License to Quill by Jacopo della Quercia Page A

open to page 184, which depicted a man flayed of his skin from every inch of his body, save for the top half of his face. * The figure’s head was bent back and to the left as if appealing to the heavens for a quick death. His exposed muscles dangled from his body in some places, dripping like candle wax onto the Paduan foreground where he stood. Although Shakespeare was no stranger to such graphic violence in his plays, his imagination ran wild over this image of such an unfortunate fellow; a poor player performing his last hour on the world’s stage while wearing his own face like a carnival mask.
    Bacon interrupted Shakespeare’s mental trip by holding something up to his face. “An ordinary deck of playing cards—”
    Startled, the bard snapped his head back to the scientist. “Say again?”
    Unamused, Bacon stiffened his posture. “ Again , an ordinary deck of playing cards.”
    Shakespeare stared at the deck, curious. “Are you expecting me to cut them?”
    “If your life or your mission depends on it, yes.” Bacon tapped the cards against a table and tore one in half, revealing a fine powder inside it. “These cards are rigid envelopes containing matter that should help you on any assignment. The spades contain poisons, the clubs gunpowder, the hearts healing salts, and the diamonds exotic spices worth more than the deck’s weight in gold. Use them wisely. If thrown into a fire, the clubs will cause the deck to explode. It won’t be a fatal blast, but it could burn down a building—or at the very least, cause quite the distraction for you.”
    “That should make for an interesting game of one-and-thirty,” Shakespeare joked as he flipped through the deck.
    “Your assignments are not ‘games,’ master bard, and your equipment are not playthings.” Bacon then reached into his pocket and presented Shakespeare with an adorable bauble that resembled a small stack of gold coins with a clock face.
    The bard had to suppress laughter. “Is it my birthday already?”
    Bacon ignored this. “Master bard, what you are looking at is a watch: a portable timekeeping machine small enough to be worn or carried. I believe you are familiar with the story of the late Queen Mary owning a similar device?”
    “Yes. It resembled a human skull.” The bard smirked as he examined the elegant clock. “A silver skull. A fitting memento mori considering how she died, wouldn’t you say?”
    “If she possessed a watch like this one, it would have had a fatal impact on her. This ordinary-looking device is actually a powerful explosive. Pull out this winding pin here to activate the weapon’s internal fuse. The device is designed to fragment, so make sure you take cover before it detonates.”
    “How much time will I have before it explodes?”
    “About five to ten seconds after you remove the pin.”
    “No more? No less?” Shakespeare teased.
    The inventor rolled his eyes. “Just try not to waste our time by blowing yourself up with it! Many hours went into making that machine.”
    “Master Bacon, you know I would never waste your time.” The happy playwright pocketed the timepiece. “ Tempus fugit , as the ancients say.”
    “You’re more right than you know,” said the scientist as he led Shakespeare deeper into the workshop. “We’re in the midst of a technological war right now, and every second you bleed from me is time our enemies will use against us. The Double-O is a foundry where the future is being invented unrestrained by the dogmas of Romanism.”
    “I see. Just the dogmas of Protestantism,” the bard mused as he leafed through a copy of Daemonologie , a book supporting King James I’s witch hunts in Scotland and authored by the monarch himself. * The book lay atop a copy of German inquisitor Heinrich Kramer’s Malleus Maleficarum , which argued witchcraft was practiced primarily by women due to their innate moral failings and “childlike” feeblemindedness. † The latter also detailed how to