“The point is well taken,” Daniel said, “and so let me simplify matters by letting you know that the cards and the gold are on the same ship.”

“Minerva carries both?”

“And I think you know what a fine ship she is. I would sooner trust gold to the bilge of Minerva than the vaults of many a banca. It is safe to predict that, round the beginning of August, she will drop anchor in the Pool, and we shall have all of the requisites to punch a large number of these cards. What is wanted, in the meantime, is financing to sustain the operations of Clerkenwell Court, so that we may build the Logic Mill.”

“May I presume that you have already tried and failed to get additional support from your benefactor?”

“Roger Comstock is the one who proposed that I consult you, madame.”

“I never thought one such as he could run out of money.”

“Properly speaking, it is a question of liquidity. Much now hangs in the political balance, as you know. The perils that have forced Princess Caroline to seek refuge far from the gardens of Hanover, have not failed to press in, almost as hotly, on the Marquis of Ravenscar. He has extended his resources to the utmost, readying and arming himself for the coming struggle against Bolingbroke.”

“And not without effect, if yesterday’s news from Parliament be true,” Johann put in.

“Yesterday was a victory for Comstock-but it was little more than a skirmish. Ahead lie battles.”

“It is a wonder he has time or money for Logic Mills at all,” Johann remarked.

“In truth, he does not, and has quite forgotten about us for now,” Daniel said.

“So you require a sort of bridge loan,” Eliza said.

“Indeed, madame.”

“A bridge-builder cannot practice his trade, unless he knows the length of the span to be made-”

“The length is from now until a Hanover is crowned King or Queen of Great Britain.”

“That could be never.”

“And yet, as a wise woman once remarked, we are all gambling on it.”

“It could be years, then.”

“Queen Anne is as likely to live to the end of 1714 as I am to go to Naples and sell myself in the town square as a gigolo,” Daniel averred.

“What is the amount you seek?”

“A stipend, delivered at regular intervals. Mr. Ham has drawn up some figures.”

“That sounds boring,” Eliza said, “and so I propose a parting of the ways. Johann, who has a head for numbers, can look at Mr. Ham’s. Hildegard may wish to stay with him.”

“And you, madame?”

“I have a head for relationships,” Eliza said, “and so I shall join you in my carriage as you are delivered back to Clerkenwell Court, and I shall discourse to you of the relationship-or to be blunt, what precisely is to be my security for the proposed loan.”

“IT IS A CURIOUS sort of Mint that you have created,” Eliza remarked.

Daniel was startled out of a drowsy reverie. The Duchess of Arcachon-Qwghlm had been silent, staring out the window, as her carriage had taken them up the bank of Fleet Ditch and round the western approach of Holbourn Bridge. Now they were stuck in the absurdly mis-named Field Lane, a clogged chute of brick and horse-shit.

London had come awake reluctantly. The Mobility had devoted all of their energies, yesterday, to the Hanging-March; even those who had not actually pushed their way through the crowd to glimpse the awful Derrick raised above Tyburn Cross, had busied themselves picking the pockets, filling the bellies, or satisfying the urges of those who had. As for the Nobility, they had been as preoccupied with a violent and ghastly spectacle of a different character: down in Westminster, the Whigs had suddenly begun to ask pointed questions as to what had become of certain Asiento revenues. Persons of Quality had devoted yester evening and much of the night to liquidating their holdings in the South Sea Company, and gathering in Clubbs and coffee-houses to misinform one another.

But it was now mid-afternoon, and everyone, hanging-watchers and Parliamentarians alike, was finally awake. Except for Daniel Waterhouse, who had almost drifted off when pricked awake by this curious remark from Eliza. “I beg your pardon?” he mumbled, buying time to wake himself up.

“I am trying to hatch a similitude for what you are doing at Bridewell,” Eliza returned. Then, sensing that this answer had been none too informative, she straightened her spine, like a cat, and turned her face toward Daniel. She was so beautiful that he flinched. “Gold is meant to be fungible-an ounce of it here is no different from an ounce in Amsterdam or Shahjahanabad.”

I wish someone would explain that to Isaac, Daniel mused, then felt bad, as Isaac was a sick man just now-he’d collapsed in Westminster Palace a couple of weeks ago, and was still lying on a sick-bed at Roger Comstock’s house.

“A financier, asked for a loan, carries out a diligent summing-up of the debtor’s assets, to ensure that the loan shall be secured by something of worth,” Eliza continued. “You have gold. This gold could be weighed, to find its worth. There could be no better security for a loan. But there is a complication. You are not using the gold as gold. You are using it as a medium for storage of information. Or I might say it thus: you are informing it. Once informed by the card-punching organ, it possesses value-to you, at least-that it did not have before. If it were to be melted down, it would lose that value. The only like procedure that I can call to mind, is that whereby blank disks of gold are informed by the blow of a die at the Mint, making ’em into guineas, and thereby imbuing ’em with additional worth-seigneurage, they name it. And so I say that your organ at Bridewell is like a little Mint, and your punched cards are the Coin of a new Realm.”

“You have convinced me,” Daniel said. “I only hope that Sir Isaac does not hear of it, and denominate me a rival.”

“If the rumors as to Sir Isaac’s condition are true,” Eliza said, “you or some rival may soon be running the Mint at the Tower. But that is beside the point. Supposing you build the Logic Mill, and it works. Then the value-and I mean value not moral, ?sthetic, or spiritual, but ?conomic-of your Institute inheres in the ability to carry out logical and arithmetical work using the cards.”

“Indeed, madame, that is all we can offer.”

“If the cards were foreclosed upon by a creditor, and melted, the information would all be con-fused, the Logic Mill would not do work, and the value we just spoke of would be annihilated.”

“True.”

“It follows that the gold, once wrought into punched cards, becomes a poor form of security indeed, as it cannot be spent, in a monetary sense, without destroying your enterprise.”

“I agree without reservation that the gold cannot secure the loan.”

“Moreover, if I understand the nature of the project, the cards and the machine are to be shipped to the Academy of Sciences in St. Petersburg when they are finished.”

“That is true of the first set.”

“But subsequent ones, supposing you build more, shall become the property of the Marquis of Ravenscar.”

“As currently envisioned, yes.”

“All that I would be left with would be some news that I might use to my advantage in certain markets. This is a sort of game I played to great advantage when I was young, and had nothing to lose, and no one who depended on me. But now I require tangible equity in exchange for my investments. I invest with my head, not my heart.”

“And yet it is plain that you support Dappa, and I have heard that you contribute generously to hospitals for Veterans and Vagabonds.”

“As charities, yes. But it is too late for you to remake your Institute as a charity.”

“Then let me tell you something of the Logic Mill that not even Roger knows,” Daniel sighed.

“You have my attention, Doctor.”

“It will not work.”

“The Logic Mill will not do logic?”