Much had happened in the previous twelve years, but nothing was really different. Daniel's world had been like a piece of caoutchouc that stretched but did not rupture, and never changed its true shape. After he'd gotten his Doctorate, there'd been nothing for him at Cambridge save lecturing to empty rooms, tutoring dull courtiers' sons, and watching Isaac recede further into the murk, pursuing his quest for the Philosophic Mercury and his occult studies of the Book of Revelation and the Temple of Solomon. So Daniel had moved to London, where events went by him like musket-balls.