Newton's Cannon (The Age of Unreason, Band 1) - Softcover

Buch 1 von 4: The Age of Unreason

Keyes, J. Gregory

 
9780345406057: Newton's Cannon (The Age of Unreason, Band 1)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0345406052 ISBN 13: 9780345406057
Verlag: Tor Books, 1998

Inhaltsangabe

With a sorcerer on his heels, Benjamin Franklin flees to England for help from Sir Isaac Newton, whose new discovery--a means of controlling reality itself--has sparked a war between Louis XIV and George I of England. Original.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

J. Gregory Keyes is a teacher at the University of Georgia and is pursuing a Ph.D. in the anthropology of belief system and mythology. He was born in Mississippi and raised there and on the Navajo reservation in Arizona. He is the author of The Waterborn and The Blackgod.

Aus dem Klappentext

ning new novel, acclaimed author J. Gregory Keyes charts a course sideways through time. Come with him to a world both deeply familiar and wondrously strange. Lose yourself in a fantasy woven from the stuff of history, a dazzling quest whose outcome will raise humanity to unparalleled heights of glory--or ring down a curtain of endless night . . .

NEWTON'S CANNON

1681: Sir Isaac Newton turns his restless mind to the ancient art of alchemy. He achieves an unprecedented breakthrough, unleashing Philosopher's Mercury, a primal source of matter and a key to manipulating the four elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. Now, Louis XIV of France and George I of England battle for its control. As English armies push nearer to Paris, Louis calls for a new weapon--a mysterious device known only as Newton's Cannon.

Amidst the decadence of Versailles, courtiers and poseurs plot and scheme. And Adrienne de Montchevreuil, an impecunious noblewoman of great beauty a

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Louis awoke to the clatter of Bontemps, his valet, putting away his
folding bed, as he did every morning. A frigid wind blustered in through
the open windows of his bedchamber, and Louis greeted it with none of his
former pleasure. Once, it would have invigorated him. Now, he imagined the
wind as death's frustrated caress.



Another metallic click, a sigh, and he heard Bontemps retreating. Louis
arranged in his mind the day to come. The order in his days was his only
remaining comfort. He had made Versailles into a great and precise clock,
and though he was king, he was carried along by its mechanisms as surely
as his lowliest servant or courtier. More certainly, in fact, since a
servant might slip briefly away and steal a private moment, encounter a
mistress, take a nap. This was his only private moment, in bed, pretending
to be asleep. It gave him time to think and to remember.



The Persian elixir had given him new life and a body that felt younger
than it had in thirty years, but it had robbed him of everything else.
Gone were his brother Phillipe; his son Monseigneur; his grandson, the
duke of Burgundy, and his wife, the duchess Marie-Adelaide, whose death
had broken his heart. It was as if God were sweeping clean the line of
Louis XIV. The dust had also claimed almost all of his old friends and
companions. But worst of all was the loss of his wife, Maintenon.



Now he had only France, and France was a restless, thankless mistress. He
knew--though his ministers tried to keep it from him--that there were
whispers against him now. As the years passed and he grew stronger and
more full of health, those who had hidden their wishes that he would die
and make way for a new regime were allowing themselves snide asides. They
were plotting. There were even some who whispered that the real Louis was
dead, and he the devil's proxy.



He had returned to Versailles to show them he was king and to restore the
image of glory to accompany his renewed health.



In the antechamber outside, he now heard the subdued chatter of the
ever-present courtiers, awaiting their chance to see him. He heard
footsteps entering, and he knew without opening his eyes that the
porte-buchon du Roi had come in to light the fire in the fireplace.



The gears of Versailles creaked on. More footsteps as the royal watchmaker
entered the room, wound Louis' watch, and departed.



Yes, he had been right to return to Versailles. Five years ago, when he
was dying, his chateau of Marly--comfortable, pleasant, intimate
Marly--had seemed the place to spend the remainder of his days. Versailles
was drafty; it was an instrument of torture that cost a sizable fraction
of the treasury each year to maintain. But Versailles was splendid, a fit
dwelling for Apollo. The nation needed him here.



A shuffling from the side door was his wig maker, bringing his dressing
wig and the wig of the day.



That meant he had a few more moments. Beneath the covers, he stretched,
and was gratified to feel muscles respond to his commands. Since his brush
with death, his body felt fresh and alive. All his old appetites were
returning to him. All of them, and some would not be denied gratification
much longer.



Why, then, if his body was again sound, did a feeling of dread still hound
him? Why did his dreams grow persistently darker? Why did he fear being
alone?



The clock struck eight. "Awaken, Sire," Bontemps said. "Your day has
begun."



Louis snapped his eyes open. "Good morning, Bontemps," he said, attempting
a smile. He shook his head, gazing at the lean, fiftyish face looking down
at him.



"Are you ready, Your Majesty?" he asked.



"Indeed, Bontemps," he said. "You may admit whom you wish."








The morning lever continued. His doctors came in and inquired about his
health. When the chamberlain admitted the first of the courtiers--the ones
who had earned invitations to the grande entree through diligence--Louis
found himself dreading their presence, their fawning submission, their
requests.



He felt that way until he saw Adrienne de Mornay de Montchevreuil among
them.



"Mademoiselle," he exclaimed, reaching to embrace her. "To what do I owe
this exquisite pleasure?"



Adrienne returned his embrace and then curtsied. "I am well, as I always
am in your presence, Sire." Her smile was as flawless as a perfect ruby.
"I hope Your Majesty is well."



"Of course, my dear." He smiled and cast his eyes over the remainder of
the courtiers, all young men, all with that hopeful light in their eyes,
all wondering what advantage they might be able to extract from this dear
girl.



Adrienne wore the uniform of Saint Cyr, the simple gown with black ribbons
that showed she had achieved that school's highest rank--just as she had
always dressed when she was his late wife's secretary. Louis generally
disapproved of such informal dress, demanding that the ladies wear the
grand habit, but Adrienne's clothing suited her as the clothing of the
court ladies did not. It matched her thoughtful features and wide,
intelligent eyes. She wore the uniform, he suspected, as a badge, a quiet
proclamation that she had attended the school and had passed all of its
tests. It meant that she was as educated as any woman in France, and more
so than most. Louis was suddenly suspicious that she wore the gown also to
remind him of how dear she had been to his wife. What was she about, this
young woman?



"It is good to see you," he said. "Your letters comforted me greatly after
the queen's death." That would let her know that he had been reminded, and
she would now press the advantage she believed she had.



Adrienne continued to smile, a faint grin not unlike that on the Mona
Lisa, which hung across from his bed. "As you know, Sire, I have taken up
residence at the Academy of Sciences, serving the philosophers there."



"Ah yes, Paris. How do you find it?"



Her smile broadened. "As you do, Sire: stifling. But the work of your magi
is most fascinating. Of course, I understand little of what they do and
say, but nonetheless--"



"I, too, find their theories incomprehensible, yet their results are to my
liking. They are a great resource to France--as are those who serve them."



She bowed her head. "I shall not waste Your Majesty's precious time, but I
will tell you that I did not come to ask a boon for myself. There is a
member of your academy, a certain Fatio de Duillier. A most remarkable
man--"



"Near to your heart?" Louis asked, a trifle coldly.



"No, Sire," Adrienne replied quite strongly. "I would never bother you on
such an account."



"And what does this young man desire?"



Adrienne caught his shifting mood, his growing impatience. "He has tried
for many months to receive an audience with Your Majesty and failed," she
said. "He wished only that you receive a letter from him." She paused and
looked him in the eye, something that few dared to do. "It is a short
letter," she finished.



He considered her for a moment. "I will receive this letter," he said...

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Verlag
Tor Books
Erscheinungsdatum
1998
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0345406052
ISBN 13 
9780345406057
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
355
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Verantwortliche Person
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