Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(64)
“And how well did that work out for the Pisano brothers?” she said sharply. “Have you forgotten?”
“Of course not.” Speaking of low blows, Alek thought. A muscle in his jaw tightened at the memory of what they’d had, and all they’d lost. “We can’t lock our children away from the world forever, Gia. Better they act with our support than behind our backs.”
“God forgive me,” she said with a sigh. “I’d better go if I’m to catch the morning train.”
*
Leo paced Porzia’s too-small sitting room from one side to the other and back again. How Faraz could stay seated—the very picture of patience and calm—he could not fathom. Midday had come and gone with Elsa and Porzia remaining closed up in the study. “Why is this taking so long? What do you imagine the girls are doing in there?”
“Scriptological feats of genius never before conceived of, I’d assume.” Dryly, Faraz added, “It might be another minute or two. I hear it takes time to bend the laws of reality.”
“Not as much as you’d think, when Elsa’s involved,” Leo muttered.
“Will you sit down? You’re making Skandar nervous.” Clinging to Faraz’s shoulder, the little beast fanned its wings and batted uncertainly at the air.
“Oh, well, if the tentacle monster’s nervous…,” Leo said sarcastically, but he tried taking a seat anyway. He quickly found that sitting still only worsened the anxious tension in his chest, so he hopped back up and resumed pacing.
Finally, Elsa and Porzia emerged from their scriptological sanctum. Elsa cradled a book in one arm, and Porzia was holding a portal device.
Leo stopped midpace. “Is it done?”
“We’ve designed a tracker,” said Porzia. “Now we just need to input a target.”
“And how long is that going to take? What does that even mean?” He threw his hands in the air, his already frayed patience giving way.
“Leo,” Elsa said quietly, putting a calming hand on his arm. “It means we can use the tracker to locate anyone. Including your father.”
He looked at where she was touching him—delicate brown fingers against the white cloth of his sleeve. Strange, how such a small gesture could evaporate all that pent-up frustration.
When he didn’t reply, she pulled her hand away, embarrassed. “Are you well?”
Leo cleared his throat. “There’s something I need to tell you all: Rosalinda heard a rumor that my father has acquired a very powerful weapon. Something made using scriptology.”
He could see Elsa’s mind racing. “Do you think Garibaldi’s compelling Jumi to create scriptological weapons?”
Porzia said, “All the more reason to confirm whether or not Garibaldi took Jumi, and to get her away from him.”
“Yes.” Leo took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, right. Let’s do this.”
Elsa shook her head as if to clear it. “I’m going to need an object that belonged to your father to target the tracking device.”
“I have his pocket watch,” Leo said, unfastening the chain from the buttonhole on his waistcoat.
“But you’ve been carrying that thing around for years,” Faraz protested. “If the tracker relies on some intangible sense of possession, won’t the watch’s ownership have switched by now?”
Elsa frowned. “Potentially. Leo, do you ever think of it as yours?”
“No … it’s my father’s, always my father’s. That’s the point of wearing it, after all.” Leo swallowed, his throat tight. The pocket watch felt odd in the palm of his hand—a suddenly foreign object, the old meaning stripped away. How could he keep carrying around a remembrance of the dead when no one had died?
“Then we’ve got what we need to test this world,” Elsa said. She held the book open to the first page for Porzia to input the coordinates. As the portal irised open, she added, “Oh, and … I suggest everyone remove their shoes.”
*
They stepped through into cool, ankle-deep water that let off the salty scent of the ocean. A few meters away, a narrow strip of land stretched to their left and right, more blue water visible beyond. Elsa stepped closer for a better look, eager to make sure it had manifested properly, and there it was: a scale model of the Italian peninsula, fifty meters long and ten meters wide, with the rest of Europe laid out beyond.
“Oh dear Lord,” Porzia swore behind her. “I’m standing in the middle of the Adriatic.”
Skandar had one tentacle wrapped around Faraz’s neck and was leaning precariously off his shoulder to get a look at the miniature ocean below. Faraz put a hand up and steadied the over-curious beast.
“You can move around,” Elsa told everyone. “Just be careful not to wander off the edge of the map.”
The hem of Porzia’s skirts was drenched, and she struggled to hold it up above her ankles without dropping the portal device. Elsa had tucked her own skirts over her arm before crossing through the portal, and was secretly amused at how uncomfortable the sight of her bare brown calves made the boys. That thought recalled the memory of Leo’s bedroom, though, and the mirth drained out of her. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them to pretend nothing had happened, so she squared her shoulders and stepped up onto land.