The Technologists (31 page)

“Eddy, we’ve already emptied the trunk of everything inside,” Bob reminded him.

“No, Bob, I do not believe we did.” Edwin paused as though he had found what he was looking for. He used the knife to cut through the leather lining. Underneath, a series of cables ran along the top and bottom of the trunk. He gave his cohorts a boyish smile as he waited for their reactions.

“Copper cables!” Marcus marveled, inspecting the remarkable discovery. “But why?”

“To transform the magnetism of the iron to an electromagnetic charge!” Ellen exclaimed.

“Exactly,” said Edwin. “That would exponentially increase the range of effect from this amount of iron to derange the navigational tools!”

“That’s remarkable,” Bob said. “Only, the moment the trunk was no longer connected to some source of electricity, the electromagnetic charge would disappear.”

Edwin went on. “Exactly why the experimenter must have had a battery aboard a ship, one that retained its charge for at least a number of hours, and sufficient cable to maintain the connection as the trunk was lowered into the water enough to create as large a radius of impact as we have observed.”

“Is it possible, Professor?” Bob turned to Ellen.

Ellen considered it. “If the battery such as the one I use for my alarm contained enough cells with, say, platinum connected to zinc, in sufficient amounts of nitric and sulfuric acids, the charge could last even longer.”

A gong tolled from Ellen’s alarm mechanism. She looked through a glass lens that allowed her a sight of the corridor. “It’s young Mr. Hammond. He is using his key in the society laboratory.”

“I escaped him as quickly as I could after the opera last night,” Marcus said. “He likely wants to talk more about it. Edwin, what a discovery! Keep studying the matter until the first class begins.”

Despite the disruptions he caused, Hammie occasionally proved helpful as an extra hand. Given their restricted space, they had to frequently take tools and equipment out of the laboratory and store them elsewhere in the building, and often resorted to walking in a roundabout path outside the building to attract less attention, since the area around the Institute was always so quiet. Back Bay, with its long stretches of nothing, now assumed the aspect of a faraway desert.

During the half hour remaining before class, Marcus took Hammie along to help him move some supplies.

“Shall we discuss the state of our little society as we walk, Mansfield?” Hammie asked.

“I don’t know what there is to discuss, really, Hammie,” Marcus replied, trying to hide his excitement over Edwin’s latest hypothesis.

Hammie seemed hurt by his indifferent response. “As president, I feel that it is my obligation to look after it—don’t you believe so? As president, I must organize all the activities and address problems.”

“If there are no problems, you need not expend your valuable energy,” Marcus offered hopefully.

“Well, I suppose if the members are satisfied with my leadership.”

“I am confident in that very thing,” Marcus was quick to add.

“Do you believe the same of Miss Swallow?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Mansfield, do you believe Miss Swallow is sufficiently pleased with my skills as leader? Is she sufficiently … fond of … my presence?”

Marcus paused and looked into Hammie’s face, which flushed. “Hammie, what are you asking?”

“No, it isn’t right,” Hammie said firmly, and shook his head decisively. “Do not answer. One must not speak behind the back of a member in good standing. I shall inquire with them each individually on their degree of satisfaction.”

As they approached the back entrance, hurrying at the signs of another rainstorm, a man hailed them from across the way. Marcus cursed the possibility that it was another one of the unionists who periodically installed themselves there to harass students and faculty.

The man started to come forward, but stopped at a slight distance, holding out his hand as a warning to keep their distance. He wore a wrist-length wool cape and wool hood, which immediately struck Marcus as odd—it had started raining only seconds before. When he took one more deliberate step forward, his face was partially revealed. A series of bright, circular scars ran across his cheeks and brow, which might have looked painted on had they not been so horrific. His skin was shriveled and appeared almost reptilian, as though it would soon be cast off. The bizarre effect was only worsened by a stringy mustache that presented itself in a glowing tint of orange.

“Marcus Mansfield,” the stranger said.

Marcus was startled. “Who are you?” he asked.

The stranger ignored the question. “I understand you have been in some rather interesting quarters of the city—very volatile parts—lately, with some friends: Robert Hallowell Richards, blond and strutting like a peacock; Edwin Hoyt, thin as a rail, plumage sprinkled with premature gray; Ellen Swallow, a sharp-featured woman with manly pursuits.”

Marcus felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He wished Hammie were not there. He would have to be circumspect in his presence.

“Who are you?” Marcus repeated as mildly as he could.

“Tell me what you know.”

“I’ve asked twice for you to identify yourself, sir.”

“I am the avenging angel and my tongue is my flaming sword.”

Marcus gestured for Hammie to continue without him, but Hammie stood stalwartly by his side. “Sir,” said Marcus, “I am not in the way of
conversing in riddles. It sounds to me like you make veiled threats, and I wish to know why.”

“Nothing veiled about it, boy. Will you tell me what you know? What did you find on that sailboat you took out in the islands?”

“What sailboat?” Hammie asked.

They had been followed. For how long? “I know nothing of what you speak about,” replied Marcus cautiously, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the building. “I am only a college student, as you see.”

“You are a factory urchin disguised in the respectable garments of a collegey!”

“What is this blockhead all about, Mansfield?” Hammie asked. “Do you want me to fetch Professor Runkle?”

“No,” Marcus said, too forcefully. “It won’t be necessary.”

“If you have secrets to keep from me, then I shall make certain that whatever they are they will be ventilated for the public,” the stranger warned. “Count on it.”

Marcus stared back at the intruder questioningly.

“I shall reveal that you and your comrades have your noses in business that does not belong to you,” the man continued. “Then you shall be
forced
to come clean.”

“See here, I’ve had just enough of this bugbear,” said Hammie, his voice rising.

“Do not come closer!” their antagonist growled, hiding his damaged face with his arm.

Hammie started toward the man, but Marcus restrained him, touched and annoyed by his foolish gallantry.

“I will have you, the first chance I get.” As the stranger turned away, he squinted up at the Institute building with a flicker of interest, before stepping into the street, his arm raised. A span of beautiful black and white steeds harnessed to a handsome carriage clattered forward in response, their driver as nondescript as his master was garish. Without looking back again, the hooded visitor climbed in and was borne away.

“Tell me, Mansfield,” Hammie said, “what exactly is going on?”

1st
. To find two numbers, either integral, fractional, or irrational, representing the exact relation between the diameter and the circumference of a circle.

2nd
. To find a geometrical construction for a straight line equal to the circumference of a given circle; or, vice versa, to find geometrically the diameter of a circle the circumference of which will be exactly equal to a given straight line.

3rd
. To prove theoretically and practically that there is loss of motion in the use of the crank when changing “to and fro” motion into rotation.

4th
. To find a geometrical construction for the elucidation of the cube, using only rule and compass.

5th
. To prove that the different colored rays of light are transmitted with different velocities.

6th
. To use electricity in place of heat, with the same or greater economy, as a motive power, making use of any of the thus far known methods in its production.

7th
. To make a flying machine in which the power of a man will lift the weight of a man as against the force of gravitation.

8th
. To change base metals into gold or silver, or even iron into copper, or, in general, any simple metal into another.

9th
. To find the composition of the ancient material of war recorded by myth as Greek fire and employed in the defense of Constantinople.

10th
. To make a self-motive, or a machine of which the effect produced is great enough to produce the primary motive power—in short, perpetual motion.

11th
. To produce one single mixture that will cure all diseases or prolong life with certainty.

12th
. To make a perpetual galvanic battery in which neither zinc nor acid is consumed.

13th
. To produce a formula for finding the primary numbers to any extent whatever.

The list was headed
UNSOLVABLE PROBLEMS—W. EDWIN HOYT
. Bob had posted it on the wall of their laboratory adjacent to Ellen’s slang board, and had chosen number eight for himself. Edwin had selected number five, Ellen numbers six and, of course, eleven. As the rain continued, beating hollowly against the windows above, Marcus read each item in the list. There was a flash of light, then a growl of thunder from outside. He fancied number ten and wrote his initials by it as they waited for Bob to return for their latest conference.

Perhaps Hammie was embarrassed at losing his composure in their encounter with the hooded man earlier that day, or simply bored again, but he had not reappeared that afternoon, which gave the others the chance to speak openly at leisure. Marcus had deflected Hammie’s questions, insisting he had never seen the stranger before, and emphasized mundane details of their curriculum-improvement project to steer him away.

“Inventors, discoverers, tinkerers, improvers, fellow Knights of the Test Tube—we have had not inconsiderable success on our charge to protect the people of Boston, thanks to all of you,” Bob said upon his return in a mock-officiating voice. “To review: We have now found a chemical solution as close as possible to the one used in the business quarter, and tangible proof of how the harbor assault was perpetrated. I think Mr. Mansfield may have grown gills, he was down there so long among the sharks and mermaids.”

Edwin laughed. Ellen did not, as it was not one of her habits, nor did Marcus.

“What’s wrong, Mansfield? You’re thoughtful,” Bob said as he brushed the rainwater from his hat.

“I’m only considering what our next step will be,” Marcus said. “The events on the harbor and in the business district were less than a week apart. If the experimenter is planning something more—and we must assume that—it is overdue.” He was about to tell them about the stranger who had accosted him, but stopped himself.

“Science cannot always be done running, as Agassiz liked to tell me in my failed career as a Harvard freshman,” Edwin said.

Ellen chimed in. “Well, I believe we are verily inching close to our goal, gentlemen, which is all we can practically do, but we have yet a significant mountain to climb ahead, and a zigzag path up.”

“Oh?” replied Bob.

“What we have in our possession now would only appear to the public at large as theory, not unlike the hypothesis of the existence of atoms,” Ellen stated. “To the naked eye, unprovable, like Mr. Hoyt’s list. The city is indeed frightened not just about what has happened, but about what might happen next, as Mr. Mansfield says. We need to show how our evidence leads to a resolution and demonstrably improves the situation of Boston, in order to be heard.”