with hasty fingers. As he broke W’s seal and examined the document, Shakespeare glanced at the chalkboard, which the scientist had only partially covered with a white cloth. One section stuck out to the bard if only because it had been a long time since he had seen anything written in Hebrew.
*
Shakespeare considered asking if Bacon was studying for his bar mitzvah, but instead the shrewd actor shifted his eyes back to the scientist just as he looked up from Walsingham’s letter.
“Do you want this man arrested?” asked a Tower guard.
“Nothing would please me more,” Bacon seethed. “Unfortunately, since it appears he is on assignment, I am afraid you will have to leave him with me.” The scientist turned to the guards. “Have one of the stable hands ready Aston.”
“Yes, Master Bacon.” The guards bowed and marched out of the laboratory, leaving the scientist and the playwright in peace. Only one of the two great thinkers seemed to find humor in their surprise pairing.
“This is a comedy of errors if there ever was one,” the bard chirped, referring to an embarrassing case of mistaken identity involving both men and a young lady during a Christmas masquerade ball. * “Rest assured,” the grinning playwright moved in and whispered, “I’m going to keep my mask off this time!”
With a steady hand, the unsmiling Sir Francis Bacon rolled up Walsingham’s letter and pushed Shakespeare away with it. “This way, please.”
“Walsingham said you had a few toys for me to play with,” the bard mused as he walked through the lab. Somewhat childishly, he ran his fingers across every tool and trinket that caught his eye.
“This is the Ordnance Office, not a toy store,” Bacon scolded as he led Shakespeare into the armory. After walking down a spiral staircase, the bard found himself in a vast corridor lined with innumerable weapons: swords, spears, daggers, axes, pikes, halberds, muskets, and even an eight-shot matchlock revolver. Shakespeare was itching to get his hands on the fine firearm, but instead Bacon picked a freshly forged rapier off the wall. “This will be your primary weapon.”
The bard wrinkled his eyebrows in disappointment. “That’s all?”
“Yes. Standard issue for all Double-O operatives. You simply—”
“Master Bacon,” Shakespeare interrupted, “I know how a sword works.”
“No, you don’t, master bard. Not this one.” Sir Francis Bacon stood up straight and pointed the rapier at a suit of armor. The sword emitted a fantastic explosion that knocked the armor against the wall, sending the surprised playwright jumping backward. Bacon stood tall and proud as the pierced armor came crashing down, as would have any unfortunate soul wearing it at the time. The inventor pivoted on his leather boots and presented the weapon to Shakespeare. “This is for duels you know you can’t win. The rapier’s guard contains two pistols, one on either side of its blade. To fire the weapon, you pull on this trigger built into its finger rings no differently than a musket. The sword only holds two shots, so make sure they count.”
“And if I need more than two shots?” asked the bard.
“In such a scenario, I suggest you use the pointy end of the weapon.” Bacon threw the rapier’s leather scabbard in Shakespeare’s face. “May we continue?”
Shakespeare slipped his old sword off his belt and replaced it with the rapier while Bacon guided the playwright into a large workshop. Its shelves were piled high with jars of powders, herbs, chemicals, and even the occasional body part suspended in liquid. One eyeball seemed to stare at the bard as if Shakespeare had just called out its name. Away from the shelves, a human cadaver lay on a table while eight men huddled around it, one of them dissecting its arm as part of an anatomy lesson. The playwright noticed a nearby copy of De humani corporis fabrica by Andreas Vesalius out, which he recognized by its illustrations. The book was
*
Shakespeare considered asking if Bacon was studying for his bar mitzvah, but instead the shrewd actor shifted his eyes back to the scientist just as he looked up from Walsingham’s letter.
“Do you want this man arrested?” asked a Tower guard.
“Nothing would please me more,” Bacon seethed. “Unfortunately, since it appears he is on assignment, I am afraid you will have to leave him with me.” The scientist turned to the guards. “Have one of the stable hands ready Aston.”
“Yes, Master Bacon.” The guards bowed and marched out of the laboratory, leaving the scientist and the playwright in peace. Only one of the two great thinkers seemed to find humor in their surprise pairing.
“This is a comedy of errors if there ever was one,” the bard chirped, referring to an embarrassing case of mistaken identity involving both men and a young lady during a Christmas masquerade ball. * “Rest assured,” the grinning playwright moved in and whispered, “I’m going to keep my mask off this time!”
With a steady hand, the unsmiling Sir Francis Bacon rolled up Walsingham’s letter and pushed Shakespeare away with it. “This way, please.”
“Walsingham said you had a few toys for me to play with,” the bard mused as he walked through the lab. Somewhat childishly, he ran his fingers across every tool and trinket that caught his eye.
“This is the Ordnance Office, not a toy store,” Bacon scolded as he led Shakespeare into the armory. After walking down a spiral staircase, the bard found himself in a vast corridor lined with innumerable weapons: swords, spears, daggers, axes, pikes, halberds, muskets, and even an eight-shot matchlock revolver. Shakespeare was itching to get his hands on the fine firearm, but instead Bacon picked a freshly forged rapier off the wall. “This will be your primary weapon.”
The bard wrinkled his eyebrows in disappointment. “That’s all?”
“Yes. Standard issue for all Double-O operatives. You simply—”
“Master Bacon,” Shakespeare interrupted, “I know how a sword works.”
“No, you don’t, master bard. Not this one.” Sir Francis Bacon stood up straight and pointed the rapier at a suit of armor. The sword emitted a fantastic explosion that knocked the armor against the wall, sending the surprised playwright jumping backward. Bacon stood tall and proud as the pierced armor came crashing down, as would have any unfortunate soul wearing it at the time. The inventor pivoted on his leather boots and presented the weapon to Shakespeare. “This is for duels you know you can’t win. The rapier’s guard contains two pistols, one on either side of its blade. To fire the weapon, you pull on this trigger built into its finger rings no differently than a musket. The sword only holds two shots, so make sure they count.”
“And if I need more than two shots?” asked the bard.
“In such a scenario, I suggest you use the pointy end of the weapon.” Bacon threw the rapier’s leather scabbard in Shakespeare’s face. “May we continue?”
Shakespeare slipped his old sword off his belt and replaced it with the rapier while Bacon guided the playwright into a large workshop. Its shelves were piled high with jars of powders, herbs, chemicals, and even the occasional body part suspended in liquid. One eyeball seemed to stare at the bard as if Shakespeare had just called out its name. Away from the shelves, a human cadaver lay on a table while eight men huddled around it, one of them dissecting its arm as part of an anatomy lesson. The playwright noticed a nearby copy of De humani corporis fabrica by Andreas Vesalius out, which he recognized by its illustrations. The book was
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