Christopher Golde
“God gave the prophecies, not to gratify men's curiosity by enabling them to fore know things, but that after they were fulfilled they might be interpreted by the event, and His own providence, not the interpreters, be thereby manifested to the world.”
Sir Isaac Newton (1642 - 1727)
Chapter six
The Fire
Date: 2nd September 1666
Location: London
The pall of darkness settled despondently on the small side streets of London, smothering them with an intensity of squalor only poverty could survive. It was now almost midnight and the poorly lit streets were, for the most, void of human life. The only activity alone streetwalker might see, would be the cat-sized rats that scampered across the cobbled pavements between the stony shadows created by the sparse street lighting.
The population of London town of recent had been decimated by black plague and few travellers now wandered the city at night by choice. On this particular night, events along one such quiet street in London would live in infamy for as long as human memory would survive. At the same time and location, other events, far less commonly known, would affect the future of the universe beyond all living memory.
In a small candlelit room, at the Star Inn, on Fish Street Hill, two men stood face to face. The shorter of the two men stood staring at his chest, in what could only be described as absolute disbelief. He observed that from the gusset in his vest protruded an intricately carved bone knife handle, the blade of which was obviously embedded in his body. As he stared, he felt an unusual warmth spreading rapidly across his belly beneath his fine silk shirt, the colour of which darkened as he watched in horror.
As shocking as it all looked, he realized for an instant, that strangely, he felt no pain. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the handle of the knife to the man who stood before him, a look of despair etched into his pallid features. The man's long, fair locks of hair, were pasted to his brow by the beads of perspiration that flowed freely across his forehead.
“What have you done to me,” gasped agonizingly, the man with the knife in his chest?
The other man said nothing, but stood open-mouthed, staring also at the knife handle and in obvious despair of the moment.
With the assumption that his legs could still perform as normal, the mortally wounded man tried to step forward but instead, collapsed to his knees. A sudden chill made him shiver and all that he could see began taking on a pale orange hue.
Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor of the room. Lying to his side, he was suddenly consumed with the overpowering urge to sleep. With continued disbelief, he came to the shocking realization that he was about to die and now, only able to move his eyes, he searched the room. In his dying moments, he wanted to look into the eyes of Isaac Newton one more time.
Still, in shock, Isaac fell to his knees adjacent the prone figure, now lying on the floor. He stared despairingly at the body of the man, his bloodied hand outstretched. He seemed unsure whether he should attempt to lift him, or just grab the knife handle and extract it from his chest. He looked over his shoulder, then back at the body several times. For this man uncertainty was almost unknown. His life was measured and balanced. Problems, no matter how difficult, were solved. This… this was unfathomable.
He squinted, peering desperately into the dimness of the room. Illogical as it was, ‘and he was never illogical,’ he hoped that somehow, an answer to this dilemma would suddenly materialize from the shadows. Finally, he looked into the dying man’s fading eyes and spoke.
“But you would have destroyed everything,” he said, as if appealing to the man for forgiveness, “I didn’t mean to…I could not let you…”
His voice trailed off, as he heard the extended exhalation of the final breath of air and saw that the last spark of life had now extinguished from the still open eyes.
The thin man, with long hair and a lean face, reached out his slender bony fingers to touch the dead man’s brow but retracted quickly at the feel of death. He remained kneeling next to the body for at least another ten minutes without moving. A tear rolled down his face, dropping from the crest of his cheek onto the wooden floor, where it was soon absorbed into a pool of blood that was slowly spreading away from the corpse.
At last, he reached out and grasped the bone-handled knife, wrenching it from the chest of his victim. He looked about for something to clean it with, and then stood, slowly moving to the bed nearby. After wiping it clean on the sheets, he slid the razor-sharp blade into a sheath on his belt. In these dangerous times, a keen knife on a gentleman’s belt was considered a necessary and often useful fashion accessory.
Suddenly, behind him, he heard a floorboard creak, and as he spun about, the door opened. A splinter of light shot into the candlelit room. His heart jumped several beats, as his mind raced to evaluate his options.
“Isaac,” a soft voice whispered from the doorway, “are you there?”
Isaac Newton breathed a sigh of relief and replied with quiet urgency.
“Marco, quick, come in and shut the door.”
The outside light disappeared as quickly as it had appeared as the door was closed. In the candlelight of the inn room, Isaac could see a short stocky man standing, and staring, wide-eyed at the body on the floor.
“Isaac, what has happened?”
The shorter man moved quickly towards the prone figure on the floor and knelt down covering the nose of the dead man’s face with his hand.
“He is not breathing,” he said, looking up at his friend in astonishment, “what has happened here, Isaac?”
The tall man did not answer but stood staring blankly at the body on the floor. Marco rose, moved across the room until he was face to face with his companion, putting a hand firmly on each shoulder.
“Isaac, answer me, what has happened here?"
Isaac’s eyes shifted slowly from the corpse until they met the dark pupils of his friend, whose face was now only inches from his.
“I had no choice; he stole my work and was preparing to take it to the King.”
Isaac’s sad green eyes and apparent disorientation indicated to his companion that he was indeed still in deep shock.
“I tried to reason with him,” the tall man continued, “but he just laughed at me and told me I was a fool and that he would expose me as an aide to Satan. When I tried to take it from him by force, he started to scream for help…I…I couldn’t let them get hold of the parchment, I swore I would protect it with my life. I drew my knife and warned him but he continued to tackle me in an attempt to take it back, and then…then, in the struggle, he fell onto my blade.”
His friend could see the obvious distress in his eyes and knew very well that Isaac was not capable of cold-blooded murder, immediately accepted that it must have happened as he said.
“Isaac, you must now decide what we are to do, we may have been seen coming here, and if we are discovered, it will not be good for us. This man was of some importance, and in the confidence of the Lord Mayor of London.”
Isaac knew all this only too well, but also knew, his priority would always be his duty of care for the knowledge that had been entrusted to him. He looked into the eyes of his friend and spoke firmly.
“Marco, you must deliver the parchment, you must leave now with it!”
“But Isaac, what about the body?
“I will take care of that, somehow, but first we must take care of the parchment. It must not fall into the wrong hands; this, my friend, you must make sure.”
Isaac turned, searching the floor of the room until he located a pigskin folder. Walking over to it, he bent down and picked it up then turned, walking back towards Marco. He opened the flap and removed a bound section of parchment, before resealing the pouch and putting it firmly into Marco’s hands.
“You will have to travel far my friend, and it will be dangerous, but the future of the world depends upon your success.”
Marco respected his friend’s instructions without question; he knew Isaac Newton possessed a strange knowledge of things far beyond his time. He knew not how Isaac had become the owner of such knowledge, but trusted his intentions, and knew that whatever he did, it would always be in mankind’s best interests.
“This parchment must be delivered to a temple in the lands of the Far East called the ‘Temple of Light’, and known to the indigenous people of the country of Thibet, as the ‘Temple of Emah’. The temple is six hundred and sixty-six years old and was built specifically to protect knowledge, the like of what is contained within the parchment you will carry. It must remain there, under the protection of the keepers of the temple, until it is collected by its rightful recipient. The monks who tend the temple will know what it is you carry, and when you arrive, will know what to do for you.”
Marco could feel the grip of his friend intensifying as he spoke.
“Marco, there are forces at work that would destroy this knowledge and keep the world in darkness forever, unless we can protect it. Now go my friend, there lies a vessel at the port called ‘The Black Cat’. The captain is a trusted friend. Tell him I sent you in my stead and he will take care of you. They are due to sail for the east by the first tide of the morn, so make haste and leave now.”
“But Isaac…”
“Go now my friend, make haste, if I am right everything here will work out accordingly, do not worry my friend. Now leave, and forget what has happened this wretched night!”
Marco looked again into the earnest gaze of his intelligent friend, gave him a quick embrace, then left. He knew the importance of not being noticed by the keepers of the Inn as he left, so step by step, eased himself down the creaky wooden staircase. As he made his way carefully from the staircase to the front door, he dared not to even breathe, and as he stepped from the Inn, out into the foreboding streets of the London night, he finally gasped with relief. Holding the folder tight to his chest, and quickly darting a glance from left to right, he disappeared into the shadows unnoticed.
As he made his way up the cobbled street, he looked back at the window of the Inn where he had left his friend. He paused only briefly, then turned and vanished into the darkness towards the Thames, the precious parchment safely inside his coat and pressed firmly to his heart.
Back in the room of the Inn, Isaac stood staring at the corpse. Suddenly, the air about him chilled noticeably. Turning slowly, he looked about the dimly lit room. In one darkened corner, as if from thin air, a human shape manifested itself from the shadows. As it glided across the floor from the corner and came closer, it towered over him at a height of at least eight feet. Except for an outline, the creature bore no discernible physical features and in fact, it was as if the ghostly apparition swallowed the very light of the room into some type of all-consuming black hole. Isaac smiled grimly, as he took in the non-existent features of its emptiness.
‘Well, what happens now?’ thought Isaac, knowing that ‘The Darkness’ would hear his question.
A deep ageless tone rang in his mind.
‘I would advise you to leave,’ was the blunt reply from the dark figure.
‘And leave him here?’
Isaac indicated with a cursed look at the body that lay on the floor.
‘It will not be noticed.’
‘What do you mean it will not be noticed? Someone will find the body and I have been seen entering this room!’
‘You should learn to trust me, have I not always been right in the past?’
‘Yes, I know but…’
‘Look out of the window,’ came back the words in his mind.
Isaac hesitated only briefly and then walked to the window looking out into the street. At first, all seemed normal but then he noticed a flickering glimmer and a large amount of smoke coming from the baker’s house in the lane opposite the Inn.
‘That fire will soon spread to this property’ continued ‘The Darkness’, ‘this room will be destroyed along with all evidence of your indiscretion.’
‘You would let this fire destroy these properties just to cover my…mistake,’ Isaac questioned incredulously?
‘This fire has a much higher purpose, as you shall see later, for you, it is merely convenient.’
Isaac took some solace from these words, as he could only guess at the much deeper, and darker, meanings behind the words of his mysterious mentor. He sensed this was probably a good time to leave. He had learned from past experience not to question the workings of this creature.
Quickly and quietly, he grabbed his coat from the chair near the small table, took one last look about the room, then left. He exited the Inn in much the same manner as his friend Marco, but with more haste.
As he walked up the street he looked back towards the Star Inn and wondered if he should not warn anyone about the fire. With a clenched fist, he banged on the door next to the Inn and yelled out loudly in a shrill ladylike voice “Fire! Fire!”
He heard stirring within the timber walls of the premises, so deciding his duty had been done enough to satisfy his conscience, he then disappeared into the shadows of Fish Street Hill. As he fled he clenched another parchment tightly in his grip. This was the collection of documents he had removed from the stolen pouch.
When he felt he was a comfortable distance from the Inn, he stopped and looked at the parchment in the light offered by a single street lamp. As he read with satisfaction the title ‘Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica’, he smiled to himself. He was indeed both relieved and delighted at having, what he regarded as his most valuable work, returned to his possession.
That night, the fire did spread and destroy completely the Star Inn and all its contents. It then went on to destroy a major portion of the city of London, and would forever be historically known as ‘The Great Fire of London’.
The next morning, ‘The Black Cat’ slipped quietly from its berth in the Thames on the high tide, as smoke and flames spread across the city skyline. Onboard, Marco stood next to the Captain on the deck, gripping the precious pigskin satchel and watching with amazement the disaster that consumed the city. He couldn’t help wondering to himself, whether the catastrophic events of that night had been connected in any way to the precious cargo he now carried.
In later years, Isaac Newton would live with the justification that the fire had cleaned up much of the filth and plague in the cities slums. He would never again make mention, not even to Marco, that he had been in fact, at the Star Inn on that fateful night.