The Blackgod cotc-2
Page 55
“They don't say so in London,” Uncle Benjamin interposed.
“Or in France,” his father shot back, “but you know what deviltry they've put this 'science' toward there.”
“Bah. The same could be said of such an honest invention as a musket. It only profits us to know the mind of God.”
“Indeed. But is it the mind of God that makes stones glow and float in the air?” Ben's father lifted his hands. “I don't know, and neither do you. Neither does Ben, and it's his immortal soul I worry about. Not to mention his pockets, for books are not cheaply had.”
“Father,” Ben said carefully, ordering his words in his mind, “you ask how it will profit me. I ask you, When every man in Boston has a flameless lantern, who will buy candles?”
The two older men turned to stare at him, and he was secretly pleased at their dumfounded expressions.
“Say that again,” Uncle Benjamin whispered.
“Well, suppose these lights are easy to make—”
“Suppose they are expensive,” his father interrupted.
“Yes,” Ben persisted, “suppose they cost ten times the price of a candle. But suppose also that they never burn down—need never be replaced? Would not the wise man then invest in the more expensive item so that he could save in the long term?”
His father was silent for a moment. His uncle sat equally quiet, observing the exchange between father and son.
“We don't know that they last forever,” Josiah finally said. “We don't know that they are not even more dear than thirty times the cost of a candle.”
“No, Father, we don't,” Ben said. “But if you give me your leave, I can find out.”
“Do what you think best, Ben,” his father at last acquiesced. “And when you are not certain what is best, then you speak to me. One leak will sink a boat: one sin will destroy a sinner.' You see, I, too, have read your Mr. Bunyan.”
“Agreed, Father.”
“Now then, here is another thing that touches on your bookish-ness. Where were you before you spied on this magician? You took a very long time after a single loaf of bread, even with some espionage thrown in.”
“Oh. I…” He had forgotten about that. He picked at the grain of the table wood with his thumbnail. “I went down to the Long Wharf. A New York sloop was coming in.”
Ben's father sighed. “Why do boys so pine for the sea?”
“I don't pine, sir—” Ben began.
“I wasn't asking you, lad. It was a question for the Almighty. Ben, I know that if I try to keep you in the chandler's trade, you will treat it badly or run off like your brother Josiah. So here is my thought. I will try to find you a trade more suited to your talents, and in turn you will remain here in Boston, at least until you've reached a proper age.”
Ben hesitated. “What trade did you have in mind, Father?”
“Well, I must apprentice you, so here is my thought.” He leaned forward. “Your brother James is due home soon from England; he is going to set up a printing shop right here in Boston.”
Ben felt a sudden, almost giddy hope. Was his father going to send him to England, too, to serve an apprenticeship in the printer's trade? That was more than he had dared hope.
“Yes, I thought you would like this idea,” his father exclaimed. “Brother, what did I tell you?”
“It will please him well,” he replied, but his eyes were watching his nephew carefully.
“It's settled then, if James agrees,” his father said, eyes shining. “When your brother returns, you shall be 'prenticed to him. That should bring you in touch with those books you seek, give you a trade that will bring you pleasure, and keep you here in Massachusetts.”
Ben felt his happy expression freeze. The thought of becoming a printer was interesting, but years of servitude to a brother worried him.
Ben reached his bed that night with a feeling of both wonder and resignation. Though he could hardly dispute that things had taken a turn for the better, something was slipping away from him. And at the very edge of sleep, he realized it was the floating light and that strange, curling text. The shadow of apprenticeship dimmed hope of that alchemical light.
That can be me, he thought again insistently. I will find every book in Boston that tells of science and magic, and I shall make my own devices. I shall profit from inventing them, too, and Father will be proud.
But something about that rang false, so that when sleep at last found him, it found a fitful and unhappy boy.
NEWTON'S CANNON by J. Gregory Keyes
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