The Whispering Swarm by Michael Moorcock

Earth, which, of course, seems far more complex than the one you know from your lessons. In Prince Rupert’s model the Black Aether is represented. It begins to explain certain mysteries. As I said, we call ours the White Aether, but there are thought to be five other colours. Some report a blue aether and others a yellow. If we reach seven with anomalies still recurring, we shall assume further branes.’
    I was still transfixed by this particular wonder, his Cosmolabe. Not only had I never imagined anything like it, I had never seen or read about anything like it! And yet it looked so ancient! The abbot’s voice had become just then simply music soothing me as my brain tried to grasp the idea of a universe utterly alien to anything I had been taught. I was sure this would interest Barry Bayley, who was fascinated by weird theories and inventions. A little part of me was already working out how to use the idea in a story. Father Grammaticus was still apologising because the prince’s orrery, once complete, would be so much more sophisticated than the abbey’s. ‘But ours serves to demonstrate the fundamental universe. Also the movement of Radiant Time. So!’ He passed his hand carefully between the various moving parts to show me golden wires spreading outwards from the base. He opened his fingers. The golden rays fanned out from them. His hand was the trunk, his fingers the branches. The orrery represented both models. The natural and the geometric. Or so I guessed. By now I was almost entirely without conscious thought, as if I were entranced by some perfect piece of music.
    Father Grammaticus’s soothing voice continued to stroke the webs and strings, making them vibrate. He had the air of playing a complex instrument. ‘Not only does this model show the movement of God’s Creation,’ he explained, ‘it also allows us to measure the passage of all the worlds, visible and invisible, including what we sometimes call the half worlds, or ghost worlds, through time. Indeed the whole aether is, as the prince proves by his mathematical logic, a dimension of time. Time and space follow the same laws and enjoy a similar condition.’
    Later it would take a lot of discussion with Barry Bayley and others to reconstruct what Father Grammaticus told me. To this day, in spite of all the experience and knowledge I’ve gained, I still have trouble understanding that astonishing math. It takes a special kind of mind to imagine two models at once and navigate through them, as Father Grammaticus did. But I was losing the thread, through no fault of his explanation. The whirling and twining of the so-called Cosmolabe was making me feel pretty weird.
    I hoped I could reach a bathroom before I lost it.
    â€˜It’s impressive.’ I tried to stand up. Then I tried to remember why I wanted to stand up. The Cosmolabe still had my attention.
    I was desperate to hold on to familiar beliefs. They had been reached logically enough and with quite a bit of effort. But my hard-won reason was melting before everything I was now learning. Was my physical state merely an echo of my mental turmoil? I think if I hadn’t read a bit of science fiction I would have gone completely nuts trying to understand it all.
    The slender gold, brass, steel and silver wires shivered delicately. The rods swung so gracefully, the cogs connected to the wheels, the regulators to the springs. Spheres circled other spheres. What had this to do with me? What had Friar Isidore seen in me which made him bring me here? And why was the old abbot so keen to show me this weird invention?
    â€˜Are you—is this—?’ I could get no closer than that to framing a question. The abbot took pity on me and smiled: a teacher happy to help a curious pupil. ‘Who is it for?’ I think I meant to ask him what, but he seemed to understand.
    He made an expansive gesture. ‘It is for everyone who needs it. Are we