A Magic Shadow-Show

Henry groaned. In one hand he held a glass of bicarbonate of soda, and there was a squat, brown bottle at his other elbow. He hunched over a sheaf of papers that were covered with cramped drawings, intricate designs, and mathematical formulas. The last were crossed and recrossed by his copperplate writing that slanted backwards like a vicar who had toppled off the pulpit.

His bleary eyes burned as he looked at his notes. In his current state, he could barely make out what he’d written earlier.

His head throbbed as he lifted the glass and took a sip. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to go on to the gaming tables the night before after the dinner and opera. He had an idea that the tide had turned against him and he had lost everything in his pocket, perhaps more. There had been a woman, too, with white skin and flaming hair. She had laughed at something he said and revealed white teeth as she handed him another glass of Higgin’s Blue Blazes.

Henry shook his head and attempted to concentrate on the papers in front of them. He had to finish the idea that had been nibbling at his brain for over a year now. Ever since he had read Edouard Lucas’ paper on the Cannonball Problem and heard about Buffon’s Needle, Henry had been struck with a possibility of a different kind of movement and motion.

He leaned his chin in his hand and walked his fingers forward. Not like that. He was convinced that there was another way to move through space, and he had a notion it was hiding in the numbers written on the pages in front of him.

The door to his study opened, and Henry looked up, not raising his head from his clenched hand. “Well, Furnace?” he barked. “What is it now?”

The butler gave a discreet cough. “The Princess Manapalata of Lampala has arrived to see you, sir,” he said.

Henry sat up and winced. “The woman actually arrived?”

Furnace coughed again. “’Woman’ doesn’t seem to be the correct term,” he said. “I should call her more of a lady. And she has, indeed, arrived.”

Henry groaned again. Of all times, why did the bloody girl have to decide on coming to see him that night? “Get me some strong coffee, Furnace,” he ordered. “And a bowl of water. The colder the better. You may show her in after ten minutes.”

Furnace bowed, and closed the door. Henry squeezed his eyes shut until red lights danced in front of his eyes. Then he shook his head with a loud “Brrrrr!” and reached for the squat bottle at his elbow. He uncorked it with a loud, fruity pop and tilted it straight into his mouth. It burned his tongue and throat, but it would give him enough fortitude to sit through the interview with the princess - at least, so he hoped.

Furnace returned with the coffee and the water, and Henry plunged his head into the icy bowl. When he emerged, he saw that Furnace had not forgotten to bring a towel as well. With a grin he dried himself off and swallowed half a cup of steaming coffee. There! He’d do for now.

He looked in the glass door of one of the bookcases lining the study in his hired rooms. A tall, gloomy figure leered back at him.

Henry shrugged. Nothing to be done about it now. He sat back at his desk and seized his pen, just as Furnace returned, followed by the princess.

“Princess Manapalata of Lampala,” Furnace murmured, and shut the door.

“Don’t have much time,” Henry began. He looked up and dropped his pen, and it made a black splat on the figures in front of him. “Bloody hell,” he gasped.

The princess smiled. “I am so very happy to meet you, Mr. Pearson,” she said, in a warm voice. She wore a sensible traveling dress of grey merino, and she carried a portfolio of papers, bound in some kind of black wood enameled with a garden scene. Her hair was neatly done up in a braided coronet on top of her head. She was composed, very clean, and very beautiful. She also had skin the color of dark teak.