Empire of Unreason by J. Gregory Keyes

the Turks often rose to become lords of the sultan’s inner palace, but she was quite sure that her son was not with the Turks. Since he had been lost during the tsar’s ill-fated invasion of Venice, that was naturally her first EMPIRE OF UNREASON
    thought; and for many years she had focused her attention there.
    Before she had given up, that is. And she had given up, hadn’t she, when the grief and frustration became unbearable?
    She pushed the guilty thought away. What hope had she had before? She had done what she could.
    Anyway, neither was her son a Cossack, who had wandered into Chinese territory. How would such a distant and alien empire even know her son existed, much less desire to kidnap him? She had tried twice that morning to contact the Chinese court by means of magic mirror, and received no answer—whether because the device no longer had a mate in China or because her query was being ignored, she could not know.
    But, she reminded herself, it was in truth the malfaiteurs —not the Chinese or any other foreigners—who had taken her son; and even she could not guess their motives. But if he was alive—as she now had reason to think he was—then he must be in some human nation, for the realm of the malakim was of aether and vortice, not a place where a boy could live.
    If she only knew why they had taken him…
    She shook her head to clear it. Distracted again, she had passed over an entire page without understanding any of it. Angry at herself, she turned back to begin again.
    At that moment, there came a knock at the door, and she was almost grateful for it.
    “Let them in, Anna,” she called to her little servant girl, turning to see who it was, hoping it was some of her students. Around them, she almost felt young again.
    It was a young man, one she did not know.
    “Pardon me, Your Highness—” he began.

    EMPIRE OF UNREASON
    She chuckled and held up her hand to stop him. “Please,” she said, “I am no highness. How can I help you?”
    He blushed a little and nodded. “My name is Mikhail Lomonosov,” he explained.
    “Oh, yes. I’ve a note concerning you. I’m to tutor you in calculus—beginning tomorrow, is that right?”
    “Yes, Mademoiselle. Except that I’ve just been informed that that tutorial has been canceled. I thought to ask why.”
    Adrienne stared at him for a moment. “I have not canceled our tutorial, Monsieur Lomonosov. There must be some mistake.”
    Lomonosov withdrew a small note from his coat pocket and handed it to her.
    He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It says that instead I am to be tutored by Professor Swedenborg in angelic numerology.”
    Adrienne stared at the sheet for a few moments, then trying to contain herself, looked back up at the concerned young man. “Monsieur Lomonosov, I expect you to report to me, here, tomorrow, for your tutorial. I will clear up this matter.”
    Lomonosov smiled briefly and bowed. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
    “You have not disturbed me,” she replied. “Not you.”
    “Well,” she remarked, surveying the three men in the director’s office, “the three of you together. More than I could have hoped for.”
    Prince Golitsyn smiled in the most unfriendly way possible. “Good day to you, Mademoiselle. You know Professor Swedenborg, of course—and you have met his grace, the metropolitan of Saint Petersburg?”
    Swedenborg nodded greeting and favored her with a friendly smile. He was a plump man in middle age with pleasant but rather unremarkable features. His EMPIRE OF UNREASON
    gaze, however, was memorable: it had the quality of looking through you and studying you in minute detail all at once. It was intense and uncomfortable, and she recognized it. Swedenborg spoke with angels, with great regularity, and without apparent aid of scientific device. That put him in a rather restricted group of people—herself, those strange individuals like Crecy who were tutored and shaped by