A Star Shall Fall.

by MARIE BRENNAN.

PROLOGUE.

Gresham College, London: June 20, 1705.

The room was a shabby one to contain the intellectual brilliance of England. Small and scant of windows, it was nearly unbearable in the warmth of an early summer day, and filled with gentlemen looking forward to the pleasanter air of their country estates, away from the stinks of London. Some listened with interest to the letters being read, an exchange between two of their fellows regarding the island of Formosa; others fanned themselves futilely with whatever papers came to hand, wishing they dared nod off. But the gimlet eye of their president was upon them, and though Sir Isaac Newton might be more than sixty years old, age had not slowed him in the least, nor dulled the sharp edge of his tongue.

They gave an impression of agreeable uniformity in their somber-colored coats, so very different from the young gallants of London's beau monde beau monde who took every opportunity to quarrel. Nothing could be further from the truth. who took every opportunity to quarrel. Nothing could be further from the truth. Nullius in verba Nullius in verba was their motto: on the words of no one. This was the temple of facts, of careful observation and even more careful reasoning; the men of the Royal Society of London, the premier scientific body of the Kingdom of England, were no respecters of ancient authority. They respected only Truth. And when they found themselves in disagreement as to what that Truth was, their arguments could grow very heated indeed. was their motto: on the words of no one. This was the temple of facts, of careful observation and even more careful reasoning; the men of the Royal Society of London, the premier scientific body of the Kingdom of England, were no respecters of ancient authority. They respected only Truth. And when they found themselves in disagreement as to what that Truth was, their arguments could grow very heated indeed.

But there was little to argue in the second piece of that day's business, presented by Oxford's new Savilian Professor of Astronomy. In all honesty, hardly any men there had the capacity to debate it; the proof hinged on Newton's Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, which fewer of them understood than pretended to. Edmond Halley's calculus therefore meant little to them. The fundamental point, however, was clear.

The orbit of a comet was not a parabola, but an ellipsis. And that meant that a comet, having departed from view, would in the fullness of time return.

A point that held rather a high degree of interest for two members of Halley's audience.

"The measurements made by Flamsteed at Greenwich in 1682 are exceptionally precise," the professor said, with a nod that acknowledged the contributions of the absent Astronomer Royal. "They provide us with a basis for examining the less-precise accounts of cometary apparitions in the past-1607, 1531, 1456, and so on."

Back to the days of the Stuart kings, and the Tudors, and the Lancastrians. Many here today remembered the comet twenty-three years before, but a man's beard would have to be gray indeed for him to have seen any of the others Halley named.

The one member of his audience who could claim that distinction had no beard at all. He was a young gallant more often found haunting the halls of London's fencing masters, and his friends would have been surprised to see him in such sober costume, attending with hawklike intensity to the dull minutiae of astronomical mathematics.

Though not half so surprised as they would have been, had they ever seen their friend's true face.

"A question, if you please," the gallant said, interrupting Halley's presentation of his Astronomiae cometicae synopsis, Astronomiae cometicae synopsis, and drawing a swift frown from Newton. "Could anything divert the comet from its path?" and drawing a swift frown from Newton. "Could anything divert the comet from its path?"

The Savilian Professor's well-rehea.r.s.ed presentation faltered. "I beg your pardon?"

"You say the comet travels far away from the sun, returning only every seventy-five years, or seventy-six. Could anything prevent that return, sending it out into s.p.a.ce?"

Halley's mouth opened and shut several times without anything coming out. "I suppose," he said at last, with bewildered uncertainty, "that a large ma.s.s might exert gravitational force upon the cometary body, perturbing its path such that the return would not occur as expected. But to make it depart entirely... why, sir, would you be concerned with such a thing?"

Now all eyes in the room were upon the gallant-save for those belonging to Lord Joseph Winslow, who'd brought him there as a guest. Winslow had a most peculiar expression on his face, as if he wished dearly that his companion had not interrupted with such a bizarre question... but he also craved Halley's answer.

"It seems to me," the young gallant said, "that the eccentric wanderings of such a body might pose a danger to us here."

A startled voice came from elsewhere in the audience. "If the orbits aligned unfavorably-could a comet strike the Earth?"

"Nonsense." Newton's sharp reply cut them all off like a blade. "The Lord designed the heavens to His purpose; if it should come to pa.s.s that anything in them brings calamity to the Earth-as may have occurred at the Deluge-then it will likewise be the Lord's will. We may conclude, therefore, that there is no need for diversion of a comet's path."

The gallant was brave indeed, for he pressed his point, even in the face of Newton's displeasure. "But what of smaller threats? Have not natural disasters been ascribed to the influence of comets? If one should-"

"Enough of this." The President of the Royal Society stood, glaring at Winslow's guest. "Comets are mechanical bodies, obeying the laws of motion and universal gravitation; if they have any effect beyond that, it is beneficial, distributing vapors that fuel the processes of vegetation and putrefaction on Earth, and perhaps supplying the spiritous component of air. Your fears are foolish, and you will waste no more of our time with them."

Sir Isaac Newton had a piercing eye; but so, too, did the young gallant. He stood, not breaking his gaze from the great man's, and made a curt bow before exiting the room. Winslow murmured his apologies and followed.

Pacing at the base of the stairs outside, the gallant growled a string of curses. "It isn't the will of his divine Master-it's our our doing, and our fault." doing, and our fault."

"I wouldn't tell Sir Isaac that," Winslow said, trying for a hint of humor. "He isn't likely to believe you if you tell him there's a Dragon on that comet, and a bunch of faeries put it there."

Dragon. A word not often spoken in the enlightened halls of Gresham College. Neither was the word A word not often spoken in the enlightened halls of Gresham College. Neither was the word faerie faerie, and yet here she stood: Dame Segraine of the Onyx Court, lady knight to a faerie queen, come in masculine and mortal guise to confirm the warning they'd received.

She put one hand on the corner post of the wall at her side. The architecture was old; this building hadn't burnt in the Great Fire of 1666. It was one of the few that hadn't. Flames had consumed four-fifths of the land within London's walls, and some of the land without them, while the mortal inhabitants of the city fought to stop their progress.

One of two battles that raged during those infernal days. The other was between the city's faerie inhabitants, and the spirit of the Fire itself: a Dragon.

Which, in 1682, they exiled to a star in the sky-not knowing that the star would return.

Inside the chambers of the Royal Society, Edmond Halley was concluding his presentation, saying, "I advise posterity to watch for it most carefully in the year 1758, at which time may science be vindicated in its prophecy."

"We have fifty-three years," Winslow said to Dame Segraine. "Thanks to your Irish seer, we've been alerted to Halley's work, and its consequence for us. We have time to prepare."

And prepare they must-for without a doubt, their banished enemy had not forgotten them. Whether from a desire for vengeance or simple ravening hunger, it would seek out the meat it had before.

London.

Fifty-three years. As Winslow opened the door to the quadrangle of Gresham College, Dame Segraine murmured, "I hope that will be enough."

PART ONE.

Congelatio

Autumn 1757 Purged by the sword and beautified by fire, Then had we seen proud London's hated walls.

-Thomas Gray, "On Lord Holland's Seat near M--e, Kent"

The blackness is spangled with a million points of light. Stars, galaxies, nebulae: wonders of the heavens, moving through their eternal dance.

Far in the distance-impossibly far-a bright spark burns. One sun among many, it calls the tune to which its subjects dance, in accordance with the immutable law of gravity. Planets and their follower moons, and the brief visitors men call comets.

One such visitor draws near.

The oblong is frozen harder than winter itself. The sun is yet distant, too distant to awaken it to life; the light barely even gilds the black substance facing it. The spirit that dwells within the comet sleeps, driven into torpor by the endless cold of s.p.a.ce.

It has slept for more than seventy years. The time will soon come, though, when that sleep will end, and when it does...

The beast will seek its prey.

Mayfair, Westminster: September 30, 1757 The sedan chair left the City by way of Ludgate, weaving through the clamor of Fleet Street and the Strand before escaping into the quieter reaches of Westminster. A persistent drizzle had been falling all day, which the chair-men disregarded, except to choose their footing carefully in the ever-present slime of mud and less savory things. The curtains of the chair were drawn, blocking out the dismal sight, and the twilight falling earlier than usual.

Inside, the blackness and rhythmic swaying were almost enough to put Galen to sleep. He stifled a yawn as if his father were watching: Up late carousing, no doubt, Up late carousing, no doubt, the old man would say, the old man would say, gambling your allowance away at Vauxhall. gambling your allowance away at Vauxhall. As if he had much of an allowance to wager, or any inclination to such pursuits. But that was the simplest explanation for Galen's late nights and frequent absences, and so he let his father go on believing it. As if he had much of an allowance to wager, or any inclination to such pursuits. But that was the simplest explanation for Galen's late nights and frequent absences, and so he let his father go on believing it.

Regardless, he would do well to rouse himself. Galen had visited Clarges Street before, but this would be his first formal gathering there, and yawning in his fellow guests' faces would not make a good impression.

A m.u.f.fled cry from one of the chair-men as they slowed. Then the conveyance tilted, rocking perilously up a set of stairs. Galen pulled the curtain aside just in time to see his chair pa.s.s through the front door of the house, into the entrance hall, and out of the rain.

He stepped free carefully, ducking his head to avoid knocking his hat askew. A footman stood at the ready; Galen gave his name, and tried not to fidget as the servant departed. Waiting here, while the chair dripped onto the patterned marble, made him feel terribly self-conscious, as if he were a tradesman come to beg a favor, rather than an invited guest. Fortunately, the footman returned promptly and bowed. "You are very welcome, sir. If I may?"

Galen paid the chair-men and surrendered his cloak, hat, and walking stick to the footman. Then, taking a deep breath, he followed the man to the sitting room.

"Mr. St. Clair!" Elizabeth Vesey rose from her seat and crossed to him, extending one slender hand. He bowed over it with his best grace, lips brushing lightly. Just enough to make her blush prettily; it was a game, of course, but one she never tired of, though she would not see forty again. "You are very welcome, sir. I feared this dreadful rain would keep you home."

"Not at all," Galen said. "My journey here was warmed by the thought of your company, and I shall carry the memory of it home like a flame."

Mrs. Vesey laughed, a lilting sound that matched her Irish accent. "Oh, well done, Mr. St. Clair-well done indeed. Do you not agree, Lizzy?"

That was addressed to a taller, more robust woman, one of at least a dozen scattered about the room. Elizabeth Montagu raised one eyebrow and said, "Well spoken, at least-but my dear, have you not instructed him in the proper dress for these occasions?"

Galen flushed, faltering. Mrs. Vesey looked him over from his ribbon-bound wig to the polished buckles of his shoes, and tsk tsked sadly. "Indeed, sir, we have a very strict code for our gatherings, as I have told you most clearly. Only blue blue stockings will do!" stockings will do!"

He looked down in startlement at his stockings of black silk, and tension gave way to a relieved laugh. "My humblest apologies, Mrs. Vesey, Mrs. Montagu. Blue worsted, as you instructed. I will endeavour to remember."

Linking her arm through his, Mrs. Vesey said, "See that you do! You are far too stiff, Mr. St. Clair, especially for one so young. You mustn't take us too seriously, or our little Bluestocking Circle. We're merely friends here, come together to share ideas and art. Dress as if for court, and you'll put us all to shame!"

There was some truth to her words. Not that he was dressed for court; no, his gray velvet was far too somber for any occasion so fine, though he was very pleased with the new waistcoat Cynthia had given him. But it was true that few of the people present showed anything like such elegance, and in fact one of the two gentlemen present might have been a tradesman, dressed for a day of work.

Galen let Mrs. Vesey conduct him about the room, making introductions. Some he'd met before, but he appreciated her reminders; he always feared he would forget a name. The two gentlemen were new to him. The seeming tradesman was one Benjamin Stillingfleet-who, true to Mrs. Vesey's word, was wearing ordinary blue stockings-and the other, a stout and loud-voiced figure, was revealed to be the great Dr. Samuel Johnson.

"I am honored, sir," Galen said, and swept him a bow.

"Of course you are," Johnson grunted. "Can't go anywhere in this town without being known. d.a.m.ned nuisance." His head jerked oddly on his shoulders, and Galen's eyes widened.

"If you did not want recognition," Mrs. Montagu said tartly, "you should not have poured years of your life into that dictionary of yours." She took no notice of the gesture, nor of his ill manner, and Galen thought it best to follow her example.

Mrs. Vesey's drawing room was a masterpiece of restrained elegance, its chairs upholstered in Chinese silks that showed to great advantage in the warm glow of the candles. It lacked the ruelles and other accoutrements of the great salons salons in Paris, but this was a modest affair after all; scarcely more than a dozen guests altogether. Mrs. Montagu hosted much larger gatherings at her own house on Hill Street, and she was nothing to the French in Paris, but this was a modest affair after all; scarcely more than a dozen guests altogether. Mrs. Montagu hosted much larger gatherings at her own house on Hill Street, and she was nothing to the French salonnieres salonnieres. Galen was glad of the smallness, though. Here he could believe, as Mrs. Vesey said, that he was among friends, and not feel so conscious of himself.

As he retired to a chair with a gla.s.s of punch, Johnson picked up the thread of a conversation apparently dropped when Galen entered the room. "Yes, I know I said March," he told Stillingfleet impatiently, "but the work takes longer than expected-and there's another project besides, a series called The Idler, The Idler, which will begin next month. Tonson can wait." His manner as he spoke was most peculiar-more strange tics of the head and hands. It was not a palsy, but something else altogether. Galen was torn between staring and looking away. which will begin next month. Tonson can wait." His manner as he spoke was most peculiar-more strange tics of the head and hands. It was not a palsy, but something else altogether. Galen was torn between staring and looking away.

"Shakespeare," Mrs. Vesey murmured to Galen, not quite sotto voce. "Dr. Johnson is working on a new edition of the plays, but I fear his enthusiasm fades."

Johnson heard her, as she no doubt meant him to. "To do the work properly," he said with dignity, "takes time."

Mrs. Montagu laughed. "But you don't dispute the lack of enthusiasm, I see. What play is it you edit now?"

"A Midsummer Night's Dream, and a piece of nonsense it is, too," Johnson said. "Low comedy-quite unappealing, to discerning tastes-full of flower faeries and other silliness. What moral lesson are we to derive from them? Do not tell me he wrote of pagan times; it is a writer's duty to make the world better, and-"

"And justice is a virtue independent of time or place," Mrs. Montagu finished for him. "So you have said before. But must there be a lesson in faeries?"

The writer's eyebrows drew together sharply. "There can be no excuse for them," Johnson said, "if they serve not a moral purpose."

Galen found himself on his feet again, with no sense of transition, and his gla.s.s of punch clutched so tightly in his hand he feared the delicate gla.s.s would shatter. "Why, sir, you might as well say there can be no excuse for a tree, or a sunset, or a-a human, human, if they serve not a moral purpose!" if they serve not a moral purpose!"

Johnson's white eyebrows rose. "Indeed there is not. The moral purpose of a human is to struggle against sin and seek out G.o.d, to redeem himself from the Fall. As for trees and sunsets, may I refer you to the Holy Bible, most particularly the Book of Genesis, wherein it tells us how the Lord created the day and the night-and therefore, we may presume, the transition between them-and also trees; and these are the stage upon which He put His most beloved creation, which is that human previously mentioned. But show to me, if you will, where the Bible speaks of faeries, and their place in G.o.d's plan."

While Galen sputtered, searching for words, he added-almost gently-"If, indeed, such creatures exist at all, which I find doubtful in the extreme."

Heat and chill washed Galen's body in alternating waves, so that he trembled like a leaf in the wind. "Not all things," he managed, "that exist in the world, are laid out in scripture. But how can anything be that is not a part of G.o.d's plan?"

Somehow Johnson managed to convey both disgust and delight, as if appalled at the triviality of the topic, but pleased that Galen had mustered an argument in its defense. "Just so. Even the very devils in h.e.l.l serve His plan, by tempting mankind to his baser nature, and therefore rendering meaningful the exercise of his free will. But if you wish to persuade me regarding faeries, Mr. St. Clair, you will have to do better than to hide behind divine ineffability."

He wished for something something to hide behind. Johnson had the air of a hunter merely waiting for the pheasant to break cover, so he could shoot it down. Oh, if only this debate had not come so to hide behind. Johnson had the air of a hunter merely waiting for the pheasant to break cover, so he could shoot it down. Oh, if only this debate had not come so soon soon! Galen was new to the Bluestocking Circle; he scarcely had his feet under him. Given more time and confidence, he would have defended his ideals without fear of ridicule. But here he was, a newcomer facing a man twice his age and twice his size, with all the weight of learning and reputation on Dr. Johnson's side.

To flee would only invite contempt, though. Galen was aware of his audience-not just Johnson, but Mrs. Vesey and Mrs. Montagu, Mr. Stillingfleet, and all the other ladies, waiting with great enjoyment for his next move. And others, not present, who deserved his best attempt. Choosing his words carefully, Galen said, "I would say that faeries exist to bring a sense of wonder and beauty into life, that lifts the spirit and teaches it something of transcendence."

"Transcendence!" Johnson barked a laugh. "From something called Mustardseed?"

"There is also t.i.tania," Galen countered, flushing. "Faeries must have their lower cla.s.ses as well, just as our own society has its farmers and sailors, tradesmen and laborers, without whom the gentry and n.o.bility would have no legs to stand upon."

Johnson snorted. "So they must-if they existed at all. But this has been nothing more than a pretty exercise of the intellect, Mr. St. Clair. Faeries live only in peasant superst.i.tion and the inferior works of Shakespeare, where their only purpose is silly diversion."

Mrs. Montagu saved him. Galen didn't know what words would have leapt from his mouth had she not spoken, but the lady brought up Macbeth, Macbeth, and diverted Dr. Johnson onto the topic of witches, where he was only too happy to go. and diverted Dr. Johnson onto the topic of witches, where he was only too happy to go.

Freed from the transfixion of the great writer's gaze, Galen sagged weakly back onto his chair. Sweat stood out on his brow, until he blotted it dry with a handkerchief. Under the guise of replenishing his punch-for these informal evenings, there was nothing stronger to drink, nor any servants to fill the gla.s.ses-he went to the side table, away from watching eyes.

But not away from Mrs. Vesey, who followed him. "I am so sorry, Mr. St. Clair," she murmured, this time taking care not to be overheard. "He is a very great man, but also a very great windbag."

"I came so near to saying too much," he told her, hearing the anguish in his own voice. "It would be so easy to prove him wrong-"

"On one count, perhaps," Mrs. Vesey said. "He will argue moral purposes until they nail his coffin shut, and then go up to Heaven to argue some more. But you would never betray that secret-no more than would I."

Even to say that much was dangerous. Of those gathered in this room, only they two knew the truth. Perhaps in time, a few others could be trusted with it; indeed, that was why Galen had come here, to see if any might. Instead he found Dr. Johnson, who made Galen long to blurt out the words burning within his heart.

There are faeries in the world, sir, more terrible and glorious than you can conceive, and I can show them to you-for they live among us here in London.

Oh, the fierce joy of being able to fling it in the other man's teeth-but it would do no good. Dr. Johnson would think him deranged, and though seeing would convince him, it would also be an unconscionable betrayal of trust. Faerie-kind lived hidden for a reason. Christian faith such as the writer showed could wound them deeply, as could iron, and other things of the mortal world.

Galen sighed and set down his gla.s.s, turning to glance over his shoulder at the rest of the room. "I had hoped to find congenial minds here. Not men like him."

Mrs. Vesey laid her hand on his velvet-clad arm. Sylph, Sylph, her friends called her, and in the gentle light of the candles she looked like one, as if no particle of matter weighed down her being. "Mr. St. Clair, you are letting your impatience run away with you. I promise you, such minds exist, and we shall speak with them in due time." her friends called her, and in the gentle light of the candles she looked like one, as if no particle of matter weighed down her being. "Mr. St. Clair, you are letting your impatience run away with you. I promise you, such minds exist, and we shall speak with them in due time."