London was drab and grey; was exploding in colour; was a raucous din, burstng wih life; was eerily quie, hauned by ghoss and graveyards. As he
Countess of Harcourt
sailed inland down he River Thames ino he dockyards a he beatng hear of he capial, Robin saw immediaely ha London was, like Canon, a ciy of conradictons and multudes, as was any ciy ha aced as a mouh o he world.Bu unlike Canon, London had a mechanical hearbea. Silver hummed hrough he ciy. I glimmered from he wheels of cabs and carriages and from horses’ hooves; shone from buildings under windows and over doorways; lay buried under he srees and up in he tcking arms of clock owers; was displayed in shopfrons whose signs proudly boased he magical amplicatons of heir breads, boos, and baubles. The lifeblood of London carried a sharp, tnny tmbre wholly unlike he rickey, clacking bamboo ha underwroe Canon. I was artcial, meallic – he sound of a knife screeching across a sharpening seel; i was he monsrous indusrial labyrinh of William Blake’s ‘cruel Works/ Of many Wheels I view, wheel wihou wheel, wih cogs yrannic, moving by compulsion each oher’.London had accumulaed he lion’s share of boh he world’s silver ore and he world’s languages, and he resul was a ciy ha was bigger, heavier, faser, and brigher han naure allowed. London was voracious, was growing fa on is spoils and stll, somehow, sarved. London was boh unimaginably rich and wrechedly poor. London – lovely, ugly, sprawling, cramped, belching, sning, viruous, hypocritcal,silvergilded London – was near o a reckoning, for he day would come when i eiher devoured iself from inside or cas ouwards for new delicacies, labour, capial, and culure on which o feed.Bu he scales had no ye tpped, and he revels, for now, could be susained. When Robin, Professor Lovell, and Mrs Piper sepped ashore a he Por of London, he docks were a urry of he colonial rade a is apex. Ships heavy wih chess of ea, coon, and obacco, heir mass and crossbeams sudded wih silver ha made hem sail more quickly and safely, sa waitng o be empted in preparaton for he nex voyage o India, o he Wes Indies, o Africa, o he Far Eas. They sen Britshwares across he world. They brough back chess of silver.Silver bars had been used in London – and indeed, hroughou he world – for a millennium, bu no since he heigh of he Spanish Empire had any place in he world been so rich in or so relian on silver’s power. Silver lining he canals made he waer fresher and cleaner han any river like he Thames had a righ o be. Silver in he guers disguised he stnk of rain, sludge, and sewage wih he scen of invisible roses. Silver in he clock owers made he bells chime for miles and miles furher han hey should have, untl he noes clashed discordanly agains each oher hroughou he ciy and over he counryside.Silver was in he seas of he wo-wheeled Hansom cabs Professor Lovell hailed when hey had cleared cusoms – one for he hree of hem, and a second for heir runks. As hey seled in, tghly nesled agains each oher in he tny carriage, Professor Lovell reached over his knees and poined ou a silver bar embedded in he oor of he carriage.‘Can you read wha ha says?’ he asked.Robin ben over, squintng. ‘Speed. And . . . spes?’‘
Spēs
,’ said Professor Lovell. ‘I’s Latn. I’s he roo word of he English
speed
, and i means a nexus of hings involving hope, forune, success, and reaching one’s goal. Makes he carriages run a bi more safely and quickly.’
Robin frowned, running his nger along he bar. I seemed so small, oo innocuous o produce such a profound eec. ‘Bu how?’ And a second, more urgen queston. ‘Will
I—
’‘In tme.’ Professor Lovell paed him on he shoulder. ‘Bu yes, Robin Swi. You’ll be one of he few scholars in he world ha knows he secres of silver-working. Tha’s wha I’ve brough you here o do.’Two hours in he cab brough hem o a village called Hampsead several miles norh of London proper, where Professor Lovell owned a four-sorey house made of pale red brick and whie succo, surrounded by a generous swah of nea green shrubbery.‘Your room is a he op,’ Professor Lovell old Robin as he unlocked he door. ‘Up he sairs and o he righ.’The house was very dark and chilly inside. Mrs Piper wen abou pulling open he curains, while Robin dragged his runk up he spiralling saircase and down he hall as insruced. His room consised of only a lile furniure – a writng desk, a bed, and a sing chair – and was bare of any decoratons or possessions excep for he corner bookshelf, which was packed wih so many tles ha his reasured collecton fel palry in comparison.Curious, Robin approached. Had hose books been prepared especially for him? Tha fel unlikely, hough many of he tles looked like hings he would enjoy – he op shelf alone had a number of Swis and Defoes, novels by his favourie auhors he hadn’ known exised. Ah, here was
Gulliver’s Travels
. Hepulled he book o he shelf. I seemed well-worn, some pages creased and dog-eared and ohers sained by ea or coee.He replaced he book, confused. Someone else mus have lived in his room before him. Some oher boy, perhaps – someone his age, who loved Jonahan Swi jus as much, who had read his copy of
Gulliver’s
Travels
so many tmes ha he ink a he op righ where one’s nger urned he page was sartng o fade.Bu who could ha have been? He’d assumed Professor Lovell had no children.‘Robin!’ Mrs Piper bellowed from downsairs. ‘You’re waned ouside.’Robin hurried back down he sairs. Professor Lovell waied by he door, looking impatenly a his pocke-wach.‘Will your room do?’ he asked. ‘Has everyhing you need?’Robin nodded eusively. ‘Oh, yes.’‘Good.’ Professor Lovell nodded o he waitng cab. ‘Ge in, we’ve go o make you an Englishman.’He mean his lierally. For he res of he aernoon, Professor Lovell ook Robin on a series of errands in he service of assimilatng him ino Britsh civil sociey. They saw a physician who weighed him, examined him, and relucanly declared him for life on he island: ‘No ropical diseases nor eas, hank heavens. He’s a bi small for his age, bu raise him on muon and mash and he’ll be ne. Now le’shave a smallpox jab – roll ha sleeve up, please, hank you. I won’ hur. Coun o hree.’ They saw a
barber, who clipped Robin’s unruly, chin-lengh curls ino a shor, nea crop above his ears. They saw a haer, a boomaker, and nally a ailor, who measured every inch of Robin’s body and showedhim several bols of cloh among which Robin, overwhelmed, chose a random.As he aernoon wound down, hey wen o he courhouse for an appoinmen wih a solicior who draed a se of papers which, Robin was old, would make him a legal citzen of he Unied Kingdom anda ward under he guardianship of Professor Richard Linon Lovell. Professor Lovell signed his name wih a ourish. Then Robin wen up o he solicior’s desk. The surface was oo high for him, so a clerk dragged over a bench on which he could sand.‘I hough I had signed his already.’ Robin glanced down. The language seemed quie similar o he guardianship conrac ha Professor Lovell had given him in Canon.‘Those were he erms beween you and me,’ said Professor Lovell.‘
This
makes you an Englishman.’Robin scanned he looping scrip –
guardian, orphan, minor, custody
.‘You’re claiming me as a son?’‘I’m claiming you as a ward. Tha’s dieren.’
Why?
, he almos asked. Somehing imporan hinged on ha queston, hough he was stll oo young o know wha precisely i was. A momen sreched beween hem, pregnan wih possibiliy. The solicior scrached his nose. Professor Lovell cleared his hroa. Bu he momen passed wihou commen. Professor Lovell was no forhcoming, and Robin already knew beer han o press. He signed.
Adapted from BABEL: Or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators’ Revoluon by R.F. Kuang, published by Harper Voyager. Copyright © 2022 by R.F. Kuang. Reprinted courtesy of HarperCollins
Publishers