Free The Bloodless Boy by Robert J. Lloyd Page B

impress her. She saw over his shoulder the papers proliferating over the room.
    ‘You are busy, I see . . . ?’ There was a question in her voice. She wanted to talk, and had not let go of the tray.
    ‘The Society keeps me occupied,’ he answered. ‘This smells good, Mrs. Hannam . . . ?’ The question in his own voice at last made her release it. ‘I am obliged.’
    ‘What is all this you engage yourself upon?’
    ‘Oh, I translate some mathematical Latin ready for publication. It is dry stuff.’
    ‘You are blessed with an ingenious mind, and the Royal Society is blessed to have you.’ A deep blush spread from Mrs. Hannam’s neck to cover her face. ‘But one thing I do not understand,’ she said. ‘How would their enemies recognise a doubly-yoked egg from only its empty shell?’
    ‘No, the Romans did it for luck, I think. In truth, it is a while since my reading of it.’ Harry wished for something more impressive to follow, but could not think of anything to add.
    ‘Well,’ she offered, after an awkward pause. ‘In our own time we have as many curious customs, I’m sure. Like the keeping of a hare’s foot.’
    ‘In future times our habits shall be regarded with as little understanding as we have for the Romans, or other peoples from history. Thank you, Mrs. Hannam. I am very hungry.’
    She caught his meaning, and left him to his breakfast, which he took to the window, climbing over his desk to sit on the sill, being careful not to dislodge his instruments or slip on the papers. The eggs and bread, with the rest of his ale, slid down easily, and he looked out at his personal view of London.
    The blood left after the woman’s fall stained the ground.
    He would take his workings to Gresham’s College, he decided, to see whether Robert Hooke could see the pattern within these numbers, and see how he went about seeking the Secretaryship of the Royal Society.
    Observation XII
Of Openness
    The few customers clustered near the fire, and sought further warmth from their drinks, wrapping their hands around their cups. A few quiet conversations could be heard; most read a news-sheet, or their letters, addressed to them there at Garraway’s coffee-house.
    Hooke and Harry chose one of the long trestle tables, and took a Muddiman’s news-sheet between them. Hooke ordered a pot of tea, and negotiated a price with Thomas Garraway for a full pound of the leaves.
    ‘It will calm us after the ordeals of yesterday and yesternight, and reinvigorate our thinking,’ Hooke said.
    Harry agreed to take a dish, and stifled a yawn. All the paper with his workings on the cipher weighed down the inner pocket of his coat.
    An ample serving girl arrived with two cups and a pot. Hooke showed no signs of being tired after his summons to Pall Mall and the body of Oldenburg. Harry, after a long morning with the cipher, too, bore dark stains of fatigue around his eyes.
    ‘I must gauge opinion before the voting for the new Secretary,’ Hooke announced. ‘I intend to replace the dead Grubendol.’ Grubendol was Hooke’s contemptuous name for Henry Oldenburg.
    ‘You have the support of all of your New Philosophical Club, Mr. Hooke.’ Harry kept back a comment on not speaking ill of the dead.
    ‘Yes, Harry, I have my supporters, who for their own good reasons did not trust the Secretary. Sir Christopher will promote me. Dr. Holder, Theodore Haak, Sir Edmund Wylde and John Aubrey too will support me. John Hoskins and Sir Jonas Moore also. John Henshaw, Abraham Hill and William Croon, I hope to encourage. Mr. Boyle I must sound out. He was close to Grubendol, and he may own some other idea of his replacement. Nathaniel Grew? I do not know which way he goes. I must tickle him in the ear to draw him to me. He may yet stand against me for Secretary.’ Hooke rubbed his hands together gleefully.
    Harry had rarely seen him so spirited. It did not seem to worry the Curator at all that they had disguised the self-murder of his