Back to the Story...
Knowing what I did then made the days seem almost unbearable. I could not meet my father's eye, I could not speak to him without thinking of him in that small subterranean chamber with her. I wondered what they might have to talk about. I wondered if they thought of me behind that closed door. This is perhaps selfish, but in the time since I had found that little door with the lady behind it, I had perhaps become more of a selfish person. She inspired a feeling of territoriality that sent its spikes and barbs through my blood and dug itself in deep when it came to my heart.
I did not hold audience again with Isaac Newton for some time. This is not because the man had miraculously lost interest in me, but because he was simply too involved in his own work to trifle over the concerns of a child. What he did do was appoint me a tutor who spent most of our days with me in a study, teaching me Descartes, Spinoza, Galileo, all until my head spun. I had been entrenched in knowledge already, or so I had thought, but the things that I learned in those days made me feel that until then I had been like a country servant; blissfully ignorant and empty-headed to all that did not directly affect me.
A few months later, Isaac Newton left behind his apartments in our home and took up full-time residence at Mint Tower. This meant that my father and I were summarily ejected from the Esoteric Brotherhood's headquarters and relocated to the city proper, though whether this was because Newton required my father's services or simply did not trust him I still do not know. The workings of his mind were as much a mystery as the paths of the stars, perhaps more so.
In any event, the next months passed together in a blurry haze, and the next thing I knew, two years had passed.
I did not hold audience again with Isaac Newton for some time. This is not because the man had miraculously lost interest in me, but because he was simply too involved in his own work to trifle over the concerns of a child. What he did do was appoint me a tutor who spent most of our days with me in a study, teaching me Descartes, Spinoza, Galileo, all until my head spun. I had been entrenched in knowledge already, or so I had thought, but the things that I learned in those days made me feel that until then I had been like a country servant; blissfully ignorant and empty-headed to all that did not directly affect me.
A few months later, Isaac Newton left behind his apartments in our home and took up full-time residence at Mint Tower. This meant that my father and I were summarily ejected from the Esoteric Brotherhood's headquarters and relocated to the city proper, though whether this was because Newton required my father's services or simply did not trust him I still do not know. The workings of his mind were as much a mystery as the paths of the stars, perhaps more so.
In any event, the next months passed together in a blurry haze, and the next thing I knew, two years had passed.