Death and the Arrow Read Free Page B

Tom, a veritable Michelangelo.”
    Tom smiled halfheartedly. Dr. Harker could see that something was wrong, but knew his young friend well enough not to approach the matter head-on. If Tom wanted to talk, he would. If not, the Inquisition and all its racks and thumbscrews would not be able to make him. “Tell me,” said the doctor, pointing to the pamphlet, “have you read it?”
    “Of course, Doctor,” said Tom. He always read Dr. Harker’s pamphlets.
    “And what do you think?”
    “Well, I don’t claim to understand it all, but there’s going to be an eclipse, isn’t there?” said Tom, brightening now, eager for the distraction.
    “There is indeed. A solar eclipse. And if the sky clears for long enough, we’ll see it. Right here in London, Tom. Imagine it: the shadow of the moon passing over the city.”
    Tom tried to imagine it but could not. He had looked at the diagram on Dr. Harker’s pamphlet but he could not see how night and day could be so weirdly intermingled. It seemed impossible.
    “It will be an unforgettable event, Tom. If the weather is kind to us, it will be stupendous.”
    “They say it’s an evil omen, don’t they, Dr. Harker? The eclipse, I mean,” said Tom.
    “Nonsense, lad! Utter nonsense! There is nothing supernatural here, Tom. It is all absolutely natural. Is the swinging of a pendulum an evil omen . . . or the movement of the hands on a clock face? All we are seeing is the workings of the universe, the movements of its marvelous machine!
    “Sometimes I despair of this great city of ours, Tom. England is home to men of incomparable reasoning, lad. Men like Halley and Wren—not to mention Newton, of course. Giants among men, Tom; giants among men.” Dr. Harker’s face was beginning to flush and, as he grew more excited, his arms began to wave wildly.
    “And yet,” he cried, banging the flat of his hand down on the desk and making a pot of ink jump half an inch in the air, “and yet we are also home to a coven of the most scandalously dishonest charlatans and rogues imaginable. One cannot walk the streets of this town without tripping over astrologers and diviners, so-called wise women and cunning men.
Con
ning men, more like!” Again he banged the table; again the inkpot jumped.
    “If a gentleman has his sword stolen, what does he do? He pays some crafty cunning man to try and divine, by magic, where his property is gone to and who may have taken it. By magic! Is this the eighteenth century or the fourteenth?”
    “The eighteenth,” said Tom helpfully.
    Dr. Harker smiled, feeling a little foolish at his outburst. He was also hot under his periwig and he eased it off, putting it carefully on its mahogany stand. Then he scratched the bristles on his shaven head and put on his crimson silk turban.
    “But what choice does the gentleman have in any event, Tom? To go to the likes of that scoundrel and so-called thief-taker, Hitchin.” Dr. Harker looked across at Tom and smiled. “Of course, you and he have met, have you not? How is young Will Piggot?”
    “He’s well enough, thank you, Doctor,” said Tom. “Though my father would see him transported if it were up to him.”
    “Come now, Tom. Your father only has your interests at heart. Will leads a dangerous life. Your father does not want you touched by that danger, that is all.”
    “But I want something more than ink and paper,” said Tom. “You can understand that, can’t you, sir?”
    Dr. Harker nodded. “I can, Tom,” he said. “You want adventure, lad. I was just the same at your age. But I understand your father too. You know that he loves you dearly, don’t you, lad?”
    Tom looked away. The two of them sat in silence awhile until the doctor spoke again. “Have I ever told you about my voyage to Constantinople, Tom?” He had, but Tom was more than happy to hear it again, and in no time Dr. Harker was off.
    As always, the doctor leaped from one subject to another, happy to talk while he had such an