“Destiny is for romantic poets and writers of novels.” Baxter pushed his gold wire spectacles more firmly in place on his nose. “I’m a man of science. I have no interest in such metaphysical nonsense. But I do know that it is possible for a man to sell his soul to the devil. Why did you do it, Morgan?”
“You speak of the compact that I have made with Napoleon, I presume.” Morgan’s sensual mouth curved faintly in cold amusement.
He took two steps into the shadowy chamber and halted. The folds of his black cloak swirled around the tops of his gleaming boots in a manner that reminded Baxter of the wings of a large bird of prey.
“Yes,” Baxter said. “I refer to your bargain.”
“There is no great mystery about my decision. I do what must be done to fulfill my destiny.”
“You would betray your country to fulfill this mad notion of a grand destiny?”
“I owe nothing to England and neither do you. It is a land governed by laws and unwritten social rules that combine to prohibit superior men such as you and I from taking our rightful place in the natural order.” Morgan’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. His voice crackled with bitter rage. “It is not too late, Baxter. Join me in this endeavor.”
Baxter held up the notebook. “You want me to help you finish formulating these terrible chemical concoctions so that Napoleon can use them as weapons against your own countrymen? You truly are crazed.”
“I’m not mad, but you are most definitely a fool.” Morgan produced a pistol from the enveloping folds of the black cloak. “And blind in spite of your eyeglasses, if you cannot see that Napoleon is the future.”
Baxter shook his head. “He has tried to grab too much power. It will destroy him.”
“He is a man who comprehends that great destinies are crafted by those who have the will and the intellect to fashion them. What is more, he is a man who believes in progress. He is the only ruler in all of Europe who truly comprehends the potential value of science.”
“I’m aware that he has given large sums of money to those who conduct experiments in chemistry and physics and the like.” Baxter watched the pistol in Morgan’s hand. “But he will use what you are creating here in this laboratory to help him win the war. Englishmen will die cruel deaths if you are successful in producing quantities of lethal vapors. Does that mean nothing to you?”
Morgan laughed. The sound had the low, deep resonance of a great bell rung very softly. “Nothing at all.”
“Have you consigned your own honor as well as your native land to hell?”
“St. Ives, you amaze me. When will you learn that honor is a sport designed to amuse men who are born on the right side of the blanket?”
“I disagree.” Tucking the notebook under one arm, Baxter removed his spectacles and began to polish the lenses with his handkerchief. “Honor is a quality that any man can acquire and shape for himself.” He smiled slightly. “Not unlike your own notion of destiny, when you consider it closely.”
Morgan’s eyes hardened with scorn and a chilling fury. “Honor is for men who inherit power and wealth in the cradle simply because their mothers had the good sense to secure a marriage license before they spread their thighs. It is for men such as our noble fathers who bequeath titles and estates to their legitimate sons and leave their bastards with nothing. It is not for the likes of us.”
“Do you know what your greatest flaw is, Morgan?” Baxter carefully replaced his spectacles. “You allow yourself to become much too impassioned about certain subjects. Strong emotion is not a sound trait in a chemist.”
“Damn you, St. Ives.” Morgan’s hand tightened around the grip of the pistol. “I’ve had enough of your exceedingly dull, excessively boring lectures.Yourgreatest flaw is that you lack the fortitude and the daring nature to alter the course of your own fate.”
Baxter shrugged. “If there is such a thing as destiny, then I expect mine is to be a crashing bore until the day I expire.”
“I fear that day has arrived. You may not believe this, but I regret the necessity of killing you. You are one of the few men in all of Europe who could have appreciated the brilliance of my accomplishments. It is a pity that you will not be alive to watch my destiny unfold.”
“Destiny, indeed. What utter rubbish. I must tell you, this obsession with the metaphysical and the occult is another poor characteristic in a man of science. It was once merely an amusing pastime for you. When did you start to actually put credence into such nonsense?”
“Fool.” Morgan aimed carefully and cocked the pistol.
Time had run out. There was nothing left to lose. In desperation, Baxter seized the heavy candle stand. He hurled it, together with the flaring taper, toward the nearest cluttered workbench.
The iron stand and its candle crashed into a glass flask, shattering it instantly. The pale green fluid inside splashed out across the workbench and lapped at the still-burning flame.
The spilled liquid ignited with a deadly rush.
“No,” Morgan screamed. “Damn you, St. Ives.”
He pulled the trigger but his attention was on the spreading fire, not his aim. The bullet slammed into the window behind Baxter. One of the small panes exploded.
Baxter ran toward the door, the notebook in his hand.
“How dare you attempt to interfere with my plans?” Morgan scooped a green glass bottle off a nearby shelf and spun around to block Baxter’s path. “You bloody fool. You cannot stop me.”
