Caller of Lightning

by Eytan Kollin

  “Polly, don’t,” Margaret interrupted, all too aware of her daughter’s tendency to say the most inappropriate things at the worst times. The guard interrupted, sparing her an inevitable verbal joust with Polly.

  “Little girl, if he dares come back here we will kill him. That’s the order.” The man swaggered over and stood before them, glaring down at Polly. “The order from the King. And if you hide him, or anything of his, you’ll be in trouble too. Deep trouble, with, I repeat, the King.”

  Margaret tried to step between the guard and her daughter, but he shoved her aside. The Stevenson matron banged her shoulder against the wall and bit down a cry of pain. She knew better than to give this man a further excuse to be a bully. She just had to pray Polly would not enflame the situation.

  The guard shoved his face up against Polly’s till their noses were almost touching. “D’you understand? I need to hear you say it.”

  “I . . . I . . . ” Polly’s eyes were tearing up, though she knew it was from anger as well as fear. She ground her teeth. “I understand, sir. If he comes here, I will tell the watch.”

  “The watch?” He took both her arms in his big hands and shook Polly once, roughly. “No, not those Bow Street plodders of Fielding’s. You come to the Guard and tell us, understand?”

  “Please, good sir—” Margaret tried to interject again, but the guard ignored her. He shoved Polly back then poked her hard between her collarbones.

  “Only us!”

  Polly nodded sullenly. It was taking every ounce of self-control not to use her will to break his finger in half.

  “Good,” said the guard, misreading her tears as fear, rather than the barely contained rage they were. He turned his back on Margaret and Polly and returned to his post at the room’s entrance.

  Polly stood bravely, not wanting to give the guard any form of satisfaction, but Margaret blew that plan by kneeling down and wrapping her arms around Polly.

  Polly pulled away sullenly, then under her breath mumbled a small chant to foul his stomach. It was a petty vengeance, she knew, but brought enough peace to her soul to avoid any larger violence. In an hour the man would have far more to think about than his polished buttons and high-toned, superior manner, and serve him right!

  Grounds of the

  New State House

  Pennsylvania Colony

  March 10th

  11

  By Order of the Ass

  The ceremony in which the Assembly’s new commemorative bell was to be sounded was held on one of those strange spring mornings where the air is crisp and cold, yet the sky so clear and cloudless that the beating sun roasts anyone daring to stand still beneath it. Humidity clung to the grass and every other surface—most importantly, to Ben’s skin and clothing. Like many around him he was overdressed for the weather, having assumed that the week’s general overcast skies would persist.

  Now he wished he could strip off some layers, but refrained. On the Philadelphia docks, perhaps; but not in this place, among this well-to-do company. Perhaps not even on the docks, actually. He was far from the muscular youth who could throw paper bundles, as much as he wished the sight of his rather large and pale belly wouldn’t be so improper in this crowd. He imagined the assembled masses running and screaming, climbing the scaffolding of the Assembly Hall’s half-constructed bell tower to escape the sight of his unclad belly. His lips twitched, but he held the smirk in. Though gazing around at the fifty-odd people present, Ben noted wryly that he wasn’t the only person dabbing sweat away.

  He turned to address his son, who, despite being immaculately dressed, showed no sign whatsoever of discomfort. Franklin marveled quietly at the sight. “Well, William, though the weather is not agreeable to me, I cannot say the same for the occasion.”

  “Indeed, Father. But mind your step,” the young man warned, carefully avoiding a pile of animal scat. “The lawn is somewhat aerated.”

  Ahead of them, cradled in a stand that raised it above ground for testing, was the two-thousand-pound bell. Standing next to it was Isaac Norris, leader of the Pennsylvania Assembly, looking as proud as if he had cast the bell himself, using metal he had personally mined with his own bare hands—and not having simply ordered its creation in London, using funds appropriated for the task by the Assembly. Franklin could not begrudge the man his pride of accomplishment: Speaker Norris was a man so successful in business that he had been able to retire in his forties, after which he devoted himself to Pennsylvania politics with a fervor that equaled Franklin’s own dedication to natural philosophy and experimentation. In doing so, Norris had followed the trail blazed by his own father, who had been elected Speaker of the Assembly in his day. Like his father, and like Franklin, Norris’s devotion to the colony ran deep.

  Ben nodded briefly to Norris as he and William approached the bell. They were close enough now to make out the two bold rings of raised type which circled the upper portion of the bell’s waist. From this angle, the top line read:

  Lev.xxv. v x. Proclaim LIBERTY

  And below it,

  in PhiladA By Order of the ASS

  Even knowing that the word in full was “assembly,” Franklin could not help but chuckle at the sight.

  William raised an eyebrow. “You are in high spirits today,” he observed.

  “Indeed I am. This is a masterful display. I would have thought to frame the words, rather than run them in a circle. As it is, every crass-minded jack will be making jokes. I must do something with this in Poor Richard’s Almanack.”

  William stared at the bell, puzzling. “I consider myself well-lettered, Father, but I don’t see your point. Isn’t it simply a biblical quote to honor the liberty that, by the grace of God, we all enjoy as Christians?”

  “It’s right there. Right in front of you. You really don’t see it?”

  “See what?”

  Franklin pointed, smiling. “It’s a bit ass-inine, don’t you think?”

  William’s back stiffened. “Are you implying that I lack sense? This is certainly not the thanks I’d expect for coming out to assist you with your secret experiment today.”

  Ben immediately regretted his words, though it was William who was missing the joke. “Nothing like that, William. It’s just . . . well, look again. Read what is visible from where we are standing, and fill nothing in. Not ‘Assembly,’ then, you see, but . . . ” He waggled his eyebrows and laughed again, this time louder and slightly nervously.

  William did as instructed, finally noticing what he had missed. “Ah. How droll,” he said, his back even stiffer. The acknowledgement contained not even the slightest trace of humor.

  Franklin was saved from making matters worse by the approach of Speaker Norris. “What about our bell brings such mirth to Philadelphia’s most famous son?”

  “I won’t be the most famous for long if you keep up your good work, Isaac,” Franklin said smoothly, deflecting the question.

  Norris beamed at the compliment but was not to be deterred. “Come now, Ben, I would share in thy mirth if it is not too delicate a thought to share. Perhaps something more on thy outlandish stance that we should become a royal colony instead of remaining a proprietorship?”

  William turned slightly, offering a hand to the Speaker of the Assembly. “Mr. Norris. It is a delight to see you. I’m afraid my father was having a bit of a jest at my expense. Hardly worthy of repeating in public; it was simply a minor education on the nature of the inscription you have chosen for this marvelous new bell. He would have it framed differently to better show the quote you have chosen in a single reading, rather than requiring one to walk a full circle.”

  “Well,” smiled Norris, “I didn’t consider that. We allowed them to perform the setting of the letters in the manner they thought best at the foundry, under the predetermination that they be around it.” He glanced sidelong at the bell and his chest puffed in pride. “But upon reflection, I believe that this arrangement creates a deeper meani
ng.”

  “What meaning would that be?” Franklin asked, genuinely curious.

  “Well, the circular nature of the inscription carries with it a certain unendingness that is symbolic of the liberties we have gained through William Penn’s Charter of Privileges. It gives physical form to our very foundation as a colony, and the invitations to live here presented by William Penn to the Friends. Families like the Janneys and Yardleys, and even my own, who were led to Penn by the like of Fox and Barclay, then escaped oppression . . . it is an unending circle of faith and life—what better reason could there be? After much discussion in the meetings, that was the reasoning we landed upon.” Isaac’s cheeks flushed, as he appeared to realize he was speaking as if at a podium or lectern, rather than casually among friends.

  Franklin was used to Norris slipping comments about William Penn into nearly every conversation, a habit that all too often generated argument. Both men wanted to hold the Penn family accountable, but Norris did not share Franklin’s wish to dissolve the proprietorship—he simply wanted the Assembly to hold a stronger position in the balance of relative power.

  Rather than rise to the bait, intended or not, Ben glanced sidelong at his son. William, well aware of the longstanding disagreement, responded smoothly to his father’s cue.

  “No one could possibly see it otherwise, Mr. Norris. Beyond that, however,” he continued, “I am sure all who hear the bell shall carry those words of wisdom, and that liberty, in their hearts each and every time it sounds.”

  Norris broke into a huge grin and slapped William on the shoulder. “Astute as ever, young Franklin. But now, my apologies. I must retreat in the face of social obligation and speak to other guests as well.”

  As Norris excused himself to hobnob with the next group approaching the bell, the Franklins walked around it to the opposite side. Ben felt the Key’s warmth and tingling under his shirt, a sensation he now took completely for granted, paying attention to it only when it changed in response to some aspect of his ongoing investigation. Despite Gasparini’s intimations, study of the remaining journals had yielded little, as they were written almost entirely in a hodgepodge of languages that Ben could not read, or in some cases even recognize.

  He found himself increasingly stymied in the face of passages like:

  Þā heofansteorran gedrif heofonbéacen hrægnlocabrægnioca bellique saccager et rend abismera des artefacts séo gemærung dont sera mort á tous. Hit insegel unálífedness. .

  Ēadiġ bið se wer þe ne gǣð on ġeþeaht unrihtwīsra, ne on þām weġe ne stent synfulra, ne on heora wōlbærendum setle ne sitt; ac his willa bið on Godes ǣ, and ymb his ǣ hē bið smēaġende dæġes and nihtes. Him bið swā þām trēowe þe bið āplantod nēah wætera rynum, þæt selð his wæstmas tō rihtre tīde, and his lēaf and his bladu ne fealwiað ne ne sēariað; eall him cymð tō gōde þæt þæt hē dēð.

  As yet unwilling to present them to outsiders for translation, he had returned to his own more methodical approach of trial, error, and experimentation. The Key, according to Benjamin Loxley, had been cast in part from the same metal used to make the Assembly’s new bell. It was therefore imperative that Franklin obtain a sample for comparison. Was there something special about the specific iron that Loxley had ordered added to the mix? Ben couldn’t see how, and hoped not, as there was no chance of ever obtaining any of it. But as for the other substances in the Key, the bell offered a ready abundance.

  The bell was under the awning of the State House, strapped to a massive yoke of American elm, and propped up by four beams. As Franklin moved closer, William shifted back, taking up position according to the plan they had laid out. Now anyone looking their way from this side of the awning would see only William’s back, and nothing of his father’s doing. As William waited, he kept careful lookout to the sides, and occasionally behind them, in as poised and diffident a manner as possible.

  Standing now directly before the bell, Franklin paused in surprise. Though there had been no noticeable change in the Key’s energy, the unique humming sound he associated with it was now marginally louder in his ears . . . and the sound was not coming solely from the Key, but from the bell itself as well.

  Might there be some inherent power here, too? This unexpected possibility set his mind racing.

  Acting quickly, he removed a small steel file from his pocket. With his right hand, he scraped the file back and forth against the inside edge of the bell’s lip; while with his left, he caught as many of the ill-gotten shavings as he could. Once he judged he had enough for his purposes, and a bit more, he transferred the filings safely into his pocket. A brief glance showed this test had not duplicated his original attempt with the Key: the file was unmarred, so the filings were indeed bell metal. A notable difference already! Ben’s excitement mounted.

  He pocketed the file, his original purpose accomplished. But there was yet the curious matter of the bell’s humming to consider . . . what if . . .

  Placing hand to chest over the hidden Key, he focused his attention on the sound. The rest of the world fell away from his senses, until there was only the hum and the Key and the bell, and nothing else, not even the grass beneath his feet.

  Gently, he whispered “Calor . . . ”

  He felt the Key spark against his skin. For just an instant the bell glowed in his vision, while the air around and above it shimmered. The hairs on his arms responded, standing on end.

  Franklin blinked. He called back to his son: “Did you . . . ”

  “Did I see heat rising from the bell as it sat in chill March air? Under an awning? Fully shaded? Yes, Father, I did. Thank God the effect was brief.” Then, less calmly, “Can we go now?”

  Franklin didn’t reply. It was like that moment in the storm when everything had stopped for him, yet somehow utterly different. Time felt as if were spooled like a string around his will; he felt caught in it just as much as it was captured by him. All the while, the hum from the bell increased precipitously in volume. Under his hand and against his skin, the Key suddenly blazed with force, and he could feel the hairs not just on his arms, but also on his legs and all the rest of his body lift in place, tingling. Without consciously realizing it, he put his hand to the bell’s rim, gently touching its surface, and traced a path upward from that point to just below the circular inscription. He felt a strong jolt, and jerked back in surprise.

  “Father! Come along now!”

  William’s voice was directly in his ear, and his grip firm on Ben’s shoulder, pulling him away.

  “How . . . what—what just happened?”

  William kept his voice low. “I don’t believe anyone else saw or heard, but there were sparks, and you just stood there for a full minute, mumbling to yourself. In Latin. Here—” he handed his father a kerchief. “Put this against your mouth. Your nose is bleeding.”

  “I remember none of that . . . a full minute, you say?” His voice was muffled but clear through the cloth.

  “At least. If not longer.”

  As they moved away from the bell, Ben’s head began to clear, though his nose wasn’t letting up. The two Franklins finally stopped under the shade of a tall sycamore tree, far enough away from the milling groups peppered across the lawn to avoid any surprise encounters.

  “Much better,” said Franklin, seating himself on the grass with some relief. “You say no one saw?”

  “Not that I observed. You merely appeared overwhelmed, as if you were about to faint. That is why I went to you. Whatever happened?”

  “I can only guess. Some reaction to proximity between the metals, perhaps? We know the bell was forged from part of the same stock as the Key. We know the Key has properties beyond those we understand; observably the bell does, too. I have more questions than ever, no answers, and frankly I grow weary. I need rest.” He examined the kerchief, which was now almost fully stained. “Perhaps we should depart.”

  A hush came over the crowd
as Speaker Norris stood before the awning and held up both hands. The sounding ceremony was about to begin.

  “After this,” said Franklin, amending his suggestion.

  In a commanding voice, Isaac Norris addressed the gathered crowd. “We come together to hear the sounding of our new bell, this bell which commemorates fifty years as a colony since we drafted our constitution!” He was interrupted by a round of cheering. “With many thanks to God, and with thanks to our Assembly, and above all to you—the people of Pennsylvania, who have toiled for fifty years—”

  For the Penn family’s benefit, thought Franklin.

  “—to build a land where any dream can be achieved, I give you . . . the Pennsylvania bell!” He reached under the two-thousand-pound casting, grabbed the leather strap affixed to its clapper, and gave a righteous pull. But the tone that issued upon the clapper’s impact was no resounding clang, but rather a harsh metallic thump with barely any resonance at all, followed by a loud and terrible cracking.

  All present reacted with dismay, seeing that a small but unmistakable crack was now visible along the rim of the bell.

  William looked at his father and raised an eyebrow. The crack was exactly where Ben had first touched the bell, moments before. Neither Franklin missed the implication.

  Ben returned the bloody cloth to his nose as he watched the questioning crowd move in to surround an unhappy Isaac Norris.

  “Let’s go, William. This is making me dizzy.” Franklin accepted his son’s help in standing, then set a determined pace away from the Assembly building, towards home. He saw two local foundry owners, John Pass and John Stow, heading to join the conversation as he and William walked in the opposite direction.

  Craven Street

  London, England

  June 1st

  12

  The World Will Change

  Polly awoke to a gentle night breeze cooling her. She sat up in bed, confused. Hadn’t she shut the window? In her groggy state of mind, she wasn’t sure.