By J. Gregory Keyes
1722: A moment darkish Age looms. An asteroid has devastated the Earth, known as down by means of dire creatures who plot opposed to the area of fellows. The brilliant-- a few say mad--Isaac Newton has taken shelter in old Prague. There, together with his younger apprentice Ben Franklin, he plumbs the secrets and techniques of the aetheric beings who've so approximately destroyed humanity.But their defense is tenuous. Peter the good marches his unstoppable forces throughout Europe. And part an international away, Cotton Mather and Blackbeard the pirate gather a celebration of colonial luminaries to go the Atlantic and observe what has befallen the previous international. With them sails crimson footwear, a Choctaw shaman whose mysterious connections to the invisible international warn him that they're all relocating towards a war of words as violent because it is decisive . . .
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Extra info for A Calculus of Angels (The Age of Unreason, Book 2)
I know your people are fond of trading gifts,” Bienville said. ” He reached into his holster and pulled out something that looked much like a pistol, save that its shaft was coal-black iron, solid and drawn to a point. He handed it to Red Shoes. He took the weapon, feeling the ornately carved ivory of the grip. “A krqftpistole” he breathed. “It is yours,” Bienville said. Red Shoes raised the deadly weapon and pointed it at the ruggedly laced trunk of an elm. ” Red Shoes held the weapon for a moment longer, and then reluctantly proffered it back to Bienville.
The fellow scarcely got his blade up before steel dissected the hand that held his weapon, and he clutched at the stump, eyes wide with disbelief. Frisk did not even pause but swept past him, launching the edge of his saber at the burly fellow approaching behind. The Muscovite cried out and swiped wildly with his sword; Frisk beat the blade away as if it were a toy wielded by a child and pressed on. The fellow fell back, grunting, cut viciously at the Swede’s head; but Frisk wasn’t there, was instead skipping to the side, bolt upright, sword flicking like a snake’s tongue despite his shirt and waistcoat being drenched in his own blood.
No, sair. But as you’re the only man of God hereabouts…” The rest of them waited while the two of them and the governor’s men prayed. SaintPierre, apart from the rest, prayed as well, fingering his rosary while his companion Renard merely rolled his eyes heavenward. Nairne folded his arms impatiently and joined Red Shoes in contemplating the strange horizon. It was hard work reaching the summit, and in some places would have been impossible. They had the good fortune to locate a sort of crack in the side of the mountain that gave them egress.