The Watchtower

of the universe. His favorite quote was Hamlet’s: “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” His favorite Crayola crayon was Midnight Blue (the same as mine), and his favorite song was Van Morrison’s “Moondance.”
    Talking about musical tastes led me to tell him about Jay and Becky’s band. He loved that they called it London Dispersion Force and made me sing two of their songs after promising not to laugh at my voice. He failed dismally and we walked through Les Halles laughing like two drunks coming home late from the bars and cafés that filled the neighborhood. We were still laughing when we reached the Medici Column at the end of a long park. The conversation had made the walk go so fast I was surprised to reach it so soon—and a bit dismayed to find that no one was there at the column waiting for us.
    “You said your geeky colleagues loved this sort of thing.”
    Roger shrugged. “They probably all went out clubbing. Astronomers are like a bunch of frat boys on spring break. But look, the door’s unlocked. Shall we?”
    Roger’s cheerful demeanor was perfectly open and nonthreatening, but it suddenly occurred to me that entering a deserted tower with a man I didn’t know wasn’t the brightest idea. On the other hand, could it be much worse than going into the Luxembourg at night to meet a tree spirit? Or into the Forest of Fontainebleau to meet Hellequin?
    “Okay then,” I said, “to the light!”
    Roger grinned at me. “Absolutely. There’ll be plenty of light on top. But we’d better use this on the way up.” He retrieved a flashlight from his bag and flicked it on. “We’ve got one hundred and forty-seven steps to go in the dark.”
    *   *   *
    The view from the top of the Medici Column turned out to be well worth the climb. The Gothic façade of Saint-Eustache towered to the north, and the Seine and Notre Dame were plainly visible to the south. The lights of Paris glittered all around us. Roger took a blanket out of his bag and spread out a picnic of champagne, cheese, bread, and strawberries. It was windy on top of the tower—the only shelter being a wrought-iron cupola—but the night was warm enough that I didn’t mind. In fact, after a second glass of champagne I found I didn’t mind much of anything.
    “This reminds me of climbing up to my roof when I was a teenager,” I told Roger. “It’s funny how being physically high up can make you feel above all your problems.”
    Roger nodded. “I like to think that’s why Cosimo Ruggieri had this tower built. Of course, ostensibly, it was because he needed it to conduct his astrological studies, but I imagine that he needed somewhere to get away from the politics of Catherine de Médicis’s court.”
    “Cosimo Ruggieri? That’s the name of the guy who used this tower?”
    “You’ve heard of him?” Roger asked with a look of pure delight on his face. “You are a fellow nerd, aren’t you?”
    I laughed. “I haven’t just heard of him. Remember the watch I showed you? Look.” I held up the watch pendant I’d made only a few days ago. “It’s inspired by one I saw at the Musée des Arts et Métiers that was supposedly owned by Cosimo Ruggieri.”
    “Really?” Roger bent over the watch, examining the front and back carefully, tracing the etched stars and planets with his fingertips. He looked positively reverent. “What an amazing coincidence … and an amazing watch.”
    “I’ll make you one. It’s the least I can do for you showing me this tower. Tell me more about Ruggieri. You say Catherine de Médicis was his patron?”
    “Off and on. In 1570 she built the palace that once stood attached to this tower because of a prediction Ruggieri had made, but then in 1572 she accused Ruggieri of plotting against her and practicing necromancy. He fled Paris. But then Catherine just as suddenly and mysteriously pardoned him and assigned him the revenue from an abbey in Brittany.”
    “And what did he use this tower for?” I asked, looking up at the metal structure above us.
    “No one really knows, but for years after Ruggieri died there were local legends that during thunderstorms a figure dressed all in black could be glimpsed standing on the tower. But that could have been because of the circumstances surrounding his death.”
    “And what were those?”
    “He lived into advanced old age—some thought he was using his sorcery to prolong his life—but