A Calculus of Angels by J. Gregory Keyes Page B

way.
    “Will you at least let me assure myself? Perform the simplest examinations?
    Can you read?”
    “Yes, some.”
    “Will you read the commandments, aloud?”
    “Yes.”

    A CALCULUS OF ANGELS
    “And the Lord’s Prayer?”
    “Yes.”
    Mather nodded grimly, somehow triumphantly, and a sudden dart of unease pricked Red Shoes, making him wonder suddenly just how wise he had been.
    4.
    Peter Frisk
    Ben reached for his aegis key, but in the same instant Robert crashed into him, knocking him from his feet. Ben cursed as his elbow crunched against the hard stone, but Robert was a blur of continued motion, the gleam of his rapier arcing up to meet the newcomer who had just emerged from the alley.
    “Hold, fellow,” the man shouted. “Mark that my muzzle confronts your pursuers, not you.”
    Indeed, the pistol was pointed over Ben and to the right of Robert.
    “Draw your swords, both, and we shall deal with these,” he went on.
    Robert, always quickest in such situations, had already turned to face their pursuers, albeit with one wary eye on their new comrade. Ben scrambled to his feet, clumsily drawing his own blade, still swearing at Robert’s misguided attempt to protect him. The steel felt ungainly in his hand. Robert had shown him a few passes, but Ben had not managed to work up much enthusiasm for swordplay. No matter; his other hand now clutched the aegis key, poised to activate his magical cloak.

    A CALCULUS OF ANGELS
    He waited because the five men following had halted, some twenty paces away, indecisive in the face of the pistol. They were a dour, dark bunch, mostly quite large men. All bore swords, and several seemed to have sidearms, though only one held his drawn: a man with piercing blue eyes, smaller than the others.
    “You’ll find no easy prey here, carrion crows,” their seeming ally shouted at the men. Though Ben was still new to the German language, it seemed that the fellow had an odd accent. He wore some sort of military uniform, but not one that Ben could identify as belonging to the empire.
    “We’ve no business with you,” the small man yelled back. “Only with these two.”
    “Then you have business indeed with me as well,” the man shouted.
    Ben straightened. “What call have you to accost us?” he shouted at the five. “I recognize not a man jack among you, and so don’t think I have wronged you. If we have given you offense, then lay it at our feet so we can know what we are charged with. Otherwise be off with you.” He gritted his teeth at the pain in his arm, hoping his sword was held in a way that conveyed at least some competence.
    “You mistake us, sir,” the blue-eyed man said, edging a bit closer. “Our intention was never to assault you but to speak with you on a certain matter.”
    One of the other men grunted a word in what Ben was now absolutely certain was Russian. The small man snapped back in the same language.
    “You know who I am, I gather?” Ben called.
    “Indeed, sir. You are Benjamin Franklin, apprentice to Sir Isaac Newton.”
    “Then you may know as well that I am under the emperor’s protection.”
    “Of course. But as I said, this show of steel and pistol is unwarranted. I only wished to state a proposition.”
    “State it, then.”

    A CALCULUS OF ANGELS
    “I had hoped for a more—private—venue.”
    “I am quite sure you did,” Ben replied. “But if you will not speak, then I cannot help you.”
    “I would prefer—”
    “Come and see me at the castle,” Ben interrupted. “I extend you an invitation.
    At the moment we are in something of a hurry.”
    The small man regarded him for a moment, and then bowed. “Very well. I apologize. I saw you in the tavern and thought to take advantage of my good fortune, but I see I have overstepped the bounds of politeness. I will present my offer another time.”
    “And I will be happy to hear it, I am certain,” Ben replied.
    The man bowed again, and with an air of reluctance, the five turned