Newton's Cannon (31 page)

Ben had seen drawings of such models of the solar system before, but in those, the bodies were supported by armatures. Here, all floated freely, as the glowing stone had floated above Bracewell's head.

“Most remarkable,” Ben breathed. Then a thought struck him.

“Where is the clockwork I hear? What drives these around?”

Vasilisa smiled and pointed up to the ceiling. There, behind a plate of glass, a mass of gears clucked and clattered.

“The planets are attuned to those rods, which attract them just enough so that they do not fall. Their spin and orbit is imparted internally—each orb has been taught to spin of its own accord.”

“It's unbelievable. Who built this?”

“James did, for Newton and Halley.”

“James? The quiet one?”

“Quiet but brilliant. I'm told he did not sleep for five days, working out just the basics of this.”

“And it is accurate? The movements are all correct?”

“Not perfect, but the corrections required are so tiny that it can run for months without need of adjusting, at least when it is
running at ‘real’ speed. Right now it's going about triple the speed of the true solar system: Colin and James are trying to place more bodies into the structure.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn't a toy,” Vasilisa replied. “We use it to experiment with the motions of bodies. These, for instance.” She gently relinquished her hold on him and strode over to the orrery.

“Of course the size of the orbs is proportionally too large for the distance between them,” she explained, “else the planets would be too small to see. But all of that can be corrected for. Now, see this?”

She pointed to something Ben had not noticed before: a marble-sized object suspended in air near Saturn but too far away to be one of the moons.

“A comet?” he asked.

“Oh, wonderfully done,” Vasilisa said.

Ben walked around the orrery now, frowning. “Why, there's another,” he muttered, “and another. And there, between Jupiter and Mars, a whole belt of them.”

“Actually, those seem different,” Vasilisa remarked, stepping in toward Mars. “See, these have more circular orbits, like the planets. The comets and black comets stream in elliptically.”

“Black comets?”

“They do not develop tails of flame as comets do.” She dimpled. “They cannot be seen through a telescope.”

Ben gestured vaguely around him. “Then how—” he began.

“A new device,” she said. “You will not have heard of it. But these comets are the least of things. Much more major additions will have to be made to the orrery than that!”

“What? What are you saying?”

“Too much,” Vasilisa said. “I should wait for Mr. Maclaurin to explain all this to you. I have been a bit impertinent, I'm afraid.”

“Well, finish explaining about the uses of this,” Ben pursued stubbornly.

Vasilisa nodded. “I don't see the harm in that,” she admitted. “As you probably know, each heavenly body has some small effect on every other. The gravity of Jupiter bends slightly the
orbit of Mars, and so on. The motion of no one planet can be calculated without reference to another.”

“Yes, that I understand,” Ben said.

“Well, then, taking into account everything we know, we make this orrery and set it running, and we find that in a short time it deviates from reality. Do you see what that means?”

“It means that there are unseen bodies amongst the seen,” Ben replied. When Vasilisa beamed at his answer, he felt a surge of satisfaction.

“Of course. So we try to account for them by adding things. We can test our hypothesis here until we have a model of the solar system that runs precisely correctly. Then we shall know we have it right.”

“But you imply that you have some other way of detecting these unseen bodies.”

“I did, didn't I?” Vasilisa grinned. “But you have dragged enough from me today. Let us retire to a sitting room and have some chocolate. It will be our secret that I showed you this in advance.”

Ben agreed, finding that he liked sharing secrets with Vasilisa.

They were halfway through a cup of chocolate when Maclaurin and Heath arrived.

“Already here, eh?” Maclaurin said when he saw Ben. “Have you been makin' too free of our secrets, Vasilisa?”

“Colin, you astonish me,” Vasilisa demurred.

“Oh, certain,” Maclaurin said. “Well, whatever. Finish up, me boy, for you've much work to do.”

“Work?”

“Aye. Didn't you come here in hopes of 'prenticing to Sir Isaac?”

“I … ah—” Ben started.

“Well, with luck, all of us students together might add up to a single Newton.”

Ben stared at the Scot, wondering if he was really saying what he seemed to be saying.

“We've agreed,” Maclaurin explained, slowly, as if to a dimwit. “You can be 'prentice to us all.”

* * *

Ben soon discovered that being an apprentice to philosophers was much the same as being any other sort of apprentice; it mostly involved doing the boring, menial tasks that the adepts did not themselves care to do. His first day he washed glassware, swept floors, brought water and coffee. But he got to see three of the laboratories and wonder at the alchemical and philosophical devices that filled them, and even if he had not, his moment that morning with Vasilisa and the orrery would have paid for all of his work.

After a week of sweeping and washing and answering the door, he was no longer certain. He finally confronted Maclaurin about it.

“I'm supposed to be an apprentice, and yet I'm not learning anything,” he grumbled. “Or being paid, for that matter.”

“Didn't I tell you?” Maclaurin said, taking a bench and rubbing his eyes. “Tomorrow you'll build us one of your aetherschreibers. Besides that, the library and the little laboratory are open to you, should you wish to use them.” He paused briefly. “We've not much to pay you with, but you can take a room here, just as Vasilisa has.”

“I … well, the thing is, I'm sharing a house with a friend of mine. I'm expected to help with the rent there.” And yet the thought of actually living here, of having every spare moment to spend with whatever experiments he might conceive … “I'll think about it,” he finished.

“I can't say I blame you,” Robert said quietly. “These new friends of yours must be a hell of a lot more interestin' than a footpad like me.”

“It's not
that
, Robin. It's that they've nothing to
pay
me with but the room. And I've nothing to pay you with for this one.”

“I still owe you a few pounds. Besides, I can get you on as an adjustant on a locomotive,” Robert replied.

“By my reckoning you've paid me in full,” Ben said. “If it weren't for you, I'd probably be dead several times by now.”

Robert nodded absently. “The thing is, Ben,” he said, “I'm in a bit of a spot. I had some ill luck at the gambling tables the other night. I'm more than a little in debt. I was truly hoping you
would take the locomotive job and stay here until I can settle up and start paying rent again.”

A sort of sinking feeling had begun in Ben's belly. He owed Robert a lot, he supposed.

But not that much.

“Robin,” he said, “I … your gambling and drinking are your affairs. I don't mean that to sound harsh. You're the best friend I have in London. If I had more money to lend, I would. But I
have
to do this 'prenticeship. It's what I came to London
for
.”

“That's odd,” Robert remarked somewhat coldly. “I had the idea that you came here because you were
fleeing
Boston. How many debts did you leave behind there?”

Ben's face flushed hot, and he stared hard at the floor.

“I thought I could count on you,” Robert said softly, “but I should know by now that Robert Nairne must count only on Robert Nairne.”

Ben had no answer for that.

Ben moved to Crane Court the next day. The whole scientific world lay before him.

Louis arose, leaving Adrienne drenched in their commingled sweat. She drew the sheet up over her nakedness. Pressing the linen against her face, she blotted the tears there, knowing that if Louis could not hear her cry, he would not know of it. Whatever sorcery gave him vision would not show him tears.

I am becoming the ghost of Maintenon
, she thought.

Tonight her body actually hurt. The king was never brutal, but she still bore the bruises from today's adventures, and the dull ache that followed sex was like a key that unlocked those other pains.

No word had yet been heard from Nicolas, and that was a whole different species of pain.

Crecy and she had reached the country home that had been their destination, where Adrienne had been bathed and dressed in proper women's fashion. She had then returned to Versailles as if nothing had happened. Bontemps himself had greeted her, asking no unusual questions, and that evening she had played cards with the king and Torcy. Torcy told her of the strange trio who had invaded the masque of the duke of Orléans and slain a number of musketeers, but he did so without irony. The king had quite casually asked about Nicolas, and she had lied, saying that she had released him for two days to visit a cousin in Paris. It had already occurred to her that the king and his minister might know exactly where Nicolas was, but if so she was probably already doomed. At the king's suggestion, she had returned to her rooms early, and he had come to her shortly thereafter.

She wished she could peel off her body like a soiled dress and
throw it on a trash heap, but the best she could do was to hide it from her sight. It had been bad enough that her flesh had been dirtied without the sacrament of marriage. Now she knew she had been whore to the bringer of the apocalypse. Nothing could cleanse the stench of monster from her.

It was lying there, weeping for dead Nicolas and her own dead soul, that she began to understand what her remaining purpose was.

She, Adrienne, would kill the king.

Who else could do it? Who else could have him alone and naked, without his protections against bullets and daggers?

She might already have waited too long. If Nicolas had been killed, if the musketeers had his body …

But Louis, who had just lain with her, could not suspect much unless, in his madness, he thought himself invulnerable.

The outer door creaked open again. “I've ordered you a bath,” Crecy's voice said gently, after a moment.

Adrienne didn't answer, but presently she heard maids bringing in hot water and pouring it into her tub in the adjoining room. When Crecy had helped her into the hot, scented water, she felt better, especially when the other's immensely strong fingers began stroking her shoulders. As the knots in her neck and back were kneaded loose, she considered again how she might murder the king. Feeling the strength of Crecy's fingers, she wondered if Crecy and the Korai had always known that it would come to this, if their plan was to kill Louis XIV all along.

It seemed reasonable, but she could not work up the anger that she should. After all,
someone
had to stop him.

“Is this too hard?” Crecy asked.

“No.” She paused. “May I call you Veronique? Now that I no longer have Nicolas …” she started, but on his name she choked and began to whimper.

“I had uncharitable thoughts about you the other night, Cre—
Veronique
.”

“You would not be the first, Adrienne,” Crecy answered.

“I thought you a whore for using your body to extort information from Fatio.”

Crecy's hands paused, then resumed their work. “Perhaps I
was,” Crecy replied. “I did not have to use very
much
of my body. I did not fuck him, Adrienne, but I
would
have, to learn what we learned.”

“You see, I would not have,” Adrienne said bitterly, “though I would let a king fuck me because I have been told to do so. Doing what you did would not have been
passive
enough for me.”

“Don't speak of yourself so,” Crecy admonished. “It is difficult enough to survive the humiliations heaped upon you by others without adding your own.”

“Is it easy for you?” Adrienne asked. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Do you mean sex?” Crecy asked.

“I suppose. Did you enjoy seducing Fatio?”

Crecy chuckled throatily. “I suppose I did—it is a feeling of power, to see men become helpless. Fatio was not much of a challenge.”

“I used to enjoy my power over him,” Adrienne admitted, “though I was never so bold as you. I only smiled, only implied possibilities. I was jealous of you, I think.”

“Jealous?”

“Stupid, isn't it? It's just that I never conquered much, Veronique, and you so quickly overran my possession.”

“Some would consider the king a great prize,” Crecy pointed out softly.

Adrienne stiffened. “
I
did not do that,” she said. “Can't you see that with your prescience? The king's love is for some creature of his mind that I have the poor fortune to resemble.”

“I said ‘some,’ Adrienne.
I
do not envy you—your pain is too apparent. I wish I could extricate you from this mess, for I know that I am in large measure responsible.”

“No,” Adrienne averred, “you may have seen it, but you did not bring it about. I thought that I would be the queen, and powerful. I thought the king might—that I might even enjoy …” She sighed. “I betrayed myself.”

“You are very young,” Crecy said. “You must want many things you are told you should not have. Such conflict makes one stupid.”

“I suppose. I suppose that I thought with the king, it would not be sin.”

“
Pfah.
Sin. There is your problem, Adrienne. Have not your researches shown you that the universe has no need of God?”

“Perhaps
I
have need of God,” Adrienne answered shakily.

“Weakness.”

“What would you know of weakness?” Adrienne asked. “You, who do as you please, who hold a man's position in the Hundred Swiss, who wield a sword like Roland or Oliver?”

Crecy laughed. “You admire this?”

“I have always wanted …” Adrienne stopped. “Castries was right,” she went on. “I have always sought some middle path between marriage and the convent.”