Read Online Newton's Cannon by J. Gregory Keyes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J. Gregory Keyes
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this thing home?”
“Why glass, Ben? Why not a fiddle string?” John asked as they walked past the bowling green lugging the awkward device. A handful of people playing at ninepins stopped to stare curiously.
“I tried that first, and it didn't work, though I'm not certain why. Bear in mind that the crucial element is the philosopher's mercury, because only that transforms my musical notes into aethereal ones. I don't know
why
it does that, I just know it does. Perhaps the sound must come from crystal, or perhaps the tones generate some other kind of harmonic in the glass— which in turn affects the mercury.”
Despite all of my fine talk
, Ben thought to himself,
I really don't know what it is I've done.
“I wonder why it glowed pink on that one note?”
“Another thing for you to help me explain.”
“At least I see the relevance of the experiment to aetherschreibers now,” John allowed. “If you can use sound to change the ferment of water, you can use it to alter the ferment of the chime in the aetherschreiber. And if you could alter it gradually— like your father moving his finger down the violin string— then you should be able to match it to the ferments of other aetherschreibers.”
Ben nodded. “That's what I'm hoping.”
“Have you tried that yet?”
“No, I want to try it tonight. And I was hoping—”
“Hoping what?” John asked, when Ben stalled.
“Hoping that you would help me write up the math so we can send this somewhere—perhaps to Sir Isaac Newton himself!”
“ ‘Collins and Franklin on Harmonic Affinity,’” John said. “That sounds good.”
“ ‘Franklin and Collins’ sounds even better.”
They were just launching into a debate when Ben caught a motion from the corner of his eye. From the shadows of Hillie Lane, a man in a brass-buttoned blue coat was watching them, a broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. From beneath the brim of the hat, Ben thought he saw the fellow's eyes flash like red fireflies—like the man he had seen reading, under the flameless lantern four years ago. Ben quickly glanced away, feeling a rush of fear tingle up through his feet. As they made the final turn onto Queen Street, he looked back once more, but the strange man was nowhere to be seen.
“I'm going to bed now,” James said. “Mind you that you cover the light when you're done.”
“I will,” Ben assured his brother, though he wondered
why
the light had to be covered. The flameless lantern would continue producing light whether it was covered or not.
The aetherschreiber was nearly done with the page. Ben poised to feed it another, admiring the machine, the grace and precision with which it wrote. It wrote, in fact, in the handwriting of a man an ocean away—that thought sent goosebumps along Ben's spine. At this moment, Horatio Hubbard sat at his machine in London, his hand moving the pen and the metal arm on which it was mounted.
Of course, to keep it writing
here
, Ben would have to stay up half the night, changing the paper and winding the clock key that provided the arm with motive power.
And he needed to solve the puzzle of tuning the schreiber. The triumph of the day remained with him, but it was subdued now by fatigue.
His thoughts kept tracing the same circle—like a two-legged dog, his uncle would say—and when the last sheet of the
Mercury
came off, Ben still had not managed to solve the problem. What he needed was a way of changing the ferment of the crystal the way he had changed that of water—and he needed to be able to change it in a gradual but
consistent
manner—the way his father varied pitch on his violin string. Ben had already begun to think that his use of sound to create analogous changesmight be a dead end, because he could imagine no way to vary the pitch of a glass crystal continuously, the way one could a string. If only wire worked!
The other problem was that water was a very simple compound, and the Star Regulas glass that composed
“Why glass, Ben? Why not a fiddle string?” John asked as they walked past the bowling green lugging the awkward device. A handful of people playing at ninepins stopped to stare curiously.
“I tried that first, and it didn't work, though I'm not certain why. Bear in mind that the crucial element is the philosopher's mercury, because only that transforms my musical notes into aethereal ones. I don't know
why
it does that, I just know it does. Perhaps the sound must come from crystal, or perhaps the tones generate some other kind of harmonic in the glass— which in turn affects the mercury.”
Despite all of my fine talk
, Ben thought to himself,
I really don't know what it is I've done.
“I wonder why it glowed pink on that one note?”
“Another thing for you to help me explain.”
“At least I see the relevance of the experiment to aetherschreibers now,” John allowed. “If you can use sound to change the ferment of water, you can use it to alter the ferment of the chime in the aetherschreiber. And if you could alter it gradually— like your father moving his finger down the violin string— then you should be able to match it to the ferments of other aetherschreibers.”
Ben nodded. “That's what I'm hoping.”
“Have you tried that yet?”
“No, I want to try it tonight. And I was hoping—”
“Hoping what?” John asked, when Ben stalled.
“Hoping that you would help me write up the math so we can send this somewhere—perhaps to Sir Isaac Newton himself!”
“ ‘Collins and Franklin on Harmonic Affinity,’” John said. “That sounds good.”
“ ‘Franklin and Collins’ sounds even better.”
They were just launching into a debate when Ben caught a motion from the corner of his eye. From the shadows of Hillie Lane, a man in a brass-buttoned blue coat was watching them, a broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. From beneath the brim of the hat, Ben thought he saw the fellow's eyes flash like red fireflies—like the man he had seen reading, under the flameless lantern four years ago. Ben quickly glanced away, feeling a rush of fear tingle up through his feet. As they made the final turn onto Queen Street, he looked back once more, but the strange man was nowhere to be seen.
“I'm going to bed now,” James said. “Mind you that you cover the light when you're done.”
“I will,” Ben assured his brother, though he wondered
why
the light had to be covered. The flameless lantern would continue producing light whether it was covered or not.
The aetherschreiber was nearly done with the page. Ben poised to feed it another, admiring the machine, the grace and precision with which it wrote. It wrote, in fact, in the handwriting of a man an ocean away—that thought sent goosebumps along Ben's spine. At this moment, Horatio Hubbard sat at his machine in London, his hand moving the pen and the metal arm on which it was mounted.
Of course, to keep it writing
here
, Ben would have to stay up half the night, changing the paper and winding the clock key that provided the arm with motive power.
And he needed to solve the puzzle of tuning the schreiber. The triumph of the day remained with him, but it was subdued now by fatigue.
His thoughts kept tracing the same circle—like a two-legged dog, his uncle would say—and when the last sheet of the
Mercury
came off, Ben still had not managed to solve the problem. What he needed was a way of changing the ferment of the crystal the way he had changed that of water—and he needed to be able to change it in a gradual but
consistent
manner—the way his father varied pitch on his violin string. Ben had already begun to think that his use of sound to create analogous changesmight be a dead end, because he could imagine no way to vary the pitch of a glass crystal continuously, the way one could a string. If only wire worked!
The other problem was that water was a very simple compound, and the Star Regulas glass that composed
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