When I was eleven years of age, an event transpired that changed considerably the course of things at the College of Lucidity.

Lord Cheldthorpe, 02-01, who had for some years given graciously to 03-01 so that he might continue his studies and publish them forth to the world, had died. The effect of this death, though in a bedchamber some three thousand miles away, was great, beyond the natural depression of spirits produced in the breast of any human creature endowed with sympathy at the news of another slipping from daylight, from the realm of reason and the theater of motion, back into the obdurate chaos of uncreated night, into which we all eventually shall tumble.

The death of Lord Cheldthorpe came as a doubly heavy blow to the house of Gitney, the College of Lucidity, because on him did we all rely for a great many funds necessary for the continuance of our philosophical ventures. It was he who paid for various of the apparati, he who had overseen the publication of the findings of 03-01’s society, he who had circulated those findings among the members of the Royal Society in London and, in Paris, the Académie Royale des Sciences.

Lord Cheldthorpe died without issue. His title would have lapsed, had His Highness the King not seen fit to name a nephew as the new Lord Cheldthorpe, and so create the title again anew.

03-01 did not know this nephew. He importuned the man, however, to visit the Province of Massachusetts Bay and see what his late uncle had funded. 03-01 promised the new Lord Cheldthorpe that, upon coming to our shores, he should not simply have an opportunity to inspect the experimental facilities at the Gitney house; but he should also be introduced to various schemes that would assure him income equal to that taken from his sugar plantations in the islands.

In writing his letter to this new Lord Cheldthorpe, 03-01 seemed most sanguine about the prospects of His Lordship’s acquiescence and imminent financial gain. Privately, however, the impending visit of this nobleman, upon which hung so many of the house’s fortunes, depressed 03-01’s spirits as much as it agitated his nerves. When he heard that Lord Cheldthorpe would be arriving a few weeks hence, he spent days rushing from room to room, his gown sweeping behind him, waggling his hands rapidly before him.

He ordered that I be bought a new bag-wig, and my mother a whole series of costly dresses à la mode du beau monde.

At dinner, he instructed all of us, “You shall all show the greatest deference to His Lordship the Earl of Cheldthorpe. He is a young and energetic person, and shall be most interested in our endeavors. For those of you enthusiastic about my system of organizing human families metrically, he is numbered 02-06.”

The house was cleaned meticulously against his arrival: Fittings were shined; the front path was repaved.

On the day that a runner finally came to the door to say that Lord Cheldthorpe had at last arrived in Boston-town, we were hurriedly dressed in our finery and brought down to the front hall to meet him.

He was a tall, loose-jointed man, perhaps thirty years of age, baronial in his stride, with a nose that spoke of Roman blood and eyebrows so blond they were almost white against the red of his skin. He looked a patrician and an adventurer.

When he entered, we all bowed low in courtesy.

“Welcome, My Lord,” said 03-01, “to the Colonies.”

“You are a man of deep science,” said Lord Cheldthorpe. His voice was young and potent. “One puts a question before you: One had, as a kind of pet aboard the ship, a one-legged seagull. One was charmed by its sense of balance when the ship rocked. Would there be a way that one could attract it to this house? It, specifically?”

03-01 speculated, “Were we to . . . spread garbage upon the roof, we would likely attract quite a number of . . . seagulls . . . but there is no guarantee . . . My Lord . . . that one should be your especial friend.”

“We tried to knock it over by throwing lead-shot and failed.” His Lordship made a hurling motion. “The bird was nimble.”

“I see, My Lord.”

“Could one attract it to one’s side, one could keep it upon one’s shoulder, and call it Hector, and it would be a fine, fine thing.”

“Indeed, My Lord,” said 03-01. “My very thought. . . . Perhaps you might give me some time to consider a solution? In the meantime, allow us to conduct you into our company, so you might meet our academicians.”

We went into the parlor, and the men gathered about His Lordship. I remained near the door, standing, my hands folded before me.

He went immediately to my mother. He took her hand.

“Princess Cassiopeia,” said 03-01, “may I present My Lord the Earl of Cheldthorpe?”

Cheldthorpe kissed my mother’s hand. “Princess,” he said, meeting her eyes, and then, to 03-01, corrected him, saying, “By the ancient and excellent rules of heraldry, having been newly created Lord Cheldthorpe in my late uncle’s stead, I am to be referred to as Lord Cheldthorpe of the New Creation.”

“My Lord of the New Creation, it is our pleasure to greet you,” said my mother, spreading out her dress and sitting. “And we welcome you to Eden.”