Traitor Angels by Anne Blankman

it?”
    “Be careful. The pages are still wet.” I gave him the stack, and he began to read.
    Overhead, the heavens were painted blue and purple, permitting just enough illumination to write by, but it wouldn’t be long before the sky surrendered to night and I would have to put away my work. I increased my pace, working now on Book Two. I was remembering the words wrongly: even in my head, I could hear how awkward the lines sounded. But the plot, at least, was the same; that I recalled with absolute clarity.
    At this point, Satan gathers his followers for “the great consult” and they debate whether or not they should fight another battle to gain control of Heaven. Finally Satan suggests they should go to Earth. When none of the angels volunteer for the task, Satan decides to make the journey on his own. It was odd, I thought as I scribbled the lines as best as I could remember them, but my father’s Satan was almost always alone. Perhaps Father was saying something significant about evil—that it divides usfrom our souls, keeping us eternally distant from ourselves and one another. As though Hell was solitude itself.
    “Your father’s poetry is beautiful,” Viviani said at last. “I’ve never read anything like it. His version of Satan . . .” He trailed off, giving me a wary look.
    I took pity on him and decided to say what he clearly was reluctant to, out of respect for my feelings. “My father’s Satan appears blasphemous,” I said, wiping my ink-stained quill on a spare scrap of linen. “He’s brave and charismatic; he rails against what he sees as God’s tyrannical rule in Heaven. He’s a leader,” I added, “exhorting his followers to rebellion. A revolutionary, you could even say.”
    I looked up from my task to find Viviani watching me carefully. “It’s a trick,” I explained. “My father presents Satan in such a manner so readers will fall with him—they know he’s the villain and yet he appears so heroic that they can’t help rooting for him, at least in the beginning.”
    “Then your father’s epic is meant to manipulate its readers.” He sounded impressed. “It’s a game played on our minds.”
    “Precisely.” Mysterious or not, at least this boy was clever—he had latched onto my father’s intentions immediately. “From the start, we know the story’s outcome, and yet we still succumb to temptation and find Satan the most admirable character. Everything he says has multiple meanings, but we don’t understand what he’s truly saying until the story’s end, when he tempts Eve.”
    For a moment, Viviani was silent. “It sounds like a literary marvel,” he finally said. “But nothing you’ve told me explains why your father summoned me to England.”
    He jumped to his feet, then picked up an object from the ground on the other side of him. Gold flashed on its surface and my thoughts about Father’s secrets scattered like leaves in a windstorm. The object was the mysterious instrument I had seen in Viviani’s chamber at the inn.
    “What is that?” I asked.
    “A telescope. I was using it earlier.” He opened his hands to let me see it more clearly: it was a cylindrical device, its leather covering stamped with a design in gold filigree. My heart beat faster. I had heard the term “telescope” before but until yesterday I had never seen one. I had imagined them to be massive, bulky contraptions made out of wood and brass, not like this slender instrument fashioned out of leather.
    “These are used to study the stars, aren’t they?” My hand itched to grab it, but I forced myself to speak calmly. I couldn’t let anyone guess how fascinated I was by astronomy or I’d be branded as an aberration. “May I try it?”
    He looked surprised. “Yes, of course.”
    We walked into the clearing. He stood behind me, reaching around my body to place his hands over mine on the telescope and direct its lenses at the full moon hanging low in the sky.
    “There will be some