Newton's Cannon

by J. Gregory Keyes

  “Understandable,” he said. “Considering.”

  “Considering?”

  He smiled his wolfish smile. “I wonder if our servants might spread a blanket for us? I could then explain to you the maneuvers on the field.” He gracefully twisted his hand to indicate the “armies” below, but she had a chill feeling that he meant a different field, different maneuvers.

  “That sounds lovely,” she said.

  Within moments, a small pavilion had been erected for them, as down below the flam of drums and the wild piping of hautboys signaled the battle had begun. Two lines of infantry advanced, and suddenly smoke bloomed from their rifles. The enfeebled bark of gunfire reached them a moment later, as if from a world away.

  “Watch for the Light Horse to sweep in from the side in a few moments,” Torcy commented.

  “Very well.”

  Torcy waved the servants away.

  “You have been a very busy young woman.”

  “My wedding is approaching.”

  “Yes, which is why I found it odd that you should be engaging in such precocious adventures, my dear. Posing as an Austrian baron? Breaking into Monsieur de Duillier's rooms?”

  Adrienne knew she was still smiling. Aside from a small chill, she felt fine, her thinking seemed clear.

  “What evidence do you have for these accusations, Monsieur?” she asked sweetly.

  He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a bundle of letters. “These are the signed accounts of witnesses: guards who were bribed, servants who witnessed certain things. A number of people can swear that both you and your lady-in-waiting were at the Palais Royal. One of my agents followed you to de Duillier's apartments.”

  Adrienne stared intently at the field. Horsemen in blue and gray uniforms were closing in upon one of the lines of infantry, but suddenly their horses were shying from a string of explosions; from the body of the infantry had stepped a group of tall, lanky men wearing floppy, unbrimmed hats. They had muskets slung on their backs, but they were hurling something.

  “Grenadiers,” Torcy clarified.

  “They have strange hats.”

  “If they wore brims, they would knock their hats off when they unslung their muskets. I notice that you make no attempt to deny my accusations.”

  “I do not dignify your accusations,” Adrienne replied.

  “I prefer to think that even after all you have been through— after all of the poor judgment you have exercised and the evil influences that have beset you—that you still prefer not to dissemble.”

  “You are free to believe that.”

  “Mademoiselle, I have not passed on what I know to the king, or Bontemps, or anyone else.”

  Adrienne turned to face the minister. “And what could that possibly mean?”

  “It means, Mademoiselle, that I would like your cooperation in a certain matter.”

  “Well,” Adrienne said, in as pleasant a tone as she could muster, “I would not think that the marquis of Torcy would be second in anything, but I have been proved wrong, for anything you might want of me, someone else has already inquired after. You wish my virginity? Oh, I am sorry, but the king has taken that. You wish my soul? A pity, for it has been purchased. Surely not my heart, for as you know, that is not mine to give. But if you want to fuck what has already been used, I can accommodate you. If you wish to rent a share of a soul already transacted to others, by all means, lease it. My heart, I fear, I have no control of, but I am certain that I can act the part of a lover well enough.”

  Her tirade caught Torcy off guard, but he quickly recovered. “This talk of a heart,” Torcy mused. “There are some things I have failed to learn after all. You have been unfaithful to the king?”

  Adrienne, preparing another verbal sally, stopped in astonishment. How could Torcy know the details of her adventures and not know—

  Ah.

  “Never mind that,” Torcy said. “I do not care about such things. What I want—” Tears were trickling from the stern min-ister's eyes. Adrienne stared at him, unbelieving. “What I want,” he whispered, “is for you to kill the king.”

  For a quarter of an hour, neither of them spoke. Adrienne watched the weird ballet below them.

  “Is it so orderly in reality?” she asked finally.

  “No,” Torcy answered huskily. “In reality there is much screaming, chaos, and confusion. Men with holes in their heads do not know it and grin at their comrades, believing that they have survived the battle. The field stinks, for men foul themselves as they die, and open entrails have their own diverse odors. No, war is nothing like what you see before you now, my dear.”

  She nodded. “You have lost many who were beloved to you in the wars?”

  “Mademoiselle, you cast your line, but it will catch no fish. It is sufficient that I have decided—much against my heart, entirely against my honor—that Louis XIV has reigned too long. If he rules another year, France will be ruined.”

  “You were behind the attack on the barge? That was why the barge was burned before I could examine it.”

  “No!” he snapped, and then repeated more quietly, “no. Then I was as I seemed: the king's minister and friend. It was your observations that led me to the real culprits. No, that plot was engineered by the Korai.”

  Adrienne stiffened, but he waved his hand. “I care not if a group of women form some Rosicrucian cabal. I have known of them for some time. I never cared until they became active in politics. You led me to them, my dear, but when I found them I was … persuaded.”

  “The duchess swore to me—”

  “The duchess is an admirable woman and well suited to lying, but she did not lie to you. The assassination attempt was planned and carried out without her knowledge. Madame Castries, as I am sure you know, is the brain behind that feminine body.”

  “And when you learned this?”

  “At the time I was shocked, and I would have seen all of you hanged. Now …” His eyes went a little distant. “Now I grow older. Do you understand what will become of France after that thing of de Duillier's strikes London? No civilized country in the world will stand with us. Mademoiselle, I have seen things, heard the king say things …” He looked weary enough to die. “He is no longer Louis,” he said. “I know my king, and that man down there is not he. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “Regicide will not stop the comet.”

  “No, but it might undo some of the worst damage. If Louis is dead, we can end the war. France and Spain will be divided, a peace can be drawn up, and the new king can distance himself from the affair. It will be bad, but if Louis is still alive—”

  “Then he may do it again. And again, and again, until all of Europe bows before him.”

  “Ridiculous. Until some enemy sorcerer lays waste to France with an even more destructive spell. And this weapon of de Duillier's is not like a cannon, as you well know. It cannot be fired at will, but only when the heavens provide ammunition. Even I see that.”

  “And who will you support as king?”

  “Orléans, of course. Maine is a bastard, and France will not have him.”

  “And how is it that you need me, sir?” she asked. “Why must I help you to slay my husband-to-be?”

  “Mademoiselle, the king cannot be slain under most circumstances. He wears ensorceled clothing, and there are things that seem to watch him.”

  “Things?”

  “Demons, I believe. Serpents from the pit.”

  “So he must be naked? Why not when he is changing in his own bedchamber?”

  “Bontemps would rather see France rise in flames than betray the king.”

  “Some would say the same of you.”

  “And once they would have been right. But times and people change. I only ask you to think on it.”

  “No, you ask much more than that,” Adrienne said. “Else why inform me of all the crimes you could charge me with, if you wished?”

  “If I must coerce, I will. But in truth, I wa
nted you only to know that our interests coincide, and that I am not your persecutor.”

  “No? And yet I feel enormously persecuted, Marquis. How can that be?”

  “It is the king who despoils you, Adrienne. It is the king you must be free of.”

  Below, the battle seemed to be concluding; the bodies of men were scattered on the green field. There was no blood.

  “Do you leave me a choice?”

  “I wish to, but I cannot. If you refuse, I must try to kill the king anyway, and I will probably fail. Mademoiselle, the worst thing that can happen to you is that I fail and have pity on you. Then you will have to marry the king. You will have to become another Maintenon, without possessing her fortitude and lack of imagination. Better by far if my evidence were to come to light, for then you would probably be cloistered in some distant convent, where your life would be more pleasant. No, think of my blackmail evidence as proof that you were forced into my mad scheme if it should fail. I can remove from my documents any mention of the Korai, if you wish. In short, I will assert myself as sole author of all events. But to secure these things, you must help me.”

  “What will become of me afterward?” she asked.

  “You will quit France, if you wish. You can vanish, and in the new regime you will be forgotten. I can secure you a position in Florence, Venice, Vienna—someplace you can pursue your studies.”

  Now the king was climbing back into his sedan chair. All traces of her earlier compassion were gone. Torcy was right. Louis must die. She did not trust the minister, but that was beside the point. If this was a trap, it had been set and baited too well.

  And she knew a thing or two the foreign minister did not, things that might make all of the difference or none at all. She smiled brightly at Torcy. “Tell me what I must do,” she said, “and I will do it.”

  Torcy grimaced. “It is more complicated than that,” he said. “I told you the king was protected.”

  “You implied I need only have him naked, away from Bontemps.”

  “I am afraid that I hedged. I wanted to persuade you before I told everything.”

  “I see.”

  “As I said, he is protected. I do not know how far that protection extends.”

  “Do you mean you do not know how to kill him?”

  “Yes, Mademoiselle, that is exactly what I am saying. When fully dressed he wears certain garments that repel bullets and render neutral the energies of such weapons as kraftpistoles.”

  “He does not wear them with me.”

  “I'm sure he doesn't. Neither was he wearing them when the barge was attacked. It was a whim of his to leave them off. He felt that it disturbed the lines of his costume.”

  “Then there is something else.”

  “Yes, there is.” Reaching into an inner pocket of his coat, he withdrew a small book and passed it to her. “You will find what details I know in there. I am not a magus, Demoiselle. I know poison has no effect upon the king. He may, indeed, be immortal. We can only pray that he is not, and I can only pray that you can find the solution to France's dilemma.”

  Adrienne took the book without hesitation and opened it to the first page. It was a notebook, unsigned, scrawled in a tight but clear hand. Notes to the Experiments Concerning the Persian Elixir of Mehemet Mira Bey, or the Elixir of Life, it read.

  “The elixir that saved his life?”

  “Yes. The king's piety was always mostly an affectation, you know, but he once had enough sense not to defy God's will with some diabolical liqueur. Would that he had retained it for another hour that day in Marly. He would have died honorably. Instead, he has damned himself and France, and now I, too, face the flames of hell.”

  “Well, sir,” Adrienne said sardonically, “I will meet you there, I suppose. Perhaps you will be Lucifer's minister.”

  “I fear I already am,” Torcy said.

  17.

  The Orrery

  “Of course!” Maclaurin muttered, as he and the rest followed Ben into the orrery room. “How stupid of me!”

  “How stupid of all of us,” Heath added, “except for Ben.”

  “I had more time to think about it,” Ben said, but he was secretly pleased at Heath's left-handed praise.

  “But the alchemical symbols …” Voltaire muttered.

  “Ciphers, again,” Stirling said suddenly. “They don't represent the elements—but the planets.”

  “Yes, yes,” Maclaurin agreed. “And the groups of numbers represent coordinates in three dimensions.”

  “It's an addition to the orrery,” Vasilisa exclaimed. “But what, a new planet?”

  They were all crowded around Ben, gazing at the oblong object. “No. It's a comet or some similar body,” Stirling answered. “Its orbit must be built into it, like the models already in the orrery. The coordinates are so we can insert it at the proper point.”

  “And this numeral set here tells us what date to set the orrery at when we insert it,” Maclaurin went on excitedly. “You see, Jove must be in this position, and Mars in this— Stirling?”

  “Right away.” The astronomer extracted a key from his pocket and crossed the room. There he unlocked a cabinet Ben had never seen opened. Inside, mounted on a hardwood board, were a number of polished brass wheels.

  “I need people to stand at the predicted positions,” he said. “Ben, you be Mars; Maclaurin, Jupiter; Vasilisa, I think you would fit Venus nicely—”

  “Mercury for me, then,” Voltaire cheerfully volunteered.

  “How do I know where to stand?” Ben asked.

  “The first coordinate refers to the position out along the plane from the sun. Those are marked on the floor.”

  Ben saw a series of concentric circles traced on the tile and wondered why he had never before noticed them. He supposed it was because the floating spheres themselves were so captivating.

  “The second number refers to the rays coming out from the sun, in degrees. That places you at the right spot along the orbital path. We have to use both, of course, because the planets don't follow truly circular orbits, though our coordinate system does.”

  “I see.” Though he had guessed what the numbers represented, he had never had the orrery system explained to him. He didn't ask about the third number: That would represent the distance above or below the imaginary plane of the solar system, drawn through the sun's equator.

  He found his spot and stood there, noticing that Mars was nearly across the room from him. Vasilisa, Voltaire, Maclaurin, and Heath ranged out to complete the system, Heath playing Saturn. Ben noticed that Heath was nearest to him.

  “Now, mind being hit!” Stirling cautioned.

  The planets slowed and stopped, and as Ben watched, excited and bemused, reversed their courses.

  “I've been running it ahead, to check some calculations I made on Jupiter's moons,” Stirling explained. “I'll have to run it back a few years.”

  Voltaire gave a little yelp as Mercury fairly whizzed by him, hurtling back along its mayfly years. Vasilisa waved Venus by her with a laugh. The others were in no danger; even at this accelerated speed, the planets from Earth outward moved sluggishly, Saturn and Jupiter crawling like twin hour hands.

  It took a fair half an hour, but at last Ben stepped aside and let Mars take his place.

  “This looks right,” Maclaurin said, “or near enough.”

  “Saturn isn't quite right,” Heath complained. The ringed planet was still half a foot from him.

  “Saturn is never quite right,” Stirling said. “I've said more than once that that French philosopher was correct in predicting a seventh planet. It shouldn't matter, though. Newton's object will be inserted—” He walked out across the now stationary orrery, eyes on the floor markings. He hesitated a moment, held the egg-shaped object up, and released it. “—here.”

  It remained there. Vasilisa applauded delightedly, and Ben released the breath he had been holding. How angry they would have been if he had been wrong.

  “No
w, if everyone will step off the floor,” Stirling entreated, returning to the cabinet.

  Ben backed to the edge of the room. The marble-sized sphere, unconcerned with the effects of gravity, continued to hover just inside the orbit of Mars.

  “When was this?” Vasilisa asked. “When was this alignment represented?”

  “A few months ago,” Stirling told her. As he said this, the planets began rotating again, very, very slowly.

  “That's at real speed,” Stirling said. “But I'm certain that Sir Isaac must have wanted us to see the motion of this new object, so I will quicken it.”

  “Why did he go to all of this trouble?” Maclaurin wondered. “He must have found this comet using the affinascope. It must be small indeed. Why not simply calculate its orbit and send us the projection?”

  “It must be something he wants us to see,” Vasilisa offered. “Something interesting.”

  “I'm moving it up so that a minute equals a day,” Stirling said.

  Now the Earth and most of the other planets were spinning on their axes quite visibly, and Mercury and the moons of the larger planets began to inch noticeably around their orbits. Ben kept his eye on Newton's spheroid. “It's moving,” he whispered.

  Maclaurin moved nearer, fixing a critical eye upon it. “Yes, the orbit must be highly elliptical. See how it plummets sunward? And my God, the speed! It must be traversing a thousand miles per minute!”

  “And accelerating, of course,” Heath added.

  In five minutes—five days to the orrery—the thing had moved an astonishing distance.

  Vasilisa saw it first. “Matka Bozhye,” she muttered. “See? See?”

  For another instant, Ben did not, but then he got it.

  “Oh, shit,” Maclaurin swore.

  They continued to watch for the next quarter of an hour, but by then they all knew. When the object bumped into the model of the Earth with a metallic ping, none of them were surprised.

  “There is still one inscription unaccounted for,” Maclaurin said. He had just retrieved the model and was looking it over more thoroughly. “Just two numbers, and no symbols at all—nine and zero.”