“I am ready, my lord,” said Daniel, trying not to let his voice betray a certain here we go again weariness.
“Let me remind you of the agreement on which you and I shook hands, on the night of the Glorious Revolution, as we stood together on the causeway of the Tower.”
“I recollect it clearly, my lord, but there’s no harm in reviewing it.”
“I said I would be your friend if you would help me to understand, or at least to keep track of, the machinations of the Alchemists.”
“Indeed.”
“I flatter myself that I have been of service to you, as occasions warranted, in the twenty-five years since then,” said John Churchill. For now it seemed they were speaking not as Duke and Regent but as John and Daniel.
“Now that you mention it, it is a bit odd that my name turned up on Bothmar’s list.”
“I had many occasions, during and after the War, to sing the praises of certain Englishmen to the Electoral Prince,” John said, “and the high esteem in which you are held by Princess Caroline cannot have hurt your chances, either.”
“You have done the son of Drake unexpected honor, then,” Daniel said.
“Now, Daniel, since we made our compact, much has changed—Roger’s Juncto re-shaped the country. He placed the world’s leading Alchemist in charge of the Mint. That Alchemist is still there, and shows no sign of faltering. By some accounts he is diligent beyond compare. But reports have reached me concerning the Pyx, and such arcane and eldritch matters as the Solomonic Gold and the Philosophic Mercury and other such semi-occult doings as have no place in this the Eighteenth Century. Now that Anne is gone—may God rest her—and George is coming, I bear upon my shoulders the greatest imaginable responsibilities to help our new King—nay, our new Dynasty—understand what is going on in his Kingdom. I will ensure that the Mint is in the hands of officials sane and competent, and that the coinage is sound. Can Newton be trusted to run the Mint, Daniel? Will he run it as a mill for turning out disks of metal, or as a laboratory for Chiliastic researches? Is he a bloody sorcerer, Daniel? And if so, is he any good at it?”
The Temple of Vulcan
AN HOUR LATER
“WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM?” asked Roger, slightly more fascinated than aghast. He and Daniel were strolling in Roger’s rose-garden, which was ten times the size of Marlborough’s, though not so well located—Roger’s gardeners couldn’t nip over the fence and borrow a spade from the King of England’s.
“I fear I was a bit too evasive for the Duke’s taste,” Daniel answered, after pondering it for some moments. “I assured him that whatever Newton does, he does very, very well, hence if he is a sorcerer, he must be a right clever one.”
“Oh my lord,” Roger exclaimed, “this cannot have improved the Duke’s mood.”
“I don’t know. I believe I convinced him that Isaac is not a lunatick. That is no bad start.”
“But it is only a start. Hmm.”
“The point of the conversation, Roger, was not to condemn or exonerate Isaac. It was to send you a sort of warning.”
“I am ready.”
“Marlborough has accepted your invitation.”
“Yes, I had the news hours ago.”
“Consequently all the Quality will attend, whether you invite them or no.”
“I have already laid in supplementary help, to cope with party-crashers. Is that the warning? That lots of people will come to my party?” Roger’s attention had begun to wander, and his eyes lit on Daniel’s gold ring. His brow furrowed, his lips parted. Daniel interrupted before he could change the subject to jewelry.
“No. Marlborough is profoundly unhappy about all of the mysteries and controversies surrounding the Mint. He is going to call for a Trial of the Pyx around the time of the Coronation—a couple of months from now, probably—to get all of those coins out of the Pyx, and ensure that all of those minted under George shall be free from any taint. In the meantime, he wishes to see progress made toward the resolution of these Mint troubles. He wishes to feel confident about Newton. If the situation has not begun to improve as of September the first, he’ll not show up for your Party.”
“Oh, horrors!”
“The humiliation shall be exquisite, and conspicuous. All London shall know that you are in disgrace, and shall never be made Lord Treasurer, or even Lord Dogcatcher. The first of September shall, in other words, mark the first day of your retirement.”
After a suitably awe-full pause, and perhaps a few moments’ silent prayer, Roger boomed: “Then let us ready the Volcano!” He revolved about his walking-stick, turning his back on Daniel, and marched through the garden to the main house. It was a fine show of bravado; but Daniel got the sense that Roger did not want Daniel, or anyone else, to see his face for some moments. And so Daniel did not inspect Roger’s phizz too closely, but instead pretended to look at the plumbing of the Volcano.
And of its Maker; for MacDougall had removed one of the curved plates that made up the Volcano’s slopes, and set it aside, and shoved his head deep into the apparatus.
“Your arse-crack is showing, Mr. MacDougall,” Ravenscar shouted, “which I ever take as a sign of hard productive labor, in a man of your profession.”
The arse in question began to shimmy as MacDougall attempted to disengage. There were two thuds and a curse. Then a head, crowned with a torch-flame of embarrassingly red hair, appeared. MacDougall’s hair and cheeks were so red that everything near him looked dusky.
“MacDougall,” Daniel said.
“It is a pleasure to see you, Dr. Waterhouse.”
“Have you obtained the phosphorus yet?” Daniel asked.
“It’s as I told you the other day, sir—I don’t purchase it direct from the maker, but through a sort of go-between.”
“And have you placed your order with this go-between yet?” Roger demanded.
“Oh, yes, my lord. Did it yesterday.”
“Then go back to him and double it!” Roger commanded.
“Oh, I’m not certain they can make so much so fast, my lord!”
“Double it anyway, and if the Eruption of September the first is not the grandest ever, then the fault shall lie with our deficient phosphorus industry, and no man shall be able to claim that the Marquis of Ravenscar stinted or scrimped!”
“My lord, let’s see if they don’t rise to the challenge! I’ve a feeling they just might do it!”
“That is splendid, MacDougall,” Daniel said, “will you please join me at my Clubb to deliver your report in person?”
“Oh, Dr. Waterhouse! I should be honored!”
“Then do you gather your tools together and meet me and my lord in the front of the house when you are ready.”
Roger and Daniel departed the ballroom and circumvented the plashing fountain of Vulcan coming on Minerva’s thigh. “Where is the lovely pair to-day?” Daniel inquired, unable to get his eyes off the goddess.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Roger—a bit distracted himself.
“Catherine Barton, and her Body.”
“Ah. They are out shopping—the Body requires a new dress for the party.”
“Magnificent.”
“Say,” Roger said, “you have quite foxed me. Why are you taking MacDougall to your Clubb?”
“I know MacDougall well. He has proved most invaluable at the Court of Technologickal Arts. Most ingenious.”
“Very well, but what has he to do with your Clubb?”
They left the fountain behind and entered the part of the house that Daniel had designed: the original Temple of Vulcan, as it had been before the improvements of Hooke and Vanbrugh.
“The Infernal Devices used phosphorus,” Daniel said. “Ergo, the chaps who built them must have had dealings with local suppliers. MacDougall is now dealing with them too, thanks to you. This provides the Clubb with a new line of investigation. Mr. Kikin and Mr. Orney are very keen to pursue it.”
“But I thought you had struck a deal with Jack Shaftoe that
would obviate the Clubb’s purpose.”
“We have not heard from Jack since he jumped off the back of your phaethon in the Hay Market a week ago, and, according to rumor, became embroiled at the Opera House—”
“Distasteful, that. Impaling Jesuits with ’cellos—not the done thing—I shall have to give him a sharp reprimand if he ever turns up.”
“Well, that is the question, isn’t it? Will Jack turn up? Isaac has already suggested that by jumping off the carriage before the transaction could be consummated, Jack forfeited anything he might have gained in the Black Dogg.”
“Newton has already spoken to me concerning the Black Dogg,” Roger confided. “He now maintains that everything said there, was said under duress—Jack had a sword, you didn’t—and may be considered null and void.”
“What think you, Roger?”
“I think that the Black Dogg deal was perfectly reasonable—if a bit over-generous to Jack—and so I find it disquieting that your Clubb is continuing to pursue him.”
“Because it might queer the deal, and lead to the Duke not showing up for your party, you mean.”
“Yes.” They had reached the anteroom of the Temple, and now stood where they could enjoy the breeze coming in the house’s open front door. They gazed down the steps like two priests of Vulcan taking a break from their sulphuric devotions.
“I cannot control Orney or Kikin,” Daniel pointed out, “and of course to manage Isaac is impossible. You might have to fire him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Marlborough is right, Roger. A sorcerer has no place at the Mint. It pains me to say for this, for Isaac is an old friend, and he makes good guineas. But he ought to be replaced with some chap who just wants to make coins.”
“That is all well and good, but I do not have the power to fire him.”
“Oh, really? You’re a Regent, aren’t you?”
“As are you, Daniel. Why don’t you fire him?”
“It may come to that.”
MacDougall emerged from the penetralia of the Temple, listing to starboard, as he carried a clanking tool-satchel in that hand. Sensing that the two Regents were embroiled in a State matter, he cringed and scurried out the door and did not check himself until he had dived into Daniel’s hackney out on Great Russell Street and pulled the door shut after him.
“How much does Churchill hate Alchemists?” Roger asked. “Can he ever trust Newton?”
“Here is what I told the Duke of Marlborough concerning Alchemy,” Daniel said, which brought Roger to attention. “It has been my view for some years that a new System of the World is being created around us. I used to suppose that it would drive out and annihilate any older Systems. But things I have seen recently, in the subterranean places beneath the Bank, have convinced me that new Systems never replace old ones, but only surround and encapsulate them, even as, under a microscope, we may see that living within our bodies are animalcules, smaller and simpler than us, and yet thriving even as we thrive. When we have stronger microscopes I should not be surprised to discover yet smaller and simpler organisms within those animalcules. And so I say that Alchemy shall not vanish, as I always hoped. Rather, it shall be encapsulated within the new System of the World, and become a familiar and even comforting presence there, though its name may change and its practitioners speak no more about the Philosopher’s Stone. It shall be gone from view but it shall continue to run along beneath, as the lost river Walbrook streams beneath the Bank of England.”
“Nice,” said Roger, “but did the Duke buy it?”
“Unknown,” said Daniel. “But I believe there is no harm in hedging our bets by continuing to investigate Jack, as we wait for the volcano to erupt.”
The Kit-Cat Clubb
AN HOUR LATER
“SPLENDID BAUBLE,” SAID MR. THREADER, elevating his nose so that he could peer through his half-glasses at Daniel’s hand. “I say, you’re not turning into a Fopp, are you?”
“If I’d known all the fuss it would create I would never have put it on. May I have my hand back, please?”
“Who’s the German?”
“Our newest member.”
“I must remind you, Dr. Waterhouse, that this Clubb is bound by rules. Admission of new members is governed by several pages of the Bylaws, which you would do well to familiarize yourself with before showing up with—”
“The Baron is a court philosopher of Hanover, very influential there—”
“Right. He’s in! What’s his name?”
“He is here incognito. Just pretend you know who he is.”
In an apt demonstration of the principle just expounded by Daniel, of systems encapsulated within systems, this claque of frustrated prosecutors had been swallowed up by the Kit-Cat Clubb. It was all because Newton had joined, and thereby endowed it with Mystery and Prestige. They met in a private room in the back, so that blokes like Saturn and MacDougall could take part. There was now a waiting list twenty names deep of men who wanted to join—none of whom had more than a vague idea of the Clubb’s purpose. The fact that a Baron from the court of Hanover had secretly jumped this queue, on the very same day that a different member had been named a Regent, was going to make them all frantic. The Clubb would have to begin meeting in the Temple of Mithras just to get some privacy.
“Being a Regent has changed you!” Leibniz remarked, eyeing the ring.
“This damned thing is a present from that Solomon Kohan,” Daniel confided.
“He does not strike me as the gift-giving type.”
“After our visit to Bridewell, I presented him with a small purse containing bits of gold punched out of the cards. A few days later this ring was delivered to me by a Jew who has a goldsmith’s shop along Lombard. With it was a note from Monsieur Kohan. He had the bits melted down and poured into a ring-mold. This is the result.”
“It seems very courteous of him,” Leibniz said.
“I agree.”
But before they could enter into speculation as to Monsieur Kohan’s real motives, that Silence fell over the room that heralded the arrival of Sir Isaac Newton. It was a different room, and a different meeting suddenly. Isaac made his way around shaking the hands of the Members and Guests: Mr. Kikin, Mr. Orney, Mr. Threader, Saturn, MacDougall, Leibniz, and finally Daniel. There was something markedly chilly in the way he looked at and spoke to Daniel. His greeting of Leibniz was warm by comparison. It was almost as if by some sorcery Isaac had listened in on the things Daniel had been saying about him earlier in the day.
“I must have a private word with my lord Regent,” Isaac announced to the Clubb.
Shortly he and Daniel were facing off across a small table in the main room of the Kit-Cat. The intensity with which Isaac stared at Daniel held at bay any glad-handing Kit-Catters who might have wanted to come over and congratulate the new Regent.
“It is but a week since we spoke to Jack the Coiner in the Black Dogg,” Isaac reminded him. “What are your intentions?”
“The Duke of Marlborough wants a Trial of the Pyx at the time of the Coronation,” Daniel said, and paused for a moment in case Isaac was going to have a stroke. Isaac flinched and colored but went on living. “In the absence of any communications from Mr. Shaftoe—have you heard from him?”
“No.”
“Neither have I. We must continue as before. If he wishes to resume negotiations, we may then deal from a position of greater strength.”
Isaac was not even looking at him.
“What is your position?” Daniel asked.
“I desire what I have always desired,” Isaac said. “Your machinations with Baron von Leibniz have made it harder to get—for much of it is now locked up in a tomb in Clerkenwell, and promised to the Tsar. But Jack might yet have some. Ergo, I must redouble my pursuit of Jack.”
“What if a situation were to arise, Isaac, in which you were presented with a choice: on the one hand, striking a deal with Jack that would end the peril he poses to the currency and to t
he King, but leave you wanting what you seek. On the other, pursuing Jack to the bitter end in the hopes of getting his gold, but at the risk of failing the Trial of the Pyx?
“You ask questions like a Regent,” Isaac said.
“Like it or not, I am one, and must ask such questions. And the question boils down to this: Do you respect the authority of the King, or of Regents appointed to act in his stead, and do you place the Mint and the Currency above other, more personal interests? Or does the Philosoper’s Stone come first?”
“I find it astonishing that the son of Drake would even be capable of forming such a question in his mind, let alone asking it. Did you learn nothing from him?”
“You mistake me. I do not care a fig for the King. In this I am one with Drake. But Drake also taught me the value of money. I may not love money as much as some, but I do respect it. Do you?”
“Do you, Daniel, really believe that I left the Lucasian Chair of Mathematics at the College of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, and came to the Mint, solely out of an interest in numismatics?”
“Well answered,” Daniel said. “Since we agree it is in our interests to continue the pursuit of Jack, let us rejoin the others in back.”
YET ANOTHER NEW GUEST HAD come in through the alley-door, and joined the group in the back room, while Daniel and Isaac had been talking. He was a humble humble man, so hunched, so cringing in his posture that one might think Fellows of the Royal Society had waylaid him in the alley and surgically removed his collar-bones. He was kneading his hat to keep his hands from trembling. He smelled bad, and unlike many who do, he well knew it. Yet Mr. Threader was clapping him on the shoulder as if he were a favorite nephew being sworn in to the Bar. “I present Mr. Marsh!” Threader proclaimed. “Mr. Marsh has been the subject of the Clubb’s deliberations before.”
“I have forgotten those deliberations,” Daniel confessed, “and some of us have never heard them in the first place.”
“Infernal Devices require phosphorus,” Threader said, “and we have already heard from Mr. MacDougall about the large order he has recently placed for same. It shall lead, in coming weeks, to the boiling-down of a stupendous volume of urine.”
The Baroque Cycle: Quicksilver, the Confusion, and the System of the World Page 306