“Now, as magnets have poles described as north and south, so the crystal structure of the sokolites have two additional dimensions, which I describe as east and west.When these linearities are aligned with the negative and positive terminals of the electro-potential source, so the crystal structure itself becomes permeable to other kinds of force entirely.”
Stilton swayed on his feet. He didn’t understand a word of it, and neither did the audience. This evening of natural philosophy was a mistake. He would be a laughing stock, his folly at the Royal Conservatory would be the talk of the season. Back into the mines, they’ll say. He was amazed the audience hadn’t gotten up and left already.
Sokolov slipped the two stones—sokolites, was it? Really, the sheer ego of the man!—into the claws on the end of the machine’s articulated arms, then he gently pressed the young volunteer back onto the couch.
“Try to relax and close your eyes. You will be able to see your good lady friend very soon, don’t worry.”
The audience tittered, but Stilton only frowned again. They were bored. Maybe he should have booked some dancers to open for the lecture. Let them get an eyeful of Churners from Morley, maybe.
The young volunteer complied, shuffling himself to get comfortable on the couch, while over on the other side, the older gentleman first turned to watch, then gave the audience a shrug. The audience laughed again, causing Sokolov to look up, casting a stern glance at his other volunteer.
“I shan’t keep you a moment, sir.”
More laughter.
Sokolov then pulled down the machine arm, adjusting the joints and the claw until the clasped sokolite was about six inches above the young volunteer’s head. Standing back, and apparently satisfied, Sokolov moved to the other couch and made the same arrangements. Then he clapped his hands and walked back to the machine.
“Now, I shall require the assistance of a third volunteer.” He turned to the wings. “May I request the presence of our most generous host, Mr. Aramis Stilton?”
Stilton jumped, like he’d got an electric shock. Him? Sokolov laughed and waved him over encouragingly.
Well, he hadn’t said anything about this. He wanted his help? Stilton shook his head, his jowls flapping.
Oh, to hang with it.
Stilton stepped out onto the stage, acknowledging the applause with a wave, trying very hard to walk a straight line toward Sokolov. When he arrived at the machine he realized he had been holding his breath, and he let it out in a great exhalation. If Sokolov noticed, he ignored it. Instead, the natural philosopher reached into his inside pocket and drew out a stack of thin cards. Stilton frowned as they were handed over and he fanned them out in his hand. There were maybe a dozen of them: each card was about six inches by three, one side was blank, and the other featured one of a series of symbols—a square, a five-pointed star, the outline of a stylized fish, a wine glass. Stilton shuffled through them, unsure what he was looking at.
“When the crystals are charged and aligned with the poles of electro-potential,” said Sokolov, once more addressing the audience, “I have discovered that they exert their own electro-potential field, which acts upon the fields around it—in our demonstration, that field being the human mind itself. The charged crystal will draw the poles of the mind into alignment with its own poles.” He turned to Stilton. “Mr. Stilton, if you would be so kind, please select a card.”
Stilton pursed his lips and concentrated; suddenly his fingers felt fat and uncooperative. He managed to pull a card before the entire pack slipped from his grasp. Stilton felt his face go red.
“Now,” said Sokolov, “if you would please show the card to the audience.”
Stilton moved to the footlights and held the card up. Members of the audience in the front couple of rows leaned forward in their seats to get a better look as Stilton walked from one side of the stage to the other, while farther back, several pairs of opera glasses glinted in the darkness.
“Thank you,” said Sokolov, moving to the machine. He flicked four switches in sequence, and the whine of power increased in volume, the glow of the whale oil tank becoming slightly brighter. After making a final check of the two crystals in their articulated arms, Sokolov moved to the older volunteer.
“Now, Mr. Stilton, if you will, please move to my young friend on the other couch, and show him the card. Please ensure that neither I nor my gentleman friend here can see you.”
Stilton laughed and waved at the machine. “Bit of a contraption for a simple parlor trick!” he said, mostly to the audience. They laughed, and Stilton felt the weight slowly lift from his shoulders. Yes, this was the way to do it. Get the audience on his side, and perhaps they’ll forgive him for the evening of utter boredom for which he was responsible.
Stilton arranged himself by the couch, his back to Sokolov. With a flourish, he lifted the selected card and adjusted his cuffs, then held it in front of the young man’s deliciously sharp features.
“Just relax, my boy,” he said, “let old Aramis guide you through the mysteries of the universe!”
“And… now!”
Sokolov pulled a lever, and the whine of the machine went up in pitch. The whale oil tank glowed and then, witha crack that made Stilton jump, a tendril of blue energy arced from the silver sphere at the top of the machine to the crystal held over Stilton’s subject. Then there was another crack, and a similar arc snapped to the crystal opposite. Stilton watched over his shoulder, unable to prevent himself from wincing every time the
