Eye of the Raven (29 page)

The lanky Quaker caught the eye of first one, then another of his group, both broad-shouldered beefy men with the sunburned faces of those who worked the river boats. Conawago was on his feet now, his hand instinctively going to his belt, where his war ax usually hung. But they had left their weapons at the stable. They had no weapons, only the barest acquaintance with the alleys and streets outside the door. Eyes began drifting toward Conawago, who had lifted a heavy stick from the hearth, bracing for a fight.

Suddenly the door of the inn burst open and a dark-hooded figure appeared silhouetted by the light of the street lanterns behind him. A murmur of recognition rippled through several of those present, and they began to back away as the cloaked man, carrying a large wooden box, took several steps inside. The shapeless garment he wore extended nearly to the floor, its hood obscuring his face.

`Ave caesar!Morituri to salutamus!"the mysterious figure called in a ragged voice. Impossibly, he was speaking Latin. `Ecce ignis! Ecce ignis!" he repeated. Duncan stood, inching toward the door as he watched not the stranger but the crowd, frantically trying to see where Felton had gone. He looked back at the intruder in confusion. Hail Caesar, he had called in Latin, we who are about to die salute you, the call of the gladiators, then behold the fire. The men who had backed away had stopped as if they sought only a safe distance. The proprietor watched from his corner with an expectant, almost amused expression.

The same Latin words were repeated, rising in volume to a crescendo. A drunk at a table near the front threw a heel of bread. With a quick, deft motion, the stranger opened the hinged lid of his box, produced something like a wand with a metal ball at the end, and aimed it at the drunkard, extending it to within inches of the man's face.

A bolt of lightning leapt out and struck the offender's nose.

The room erupted into chaos. The man who had been struck screamed, tumbled off his chair, and crawled under the table, whining in terror. His companions leapt up and fled to the far side of the room. Except for Conawago and Duncan, the half of the room nearest the door was emptied. The stranger turned his contraption toward Duncan for a moment, muttering, Apage!" with a short, quick gesture toward the street before stepping closer to the crowd. Begone! Several onlookers began crossing themselves, one even lifted a cross from his neck and extended it in front of him.

"Tanta stultitia mortalium est." the cloaked figure cried, making a jerking motion toward another drunkard, who promptly fainted. What fools these mortals be. One fearful spectator swung a poker from the fireplace at the stranger, who aimed another bolt of lightning at him. The lightning hit the iron poker, and the man yelped in pain, dropping it to the floor. From the rear came hoots of amusement, from those closer more fearful prayers.

Duncan turned and darted out the door.

E DID NOT know what direction he took through the darkened streets, did not care, only became aware of Conawago passing him. Minutes later they stopped, gasping, the river wharves with their ranks of ships looming on one side, a hulking building on the other, with a row of low wooden structures like cages along its rear wall.

"Where are you-" Duncan began as Conawago tested the latch on the building's back entry. A snarl erupted from one of the cages.

His friend cut him off with an upraised hand as the door opened under his touch. "Let us not disturb the neighborhood when safety is so near at hand," he warned, and he stepped inside.

Where they were, he now realized, was the warehouse with the Iroquois markings on the front door.

They moved through a large chamber that seemed part kitchen, part workshop, into a hallway that connected the front and rear of the building, then settled onto the floor near a patch of moonlight. His eyes shifting from the rear door to the front entry, just visible beyond the shadows, Duncan relayed his conversation with the Moravian surveyor in the tavern. As he finished, the latch of the front door rattled. A solitary man entered, laughing to himself, whimsically reciting the Latin words Duncan had heard in the tavern as he set a large box on the table by the entry.

They warily rose, retreating back into the shadows as the stranger lit a candle before stepping into the hallway. Duncan touched the knife he kept at his waist, his only weapon.

The stranger did not seem surprised to see them. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Veni vidi vici!" he concluded cheerfully. "They know not what a gift it is," he added as he pushed back the hood of his cloak, "to have the channels of their brains reenergized." He handed the candlestick to Conawago, leading them to a door in the middle of the hall before gesturing them to wait as he trotted to lock the rear door. Lighting a second candle from the first, he opened the door and led them up a steep, winding staircase that took them into a spacious chamber, where their host began lighting several oil lamps.

"Dr. Henry Marston," he announced with outstretched hand.

Duncan did not immediately respond. He gazed in confusion at one of the oddest chambers he had ever seen. The long troughs, designed for feeding livestock, that lined the two sidewalls were filled with salt. In the center of the room was a large, bizarre device of wood and glass. Along the front wall, behind a heavy wooden chair whose arms held straps for restraining its occupant, was a long table on which sat several large glass jars pierced through the top by metal rods. What appeared to be a brass ball hovering over their heads proved on closer examination to be connected to a long brass rod extending up through the ceiling. Duncan recalled the metal spears on the roof. On two smaller tables were an array of glass containers, strips of metal, and discs of what appeared to be hardened tree resin.

The worried query on Conawago's lips suddenly transformed into wonder. "Electrical flux!" he exclaimed. Vigorously he shook Marston's hand, then introduced himself and Duncan.

Marston beamed. "All creation can be reduced to the four main elements of earth, fire, water, and air." He finally removed his cloak as he spoke, revealing himself to be a slight, bespectacled man in his forties. "But it is electrical fluid that binds them all, the great common essence. We have wrung it out of the air to create fire, captured it in the water of the Leyden jars," he said, pointing to the glass containers on the table, "and used it to reduce any number of minerals to their base earth. We shall one day change the world with it!"

"We?" Duncan asked in a stunned voice.

"Dr. Franklin and I. Of course there are other practitioners today, but I was there in fifty-two to help launch his kite that first wonderful night when we captured the power of the storm in a jar. Such a spectacle! Newton had his apple, Archimedes his bath, Dr. Franklin his kite! When he returns from England I shall require days just to demonstrate the advances I have made since his departure!"

Conawago stepped to the strange device in the center of the room, nearly six feet long and almost as high. The near end was a tower of two wooden pillars between which a glass globe nearly twelve inches in diameter was suspended on wooden spindles. At the far end was a large ornate wooden wheel mounted between two short posts, with a leather belt wrapped around its rim connected to one of the spindles of the globe. "A variation on Nollet," Marston announced, as though they would surely recognize the name.

Conawago touched the handle extending from the center of the wheel and looked up at their host. It was all the invitation Marston needed. He would not be drawn into answering Duncan's questions until he had shared his thrilling advances with them.

"This afternoon," Duncan said as Marston showed Conawago how to turn the handle to spin the globe, "we saw flashes of light coming from here."

"Which is when I noticed you approach the building and study the lintel. I saw instantly that you recognized my signs. As you left I saw your friend's hidden braid and his bronze skin. I would have come immediately had I not been with a patient."

Duncan was more confused than ever. "You practice medical science as well?"

Marston lowered a finger to within an inch of the glass globe. "Here," he explained proudly as a spark leapt up to his finger, "is the primogenitor of all future science. Dr. Franklin and I began treating paralysis years ago with electrical fluids. Patients come now with toothaches, the cramp, sciatica. We have even seen some success with deafness."

The scientist gestured Duncan toward the table, took his arm, and extended his open hand over one of the glass containers. "A Leyden jar, with only a small charge left," he explained, and as he slowly lowered Duncan's hand toward the brass ball extending from the jar a small sparking arc leapt up and connected with his fingertip. He jerked his hand back in alarm. For an instant he had felt a burning sensation, but quickly confirmed there was no damage to his hand.

"Tonight at the tavern," Duncan said as he rubbed his hand, wondering at the tingling sensation that lingered in it, "you were not coming for a patient." He looked inside an empty jar. It held a small brass chain resting on the bottom, the top end brought up through a large cork stopper, then wrapped around a rod terminating in a ball. "But for us."

"I was walking along the river and saw you enter."

"But you could not have known we were in danger."

"As the night wore on there would be those who would recognize Mr. Conawago's features, trust me." As he spoke Marston gestured them through a side door, into a pleasant parlor that overlooked the street. "More than a few who frequent the Broken Jug have been set upon by Indians in the wilds. And red men arrayed in European clothes have not always been friends of our city."

Duncan studied the eccentric scientist as Marston lit several lamps. "We have heard of the great festival when the last Indian was hanged," he declared.

The words seemed to shake Marston. He turned toward the window to gaze into the night.

"You were the one making spirit fire at Shamokin," Duncan ventured.

"That was never a term I used."

"Why would you go two hundred miles to conduct your experiments?"

"My partner believed it would be a valuable way to learn about the upcountry. Our new upcountry."

"Your country?" Duncan asked.

Marston turned with a troubled expression on his face. "We had an alliance, the two of us. He would stake out new claims for our land company, sell half of them in Philadelphia, then use the proceeds to build there. I would have an edifice dedicated to my science, a temple of learning in the wilderness."

Duncan stared at the man uneasily, wondering now if they had been lured into a trap. "Does your partner have a name?"

"Francis Townsend, of course."

Duncan looked at the man in disbelief. Surely the coincidence was too much. "You and Townsend had a land company?"

Marston shrugged. "Many a new land company gets formed over cups in Philadelphia taverns. Most don't endure past the last round of rum punch, the others usually last a few months at most. The Dutch had their tulip craze, London had the South Sea bubble," he added, referring to two well-known financial disasters in Europe, "Philadelphia has its land companies."

Marston's voice grew distant for a moment. "Yet our bubble too was burst." He sighed heavily. "I used what was left of my inheritance to pay our expenses. Francis, ever the adventurer, went on into the mountains, looking for likely tracts, seeking minerals that might have value. I stayed in Shamokin with my projects."

"Projects?"

"There is much important work to be done. I correspond with Dr. Franklin. He and I agreed on a course of research to penetrate the mysteries of negative and positive particles and the role of electrical fluid in the human body. There are reports from France of the dead being revived with doses of flux. But," Marston added, "not all the city fathers share our enthusiasm."

From behind them Duncan heard a sharp intake of breath. "God's teeth!" Conawago exclaimed, "you were using Indians for your medical dogs!"

Marston stepped to a wingback chair and collapsed into it. "We forced no one. They were always compensated."