Newton’s Fire

‘He’ll say you pushed her,’ muttered Pete.

‘You think that will save you?’ scoffed Walters. ‘They’ll charge us with being there in commission of a crime, meaning we’ll all be equally liable for her death. And who was it that actually set the fire?’

‘Only because you told us to!’ Kieran protested.

‘Yeah. And that worked wonders at Nuremberg.’

‘Shit,’ muttered Pete. He looked almost as unhappy as Kieran.

‘Don’t sweat it,’ said Walters, turning into the science park. ‘It’s going to be fine, trust me. I’ve done this sort of shit before. I know what I’m doing. We just need to find them, that’s all.’

He pulled up in front of Goldstone Laboratories, got out before they could argue, jogged up the front steps and through the sliding glass doors into reception, where an old granddad with watery eyes was sitting behind the desk. ‘Listen, mate,’ he said, striding up to him. ‘Wonder if you can help me. You’re not going to believe this, but my wife lent her Renault to my arse of a son last Friday. Little bastard only comes home with a dent in the front bumper. Thought we wouldn’t notice. Bloody eighteen year olds, eh?’

Granddad grunted. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘Anyway, I ask him where he did it, he spins me this load of old cobblers like you wouldn’t believe. So I ground him, tell him he’s not leaving his room until he comes clean. Takes him until this afternoon to talk. Got to give him credit for that, I suppose. He came here sometime last week, apparently, to pick up some new bird of his. But he managed to ding the back of this red Beemer soft-top in your car park while he was at it. Swears blind he didn’t do it any damage, and also that he left a note. My arse. Why leave a note if you didn’t do any damage, I ask. Didn’t have an answer to that, did he? Anyway, I just wanted to check. If this Beemer needs any repairs, I’ll make sure the little runt pays for every penny. You know anyone who drives a car like that?’

‘A red BMW convertible?’ frowned granddad. ‘Mr Redfern is driving one at the moment. But I haven’t heard anything about any damage.’

‘Mr Redfern. That wouldn’t be old Ronnie Redfern, would it? Is he working here now?’

‘No. Pelham. Pelham Redfern.’

‘He’s not here now, is he?’

‘He left a couple of hours ago.’

‘But he’ll be in tomorrow, yeah?’

Granddad shrugged. ‘I’d imagine,’ he said.

‘Great. I’ll give him a bell in the morning, maybe drop by. Thanks for the help.’ He went back out, climbed back in the SUV. ‘Name’s Pelham Redfern,’ he said.

Kieran tapped keys on his laptop. ‘Got him,’ he said. ‘Apartment Two, the Old Maltings, Horningsea. That’s just a couple of miles north of here.’

‘Good. Then let’s go finish this.’

II

‘Saloman’s House?’ frowned Pelham. ‘Why does that sound familiar?’

‘Sir Francis Bacon,’ said Luke. ‘He wrote a book called The New Atlantis that contained a kind of blueprint for academic research institutions. He called it Salomon’s House. Named after Solomon, of course, but with the first O changed to an A. It was the inspiration for the Royal Society. That’s why they call you guys fellows. Because that’s what Bacon called your equivalents in The New Atlantis.’

‘You guys?’ asked Rachel, looking incredulously at Pelham. ‘You’re not seriously telling me he’s a fellow of the Royal Society?’

Pelham laughed cheerfully. ‘What’s the world coming to, eh?’

‘It’s how we originally hooked up,’ Luke told her. ‘I helped write a documentary on Newton for the Beeb a little while back.’

‘That was you? I saw that. It was terrific.’

‘Thanks. Anyway, we wanted to replicate some of Newton’s alchemical experiments, so I asked the Royal Society if they had anyone interested in that kind of thing who might be prepared to help.’ He nodded at Pelham. ‘Bastards gave me him.’

‘Alchemy’s a hobby of mine,’ explained Pelham. ‘It’s how I first got interested in chemistry myself, so I figured it might do the trick for other kids. There’s this show I’ve put together that I sometimes take around the local schools.’

‘A show?’ asked Rachel.

‘Yeah. You know the kind of thing. Put on the Harry Potter costume, mix some chemicals together, make things fizz and smoke and bang.’

‘Sounds fun.’

‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘And damned rewarding too.’

‘Working with kids?’

‘Fuck, no. Turning base metals into gold. So much easier than actually having to work.’

‘You’ve cracked it, then?’ asked Rachel.

‘Any day now. Just waiting for Neptune to align with Mars.’

‘Come on, guys,’ pleaded Luke. ‘A bit of focus, please. What do you think this means?’

Pelham shrugged. ‘I guess that Ashmole left these papers and this other stuff to Newton so that he could hide it somewhere in the Royal Society.’

‘But why wouldn’t Ashmole just have hidden it there himself?’ asked Rachel. ‘You did say he was a member, right?’

‘The note says that it needed to be “completed” before it was hidden,’ said Pelham. ‘Maybe only Newton could do that.’

‘Ashmole was a bit-part player at the Royal Society anyway,’ added Luke. ‘Newton was its star. In fact …’ He trailed off, went over to Pelham’s desk, ran a search on his laptop, brought up the Royal Society’s home page.

‘What are you looking for?’ asked Rachel, watching over his shoulder.

‘The Royal Society didn’t have a permanent home for its first forty or fifty years. They just switched between rooms in Gresham College and Arundel House. But then they made Newton president, and about the first thing he did was set about buying them a place of their own.’

‘Carlton House Terrace?’ asked Pelham.

‘No. This was way before you guys moved there. I don’t remember the exact address, but it was just off Fleet Street.’ He reached the Royal Society’s Our History page, scanned the text. ‘Crane Court,’ he said. ‘That’s it.’ He pulled up a new tab, ran a new search. The top five links were all to breaking news stories, thumbnails of police officers in yellow bibs. ‘What the hell?’ he muttered. He clicked the top link. A newsflash from the AP, Crane Court being evacuated because of a bomb scare. He looked around in shock at Pelham and Rachel.

Pelham shook his head. ‘It’s coincidence,’ he said. ‘It has to be.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Luke. ‘They did exactly what we just did: they worked out that Newton had hidden this thing in Crane Court, so they invented a bomb scare and closed the whole place down so that they could search it.’

Rachel looked stunned. ‘Who are these people?’

‘They’re way out of our league, that’s for sure.’

Pelham nodded grimly. ‘If you’re right about this, and they did get my licence, they’ll be here in no time. I vote we get out now.’

‘And go where?’

‘My sister’s got a place in the Cotswolds. Keys under the dustbin, linen in the closet. We can stay there until we work out what’s going on and devise some kind of plan.’ He picked up his wallet, car keys and phone, stowed them in his pockets.

‘Not your phone, mate,’ said Luke. ‘They’ll trace us through it.’ Pelham nodded bleakly, pulled it back out.