His instincts told him, however, that the plan was sound. He had learned to take first impressions seriously — especially when they were negative, even if he could not pinpoint the exact cause of his premonition. This time, there were no bad vibes. The project was fantastic — but it could work.
Kato was watching him covertly, obviously trying to gauge his reactions. I can be pretty inscrutable when I want to, thought Bradley. . . . Besides, I have my reputation to consider.
Then Kato, with the ghost of a smile, handed him a small slip of paper, folded in two. Bradley took his time opening it. When he saw the figures, he realized that even if the project was a total disaster, he need give no further thought to his professional career. In the natural course of events, it could not last many more years — and he had not saved this much in his entire lifetime.
‘I’m flattered,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re more than generous. But I still have some other business to settle, before I can give you a definite answer.’
Kato looked surprised. ‘How long?’ he asked, rather brusquely.
He thinks I’m still negotiating with someone else, thought Bradley. Which is perfectly true —
‘Give me a week. But I can tell you right away — I’m quite sure no one will match your offer.’
‘I know,’ said Kato, closing his briefcase. ‘Any points you want to make — Edith, Donald?’
‘No,’ said Edith, ‘you seem to have covered everything.’ Donald said nothing, but merely nodded in agreement. This is a strange partnership, Bradley told himself, and not a very happy one. He had taken an immediate liking to Donald, who seemed a warm, gentle sort of person. But Edith was tough and domineering — almost aggressive; she was obviously the boss.
‘And how is that delightful child prodigy who happens to be your daughter?’ Kato asked the Craigs as they were about to leave. ‘Please give her my love.’
‘We will,’ Donald replied. ‘Ada’s fine, and enjoyed her trip to Kyoto. It made a change from exploring the Mandelbrot Set.’
‘And just what,’ asked Bradley, ‘is the Mandelbrot Set?’
‘Much easier shown than described,’ answered Donald. ‘Why don’t you visit us? We’d like to take you around our studio — wouldn’t we, Edith? Especially if we’ll be working together — as I hope we will.’
Only Kato noticed Bradley’s momentary hesitation. Then Bradley smiled and answered: ‘I’d enjoy that — I’m going to Scotland next week, and think I could fit it in. How old is your girl?’
‘Ada’s almost nine. But if you asked her age, she’d probably tell you 8.876545 years.’
Bradley laughed. ‘She does sound a prodigy. I’m not sure I could face her.’
‘And this,’ said Kato, ‘is the man who scared away a fifty-ton octopus. I’ll never understand these Americans.’
18 IN AN IRISH GARDEN
When I was a small boy,’ said Patrick O’Brian wistfully, ‘I used to love coming up here to watch the magic pictures. They seemed so much brighter — and more interesting — than the real world outside. No telly in those days, of course — and the traveling tent cinema only came to the village about once a month.’
‘Don’t you believe a word, Jason,’ said Donald Craig. ‘Pat isn’t really a hundred years old.’
Though Bradley would have guessed seventy-five, O’Brian might well be in his eighties. So he must have been born in the 1930s — perhaps even the ’20s. The world of his youth already seemed unimaginably remote; reality outdid storytelling exaggeration, even by Irish standards.
Pat shook his head sadly, as he continued pulling on the cord that rotated the big lens five meters above their heads. On the matte-white table around which they were standing, the lawns and flowerbeds and gravel paths of Conroy Castle performed a stately pirouette. Everything was unnaturally bright and clear, and Bradley could well imagine that to a boy this beautiful old machine must have transformed the familiar outside world into an enchanted fairyland.
”Tis a shame, Mr. Bradley, that Master Donald doesn’t know the truth when he hears it. I could tell him stories of the old lord — but what’s the use?’
‘You tell them to Ada, anyway.’
‘Sure — and she believes me, sensible girl.’
‘So do I — sometimes. Like those about Lord Dunsany.’
‘Only after you’d checked up on me with Father McMullen.’
‘Dunsany? The author?’ asked Bradley.
‘Yes. You’ve read him?’
‘Er — no. But he was a great friend of Dr. Beebe — the first man to go down half a mile. That’s how I know the name.’
‘Well, you should read his stories — especially the ones about the sea. Pat says he often came here, to play chess with Lord Conroy.’
‘Dunsany was grand master of Ireland,’ Patrick added. ‘But he was also a very kind man. So he always let the old lord win — just. How he’d have loved to play against your computer! Especially as he wrote a story about a chess-playing machine.’
‘He did?’
‘Well, not exactly a machine; maybe an imp.’
‘What’s it called? I must look it up.’
‘The Three Sailors’ Gambit — ah, there she is! I might have guessed.’
The old man’s voice had softened appreciably as the little boat came into the field of view. It was drifting in lazy circles at the center of a fair-sized lake, and its sole occupant appeared to be completely engrossed in a book.
Donald Craig raised his wristcom and whispered: ‘Ada — we have a visitor — we’ll be down in a minute.’ The distant figure waved a languid hand, and continued reading. Then it dwindled swiftly away as Donald zoomed the camera obscura lens.
Now Bradley could see that the lake was approximately heart-shaped, connected to a smaller, circular pond where the point of the heart should have been. That in turn opened into a third and much smaller pond, also circular. It was a curious arrangement, and obviously a recent one; the lawn still bore the scars of earth-moving machines.
‘Welcome to Lake Mandelbrot,’ said Patrick, with noticeable lack of enthusiasm. ‘And be careful, Mr. Bradley — don’t encourage her to explain it to you.’
‘I don’t think,’ said Donald, ‘that any encouragement will be necessary. But let’s go down and find out.’
As her father approached with his two companions, Ada started the motor of the tiny boat; it was powered by a small solar panel, and was barely able to match their leisurely walking pace. She did not head directly toward them, as Bradley had expected, but steered the boat along the central axis of the main lake, and through the narrow isthmus connecting it to its smaller satellite. This was quickly crossed, and the boat entered the third and smallest lake of all. Though it was now only a few meters away from them, Bradley could hear no sound from its motor. His engineer’s soul approved of such efficiency.
‘Ada,’ said Donald, calling across the rapidly diminishing expanse of water. ‘This is the visitor I told you about — Mr. Bradley. He’s going to help us raise the Titanic.’
Ada, now preparing to enter the harbor, merely acknowledged his presence with a brief nod. The final lake — really no more than a small pond that would be overcrowded by a dozen ducks — was connected to a boathouse by a long, narrow canal. It was perfectly straight, and Bradley realized that it lay precisely along the central axis of the three conjoined lakes. All this was obviously planned, though for what purpose he could not imagine. From the quizzical smile on Patrick’s face, he guessed that the old gardener was enjoying his perplexity.
The canal was bordered on either side by beautiful cypress trees, more than twenty meters high; it was, Bradley thought, like a miniature version of the approach to the Taj Mahal. He had only seen that masterpiece briefly, years ago, but had never forgotten its splendid vista.
‘You see, Pat, they’re all doing fine — in spite of what you said,’ Donald told the head gardener.
Patrick pursed his lips and looked critically at the line of trees. He pointed to several which, to Bradley’s eyes, appeared indistinguishable from the rest.
‘Those may have to be replanted,’ he said. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you — and the Missus.’
They had now reached the boathouse at the end of the tree-lined canal, and waited for Ada to complete her leisurely approach. When she was only a meter away, there was a sudden hysterical yelp and something closely resembling a small floor mop leaped out of the boat and hurled itself at Bradley’s feet.
‘If you don’t move,’ said Donald, ‘she may decide you’re harmless, and let you live.’
While the tiny Cairn terrier was sniffing suspiciously at his shoes, Bradley examined her mistress. He noticed, with approval, the careful way that Ada tied up the boat, even though that was quite unnecessary; she was, he could already tell, an extremely well-organized young lady — quite a contrast to her hysterical little pet, who had switched instantly to fawning affection.