Part 26 (1/2)
Fochtmann fell silent, a slick clicking indicating that he was occupied with a rack of the gla.s.s bullets. Chang heard Aspiche remark quietly, ”You say he asked about me? About my health?”
”He did, Colonel,” replied Rawsbarthe, ”and rather implied that your being alive was a surprise.”
”What the devil does he know?” snarled Aspiche, and then sneezed loudly and moistly, twice. ”My apologies-this d.a.m.ned... condition-”
”It is seasonal, I think,” sniffed Rawsbarthe. ”The s.h.i.+fting weather- as the days become warmer, one's body is never prepared.”
”I am sure you are right. And these wretched chills...”
Fochtmann resumed calling out figures-perhaps the number of gla.s.s bullets, or their estimated weight, or-who knew?-the purity of refinement. The man's tone remained cheerful with each detail: Chang became certain that Fochtmann and Lorenz were the bitterest of enemies, and that Fochtmann's presence signified a desperation to understand the science of the slain Comte. Chang smiled at being that odious man's executioner, and causing so much trouble for so many who deserved it.
Fochtmann's investigations moved to the large cabinet, sorting through the same papers Chang had so recently ransacked.
”And all this time I thought Lorenz was a fool,” Fochtmann whispered. ”Even if the ideas belonged to d'Orkancz, the construction is magnificent, delightful!”
”Delightful?” asked Colonel Aspiche.
”What other word for such cleanly made machines?” cried Fochtmann. ”They can be improved-my own revisions already suggest themselves-but the flow, the clarity of...” The man chuckled merrily. ”Of power! And you are certain Lorenz is dead?”
”It is likely,” said Rawsbarthe. Fochtmann cackled.
”And you promise me, it is only Lorenz-of men at the Inst.i.tute, in industry-who knows of this, this vein of... of...”
”Alchemy,” said Aspiche.
Fochtmann snorted.
”According to the Comte,” continued Aspiche.
Fochtmann exhaled in pointed exasperation. ”While the basic properties of the gla.s.s alone are beyond question-”
”They are a matter of fact,” Aspiche snapped.
”The Comte's writings are the ravings of a madman,” replied Fochtmann. ”A madman with some small sense of insight. One sees the approving notations of others-engineers, architects of science- and so one studies that insight more scrupulously than the mania would suggest. These machines, this very railcar-one cannot gainsay concrete results...”
Fochtmann paused.
”Or... for another example... these books...”
”Books?” asked Rawsbarthe innocently.
”Prominently described in the notes. Apparently a most singular exploitation of the... acquisitive... properties of indigo gla.s.s.”
”I would not know,” said Rawsbarthe. Aspiche remained silent.
”Not that I have seen such a thing,” Fochtmann went on easily. ”Indeed, 'book' may merely be a term for compiling knowledge. Every visionary has his own vocabulary, and such terms are always strange to those outside its understanding. What is significant about the mention of book, of course, is how as a device it embodies the capacity of indigo clay-in an explicit indication of function. Indeed, many of the major machines seem to employ these 'gla.s.s books' in their actual workings. But then again, as a man of science, one looks for clues! You gentlemen will see yourselves, in this very car, the prevalent inlay of orange metals-an alloy made to very exact specifications-around the ceiling, between the floor tiles, around each piece of gla.s.s...”
”What is it?” asked Rawsbarthe, with concern.
”Rather, why is it?” chuckled Fochtmann. ”The effect is deliberate-could it be solely in the service of beauty? Where is the serious intent? I cannot say-you must give me time to read before we arrive-I will take these papers to a compartment where I may commune with my own thoughts.”
”Does this mean you have accepted the Duke's commission?” asked Rawsbarthe.
”It does indeed, sir. How could I refuse his Grace's personal invitation?”
”Excellent,” said Rawsbarthe. ”Welcome news. Our situation-”
Aspiche cleared his throat.
”Colonel?” asked Fochtmann.
”I am sure his Grace will cherish your dedication,” said Aspiche. ”But I wonder if... for the time being... the three of us might keep word of your... discoveries between ourselves.”
No one spoke.
Rawsbarthe sniffed. ”Ah, well... yes, that seems to me a rather... interesting... and prudent suggestion. Especially as Mr. Fochtmann has made clear the value of this-what is the word?-lode of unknown science.”
”Unknown and provocative,” said Aspiche.
”Provocative and powerful,” said Rawsbarthe.
”Mr. Fochtmann?” asked Aspiche.
”Why should I object to that?” replied Fochtmann. ”I should hardly expect the Queen's own brother to attend to every small detail.”
”Then we have an understanding?”
”I believe we do. I will share my immediate findings only with you two gentlemen, and the three of us together will determine... further steps.”
”It is sensible,” said Rawsbarthe.
”It is.” Chang could imagine the greedy smile on Fochtmann's lips. ”Yet this material is copious, and we have very little time. If you gentlemen would excuse me...”
A hand rapped sharply on the gla.s.s cover above Chang's face.
”And what is this large thing?” asked Rawsbarthe, his voice only inches away.
Chang looked up to see the hand now rubbing on the gla.s.s, as if to clear away the darkness and peer more clearly inside.
”Do you know its purpose?”
”Not until I've done more study,” answered Fochtmann.
”Should we not open it and look?”
”If you are keen to do so,” replied Fochtmann, ”by all means.”
Rawsbarthe's hand moved to the edge of the gla.s.s and gave it an exploratory nudge, realized how heavy it was, and then put both hands upon it, ready to push harder.
”It was where the Comte had the woman,” said Aspiche.