Newton's Cannon

by J. Gregory Keyes

  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.”

  14.

  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 gods and elementals?”

  “Very well, then, Crecy, what do you know of these sup posed 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 philoso-pher'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 assistant. But of course I have heard of you. Be assured 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 association, 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 transvestites 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 assigned 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 assure 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 transvestite 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 impassive 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 transvestites 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?”

  “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 shiver, 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 titanic dome rearing …

  “London,” he breathed. “That is London! You have built me a spyglass 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 butterflies. 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 glass 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.

  15.

  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. Damn, I'll bet Maclaurin is upset.” He paused. “Has anyone got word to Newton? He's the only one who could do anything.”

  “Oh, God,” 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 that 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, bu
t 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 assassins coming after you?” Ben asked.

  Stirling's reaction was an unpleasant surprise. “Where the hell 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. Assassins 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 assassins 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 blustering 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.