That thought, above all others, eclipsing everything else, was what motivated him to continue on.
With the sort of single minded purpose that had him, in the not so distant past, swinging from a church steeple, or picking pieces of a microwave oven's glass door out of his oversized turnout coat and face shield, or convinced him that a block of ceramics could one day become a computer, and put him on a horse on a fool's errand, Blaise Pascal, world's greatest mathematician, attempted to kick the door open. And much to his consternation, he found the door unlocked.
In fact, as he stumbled through the doorway, he found the door had been more than unlocked and in the process of being opened by an armed man.
Blaise Pascal, world's greatest mathematician and probably the world's worst swordsman, attempted to draw his sword while spinning about to confront the miscreant sneaking out of the Drahuta Residence's front door like some thief in the. . well, early morning.
A thief wearing armor and spurs?
"En garde!" Blaise shouted. He only wished he were as good at what came after those words as he was at shouting the words themselves.
The sword, unscabbarded, opened up a long gash across his upper thigh and nearly unmanned him when he drew it out. His turn led him to a stumble, which prevented him from being slapped silly by a gauntleted hand that had come around in a vicious arc. The stumble then turned into a dance of destruction-Blaise attempted to regain his balance and proceeded to dismantle almost every piece of furniture in the entrance room.
Falling, his sword held in a passable quarte position but with no close opponent, Blaise pulled the large, flintlock pistol from his belt with his other hand. And in a fit of marksmanship worthy of him, he blasted to bits the only remaining intact piece of furniture in the entranceway.
Even being stunned by the violence of the explosion from the overly large pistol, Blaise noticed someone falling down the stairs as he, too, fell.
As he lay there-the sword suddenly far too heavy, the smoking pistol useless-Blaise began to laugh. "You are not worth it, Logan Sebastian! I surrender! Take me home!"
"Holy crap! He's bleeding!" Logan's voice was like sweet though loud music. "Did you shoot yourself?"
Someone tore to shreds the last bits of his once magnificent silk hosiery after removing the scraps of cloth he had wrapped about his legs.
He felt air upon parts of him that should not feel air, but he closed his eyes against the sudden dizziness.
"Unhand me or I will. ." Blaise attempted to sit up. The attempt was completely unsuccessful.
". . Cut your other leg off? What the hell? Help me, Mr. Drahuta! Did you slash him?"
"I was just leaving. He came tumbling in when I opened the door!"
"Blaise!" a voice Blaise felt he should recognize, shouted, "where in the hell did you come from?"
"He came in through the door like there were Indians after him," another voice stated. "Then he beat up all the furniture and shot that little table you liked."
"Jesus Christ!"
Ah yes, Madam Drahuta. Blaise recognized her angry voice, having heard it often and close.
"Mon Dieu!"
Now that voice was difficult to place.
"Logan! I have found you!" Blaise smiled up at his victory. "I wish to go home now. My father is coming. I must introduce him to you. I must. . why am I so dizzy?"
"I swear, Blaise, you make me late for work and I'll kill you!" Logan shouted. But her attention seemed to be much lower down than his face.
"You are always promising to kill me, but I still live!" Blaise would have raised his sword in victory but could not seem to find the strength.
Suddenly, there was a great deal of commotion and light and voices and shouts.
"What are you doing?" Blaise demanded.
"Trying to stop you from bleeding to death," Logan said through gritted teeth.
"Who is bleeding?" Blaise demanded.
"Speak in English!"
Blaise frowned. "I am speaking English."
"You are speaking French!"
"You are making no sense! Oh, father, is that you? I would like you to. . meet. ." and the entire world went black. "Bah!" Blaise exclaimed angrily at the world entire, or very much thought he did.
A guest room in the residence of Julie Drahuta; Director of Social Services for SoTF
(four days later)
"She is not to be allowed in my room!"
Gilberte turned from her needlepoint when Logan Sebastian limped into the room.
It had been a rather quiet day, while Blaise worked on several projects from his bed, which was covered in papers, books and various pens and pencils-and, of course, the calculator that he both cursed and loved at the same time.
"You know, you can get up and move around," Logan said. "Those stitches won't pull out. And I know they've invented the desk by the seventeenth century. You've been in bed all day, again?"
Blaise, as he had done every time he was aware that Logan was nearby, pulled the quilt over his head.
"It is indecent for you to be here!" Blaise stated firmly, from beneath his covers. "Indecent! What will be said if it becomes known?"
"You're such a baby!"
"Baby?" In exasperation, Blaise pulled the covers away from his head and sat up. "Do you know what I went through to find you? I almost died. ."
"Yeah, yeah, you almost killed yourself ten times. I heard it all before, with mathematical clarity to the hundredth decimal point. There are people still out there confirming your story because no one believes it despite all the evidence. You didn't actually kill anyone but somehow the three poachers died anyway. How do you do it? How do you stay at the center of so much trouble and remain untouched?"
"I was not untouched! My horse. . dragged me and I fell into the river. ."
"Last count is three times. How do you fall into a river three times?"
"It was not easy. I was lost and I was not looking for a river; I was looking for a road. The river was in my way. And now, let me remind you, Mademoiselle, my sick room is no place for a lady!"
"Who held pressure on the leg wound?"
Blaise felt his anger rising. "That was indecent. To be touched there by a. ."
Logan glared at him. "I should have let you bleed to death for the sake of decency? Even I know you don't carry a sword that way. Scabbards were invented for a reason, you big doofus!"
"I lost my horse! I needed something sharp to cut my way. ."
"You lost more than your horse; you lost your mind. You left a path of destruction through the forest that looked like a herd of elephants had stampeded."
"I was angry. And the bushes were in my way!"
"Blaise Pascal, world's greatest terror to vegetation. ."
"Logan. ."
A new, much louder voice arrived. "Blaise!"
Blaise-not knowing what he had done now, but knowing by the tone of voice that it must be something quite bad-lowered himself back down, ready to bring the quilt over his head again.
Julie Drahuta came roaring in with a handful of papers and a look fit to kill an invading army. "Blaise Pascal! Did Bill Porter put you up to this!"
Then Blaise did pull the quilt over his head. "He told me to create a plan for electrifying Bamberg," he said through the quilt. "He said it would be good experience while I recuperate from my injuries."
"And how did the town council of Bamberg get a copy of your preliminary report? You don't just 'electrify' a seventeenth century town!"
"There is a plan for a dam and a-"
"Blaise! You just can't go flooding people's property like you're the whole Tennessee Valley Authority all by yourself! If a goat nibbles the bark of a tree anywhere in Europe, not only do they know the name of the tree that was illegally nibbled, but who owns the goat. And then there's two hundred years of court wrangling to see who pays for the damage to the tree, and whether the goat should be eaten or burned and buried, and who gets compensated for the goat! You can't talk about flooding parts of Bamberg like you can do it any day of the week and twice on Sunday!"