The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1589: Chapter 19: King’s College? Turns Out Just a Nobody!

The Royal Society’s laboratory remained unchanged.

Copper coils, glass containers, iron stands, scales, wooden test tables, and that peculiar smell somewhere between chemicals, ash, and damp lime.

Michael Faraday was crouched between a set of zinc-copper plates, adjusting the angle of electrode contact.

His faded laboratory cotton coat bore indelible marks from chemical agents at the cuffs.

The assistant, gently wiping crystals from the edge of a test tube with canvas, immediately recognized Arthur, who had once done the same work here.

”Sir Arthur Hastings?”

”Not Sir,” Arthur smiled, ”Just a gentleman passing by today, dropping in to visit some old friends.”

The assistant gave a friendly smile, stepped aside without further words, leaving space for this old friend who had once moved batteries, polished copper tubes, and trembled whole afternoons marking scales on glass thermometers.

Faraday seemed unaware of Arthur’s arrival, fully engrossed in his experiment.

He was using a fine pair of tweezers to move the electrodes, an action as restrained and precise as a surgeon performing an operation.

Arthur refrained from interrupting, quietly observing this leader in Britain’s Natural Philosophy from the doorway, curious about his latest endeavors.

Minutes later, Faraday secured the last wire. He stood up, stretched his wrist, then slowly turned around.

Faraday met Arthur’s eyes, speaking with some surprise, ”Arthur? When did you arrive?”

Arthur stepped forward, smiling, ”Not long ago. Are you researching electrolytic reactions again?”

He spoke as if to himself, slowly standing up and dusting off debris, ”Yes, I found differences in the gas discharged under various salt solution concentrations. Initially, I thought it was the reaction rate, but after controlling variables, I suspect it relates to the intermediary medium’s structure...”

Hearing this, Arthur couldn’t help but mutter, ”In electrolysis, the mass of the substance deposited is proportional to the product of current strength and time.”

Faraday hesitated, ”You’ve discovered this law too?”

Arthur shook his head naturally, ”I didn’t discover it, you told me. Don’t you remember that guidance when I was helping in the lab...”

”Did I?” Faraday scratched his head, ”Did I forget?”

”You likely forgot,” Arthur gently advised, ”I’ve told you to rest more often; prolonged fatigue can easily affect memory. I guess you haven’t forgotten ’the mass ratio of substances discharged under the same charge equals the ratio of their chemical equivalents’?”

Faraday’s expression subtly shifted, his slightly weary brow reflecting an unspeakable confusion.

He stared at Arthur for a few seconds, as if seeking clues from his former assistant’s face.

”You mean I’ve proposed these two laws already?” he slowly said, not doubtful but with a certain cautiousness, ”But in my recent experiment notes, I haven’t clearly linked these mass ratios with the charge. I made observations, but they remain scattered conjectures.”

Arthur knew this step would come, yet in his view, Faraday was bound to propose the Faraday Electrolysis Laws sooner or later. Prompting him when almost there could perhaps let him rest more peacefully.

He chuckled lightly, tone nearly playful, ”You might check your records from two years ago; you might find traces, or perhaps you simply forgot to write them down?”

Faraday murmured, eyes flickering with unease, ”That’s unlike me...”

His consistent confidence in his organization and self-discipline made such memory doubts especially unsettling.

Seeing this, Arthur’s tone grew restrained and apologetic, ”I don’t intend to offend you, Mr. Faraday. But as a former detective, I pride myself on unmatched memory, needing to recall every detail for further analysis. You might not have directly stated it, but I deduced from your words that you’d already discovered the relevant patterns.”

Faraday didn’t immediately respond. He slowly approached the experiment table, lightly touching an unused copper plate.

His silence projected a near-religious solemnity, a mood that kept Arthur silent as well, unwilling to interrupt.

After a while, Faraday finally spoke, pressing his forehead with frustration, voice calm yet low, ”Arthur, sometimes I think you know far more than you should.”

”You know, I never envy those naturally gifted,” Faraday continued, ”But you’re different. You’re not simply sharp; your questions always have direction, as if knowing the destination, waiting for us to catch up.”