Age Of Unreason - Newton's Cannon Part 35

"They haven't time. We aimed our cannon, so to speak, months ago, when it could be aimed. The stone was moving a great deal more slowly then. My spell made it sociable to London. Even if this sociability were negated-and honestly, Sire, neither I nor my colleagues overseas have any idea how that could be done-the relentless mechanics of gravity would continue our work. Even if the stone could be slowed or deflected, it would only miss London by leagues-not enough distance to make any difference."

"What do you mean? You've said nothing of missing. How can a miss of leagues be of no importance?"

"Sire, this weapon will cause a great deal of destruction. It will level not only what it strikes but anything for-oh, six or seven leagues."

"What of our allies in Scotland? James?"

"Like us, I believe he will see a very spectacular sight, but will experience no ill effects."

"You are quite certain?"

"Gustavus, here, has worked out the parameters of destruction. Though I have not yet looked over his work, I am entirely confident of his figures."

"Very well. Write all of this up for Bontemps and Torcy. We shall want to make certain that anyone valuable to us is outside the range of this weapon of yours. How far do you think will be safe?"

"Gustavus?" Fatio asked.

"Ten leagues should suffice," von Trecht replied. "Though fifteen might be safer."

"I thought one might be closer," Louis said. "What will we see from here?"

"Sire, that is what our present to you concerns."

"What is that?"

"It is a mirror Monsieur von Trecht invented. Quite ingenious, I should say myself." As he spoke, he worked the cloth off of the large rectangle the two had brought with them. It was a sort of mirror. Louis smiled. Though he looked every morning, it still delighted him to see his new, almost black mustache, the dapper figure he cut in his gold and sapphire flowered coat and waistcoat with its scarlet trim, his handsome face beneath flowing dark curls.

"I have arranged a demonstration, Sire," von Trecht said.

The mirror seemed to s.h.i.+ver, and then it became like an open window. Louis fancied he felt a breeze blowing from the blue sky pictured there.

That sky was challenged by the silhouette of a city, proud spires thrusting up, the arch of some t.i.tanic dome rearing...

"London," he breathed. "That is London! You have built me a spygla.s.s just like my nurse used to tell me of so long ago." In the foreground of the picture, a row of trees bent in the wind, leaves fluttering like b.u.t.terflies. It was unbelievable. "Show me something else."

"Unlike the mirrors in the stories you speak of, this one can look at only one place- where its mate rests. It is much like an aetherschreiber in that particular."

"Does that mean that someone there can see me?"

"Yes, Sire. But you would see them standing there peering at you, and you could cover the gla.s.s if you wished. That is nothing to worry about. The other mirror is in the keeping of one of our Jacobite confederates, hidden so it looks out the window of an uninhabited tower. Only by flying could anyone reach it to look through. When our friend leaves London for his own safety, he will leave the mirror there, so that you can perceive firsthand what occurs." Fatio cleared his throat and then continued, "I only wish that the picture were clearer."

"What do you mean? If it were any clearer, I would be there! This is a most wonderful invention. My dear sirs, you have both moved many paces toward redemption."

Fatio nodded vigorously. "I suppose it is my eyes that are not so clear," he murmured and then bowed.

After they left, Louis spent a long moment gazing through the mirror at that great imperial city, and for the first time he felt a trace of sadness that it must be destroyed. But it was a trace only; English guns were even now pounding on the fortresses of France in more countries than he cared to think, and redcoats trampled vineyards beneath their boots deep within France herself. In challenging the Sun, they had condemned themselves. And though the Sun might feel pity, he was not moved by it, but only by the remorseless clockwork of the heavens.

The Aegis

When Halley was gone, Maclaurin left word that they should all meet at the Grecian Coffeehouse and then retired angrily to his room, leaving Ben the task of watching for the other members of the society.

So Ben sat outside on the marble stoop, trying to read but instead finding himself distracted by the memory of Vasilisa and the giddy mixture of feelings it brought. What in the world would he say to her when she arrived?

His heart skipped when he noticed someone turning into the court, but it was James Stirling.

"Good morning, Benjamin," Stirling greeted him, removing his hat and wiping back his rather damp hair. "Why so doleful?"

"Mr. Maclaurin wants us all to meet at the Grecian at four o'clock this afternoon."

Stirling frowned. "On account of some serious business, by your face. What could be so serious?"

"Dr. Halley came by," Ben quietly explained. "He wants the orrery taken to the new observatory."

"The orrery..." Stirling frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Mr. Maclaurin and Mr. Heath were too upset to talk about it," Ben continued. "Can Halley really take the orrery from us?"

"Well, it probably was someone else's idea," Stirling mused, "someone in the palace, maybe the king himself." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "They do have a case," he decided. "The orrery was built with the king's funds. In a strict legal sense, I suppose it belongs to the Crown."

"But you built it, didn't you?"

Stirling shook his head distractedly. "That's an exaggeration," he said. "Many contributed to creating the orrery. Mr. Maclaurin and Mrs. Karevna and I contributed the most, I suppose-besides Newton, of course, whose idea and plan it was."

"Va- I mean, Mrs. Karevna didn't tell me she worked on the orrery."

"We all did. That's why the Philosophical Society wants it, I'm sure-to strike at us for having the impertinence to continue on. They won't use it for anything except to impress visiting dignitaries. d.a.m.n, I'll bet Maclaurin is upset." He paused. "Has anyone got word to Newton? He's the only one who could do anything."

"Oh, G.o.d," Ben exclaimed. "I was supposed to see him today."

Stirling raised his eyebrows. "Really. On whose invitation?"

Ben briefly outlined his last visit to Newton's house while the other man shook his head knowingly.

"It may not do much to the good," Stirling said when Ben was done, "but you should try to explain to him about the orrery."

"I will. Mr. Stirling, why are Sir Isaac and Dr. Halley at odds? I thought they were friends."

"I don't know that they were ever friends, really. They've made use of one another all their lives, but that is hardly the same thing. And Sir Isaac always came away the better for that trade. Halley financed the first publication of the Principia, for instance. Many say that without him, the name of Newton would still be obscure, for in those early days Sir Isaac was something of a hermit, not given to pursuing publication. Despite all of that, Newton seems to have forgotten the debt. Years ago, a word from him could have established Dr. Halley at Trinity College, but Newton never recommended him. Still, until the split of the societies, Halley was always firmly in Newton's camp."

"What changed that?"

"Some difference of opinion-I don't know what, exactly.

Sir Isaac can be a difficult man to get along with. I came here from Venice to study with

him, but after proposing me as a fellow of the society, he seemed to forget I existed-""You're from Venice?" Ben interrupted."Oh, no, no. I had to go to Venice for political reasons. I was branded a Jacobite, and so my opportunities were suddenly abroad."

"Are you a Jacobite?"

Stirling smiled. "A bold lad, you. I'm no Catholic, nor, I suppose, am I a Protestant. But

I would rather see a Stuart on the throne. Did you know that King George speaks no English? What sort of king is mat for a country to have?"

"A Protestant one for a Protestant country, I suppose," Ben replied.

"What nonsense. What difference does it make?"

Ben knew all the arguments, but he found himself agreeing with Stirling. "Well, I don't really know," he confessed. "I suppose I just said that for argument's sake."

Stirling smiled. "Save that for Voltaire. I've got better things to do than to argue politics, and worse things to worry about."

"Worries like the a.s.sa.s.sins coming after you?" Ben asked.

Stirling's reaction was an unpleasant surprise. "Where the h.e.l.l did you hear that?" he demanded, uncharacteristically sharply.

"I... some of the others, I suppose. I thought they were joking."

"Oh, no. They are not joking and they should not be so free with such private

information. a.s.sa.s.sins have indeed been paid to undo me, though I doubt that they've followed me here. But if I ever go back to Venice, I'll not be long on two legs."

"Really? What business have Venetian a.s.sa.s.sins with you?"

Stirling-whom Ben had thought the quietest, most inoffensive of the group-smiled, and suddenly Ben saw something still and dangerous in him, a sort of determination that required no bl.u.s.tering or bragging. This was the sort of man who could design something as fantastic as the orrery and then pretend his was the smallest part.

"I'll tell you some other time," he promised, "though I think you will be disappointed.

When were you to see Sir Isaac?"

"In an hour."

"You should go on, then. Maclaurin charged you with finding everyone?"

"Yes."

"Who remains?"

"Voltaire and Mrs. Karevna."

Stirling quirked his mouth. "Silver-tongued French devil. Ah, well." He clapped Ben's shoulder. "You go conclude your business with Sir Isaac. I'll find those two."

Ben nodded and hurried off, feeling thrice a fool and wondering if the pain he felt at the mention of Voltaire and Vasilisa together was written as plain on his face as on his heart.

Mrs. Barton was on her way out when Ben reached Newton's house. A hackney carriage waited at the street, horses stamping restlessly.

"Oh, good, there you are," Mrs. Barton said. "My uncle is expecting you. I have some business to attend." Then she departed in the carriage.

Left before Newton's open door, Ben knocked hesitantly and when no answer came, stepped gingerly inside.

The door to the study-or laboratory-was ajar.

"Sir Isaac?" he called. "Sir, it's Benjamin Franklin."

No answer, but he noticed a smell wafting through the door, something like tincture of iodine and something like that which had lingered after Bracewell fired his kraftpistole. The hairs on his neck p.r.i.c.ked up, and he inched toward the door and peeked through.

The study was now brightly lit. Books littered the floor and sprawled upon two wooden tables. The odd pyramid of metal and wire was now glowing, a red so deep as to seem almost black. On top of the pyramid s.h.i.+vered a sort of hollow sphere of sparks, scintillating in all the colors of the spectrum, from violet at the pole farthest from the pyramid to red nearest it. A jolt of horror went through him when he recognized what floated inside of the sphere: a red eye like the one that had accompanied Bracewell.

Nearby stood a human shape, but Ben could not focus on it. From the corner of his eye, he got small impressions of a red coat, dark hair or wig in disarray, a penetrating hazel eye turned toward him. But when he looked at it full on, he only became dizzy and saw nothing.

"Come in," the nothing said in Newton's voice.

Ben slammed the door closed and lurched back four paces, breathing hard. What in the name of G.o.d had he fallen into?

His panic followed him outside, into the natural light of day, his mind spinning. What had he seen-or not seen? Nothing that made sense to his brain.

Thirty paces from the house he stopped, keeping his eyes focused on the door, trying hard to think. How could he run away now, when he was so close?