light. And if she had gained the key to so much in such a short time, how much would she learn if she stayed longer? In three days Uncle Amos would start sowing the early peas for spring, and she felt both that she wanted to be there to help and that she wanted to stay here, which was awful. That was another exhausting aspect of being here. Every time she tried to figure it out, her head started to throb in time with her heart, and she had to do numbers until she could calm herself down.
Micah reached for a pen and a sheet of foolscap.
Dear Aunt Judith and Uncle Amos, she wrote. Sorry I’m not back yet I love it here even tho the people are confusing sometimes. Twelve-siders are actually called something I don’t know how to spell yet, but they have a name and I now I know it. Don’t forget to plant the peas in three days I will see you soon. Love, Micah.
• • •
“But if you despise him so,” said the duke from the blue damask couch by the window, as Rafe paced around the library of Tremontaine House, his long stride made longer by impatience, “then why continue attending his lectures?”
“If I’d known I was going to have to pay for my chocolate by rehearsing my unpleasant and embarrassing career in the College of Physical Sciences, I don’t think I would have stepped into your carriage, after all.”
The chocolate had been amazing, better than the finest he’d ever tasted at his father’s table. If this was what Tremontaine served to casual visitors, Rafe couldn’t imagine what he brought out for special occasions. And somehow it had only made Rafe’s mood worse.
“The chocolate is gratis. The rehearsal is entirely at your discretion.”
Rafe stopped pacing and sighed. He was above rudeness for the sake of rudeness, or he ought to be. But he was distracted by the exquisite cut of the Duke’s black breeches against the deep red velvet of the couch. “He’s brilliant, for one thing,” he finally brought himself to say. “His take on planar geometry, his work on elliptical motion, his commentary on Delphin’s mapping of the stars. He thought I was brilliant too, until I realized that the College’s guiding principle—and his—was wrong.” The delicacy of the man’s hands as he brought his chocolate cup to his lips was extraordinary. Rafe turned away from Tremontaine to face the crackling fire. “He’s also the only one left.”
“Pardon?”
Rafe sighed, defeated. His shoulders slumped. He ought to turn back around and face the duke again, but for some reason he was reluctant to do so. “I started with de Bertel, when I first came to the University,” he said to the fire, and rubbed his hands together. “Then I abandoned him for what seemed greener pastures. But gradually I’ve gone through most of the other professors, breaking with each one as I grew more and more cognizant of their mistake. I ended up back with de Bertel, who forgave my betrayal at first, but now that I have the knowledge to back up my intuitions it’s worse with him than it ever was with any of the others. Today’s fracas was the inevitable result of the last several years of my life.”
“And what did it concern?”
He turned back to the duke and his eyes suddenly filled with the sight of cheekbones. “The fact—not the idea, my lord, but the fact—that the earth revolves around the sun. I’ve been driving myself mad trying to prove it, but I can’t. No matter how many observations I make, no matter how many measurements, the math never works out right.” His hands had started moving again, in ever-larger sweeps and circles. “Or it does, but only because I add some lunatic number of epicycles, which simply compounds the problem I’m trying to solve.”
“Which is?”
“Our current, stupid, stupid cosmology has the universe rotating horizontally with respect to the earth, but also moving on an epicycle oblique to that orbital rotation, so—” Rafe felt himself begin to step forward, thought better of it, stopped.
“Never mind. Go back to the doctors. You’ve worked with most of the others?”
“The ones whose lectures I never attended are idiots.”
“Then I don’t understand. How were you planning to find anyone to sit on your examination board who would pass you, let alone sponsor you for a doctorate?” The duke turned over a questioning hand palm up, his wrist framed by elegant lace. “If everyone on the Physical Sciences faculty either hates you or is an idiot?”
“Oh, I had it all worked out,” said Rafe, closing his eyes. “The examiners were going to be Chauncey, Martin, and Featherstone. Chauncey is an idiot, but I’m almost certain he agrees with me, alone on the faculty, though he wouldn’t dare say it out loud. Martin is also an idiot, but he’d pass me if he thought it would increase his chances of getting me into his bed, which, by the by, it wouldn’t; I may be free with my favors, but I don’t do charity work. And Featherstone hates me, but he’s a coward and invariably votes with the majority. He’d vote with the majority if they proposed to draw and quarter his daughter.” He opened his eyes, only for them to be drawn again to the breeches. “Which means that if I had Chauncey and Martin then I’d have him, too.”
“I see. But with de Bertel on your committee—”
“Exactly! That was the only possible combination of faculty.”
“And so you think your chances of passing the exam are shot.”
Rafe emitted something that bore as little resemblance to a laugh as he could manage. “Oh, how delicately put.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. Finally he strode toward the duke, who stood as he approached the couch. “No, you oaf, I don’t think it.” He tossed his head. “That was the only permutation of examiners that would have allowed me to pass. And now you’ve made it impossible, and I’ll never found my school, and my life is ruined, and it’s all your fault!” He was standing quite close to Tremontaine now, breathing hard, his face crimson, his index finger stabbing the offending air.
The duke seemed poised to step forward. Rafe, filled with an inexplicable sense of alarm, immediately crossed to the other side of the library and made a careful inventory of the books on the shelves before him. He heard Tremontaine walk to the chair by the fire and settle himself. “Tell me about this school you want to found.”
Rafe turned again but stayed where he was. “Describe your education, my lord.”
“Why, I had a tutor until I was . . . I don’t know, fourteen?” Tremontaine shrugged, the emerald green velvet of his doublet broadening his shoulders. “No, sixteen. When I came to the city. And since then I’ve merely read whatever has piqued my interest.”
“And describe the education of your architect, say, or your portrait painter.”
“Grammar school until twelve or so. If the parents are comfortable. Maybe even a tutor.”
Rafe seemed unable to look away from the Duke’s shoulders. “And then?”
“Apprenticeship, I suppose. To learn a trade. To make a living.”
“Well, what if his education continued?” Rafe wrenched his eyes from Tremontaine’s shoulders to make a very close examination of the crown molding along the ceiling. “What if there were school at fifteen, at sixteen, seventeen? For people without tutors who wanted to keep learning without going to University? Or to be better prepared than most of the sluggards who start there now?” Rafe’s head turned back to the duke. “And here’s the beauty of it, the real point: if I got to them early enough,
