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THE GOLDEN OCTOPUS

NOVEMBER 1897

I first met Breandan Reid Ó Cuilinn in ht, cold November day I was seventeen, a Princess Royal and heir to the throne He, I knew fro’s Constabulary, was the son of a country gentlerees from Awveline University in physics and philosophy

He never even noticed me

To be sure, he was there to iers, scientists, and councilors whowo on without purpose Let me tell you what happened that day

It was late Noveathered in the smallest of my father’s audience chambers, the one where he liked to hold such demonstrations (Miscellaneous Scientific Inquiries, Etc, is how the steward labeled theh square s; an earlyrain shower had spattered droplets over the panes, which cast a hundred tiny rainbows upon the gray marble floor A raised platform ran around three sides of the room, with a series of recessed alcoves I sat in ave me the best view of my father and Ó Cuilinn both

“Tell me,” my father said, “what you hope to discover”

Breandan Ó Cuilinn—excuse me, Doctor Ó Cuilinn—said, “I cannot tell yet I can only report on what I have achieved”

The old astrologers, who had served randfather since the , no matter what form it took “True, true,” one old man mumbled “We can chart the moon and all the stars of heaven, but there are subtleties beyond even the most learned of the cloud diviners”

The Court scientists and ed to both the old and the e e battered worktable, evidently provided by the steward from the palace attics

He was not a rich man, this Doctor Ó Cuilinn He had arrived in a hired van, with no servants, no assistants, and had transported the five large crates to the interview chaht trolley He must have assembled the machine as well That would account for the oil stain on the sleeve of his frock coat, and the dusty knees of his trousers

The leamed in brass and silver splendor upon the table It was as large as a lass tubes writhing about the h the tubes, like thin black veins; more wires snaked over the table and connected the device to a crate of batteries sitting on the floor The metals themselves, however beautiful, were likely chosen for their properties, I thought, rereat deal of electricity But ere those strange knobs and dials for?

With a practiced gesture, Ó Cuilinn drew a s, made of some dull silvery material He pressed a spot on the side of the octopus’s body A section of the front slid open—as though the octopus had opened its ular yawn Ó Cuilinn placed the ain; this ties

“What kind of metal is that?” my father asked

“An iron-chromium alloy, Your Majesty,” Ó Cuilinn replied “It proves less reactive than pure iron”

If he doubted n of it But one question led to a barrage of others from the Court scientists Those batteries, ere they, and what charge did they produce? Was it purely electricity his device used? If so, what role did those glass tubes perform? A modified Leclanché cell, Ó Cuilinn replied Ammonium chloride mixed with plaster of paris, sealed in a zinc shell, each of which produced 15 volts He was corresponding with a collective of scientists froeable battery with nickel and cadmium electrodes in a potassium-hydroxide solution Yes, the results would certainly prove more reliable Also,about how these research men always demanded more money) As for the role of the batteries, they were purely to start the necessary reactions He would rather not discuss the further details until His Majesty and the gentlemen had observed the machine’s performance

Turning away froan to e of the machine The scientists andhis work The astrologers were less entranced, and one old man continued to netic currents Ó Cuilinn ignored theers moved deftly over the octopus’s face Gradually I beca my arms itched Just as I reached up to rub them, a loud crack echoed from the device

The audience gasped I started, then found myself unable to move

Gas inside the tubes ignited into gaudy colors Smoke roiled around the device, and there was a distinct burning odor, as though lightning had struck inside the palace The astrologers and other philosophers were all whispering The scientists frowned My father too was frowning, but in concentration

Ó Cuilinn alone seeain the octopus yawned I stared, uncertain