye that had appeared above the aetherschreiber. She did not laugh at him or call him stupid; she watched him with utter fascination.

"Now I see," she said. "You are not the first to witness such things, you know."

"I'm not?" he asked.

"No. In my country, there are many such things. Witches keep them at their beck and call. I am a philosopher, like you, Benjamin, but even I believe I have seen these things." She lowered her voice further. "Even here in London. Before it dissolved, certain members of the Royal Society died mysteriously. They say lights such as you describe were seen nearby."

"But they cannot be... I mean, there must be some explanation," he said.

"Yes, I agree. Think of this, Benjamin. For many years the mechanical philosophy of Descartes was the prevailing truth, was it not? The belief that every action of every material in the universe was caused by the impact of one particle against another. You have seen those absurd diagrams that explain magnetism by postulating a plethora of screw-shaped particles turning their way around a magnet, attaching themselves to iron and dragging it in like gear teeth?"

Ben could not help but laugh. He remembered those diagrams, and thinking back on them, they did seem extremely absurd.

"Fifty years ago, no philosopher in his right mind would dare to postulate unseen, occult forces working between matter, and yet Sir Isaac not only dared theorize this, but proved it and then harnessed those forces. It was his willingness to explore what the prevailing philosophies dismissed as superst.i.tion that brought about the new science."

"Yes. Yes! So you're saying-" Ben was sure he was following this.

"Maclaurin and the others would be quick to dispute what I'm about to say," Vasilisa continued, "but I think you will see my point, Ben. Perhaps Newtonians have too quickly invented their own orthodoxy when they refuse to consider these genies, these angels and devils that haunt the places of darkness and of light. Were the Greeks merely fools to speak of G.o.ds and spirits? Was my grandmother an idiot to leave milk out for the domovoi? Here is a whole realm of phenomena that science will not attempt to speak to."

"I found one book," Ben said. "It's an essay called The Secret Commonwealth in two parts, one by this Kirk fellow and another by Mr. Deitz, a commentary on the first part. He speculates about Leibniz and his monads-"

"Yes, yes," Vasilisa said enthusiastically. "I freely admit that in many ways Leibniz was the worst sort of Cartesian, and yet at the same time he considered the possibility that sentience might exist in the aether-"

"That's what I'm thinking!" Ben noticed that he was waving wildly as he interrupted Vasilisa. Tides of wine seemed to be rising and ebbing in his head, but here was someone he could finally tell his thoughts to. "It seems to me-well, I mean, I read this, but it makes sense to me-that if there is a great chain of being, from the lowest to the highest-"

"As Browne discussed, for instance."

"Yes!" Ben agreed. "Shur Thomash Browne." He grinned and giggled at his slurring. "If this chain leads up through animalcules and insects and frogs and dogs, and so on to us, and if above us there are the angels and finally G.o.d-well, what if we're about midway up, instead of close to the top? I mean, why couldn't there be as many kinds of creatures between us and G.o.d as there are between animalcules and us?"

"No reason at all," Vasilisa said, pouring more wine.

Ben awoke curled against something warm, his nose pressed into a head of dark hair. He felt an instant of panic, but then he began to remember. He remembered her kissing him good night-and that it went on and on. That she had laughed a lot. That she had sung something in Russian afterward.

Now what should he do? She was still asleep. He was surprised that he felt so good. He was theoretically acquainted with hangovers from observing first James and later Robert.

It was difficult to draw his eyes away from Vasilisa, who was naked and mostly uncovered. Last night it had been dark, but today his eyes could appreciate her lithe limbs, her pale skin. He frowned and looked more closely. She had scars, too, on her back and arms and legs. He wondered how she had gotten them.

Already his heart was beginning to ache. Why had she made love to him? Because she had been drunk, and he had been there. But not because she was in love with a fourteen-year-old boy.

Unfortunately, he was totally, completely in love with Vasilisa Karevna.

It got worse as the day went along. He managed to rise without disturbing her, dressed, and went for a morning walk. He feared being alone with her, feared what she would say. Or would she say anything! She might pretend it had never happened. He couldn't decide if that would be best or worst.

When he got back a few hours later, Maclaurin and Heath were already there, but Vasilisa-both to his sorrow and relief- was not.

"There y' are, Ben," the Scot said. "How would y' like to take notes at a meetin'?"

"Sir?"

"Dr. Edmund Halley is in the meetin' room. We were aboot to speak to him on Sir Isaac's behalf. I canna find Vasilisa anywhere, and James is late."

"Halley?"

"Yes, yes, but you mustn't gape," Heath hissed. "And don't forget, he is the enemy now."

"That is such an unfortunate thing to say," a rich baritone voice complained from behind them. Heath-who rarely was fl.u.s.tered by anything-suddenly turned red. Ben turned to see a man of perhaps sixty, broad-faced, determined about the eyes.

"Dr. Halley," he said, "I'm sorry, I only meant-"

"I know what you meant, sir," Halley replied. "And I consider it a terrible shame. It may be that the Crown and Sir Isaac have a quarrel of sorts, but I have been his truest friend since before you were born, young man. I financed his first Principia"

"Dr. Halley," Maclaurin conciliated, "please know that all of us have nothing but the greatest respect for you. I urge you to have a seat while we prepare some coffee."

"What, so I can be further slandered behind my back?"

"I only meant," Heath went on evenly, "that you are a competing philosophical society."

"Philosophers should not compete," Halley replied. "They should work together. They should pool their knowledge into oceans rather than divide it into rivulets. I have invited you all to join the London Philosophical Society; that invitation is still open."

"And appreciatin' it we are," Maclaurin answered. "But until Sir Isaac-"

Halley placed his hand on Maclaurin's shoulder in what appeared to be a friendly gesture. "Sir Isaac has had episodes like this before," Halley said, "but this one has been longer and more painful than most. It torments me to speak of it, but his correspondence with me has been quite... irrational. He has walked out onto a narrow limb, my worthy colleagues, and as his friends we should coax him off it."

"I don' pretend to know what Sir Isaac requires," Maclaurin stiffly replied. "If you would, please?" He gestured toward the meeting room.

Halley puffed out a breath, and it seemed some of his pomposity stole out with it. "No, my friends, I wish I had time for your company. I do miss it-especially my wayward student James. I had hoped to see him, at least. No, I am here in my official capacity as the royal astronomer."

Neither Maclaurin nor Heath responded, and after an instant Halley coughed. "You understand," he explained hesitantly, "this request does not have its origin with me."

Heath continued glaring, and even Maclaurin's mouth was tight. Once more, Halley sighed and went on. "I thought you deserved to hear directly from me: I must formally request the transfer of the orrery to the new observatory at the palace."

Magic Mirror

"Genies, fey, familiar spirits? Why do you tell me such fairy tales?" Adrienne snapped in annoyance.

"Oh, indeed? Is the Holy Bible a fairy tale, with its cherubim and seraphim? Did the great philosophers of antiquity tell fairy tales when they spoke of G.o.ds and elementals?"

"Very well, then, Crecy, what do you know of these supposed creatures besides hearsay?""I have seen them, as you have. I have conversed with them.""Conversed with them? How did you speak to them?""Through my visions," Crecy replied, "and in dreams. And over the aetherschreiber.""The aetherschreiber?""Yes."Adrienne closed her eyes. "I'm too tired to think about this."

"You saw one, Adrienne. What did you think it was?"

Adrienne sighed. "Exactly what you say. My grandfather used to tell me stories of such creatures. But as a philosopher-"

"I am not a philosopher," Crecy said, "but I thought a philosopher's vocation is to explain all phenomena, rather than selecting only those most amenable to scientific explanation."

"I am a mathematician, mostly," Adrienne said. "I have no starting place for an equation to account for a succube or feu follets.""Well, then," Crecy said, "you shall be a pioneer.""I do not wish-" She stopped, clenched her teeth, and began again. "What are they?""They are creatures, like you and me.""What I saw was not like you and me.""Not in form. Not inside, either. I only mean that they have thought, will, and desire.""And what do they desire?"

"Like us, they desire many things."Adrienne closed her eyes. "In this matter of the king, the comet, Fatio, you, me-" She ceased when she realized she was shouting and then more quietly finished. "What do they want with us?"

Crecy smiled thinly. "I cannot say for certain, but they mean us no good, I think."

Adrienne nodded, studying Crecy's face. "The instant I begin to trust you, you prove yourself untrustworthy, Veronique. You are not telling me all you know."

"I am telling you all I can, for the moment."

She began removing her petticoats. "As you say, then. I'm going to sleep. There is no

telling when the king will make some demand of me."

"Sleep well," Crecy said, "and dream of Nicolas rather than genies. Sleep in peace."

She felt suddenly shy. "I will try," she said.

But as Adrienne closed her eyes, she saw a comet, a million corpses, and a floating red

eye.

"If it pleases Your Majesty," Fatio de Duillier said, nervously fingering the long lacy cuff of one sleeve, "we have brought you a present."

Louis smiled thinly as he shrugged off his gold damask dressing gown, which Bontemps took before presenting him with waistcoat, coat, and breeches.

"Yes, those will do," he told his valet. To Fatio he said, "A present is all very well, but I called you here to discuss another matter."

"Sire," Fatio replied, faintly.

"Who is this with you?"

"May I present to Your Majesty Gustavus von Trecht of Livonia."

"Ah, your a.s.sistant. But of course I have heard of you. Be a.s.sured that a measure of the delight I feel for the success of your project is reserved for you." It had taken Louis a moment to understand what was so odd about von Trecht, but now he had it. When he met someone new, his magical sight had a tendency to render them vaguely. Occasionally they would resemble someone from his youth, especially if their voice or accent had a familiar ring. But this Livonian had neither a face he recognized nor one without character; it was rendered in detail, from his bloodless smile to the small scar on his right cheek. Curious.

Now von Trecht bowed.

Louis cleared his throat and went on. "However, I'm afraid that you also share, by that same a.s.sociation, my ire. Word has come to me, Monsieur de Duillier, of your disgraceful behavior at the Palais Royal, and most especially of your ill-considered rantings."

Fatio drooped like a plucked morning glory. "Your pardon, Majesty," he moaned. "I allowed myself to be ill-advised."

"As I understand it, you allowed yourself to become drunk, after which you engaged with transvest.i.tes and began to blabber about the coming destruction of London!" Louis had purposefully allowed his voice to rise.

"I have no defense, Your Majesty."

"And where were you during this, Monsieur?" he demanded of von Trecht.

"If it pleases Your Majesty, I was in my quarters, reading."

"Sire, he was in no way responsible for my-"

"Monsieur, I will ask your opinion when I require it," Louis told him. "Now. You both have been a.s.signed guards, of course, and my police are always watchful of danger to you. But from now until the time that London lies in ruins, neither of you will leave Versailles. And if, Monsieur de Duillier, your drunken rantings have informed the English of our plans, and if they rally their magus, Newton, to cast a counterspell so London never lies in ruins, then you shall never leave Versailles."

"I a.s.sure Your Majesty that I let nothing slip of importance."

"The spies to whom you let it slip were obviously of a contrary opinion," Louis replied sourly.

"Spies?"

"Your transvest.i.te friends. My police and musketeers tried to restrain them and were slain most foully. We have not apprehended them. My valet-" He nodded toward the impa.s.sive Bontemps."-and my foreign minister, Torcy, both agree with me that this sort of desperation might indicate that they did indeed believe that they obtained worthwhile intelligence."

"If I may, Your Majesty," von Trecht said, "if I were a spy and found out, I would flee to keep my neck from the rope, whether I had intelligence or not. And I understand that one of these transvest.i.tes was also somewhat drunk. Such is hardly the behavior of a professional spy."

"What, then, do you suggest, sir?"

"I have not been at court long, Sire, and my knowledge of it is limited. But many courtiers seem-if I may be so bold- rather childish. Perhaps this was some prank gone awry."

"Pranks do not often end in murder, but your point is taken," Louis replied, unconvinced. He agreed with von Trecht's thinking on one important point: These spies were most likely French.

"Permit me to observe," ventured de Duillier, "that no matter how indiscreet I may have been, even if I went to Sir Isaac or King George today and laid the whole plan before them there is still naught that they could do."

"Why? It is a full twenty days until this fabulous stone from heaven falls upon London. Why could the British magi not unspell your spell?"

"The stone, my lord, is already falling, traveling much faster than any bullet or cannonball. And our stone continues to gather speed. No force on heaven or earth can deflect it far enough to save London."

"You deflected it, with your spell. Why can't the English do the same?"