Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(35)
After that, Leo kept his attention focused on the machine. When all the pages had been fed through, he took the stack of repaired paper to the final hub for rebinding. Elsa hovered anxiously, her confusion over Leo forgotten in the face of more pressing concerns.
The machine finished with a soft hum, and Leo lifted the newly bound worldbook. He held it out to her, his amber eyes alight with hope. “Moment of truth.”
Elsa sucked in a nervous breath. The activity of the machine had warmed the book, so it felt almost like a living creature in her arms. She lifted the cover and handled the paper to test for that distinctive new-book feeling, but the pages hummed low and dull with age beneath her fingertips—steady, but not eager and frenetic like the buzz of a new book. Relief flooded through her, and despite herself, Elsa broke into a smile.
“It worked! The subtext should be intact.”
Leo returned her smile, his expression like the clouds parting to unveil the full brightness of the sun. “The machine’s hungry. Shall we feed it another?”
Elsa pressed the warm leather cover to her cheek, allowing herself a luxurious moment of hope. “Yes,” she said. “We shall.”
8
WHAT A CHIMAERA THEN IS MAN, WHAT A NOVELTY, WHAT A MONSTER, WHAT CHAOS, WHAT A SUBJECT OF CONTRADICTION, WHAT A PRODIGY! JUDGE OF ALL THINGS, YET AN IMBECILE EARTHWORM; DEPOSITORY OF TRUTH, YET A SEWER OF UNCERTAINTY AND ERROR; PRIDE AND REFUSE OF THE UNIVERSE.
—Blaise Pascal
They made it back across the valley to Corniglia and down the steps to the station in time to catch the afternoon train to La Spezia. By then, the sun hung low over the Ligurian Sea, capping the waves with liquid gold, and a few wisps of cloud glowed unreal shades of pink and orange. Elsa thought she couldn’t have scribed a more appealing view if she tried.
Leo hefted the carpetbag of worldbooks, all now restored, into the luggage rack. There had been no time for a thorough check of each book—not if they were going to catch the train—and now Elsa couldn’t help fidgeting nervously in her seat, her mind cycling with fresh urgency through the questions that had haunted her for days. Who had taken Jumi? How was Montaigne involved? She felt certain the answers were waiting in the repaired books.
With a puff of smoke, they pulled out of the station. The two towns they passed through, Manarola and Riomaggiore, were even more strange and beautiful when bathed in the slanted afternoon sunlight. Then the train entered the final bend to turn inland, wheels screeching against the tracks and passenger compartments rattling. Elsa put out a hand to steady herself against the shaking. In a moment it was over, but Leo leapt out of his seat, his expression tense.
Elsa stood up to follow him a second later, confused. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “but something’s wrong. We took that corner too fast. Didn’t you feel it?”
“It’s not as if I have an abundance of experience to compare this ride against,” said Elsa defensively, annoyed with herself for missing the significance of the shaky cornering.
“I’m going to check with the engineers,” Leo said.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t argue.
They had been seated in the second passenger car. Leo yanked open the door at the front end and stepped over the gap to the adjacent car, Elsa at his heels. Some part of her yearned to linger there in the gap, the wind whipping at her skirts and the tracks racing by beneath her feet, but Leo was already striding purposefully through the front-most passenger car.
Opening another door, they found themselves face-to-face with the metal wall of the coal car. A narrow ledge wrapped around its side, leading to the locomotive car. Looking at it, Elsa had to wonder if the designer had really intended anyone to traverse the distance while the train was moving. They had to sidestep the whole way, hugging close to the wall of the car, coal dust smearing their clothes as they went.
When they rounded the front corner, the locomotive finally in view, Elsa considered if that hadn’t been a spectacularly bad idea. What if one of them had fallen to their death? What if someone stole the carpetbag while they left it unattended? But a quick survey of the cab’s interior revealed that the risk had probably been a necessary one.
One of the engineers was on the floor, struggling to sit, a hand pressed to the back of his profusely bleeding skull. The other engineer was frantically examining the controls, which had all been reduced to melted nubs of metal protruding from the backhead of the engine. The floor was littered with a collection of brass wheels and lever handles that had, presumably, once been attached to the controls.
Leo stepped across the threshold into the cab, and the poor engineer—the one still on his feet—nearly had a heart attack at their sudden, unexpected arrival.
“You can’t be in here!” he croaked, clutching at his ribs in a manner suggesting he’d also taken an injury.
“We’re here to help,” Leo said authoritatively. “What happened?”
“Sabotage. They destroyed the controls!”
The engineer with the head wound added, “Men in black … Didn’t see their faces.…” He attempted to haul himself to his feet but fell back into a sitting position.
“Keep still, my good man. Don’t worry, we’re pazzerellones.” To the better-off one he said, “See to your friend.”