Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(13)
The house’s voice seeped out of the walls. “Already done, signora.”
“Excellent.” To Elsa, she said, “Try not to worry, dear. We’ll get your mother back soon.”
Right, thought Elsa. Her whole world had fallen apart—perhaps literally—and she was supposed to simply not worry. Signora Pisano seemed kind enough, but not excessively realistic. Still, if she was going to argue against staying here, best not to do it in front of the lady of the house. Elsa decided to hold her tongue until she and de Vries could speak alone.
Casa sent a little brass bot to act as a guide, leading Elsa to her new accommodations. The bot led her and de Vries up two flights of stairs—what Elsa wouldn’t give to disassemble the motile mechanism allowing it to do that!—and down a long, windowless hallway.
“Here you are, signorina,” Casa said, the bot spinning around to face them and gesturing toward the door on their left with its metal claw.
De Vries gave a start, as if suddenly recognizing where they were. “This door, Casa?”
Casa hummed innocently, choosing not to answer.
Elsa glanced around sharply. She hated feeling like everyone else knew something she didn’t. “What is it?” she asked de Vries.
“Nothing. It’s only … I knew the previous occupant, that’s all.” He reached out to open the door for her, but his grip on the knob was hesitant, as if he expected it might burn him. Elsa followed him inside.
The entrance opened onto a richly furnished sitting room, with doorways on the left and right leading to a bedroom and a study. In the center of the room, a sofa and two armchairs were arranged together, all upholstered in green-and-beige damask with arms and legs of finely carved wood ending in animal claws.
Elsa set her carpetbags beside the door and carefully laid out the contents of her belt—the gun, portal device, stability glove, doorbook, and scribing materials—on a marble-topped commode. Then she went to examine the bedroom, which also displayed an excess of polished wood and fine fabrics. How in the world was she supposed to live here when it all looked too old and too fancy to be touched, let alone used?
When she returned to the sitting room, she saw de Vries had taken Jumi’s gun from the holster and was holding it gently, as if it were a fond memory.
Elsa said, “It was a good gift, you know. The sort of thing she would have gotten for herself. She’d never say it, but I think she likes that you understand her.”
De Vries blinked heavily, as if to clear his eyes of moisture. “Thank you. She was never easy, but always worth the effort.”
Elsa sank down onto the sofa. “Do you love her?” she said, trying to catch him off guard with the directness of the question.
“Like a daughter,” he answered easily. He set the gun back down and came over to sit beside her. “Which is why my first priority is to protect you, in accordance with what she would want me to do.”
“I’m not a child anymore. I could be useful.”
“And that’s precisely what I’m afraid other people might realize.”
Elsa narrowed her eyes at him, remembering how Signora Pisano had asked Casa to prepare a room for our guest, singular. “How soon?” she said.
“What?”
“I know you aren’t staying. You’re going to leave me here with these people. So, how soon?”
De Vries rubbed the back of his neck, reluctant to admit it. “I’ll catch the evening train to Firenze tonight. But you must know I wouldn’t leave you with just anyone—I’ve known the Pisano family a long time, they’re dear friends. You’ll be safe here.”
“Safe and useless,” Elsa said sulkily.
“Yes, safe and useless,” de Vries repeated, as if it were a triumph.
“You can’t stop me from leaving.” Elsa was the one who’d scribed the doorbook that could transport her anywhere in the real world—means of escape were hardly the problem.
“Please, Elsa—stay here. I couldn’t bear to find Jumi, only to have to tell her that I’d lost her daughter.” Then his tone brightened, as if to coax her toward enthusiasm. “Besides, this is a house of madness—it shouldn’t be too difficult to keep yourself occupied. Make friends, learn from them. Jumi’s an excellent scriptologist, but she couldn’t teach you the other sciences. Think of this as an opportunity, not a prison sentence.”
Elsa glowered. An opportunity. But could she afford to ignore de Vries’s advice when she knew so little about what it meant to be a polymath in Europe? He seemed genuinely afraid that some government would snatch her off the street.
“Fine, I’ll stay for now,” she grudgingly agreed, “but I’m going to search Montaigne’s books for clues. You know how he was, always hiding away inside his worlds—he may have left behind something relevant.”
“That’s a fine idea.” De Vries gave her an indulgent smile, as if he saw this activity more as a distraction than a viable strategy for finding Jumi. “But don’t worry overmuch—the Order of Archimedes will uncover what happened to your mother.”
After he left, Elsa pulled open the top drawer of the commode and slipped the gun inside. Better not to leave it out for anyone else to find. She trusted de Vries, but his trust in these people was another step removed from that. Her mother would warn her to be cautious, to keep her guard up. On second thought, she tucked away the doorbook and portal device beside the gun. It was rather too obvious a hiding place, but if she hid them more thoroughly she would lose time retrieving them whenever a hasty departure became necessary.