Isaac looked away and said, “The fourth one also fell down stairs drunk and had to withdraw! Now, Daniel, if you’re trying to say that this was incredibly improbable, and fortunate for me, I have already given you my answer: Providence.”
“But in what form did Providence exert itself? Some mysterious action at a distance? Or the earthly mechanics of colliding bodies?”
“Now you have quite lost me.”
“Do you believe that God stretched out a finger from Heaven, and knocked those two down the staircase? Or did he put someone on Earth who arranged for these things to happen?”
“Daniel-surely you didn’t-”
Daniel laughed. “Push them down stairs? No. But I think I know who did. You have the wherewithal to work, Isaac, because of certain Powers that Be-which is not to say that Providence isn’t working through them. But what it all means is that you must, from time to time, pause in your labors, and spend a few hours maintaining friendly relations with those Powers.”
Isaac had been pacing around the chamber during this lecture, and looking generally skeptical. More than one time he opened his mouth to make some objection. But at about the time Daniel finished, Isaac seemed to notice something. Daniel thought it was one of many papers and note-books scattered upon a certain table. Whatever it might have been, the sight of it caused Isaac to reconsider. Isaac’s face slackened, as if the internal flame were being banked. He began stripping off his smock. “Very well,” he said, “please inform the others.”
The others had already squeezed the rag out into a glass retort and were trying to distill from it whatever generative spirit they supposed must be exuded from a woman’s womb. Roger Comstock and the other minions looked crestfallen to learn that Professor Newton would be leaving them, but Locke and Boyle and LeFebure took it in stride. Newton made himself presentable very quickly-this being why academics loved robes, and fops loathed them. A contingent of five Royal Society members-Boyle, Locke, LeFebure, Waterhouse, and Newton-set out across the Great Court of Trinity College. All were in long black robes and mortar-boards save Newton, who led the way, a cardinal pursued by a flock of crows, a vivid red mark on the Trinity green.
“IHAVEN’T SEEN THIS PLAY,” Locke said, “but I have seen one or two from which the story and characters of this one were… uh…”
Newton: “Stolen.”
Boyle: “Inspired.”
LeFebure: “Appropriated.”
Locke: “Adapted, and so I can inform you that a ship has run aground in a storm, near a castle, the seat of a foppish courtier probably named something like Percival Kidney or Reginald Mumblesleeve-”
“Francis Buggermy, according to the Playbill,” Daniel put in. Isaac turned around and glared at him.
“So much the better,” Locke said. “But of course the fop’s in London, never comes to the country-so a Vagabond named Roger Thrust or Judd Vault or-”
“Tom Runagate.”
“And his mistress, Madeline Cherry or-”
“Miss Straddle, in this case.”
“Are squatting there. Now, seeing a group of castaways from the ship coming ashore, these two Vagabonds dress up in the fop’s clothing and impersonate Francis Buggermy and his mistress-of-the-moment-much to the surprise of a withered Puritan Bible-pounder who comes upon the scene-”
“The Reverend Yahweh Pucker,” Daniel said.
“The rest we can see for ourselves-”
“Why’s that old fellow all charred black?” Boyle demanded, catching sight of a performer up on the stage.
“He’s a Neeger slave,” Daniel said.
“Which reminds me,” Locke put in, “I need to send a message to my broker-time to sell my stock in the Guinea Company, I fear-”
“No, no!” Boyle said, “I mean black as in charred, burnt, with smoke coming out of his hair!”
“No such thing was in the version I saw,” Locke said.
“Oh… in an earlier scene, there was a hilarious misadventure, having to do with a keg of gunpowder,” Daniel volunteered.
“Er… was this comedy written recently?”
“Since the… um… events?”
“One can only assume,” Daniel said.
Significant chin-stroking and hemming now among the various R.S. Fellows (save Newton), who glanced up towards the Earl of Epsom as they made their way to their seats.
LYDIA:Is this walking, or swimming?
VANUND: Fine muck-fine hurricanoe-throw up a dike there, and a windmill yonder, and I’ll be able to join it to my estates in Flanders.
LYDIA:But it isn’t yours.
VANUND: Easily remedied-what’s the name of the place?
LYDIA:That pretty boatswain said we were just off a place called Suckmire.
VANUND: Don’t pine for him, Lydia-yonder Castle’s sure to house some Persons of Quality-why, I spy some now! Halloo!
TOMRUNAGATE:You see, Miss Straddle, they’ve already marked us as Courtiers. A few stolen rags are as good as Title and Pedigree.
MISSSTRADDLE:Aye, Tom, true enough when we’re barely within bowshot-but what’s to come later?
TOM(peering through spyglass): What is to come? I have spied one candidate-
SRADDLE:That lass has breeding, my wayward Tom-she’ll scorn you as a Vagabond, when she hears your voice-
TOM:I can do a fine accent well as any Lord.
SRADDLE:-and observes your uncouth manners.
TOM:Don’t you know that bad manners are high fashion now?
SRADDLE:Stab me!
TOM:’Tis truth! These fine people insult one another all day long-’Tis called wit! Then they poke at one another with swords, and call it honor.
SRADDLE:Then ‘tween Wit and Honor, the treasure on that wrack is as good as ours.
VANUND: Halloo, there, sir! Throw us a line, we are sinking into your garden!
TOM:This one must be daft, he mistakes yonder mud-flat for a garden!
SRADDLE:Daft, or Delft.
TOM:You think he’s Dutch!? Then I might levy a rope-climbing toll…
SRADDLE:What’ll his daughter think of you then?
TOM:’Tis well considered…
Throws rope.
LORDBRIMSTONE:Who’s that Frenchman on the sea-wall? Has England been conquered? Heaven help us!
LADYB: He is no Frenchman, my lord, but a good English gentleman in modern attire-most likely it is Count Suckmire, and that lady is his latest courtesan.
LORDB: You don’t say!
To Miss Straddle.Good day, madam-I’m informed that you are a Cartesian-here stands another!
SRADDLE:What’s he on about?
TOM:Never mind-remember what I told you.
Lord B:Cogito, ergo sum!
SRADDLE:Air go some? Yes, the air goes some when you flap your jaw, sir-I thought it was a sea-breeze, until I smelled it.
To Tom.Is that the sort of thing?
TOM:Well played, my flower.
LADYB: That whore is most uncivil.
LORDB: No need to be vulgar, my dear-it means she recognizes us as her equals.
ENTER, from opposite, the Rev. Yahweh Pucker, with
BIBLE and SHOVEL.
PUCKER:Here’s proof the Lord works in mysterious ways-I came expecting to find a ship-wrack, and drownded bodies in need of burying-which service I am ever willing to perform, for a small contribution-group rates available-instead, it is a courtly scene. St. James’s Park on a sunny May morn ne’er was so.
TOM:Between the Dutch mercer, and the English lord, there must be treasure aplenty on that wrack-if you can divert them in the Castle, I’ll get word to our merry friends-they can steal the longboat these rowed in on, and go fetch the goods.