Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(22)

Elsa sat at the writing desk and began with the basics of any usable world: gravity, air, time. The reference library in her study was small compared to the one in Montaigne’s house before it burned, but it had the basics, so Elsa didn’t need to reinvent the entire field of scriptological physics. She merely opened a physics reference book and cited the properties she needed her lab worldbook to take on.

To be useful as a laboratory, she’d need not only work space but also materials to work with. She scribed supply rooms full of tools and chemicals and mechanical components, and then she designed a property such that whatever object she desired would automatically shift to the front of the room. Elsa hated looking for things and not being able to find them.

Focused on her work, she lost track of time until she looked up at the window and was startled to see the daylight dwindling. The little pendulum clock mounted atop the bookcase reported that the dinner hour was nearly upon her.

To her surprise, Elsa found she didn’t dread the thought of seeing Leo again at supper, but she couldn’t afford to form attachments here—these people could only serve to distract her from her goal. She needed to arm herself with a laboratory worldbook and then find her mother. So she looked back down at her work and let the dinner hour pass.

The next day, Elsa stayed sequestered in her rooms. She repaired six more pages of the first of Montaigne’s damaged books, but she reached an impasse with her lab book. A normal scriptologist wouldn’t have use for the technical manuals she’d need to reference in order to stock her laboratory with equipment. She would have to venture forth from her rooms to complete the lab book.

Reluctantly, Elsa broke the silence in her rooms. “Casa, do you have a larger collection of scriptological resources anywhere? Or technical manuals, perhaps?”

“Why yes, signorina. In the library, of course.”

Elsa stood up from her chair. “Might you direct me there?”

Doubting the wisdom of it, she nonetheless consigned herself once more to Casa’s guidance. Soon, Casa had led her down to the first floor and into the rear of the house.

Elsa rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. A short stretch of hallway ended in a broad, arched doorframe—to the library—but between her and the doors stood Porzia, Leo, and Faraz, casually conversing. Casa had once again delivered her, probably quite deliberately, into the company of the other residents. Elsa’s first instinct was to back around the corner before any of them noticed she was there. And she would have—except for the allure of the fascinating creature perched on Faraz’s shoulder.

Elsa had never seen an alchemically fabricated life-form before, but she knew it instantly for what it was. Most of its mass appeared to be tentacles (of which there were at least ten, Elsa estimated) and large, hairless bat-wings (of which there were, sensibly, only two). One enormous eye shone wetly in the center of its body, and if it had a mouth, Elsa couldn’t see where.

“What a curious creature!” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

They all turned to look at her—Porzia with a little jump of surprise, and Leo with a cool insouciance, as if he’d known she was there all along. “Elsa,” he said, “I see our newest scriptologist has found her way to the library.” There was something odd about the way he emphasized scriptologist, but Elsa couldn’t focus on that with such a diverting specimen in front of her.

She stepped forward for a closer look, and the creature reached one tentacle out to her curiously. Faraz gently batted away the tentacle before it could touch her, admonishing, “Manners, now. No grabbing, you know that frightens the girls.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Elsa said. “I don’t mind creatures. Whenever there’s an expansion in Veldana, I try to sketch all the new species. Or I used to, anyway.”

“Do you … want to hold it?” he asked, sounding abashed, as if he were bracing himself for her to respond with disgust.

Elsa held out her arm, but Leo said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Sometimes it strangles people for no reason. And it’s got these little poisonous fangs—”

“Don’t listen to him,” Faraz said, unperturbed by his friend’s unflattering descriptions. “He’s a lying liar who lies.”

To the creature, Elsa said, “Don’t worry, little darling—I don’t believe him for a second.”

It crawled with a sort of undulating motion, its wings spread wide for balance as it moved down Faraz’s arm and transferred itself to her shoulder. Slowly, Elsa lifted a hand to stroke it. She’d expected slime, but its skin was dry and slightly bumpy beneath her fingers. It snaked one tentacle down the back of her dress, the suckers clinging to her skin for stability, and though the suction force was surprisingly strong, Elsa didn’t find the sensation disquieting. The tip of another tentacle brushed her cheek tentatively, as if saying hello.

“Hi,” Elsa cooed. “What’s your name?”

“Skandar,” offered Faraz.

“Well. Pleased to meet you, Skandar. Aren’t you a sweet little thing?”

Porzia made a gagging sound. “Is it really necessary to coddle Faraz’s disgusting tentacle monster like a newborn babe?”

Faraz sniffed. “Just because you convinced Gia to ban Skandar from the dining table doesn’t mean the rest of us have to share your squeamishness.”