“This place used to lie beyond the edge of the city,” Daniel explained, “and bloody-minded young men would come here to practice at sword-play, or even to fight. This was more than a hundred years ago, when it was the fashion to have a wee shield on the left hand-a buckler. The sound of rapiers swashing against bucklers could be heard from far away, when they fought. Young men of that mentality came to be known, in the vernacular, as-”

“Bucklerswashers! Yes, I have heard of this,” said Peter. “Which way do I go here?”

“Take the left fork, if you please, your Tsarish Majesty,” Daniel said, “and then straight on to Clerkenwell.”

As for sense supernatural, which consisteth in revelation or inspiration, there have not been any universal laws so given, because God speaketh not in that manner but to particular persons, and to divers men divers things.

–HOBBES, Leviathan

UPON ARRIVAL IN Clerkenwell Court, Daniel discovered that Roger Comstock, or someone claiming to speak for him, had quartered two squadrons of Whig Association cavalry in the Court of Technologickal Arts: one Mohawk, the other normally coiffed. He was past caring, and no longer capable of being surprised by anything. It was fortuitous. The Templar-tomb made an impressive vault, with its new set of ironbound doors. The presence of the cavalry only made it seem that much better suited for storing a pile of gold, in Peter’s eyes.

Daniel had been steeling himself, on the drive over, for a long day or two of explaining all of the marvels and oddities on view in the Court of Technologickal Arts-for really it was the worst kind of Peter-the-Great-bait. But most of the ingenieurs and projectors who frequented the place had locked their stuff up, or taken it away, when they had moved out to make room for the cavalry. So there was relatively little on view. Peter did venture underground for a cursory inspection of the Templar-tomb. But the ceiling was too low for him, and he seemed as bored as any other royal on any other ceremonial inspection, which gave Daniel the idea that hidden vaults of bizarre ancient military-religious sects must be altogether common and unremarkable in Russia. Solomon Kohan showed more interest in it than his boss. And so while Baron von Leibniz and Saturn (who had recovered admirably after having been rousted from bed at saber-point) showed the Tsar some of the machinery pertaining to the Logick Mill, Solomon and Daniel sat round a slate sarcophagus down below, and oversaw the transfer of the gold plates from Minerva into the Tomb of the Templars. This was a matter of weighing all that was brought down, and pricking down the weights in ledgers, and getting all of the numbers and the sums to agree: not especially demanding labor for two men such as these. During lulls they engaged in Solomon Kohan’s idea of small talk:

“This is an interesting place.”

“I am pleased you find it interesting.”

“It puts me in mind of an operation I used to have in Jerusalem a long time ago.”

“Now that you mention it, the full name of the Templars was the Knights of the Temple of Solomon. So if you are that Solomon-”

“Do not play word games with me. I refer, not to this hole in the ground, which is but an indifferent crypt for long-forgotten knights, but to what lies over.”

“The Court of Technologickal Arts?”

“If that is what you call it.”

“What would you call it?”

“A temple.”

“Oh? Of what religion?”

“A religion that presupposes that we may draw closer to God by better understanding the World that He made.”

“That being the only evidence available to us, you mean, as to what He was thinking.”

“Available to most of us,” Solomon allowed.

“Oh? Is there a rest of us who have other ways of knowing God?”

“In truth, yes,” Solomon said, “but it is dangerous to say so, for almost all who claim to belong to this rest are charlatans.”

“How gratifying, then, that you judge me fit to partake of this secret. Does this mean you have found me worthy to distinguish between the majority of charlatans and the minority of-”

“The Wise? Yes.”

“Does that mean I am Wise?”

“No. You are not Wise but erudite. You are a member of the Societas Eruditorum.”

“Leibniz has spoken of it, but I did not know I was a member.”

“It is not like these guys,” Solomon said, rapping a knuckle on a Templar-sarcophagus, “with bylaws and initiation-rites and such.”

“Are you a member?”

“No.”

“Are you Wise?”

“Yes.”

“Which means you have ways of knowing things that we erudite fellows don’t. We have to be satisfied with practicing our religion.”

“You make it sound unsatisfactory. Change your mind about this. It is better to know why you know things than simply to have things revealed to you.”

“Enoch Root-is he Wise?”

“Yes.”

“Leibniz?”

“Erudite.”

“Newton?”

“Hard to say.”

“It seems as though Newton just knows things. Finished knowledge appears in his head-no one else can make out how he did it; and no one else has a chance in hell of doing what he did.”

“Yes.”

“Is it a black-and-white distinction, Wise versus Erudite, or shades of gray? If I get lucky on some days, and a good idea pops into my head, am I being Wise?”

“You are partaking of the quality of Wiseness, or Wizardry, or whatever it is called in English.”

“How many Wizards are there just now? You, Enoch, that’s two. Possibly Isaac.”

“I have no idea.” But here Solomon was distracted by a faint noise from the direction of the stairs. He and Daniel looked that way, expecting to see a Cossack bearing more gold; but instead it was Saturn. He stepped toward them quietly. Daniel had no idea how long Saturn had been in the room with them, how much he might have heard. “Are you two quite finished with your sums?” he asked weakly.

“They are not all that difficult,” Daniel returned. “Why do you ask? Is there some need of us?”

“Monsieur Romanov is anxious to go.”

“Oh, really? Where does he wish to go all of a sudden?”

“During a lull in the conversation,” said Peter Hoxton, “we heard the sounds of a crowd assembling in Hockley-in-the-Hole. He inquired. I made the mistake of telling him that it was most likely a bull-baiting. Now he ardently wishes to go and see it.”

“Then who are we to keep him waiting?”

“TWO SAVANTS AND A JEW walk into a bar…” Saturn began.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind.”

“Most people would call me a mere Natural Philosopher, not a savant,” Daniel corrected him. He nodded across and down the table at Leibniz. “Now he is a savant.”

“Yes,” Saturn agreed, “and so is he.” And he nodded toward the entrance of the tavern.

Daniel looked up just in time to see Sir Isaac Newton come through the door.

When the bull-baiting had concluded (the bull had lost), Peter the Great had insisted on buying a round of drinks, and turned to Saturn for a recommendation as to taverns. They had paraded into this place.

It had been Daniel’s observation that all Public Houses fell into two categories, viz. ones that were much smaller than they looked from the outside, and ones that were much larger. This was one of the latter type, which was a good thing for several reasons. Item, that even when it had been shorn of Cossacks, dwarves, and other impedimenta, Peter’s entourage still numbered a dozen. Item, that two of them (Peter and Saturn) were very large blokes. And item, that when Isaac suddenly walked into the place, Daniel at least had a few moments to compose himself as he made his way to the back.

Daniel and Saturn were sitting next to each other, facing the windows and the front door. Leibniz and the Tsar were on the opposite side of the table.