Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(46)

“Thanks a lot.” Leo gave Faraz’s shoulder a good-natured shove.

Together they waited. Anxiety started to set in, and Leo struggled not to fidget. Faraz stared at the roll of ticker tape on which the reply would be printed, but no reply came.

“Huh,” said Leo, trying to hide his unease. “I guess the Order’s too busy to bother checking their receiver.”

“They’re probably waiting for some poor, hapless apprentice to run up the stairs and fetch the message for them,” Faraz replied, but there was a crease between his brows that belied the joking ease of his tone.

“Well, if they’re not in a sharing mood, I suppose we’ll just have to get the information some other way,” Leo said. “How are your robbery skills? Do you think we could break into the archives without getting shot?”

Faraz regarded him with a healthy dose of side-eye. “Proving your worth to Elsa won’t mean much if you get yourself killed in the attempt.”

Leo felt his best friend’s words landing in him like an arrow to the chest. Leo did not care to acknowledge the part of himself that craved approval.

He composed his features and feigned ignorance. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m saying you’re running a bit low on self-preservation instinct, and it’s likely to get you killed,” said Faraz.

“As is the custom of our people,” Leo joked. “Really, Faraz—with all your caution, are you sure you’re a pazzerellone?”

Faraz opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the Hertzian receiver whirring to life, the metal typeface characters tap-tap-tapping against the ticker tape. Faraz held out a hand to catch the message as the tape unspooled from its roll, and bent his head to read from it.

“‘All materials pertaining to Garibaldi are to be viewed exclusively by the Order.’” He paused, staring at the message. “You’re not going to like the next part: ‘Sending courier to acquire.’”

“What!” Leo said, indignant at the Order’s presumption. “They can’t just steal all our clues! We worked hard to find Montaigne’s journals.”

Faraz raised his eyebrows, mild as ever despite the news. “Apparently we’re not talking about a dead general, after all. They must consider this Garibaldi fellow a serious threat.”

“Thank God for the Order of Archimedes,” Leo grumbled. “Interfering in everyone’s business since 1276 AD.” His well of patience had run dry. He pushed away from the doorframe and strode down the hall.

Faraz called after him, “Where are you going?”

“To my lab, of course. Where else?” Leo’s hands were itching to hold some tools. Perhaps he would repair the training bot Elsa had shot with her revolver when she’d first arrived. Even if he was powerless to solve Elsa’s crisis, he felt an urgent need to fix something.

*

Alek de Vries entered the office of Augusto Righi, the current elected head of the Order, and found Filippo already seated across the desk from the man himself. Righi was a portly gentleman with a prominent nose and a dramatic oxbow mustache. He looked close in age to Filippo, making Alek his senior by a decade or more, though Alek did not expect much deference from him; Righi carried with him the full authority of the Order and all the pomposity that went with it.

Filippo looked up, and Alek detected worry in his gaze. “What’s happened?” he said, even before easing himself down into the last empty seat.

Righi leaned forward in his fine leather desk chair. “Tell me, Signor de Vries: when Signorina Elsa arrived at Casa della Pazzia, did she bring anything with her?”

Alek flicked his gaze over to Filippo, wondering where Righi was going with this, but his old friend held his tongue. Reluctantly, Alek said, “Yes, she had a stack of Charles’s books. And a Pascaline mechanical calculator, which is how I learned about her other abilities.”

Righi raised one thick eyebrow. “And you didn’t mention this to the Order why?”

“The house was on fire, she grabbed some books at random … I didn’t expect any of them to have relevance for the Order’s investigation.” This was the reasoning he’d told himself when he left Pisa without the books, but now Alek recognized it for the excuse it was. Even before arriving in Firenze, some part of him was already hedging his bets—leaving Elsa the chance to investigate, in case the Order proved unhelpful. Which, apparently, was exactly what she was doing with the help of Casa’s other wards. He didn’t know whether to rue the day he’d urged her to befriend them, or to be grateful that at least she wasn’t chasing this danger all alone. Really, he had no one to blame but himself.

Righi did not look pleased with his answer. “Well, apparently one of those ‘random’ books contains recent correspondence from Garibaldi.”

Alek felt as if a shard of ice were piercing his heart. He hadn’t heard that name in twenty years, and could have happily gone to his grave without ever hearing it again.

Beside him, Filippo said, “Ricciotti Garibaldi? I’d assumed he’d gotten himself shot in the head by a Papal executioner, or something of the sort.”

Righi pressed his lips together in an expression of grim humor. “Oh come now, Filippo—when have we ever been that lucky?”