Age Of Unreason - Newton's Cannon Part 41

Robert blinked, but otherwise his expression didn't change. "Go on," he said.

"I know it sounds mad," Ben repeated, and told him the story. In his mind, it had acquired a sort of crystalline structure, all of the elements coming together at once- not unlike how he had seen the way to tune an aetherschreiber. His correspondence with the unknown philosophers; their calculations of trajectories and their search for a way of altering those trajectories. Then Newton's cryptic model, and finally, all at once, the two mysteries meeting.

"I gave them the key," he finished. "I made it possible."

Robert pushed his fingers through his copper-tinged hair and sighed. "You want me to believe that the French king has summoned down a comet from the heavens 't' smite London? Jesus and Mary! This thing you're after telling me..." He waved his hands despairingly.

"I know. But it's true."

"Why tell me? Tell your fine scientific friends! Tell the king!"

"I'm telling you because I want you to leave London and save your life."

"That's it?"

"No. I also needed to tell someone I trust. In case something happens to me."

"Now what are y' going on about? No more of your mysterious talk, Benjamin Franklin. Everything plain!"

"I don't know. Just a feeling. All the way back in Boston, Bracewell knew. He knew that I had gained some information about this plot. I don't know how-maybe some way of tracing the aetheric path back to my schreiber-"

"I thought he threatened y' before y' made the schreiber."

"That was on general principles. But after I wrote to the French philosophers, all h.e.l.l broke loose. Don't you see? He's connected to all of this. Now Maclaurin and Vasilisa- all of us-we all know about the comet. And they must know we know."

"Because you think there's an Englishman informing."

"Yes."

"Aye. Because the transactions were in English and Latin. So even if the magi behind all of this are French-" "They certainly had help from here. They would have had to, to aim the comet so precisely. Robin, they had to tune the comet to harmonize with London."

"What about this other society, the Philosophical Society? Might they be the villains?"

"Maybe. But I think I know who the traitor is, Robert."

Ben finished the mug of beer in one long draught and set the cup down. "I think it's Sir

Isaac himself."

"Sir Isaac?" Robert turned incredulous eyes upon Ben.

"Hear me out."

"I'm listening."

"One. Sir Isaac has ample reason to be angry at the Crown-"

"This isn't the Crown, Ben. Tis the city of London and a million souls!"

"Two," Ben continued stubbornly, "he could be deranged. All of his disciples think he is

and have therefore either quit the Royal Society-which I remind you has been dissolved-or have stuck with him from loyalty. I have met him, and he hardly impressed me as sane."

"Three?"

"Three, he made the model-"

"Which goes against your case. Why would he arrange all this and then warn his disciples?"

"You just said it, Robert. He's warning the only people he still cares about."

"And the only people who could cast some counterspell."

"It doesn't work like that. Even if we had all his notes and all the French notes, we would still have to construct a counterspell. That would be the work of months, not a week. And even if we had an equation to divert this comet-and the apparatus to implement it, which I can't even begin to imagine-it's still too late." His voice rose to a nearly hysterical shout.

"You don't know that fer sure," Robert said.

"No, I don't, but it's d.a.m.n probably me truth."

"Well, y' should be finding out, not cracking y'r teeth here with me."

"I wanted you to know. I left one friend to die. I won't do it to another."

Robert covered his eyes with his palm. "I wish I were more completely sober," he said,

"for heaven help me, I'm starting to believe you."

"Then you'll leave London?"

"A week, eh?"

"Yes. Unless Newton intentionally lied. But by the time I get back, Maclaurin will have

checked this all astronomically.""Well then, let's go see him."Ben stared. "Us?""Aye. I'm no philosopher, but it sounds as if y'r worried about physical danger-that this Bracewell or some wild Frenchman or even Newton will attack you. That is

something I know how't' handle. I'll bodyguard the whole lot of you."

"That's a generous offer," Ben said quietly. "But Sir Isaac has philosophical weapons and protections. I'm far from certain-"

"Ben," Robert interposed, "I'm at home in a lot of cities, but London has a special place in my heart. I'd rather not see her buried under this big rock of yours. Just let me get my sword and pistol."

"You have weapons?"

"Always, milad. I'll clean up and escort y' back't' Crane Court. And then we'll see what

other philosophic heads might have't' say about all this."

Returning to Crane Court, Ben had to admit that having Robert with him did lend a certain feeling of security, with his confident swagger and his sword.

It gave him enough peace of mind to think, to wonder where Vasilisa was, and he reluctantly considered the possibility that she might be involved in the foreign plot. After all, his a.s.sumption that the philosophers on the other end of his aetherschreiber were French was a purely circ.u.mstantial one.

"Robert, do you know which calendar the Russians use?"

Robert uttered a guttural chuckle. "What a question."

"That means no?"

"That means no," he affirmed. "Russia I've never been to."

Ben decided to let the matter drop. His suspicions about Vasilisa were probably

groundless. A much more likely candidate for traitor within the group was Voltaire, who-not being a philosopher-had a rather thin excuse for always being present.

"This is the place," Ben told Robert as they came up on Crane Court. By now it was quite dark between the street lanterns, but the windows of the former Royal Society were lit from within.

"Let me do the introductions," Ben said. "For now you are a cousin of mine from Philadelphia."

" Y'r facility with deception is developing quite nicely, Ben," Robert whispered.

"Thank you," he replied as he opened the door.

In the shocked pause that followed, Robert was the first to react, his hand snaking toward the pistol at his belt. Ben was still a statue.

"No, no!" shouted Bracewell from where he sat in the hall, two pistols trained on the door.

Robert did not pause. In an instant he was standing behind Ben, ami straight out as a ramrod over Ben's right shoulder. If he pulled the trigger, the pan would spark right at Ben's cheek. Ben closed his eyes, waiting for the thunder.

It did not come. Instead, Bracewell chuckled and held his own weapons steady.It was Bracewell. He wore an eye patch, and his generous wig could not entirely hide the stippling of scar tissue on his face and neck. Of his two weapons, one seemed a normal flintlock, while the other had three small barrels cl.u.s.tered together. The latter Bracewell gripped in a metallic hand, much too skeletal to be a gauntlet. He wore his uniform jacket, a black waistcoat, and a surfeit of lace about his neck.

"Well, Ben, well met. But I would advise that you have your ape-man lower his pistol,

or I shall be forced to shoot through you to kill him."

"I'm willin' to bet that Ben's body will stop y'r ball," Robert said. "I'm just wondering where I oughta open a hole in you."Two more men entered from the hall, each armed with kraftpistoles."What's this?" one of them asked Bracewell, raising his own weapon."A silly situation," Bracewell explained."You haven't fired yet, so it can't be all that silly," Ben managed."Oh, but I will fire," Bracewell said. "It would be more convenient for me if you were to live a bit longer, that is all. But I a.s.sure you, rather than let you escape again, I will kill you. There are three of us." This last to Robert.

"I don't care about the other two," Robert clarified. "It's you I plan 't kill."

"Do we know each other, sir?"

"I don't think so," Robert said, "and I would certainly remember a face such as yours."

"Tish," Bracewell said. "You can do better than that, I expect, if you wish to insult me.

Ben, where did you find such a droll acquaintance? Quite unlike that other fellow- what was his name? John. Yes, John."

"What did you do to John?"

"Why, I'm not obliged to tell you that," Bracewell said. "Though if you ask nicely-and have this good fellow point his gun elsewhere-I might."

"Robert-" Ben began.

"No," Robert said evenly. "Whatever happened 't' y'r friend is over and done. I don't know this fellow's game, but I do know that if I put this here pistol down, you and I are both dead men fer sure."

"You are dead men no matter what. Though I would prefer Ben live long enough to see what he has accomplished." Bracewell still hadn't moved a muscle below his neck.

"Sir?" one of the men said. Ben thought he might have a French accent.