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him. And at the very edge of sleep, he realized it was the floating light and that strange, curling text. The shadow of James and the future he brought with him dimmed hope of that alchemical light.
    That
can
be me
, he thought again insistently.
I will find every book in Boston that tells of science and magic, and I shall make my own devices. I shall profit from inventing them, too, and Father will be proud.
But something about that rang false, so that when sleep at last found him, it found a fitful and unhappy boy.

Part One
R EASON AND
M ADNESS ,
1720

1.
Versailles
    Louis awoke to the clatter of Bontemps, his valet, putting away his folding bed, as he did every morning. A frigid wind blustered in through the open windows of his bedchamber, and Louis greeted it with none of his former pleasure. Once, it would have invigorated him. Now, he imagined the wind as death's frustrated caress.
    Another metallic click, a sigh, and he heard Bontemps retreating. Louis arranged in his mind the day to come. The order in his days was his only remaining comfort. He had made Versailles into a great and precise clock, and though he was king, he was carried along by its mechanisms as surely as his lowliest servant or courtier. More certainly, in fact, since a servant might slip briefly away and steal a private moment, encounter a mistress, take a nap. This was
his
only private moment, in bed, pretending to be asleep. It gave him time to think and to remember.
    The Persian elixir had given him new life and a body that felt younger than it had in thirty years, but it had robbed him of everything else. Gone were his brother Phillipe; his son Monseigneur; his grandson, the duke of Burgundy, and his wife, the duchess Marie-Adelaide, whose death had broken his heart. It was as if God were sweeping clean the line of Louis XIV. The dust had also claimed almost all of his old friends and companions. But worst of all was the loss of his wife, Maintenon.
    Now he had only France, and France was a restless, thankless mistress. He knew—though his ministers tried to keep it from him—that there were whispers against him now. As the years passed and he grew stronger and more full of health, those who had hidden their wishes that he would die and make wayfor a new regime were allowing themselves snide asides. They were plotting. There were even some who whispered that the real Louis
was
dead, and he the devil's proxy.
    He had returned to Versailles to show them he was king and to restore the image of glory to accompany his renewed health.
    In the antechamber outside, he now heard the subdued chatter of the ever-present courtiers, awaiting their chance to see him. He heard footsteps entering, and he knew without opening his eyes that the
porte-buchon du Roi
had come in to light the fire in the fireplace.
    The gears of Versailles creaked on. More footsteps as the royal watchmaker entered the room, wound Louis' watch, and departed.
    Yes, he had been right to return to Versailles. Five years ago, when he was dying, his chateau of Marly—comfortable, pleasant, intimate Marly—had seemed the place to spend the remainder of his days. Versailles was drafty; it was an instrument of torture that cost a sizable fraction of the treasury each year to maintain. But Versailles was splendid, a fit dwelling for Apollo. The nation needed him here.
    A shuffling from the side door was his wig maker, bringing his dressing wig and the wig of the day.
    That meant he had a few more moments. Beneath the covers, he stretched, and was gratified to feel muscles respond to his commands. Since his brush with death, his body felt fresh and alive. All his old appetites were returning to him.
All
of them, and some would not be denied gratification much longer.
    Why, then, if his body was again sound, did a feeling of dread still hound him? Why did his dreams grow persistently darker? Why did he fear being alone?
    The clock struck eight. “Awaken, Sire,” Bontemps said. “Your day