Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(10)
Elsa was curious to hear more, but she could tell de Vries was reluctant to share the details. Instead, she asked, “So what exactly is our destination, now that we’ve made it to Pisa?”
He seemed relieved at the change of subject. “The place we’re going to is a sort of haven for madboys and madgirls. No one will be able to get to you there. You’ll be safe.”
Something in his tone made Elsa suspicious that there was more at play than he was letting on. Why the sudden onset of concern for her safety, back in the ruins of Montaigne’s house? But she decided to follow his lead anyway, as Jumi would have advised her to do, and trust that he would enlighten her at the proper time.
De Vries moved rather slowly on foot—the last time Elsa had visited him with her mother, Jumi had argued it was time for him to acquire a walking cane for his stiff left hip, but he was still walking without one. In Veldana, it would have driven Elsa mad to have to walk so slowly, but here she didn’t mind. Their plodding pace gave her time to eavesdrop on the other people out walking the streets, so she could absorb their language properly.
Everyone—the men especially—gestured a great deal with their hands as they talked. She wondered if the gestures served some critical linguistic function, though she could detect no obvious grammatical structure in the motions.
As she watched the citizens of Pisa, Elsa caught their stares lingering on her in turn. These were a pale people not so different from the French, whereas the Veldanese all came in shades of brown. She could not guess what they thought of her, with her black hair and bronze skin and a pale elderly gentleman for an escort. Hot pinpricks of self-consciousness traveled down her spine.
“Stai imparando?” de Vries asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“I don’t know what that means yet,” Elsa snapped, feeling edgy and exposed. She wished the new language would hurry up and sink in so they could get off the streets and out of sight. They were both quiet for a minute or two, and she started regretting her curtness. “Thank you for your help, de Vries. I know I don’t always make it easy for you.”
He smiled down at her. “You can call me Alek, you know. After you’ve dug through a pile of burnt wreckage and run off to Toscana with someone, the need for formality has faded somewhat.”
Elsa shrugged. “I’m accustomed to de Vries.”
He chuckled to himself. “So like your mother. Sometimes I wonder if you aren’t a window back in time.”
“What do you mean?” she said sharply.
“Why, that she keeps everyone at a distance, of course. Everyone except you.”
Elsa scowled at him, but she noticed his use of the present tense—keeps—and was silently grateful for it.
She calmed her anxious thoughts and turned her attention back to the most immediate problem: language. As Jumi would have said, How can you hope to master your world if you cannot master your own mind? So Elsa started with herself, and focused on listening to and absorbing the words of passersby.
The words began to churn in the back of her brain, mixing and clarifying. Yes, Elsa realized, it was not so unlike French in its grammar or etymology—startlingly familiar, now that she could hear it properly. She felt dizzy with the swelling knowledge.
“Steady there,” said de Vries, and caught her by the elbow as she swayed.
They had stopped walking. Elsa didn’t recall exactly when. Come to think of it, she’d lost track of where they were, too—she looked around at the cobblestone plaza they stood near the edge of, wondering how far they’d come from the Leaning Tower.
“Not much farther,” said de Vries as he led her toward a broad four-story stone building. He presented it with a wave of his arm. “Casa della Pazzia.” House of the Madness.
The front doors were framed with an elaborate lintel and pilasters, which gave the building a sense of monumental authority. Elsa couldn’t help but think “house” was a bit of an understatement; Fortress of the Madness might have been a better name.
De Vries stepped up to the doors and lifted the heavy brass knocker. After a minute, Elsa could make out the muffled sound of bolts sliding, and one side of the double doors opened.
The woman who answered was middle-aged, short and plump, with dark hair pulled back in a practical chignon. The stains on her smock looked like they’d come from an engine instead of a kitchen.
“Alek! What a surprise,” she said in Italian, her eyes lighting up. She pulled him forward and, much to Elsa’s surprise, planted a kiss on each of his cheeks. “Do come in.”
De Vries stepped inside, Elsa following warily. The foyer was expansive. A giant gasolier hung from the cavernous fresco-painted ceiling, blue sky and sunset-tinted clouds of pink and orange. The inlaid-tile floor was polished so smooth it reflected and scattered the gaslight. Two curved staircases, one on either side of the room, led up to a balcony on the far wall. Elsa hadn’t expected anything so lavish and formal from an acquaintance of de Vries.
De Vries, however, seemed perfectly at ease. “You look well, Gia. Is your husband home?”
“I’m afraid he’s in Firenze for the week. Business with the Order.”
“In that case, may I present Signorina Elsunani di Jumi da Veldana. Elsa, this is Signora Gioconda Pisano, headmistress of Casa della Pazzia.” Elsa gave her a nod, and de Vries added, “I do wish Filippo were in town. I’m afraid it’s a matter of some concern for the Order.”