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.
