Age Of Unreason - Newton's Cannon Part 17

"Yes! Yes!" Fatio replied enthusiastically. "Still, I wonder whom we have to thank."

"I'm sure one of our English colleagues will claim the credit soon enough," Gustavus responded, flicking his gaze to the aetherschreiber. "But let you and I strike while the iron is hot."

"Oh, yes! We can give the king a date, now. That will please him-" He glanced suddenly at Adrienne and then at Nicolas d'Artagnan, standing behind her. Gustavus glared, though she did not need that to know that Fatio had said more than he ought.

A date, Adrienne repeated to herself, walking back toward the aetherschreibers. Another clue.

That afternoon, near three, Torcy sent for her. With Nicolas in tow, she met him in the king's antechamber.

"The king has gone to Marly for a few days, at his physician's insistence," Torcy explained to her. "He wishes you to join him there."

"I see," Adrienne said. She had wondered if, in the chaos, Louis had forgotten her. Whereas a few days ago that would have been cause for rejoicing, now she felt relief. Whatever forces were at play, whatever confluence of cabals had swept her up in their plotting certainly did not care what she wanted.

The coming storm-whatever its nature-might still break her. But if one had to weather a hurricane, she knew that it was best to be in its eye.

That eye was Louis.

And yet, the thought of being the king's mistress repulsed her more today than it had earlier.

Torcy clearly read the momentary struggle in her features. "Don't wear that long face to Marly," he cautioned. "The king may not be capable of sight-" He hesitated, as if to add something, and then plunged on. "-but he is surrounded by those who are."

"Your pardon," Adrienne said. "I... I only hope I can be of some comfort to him."

Torcy nodded diffidently. "I am certain that you can. The king has always been comforted by youth and beauty." He paused for the barest instant, his eyes narrowing their focus. "Have you anything to tell me regarding what we discussed?"

Adrienne shook her head. "I wanted to examine the barge, especially the remains of the lantern, but my bodyguard informed me that it has been incinerated."

"So it has," Torcy confirmed. "Most of the ministers have convinced themselves and the king that this was an English plot. Indeed, one of the Hundred Swiss apprehended an Englishman soon after the fire."

"What made him suspect this Englishman?"

Torcy held up his hands. "The Englishman was carrying a musket. When the guardsman approached to question him, he fired. Actually, he killed one guard."

"But the Englishman did not confess?"

Torcy smiled wryly. "Perhaps to G.o.d. The guard arrested him with the point of his smallsword." He reached into a coat pocket "This is one of his rifle b.a.l.l.s," he added, pa.s.sing it to Adrienne. "Does it tell you anything?" Torcy asked.

"It could be a catalyst," Adrienne finally said. "It would be the simplest way to trigger the lantern into igniting the air. But if a marksman could strike the globe, why not simply shoot the king?"

"There is a plain answer to that," Torcy said, his voice very low. "The king cannot be shot."

"What?"

"He has been protected from bullets," Torcy answered simply.

"Oh." She frowned, wondering precisely how that might be done. Clearly, Torcy was not going to tell her, even if he knew. "In that case, perhaps it was an English plot"

"I have no doubt that the English had a hand in this," Torcy replied. "They know that the next king would sue for peace and relinquish much of what we have gained in the last few decades. But I smell a stink in Versailles, Mademoiselle, and it is too grand a stink to be accounted for by one dead Englishman."

The coach bounced violently, and for the third time, Adrienne caught Nicolas glancing quickly away from her, a puzzled, thoughtful expression on his face.

"What is it Nicolas?" she demanded, irritated. "Why do you keep gawking at me?"

"Your pardon, milady Adrienne," he mumbled.

"Why should you care for my pardon? But if you ask your question, I might answer it"

"Question, milady?"

"I am losing patience with all this," she snapped. "The unasked questions, the half-truths, the veiled threats-" She stopped, realizing that speaking thus to one who had Torcy's confidence might not be such an intelligent maneuver.

"Again, milady, my apologies," Nicolas said mildly. "You are quite correct. My question regards honesty," he said, his voice barely audible over the clattering of hooves.

He looked down at the floor of the coach. Finally he cleared his throat. "I just wondered why you hide your gifts, that is all, your knowledge."

"Torcy has spoken to you?"

"A little, but he needed to say nothing. My job is to watch you, milady. And though I know nothing of mathematics or science, I am not so dense that I cannot see that you do. And yet you hide what you know. You are an educated woman-everyone knows you attended Saint Cyr. Such women are valued, I hear, for their learning."

"Oh, yes," she said, "so long as they learn the right things: to make polite conversation, to be cheerful and supportive, to know the New Testament but not the Old, to learn nothing of theology-" What use going on like this to this rustic guard?

Nicolas frowned. "I thought they taught reading and figuring the math, and..."

"Reading, yes, but only certain subjects. Mathematics, yes, of the simplest sort but never calculus, never geometry. We were taught to be horrified of science, as if it were sin."

"And yet you learned it"

"Indeed," Adrienne said, chagrined at the way her voice shook. "The king and Madame de Maintenon had the good grace to send me to a school where I learned all that a woman might hope to learn. And what did I do? I betrayed that, Nicolas. Madame de

Maintenon would turn in her grave if she ever knew what you know, what Torcy knows."

"And the king?"

She shook her head. "The king thinks me blameless, yet if ever he knew I had betrayed

Maintenon and Saint Cyr in such a way, he would be furious."

"And yet you always smile."

"Do I?" She was genuinely astonished.

"Of course. Even when arguing with the marquis de Torcy. Didn't you know this?"

Adrienne blinked, realizing stupidly that she was smiling even now. "I do not notice it,"

she admitted.

"That makes me sad," Nicolas said.

"Oh?"

"When you smile, it should be because you are joyful."

Adrienne snorted. "A young lady is always joyful," she said. "Serious, dutiful, and

joyful."

"Now you make fun of me," Nicolas said.

Adrienne regarded the young man for a long moment "Do you know," she said after a

moment, "that there were supposed to be no dark corners at Saint Cyr? No places for girls to whisper to one another. No places for secrets. Did you ever have secrets as a boy, Nicolas?"

"Of course I did," he replied.

"I believe," Adrienne went on, "that one cannot have a friend if one does not share

secrets with him."

"How long were you at Saint Cyr?" the guardsman asked.

"Fourteen years," she replied.

"And you never had a friend?"

She sucked in a deep breath. "Yes, in the end I think I did," she said at last.

He nodded as if he understood. "I am sorry to have troubled you, milady."

"As you suspected, I was troubled before," Adrienne said. "But see here, Nicolas. You

have learned a secret about me, and I have learned none about you."

"By your light," he said, "if we share secrets we shall become friends."

"Why, yes," she said.

He smiled. "Well then, I must think a bit, for I wouldn't want to base a friendship on

some spuriously chosen secret It must be a fine one."

He seemed to think for some time, then his gaze found hers again, his eyes like

hieroglyph jewels, suddenly full of meaning. She felt a faint warmth in her breast. His lips parted. At that moment, lightning struck the carriage. The windows shattered inward; she felt a sting on her cheek, and the entire carriage tilted, seemed to leap forward, and then jarred to a halt Adrienne found herself crashed against the coach wall by Nicolas, stunned. Then Nicolas was shaking her, his mouth moving frantically, but, though she could hear what he was saying his words made no sense to her. She nodded, hoping he would understand that she was uninjured.

At least, she thought that she was.

The carriage was tilted as if the wheels on one side had been torn from it. Nicolas reached past her and wrenched the door open, producing his pistol and colichemarde

as he did so. Outside, Adrienne caught rushed, blurred motion. There was a shot, a tiny little sound, and then another flash of lightning.

Then there was silence.

Lullaby

Ben fit the last bolt into place and stepped back to admire his work. Nodding, he wiped grease on his already ink-and mud-stained breeches. "I don't know if you'll work," he told his invention, "but I like the look of you."

James stepped in from outside, shaking out his greatcoat. "Talking to G.o.d again, Ben?" he said. "You can tell him I could do without the rain." He flashed a smile, doffed his hat, and shook that, too.

"I'm done talking to him for the day," Ben said, "but I'll keep it in mind next time we converse. How did it go with the Couranteers?"

"The other Couranteers, you mean. We count you one, you know."Ben turned as if examining the press to hide the stupid beam he knew had just crossed his face. "Well, what did they allow?"

"We're all agreed that we'll be d.a.m.ned before letting the ministers tell us what we can and cannot print," James said.

"Relevant choice of words," Ben noted. "But if I'm a Couranteer, I'm in it with you."

"That's good, because if I'm arrested, you must keep up publishing."

"Arrested?" Ben asked, gripping the frame of the press.