Free A Calculus of Angels by J. Gregory Keyes Page A

glean of this
    “new system” seemed very dubious to him, as Newton drew chiefly on strange, superstitious texts. It hardly seemed science at all to Ben. If only he could get a glimpse of what his master was working on, find some assurance that the elixir that made Newton young again had not also driven him into a subtle insanity.
    Newton had a history of periodic madness, and the last time he had been mad, a comet had destroyed London.
    Ben was certain he knew where the new laboratory was: a floor below the old one, in the Mathematical Tower. He was certain, too, that the key that would open its mysterious lock was somewhere in Newton’s private chambers. If only he could enter them, get the key, find Newton’s notes on this “new system.”
    Pondering this, he selected a shirt of white linen and struggled into it. It felt good against his bare skin, better than the rough linsey-woolsey of his childhood, and he reminded himself that he owed such luxuries to Newton.
    As he turned to select a suit, someone rapped at the door.
    “Who knocks?” he called.

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    “The maid, sir.”
    “Indeed?” Ben replied, perking up a bit. “Enter, then.”
    The door squeaked open and a young woman of perhaps fifteen entered. Her eyes widened at his near-undressed state.
    “Your pardon, sir,” she said, “but I can return at another time.” She had a sharp, almost birdlike face, not unpleasant but not exactly beautiful either. She composed herself quickly, and he reasoned that she was not the giggly sort of chambermaid but one of the more serious kind. One he might consider as a challenge at some other time, if he did not have so much to worry about—and if she were a bit prettier. She looked familiar, too.
    “Where is Ludmilla?” he asked her.
    “She has taken ill, sir. I’ll be your maid until she recovers.”
    “Nothing serious, I hope.”
    “No, sir.”
    And then, like a breeze returning as a tempest, he remembered his earlier conversation with Robert about the servants and the things they said. And he remembered also where he had seen this one before: she was the customary maid for Newton’s apartments.
    “Good,” he exclaimed. “And now you can do me a most wonderful favor.”
    “Oh, can I?” she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
    Ben tried to appear taken aback. “Well, yes,” he replied.
    “There are some sorts of favor I am not required to do,” the maid said, stepping in and closing the door.
    “I am quite certain I have no idea what you are talking about,” Ben said.

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    She flashed him a crooked little smile that made her suddenly more compelling. “They talk of you, sir.”
    “Who? Who talks of me?”
    “Ludmilla. The other girls.”
    “Oh. Well, I can tell you that slander is a high art in this castle, and so I hope you haven’t taken much of what you’ve heard to heart.”
    “I take little to my heart, sir, or any other part of me. I wonder if you might consider dressing?”
    Ben grinned. “Well, that was the help I was after. I wondered if you could help me select a suit to attend court in.”
    She curtsied, though Ben thought he detected something faintly mocking in her carriage. “If you wish, sir.”
    “And please call me Ben. All of my friends do.”
    “I understand that, sir,” she said, strolling over to the wardrobe. “I should think you would want some black and red. Red hose, of course…”
    “I had thought to wear white hose,” Ben murmured, studying her back, wondering what sort of shape was beneath those petticoats, if it was fairer than her face. God often rewarded in some areas what he had penalized in others.
    She seemed a bit on the slim side.
    Unaware of this attention, she shook her head. “No, white won’t do, as you must know. The emperor will call you a Frenchman and have you thrown from the hall. No, it must be in the Spanish style, so your hose must be red or black ”
    “Red, in that case. You see how desperately