Mist, Metal, and Ash

by Gwendolyn Clare

  Porzia leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing. Apparently, Elsa’s hesitance was all the answer she needed. “That’s what I thought.”

  Elsa hardened her resolve. “Of course the editbook is the first priority,” she said. “But Faraz needs to believe there’s hope for the other part.”

  Porzia tipped her head back and looked up, as if to beseech the heavens for help. “What am I to do with you? Faraz is a fool for deceiving himself, and you’re a fool for indulging him.”

  This, at last, raised Elsa’s hackles. “We are not fools just because—”

  But Porzia cut her off with a sharp wave of one hand. “Fine, fine. Truthfully, my quarrel is with Leo, not with you or Faraz. If you’re resolved, I won’t stand in your way.”

  “I am resolved,” Elsa said. “This is the right course, I’m sure of it.”

  Porzia sighed. “Then we’d better get to work on that description for the doorbook.”

  * * *

  Elsa finished the last sentence and set her fountain pen aside. The ink still wet, she slid the doorbook over to where Porzia sat. “What do you think?”

  Porzia took her time reading through the description and frowning at the image they’d chosen. Finally, she said, “Looks accurate to me.”

  A month ago, the thought of showing her work to anyone besides her mother would have filled Elsa with dread, but she’d come to not only trust Porzia but even to rely upon her for assistance. Elsa was momentarily struck by the magnitude of her own change, that such a partnership now felt natural.

  She said, “Well, if it doesn’t work, I know I can count on you to fix it.”

  Porzia glanced up, startled. “What? You’re not even going to test it?”

  “Too much to do, too little time. And anyway, I have every confidence that you’re up to the task of making any corrections it might need.”

  Porzia shrugged off the praise. “To be fair, that’s only because of you.”

  Elsa blinked. “Whatever do you mean? I’ve hardly taught you anything—you were already a fine scriptologist when I came along.”

  Porzia frowned thoughtfully. “The way you scribe … you see things differently. You don’t follow the same fundamental assumptions, and so you challenge me to reconsider what I thought I knew, what I thought was fact. Scriptology is a much more powerful tool than anyone believed.”

  “A much more dangerous tool,” Elsa said, thinking of the editbook. Not only had Jumi created a book with the power to alter the real world, she had forever changed the discipline of scriptology by proving that such a thing was possible. Until now, Elsa hadn’t paid much mind to the editbook’s theoretical implications—she’d been too preoccupied with the practical matter of retrieving it—but Porzia’s words planted a seed of dread inside her. Even if they got the editbook back from Garibaldi, they could not unprove what it had proved. And someone, someday, would use that knowledge.

  “Are you all right?” Porzia touched Elsa’s arm. “I didn’t mean to imply you were some sort of bizarre heretic…”

  Elsa wiped the gloom from her expression. “No, it’s not that, I’m not offended. I was thinking about the editbook.”

  Porzia pressed her lips together, but before she could reply, Casa interrupted them. “Signorina Elsa, your guests have arrived.”

  Elsa was tempted to frown at this—guests, plural, when she was expecting only Signora Scarpa?—but instead she simply hopped out of her chair and said, “Perfect timing. No need to disturb Gia’s important work, Casa—they won’t be staying long.”

  Porzia came with her through the house to the entry hall, where Casa had taken the liberty of opening the front doors and welcoming the guests inside. One of them was Signora Scarpa; the other was a tall man in his twenties with a rapier slung from his belt.

  “What’s he doing here?” Elsa said, and then immediately regretted her gruff tone. The last thing she should do was antagonize this woman whose help she needed.

  Thankfully, Rosalinda chose to ignore her disrespect. “Elsa, Porzia, may I introduce Vincenzo? He is the, uh…” Here she chose her words carefully. “The solution to the problem Faraz presented me with.”

  Vincenzo acknowledged them with a nod, a roguish grin playing at the corner of his mouth. He was tall and whipcord lean, though his imposing presence made him seem even larger. He moved with the same ease and confidence that Elsa had always thought of as unique to Leo, a sort of feline grace that bespoke mastery of one’s own body. He had a long face with an aquiline nose, and he wore his dark hair long but tied back. Not beautiful, but Elsa got the sense he compensated for it with ample self-assurance.

  “I understand we have a location?” he said, speaking the Tuscan dialect with a slight accent, as if it were not his native tongue.

  Elsa relayed what they knew about Aris’s location near Trento, and he nodded. “Smart.”

  “Why is that smart?” Elsa said, feeling lost when it came to the political details.

  Signora Scarpa explained, “There is significant support for unification in that region. When Venetia earned its status as an autonomous crown state, there was much resentment that the Austrians did not award the same consideration to the province of Trentino. Garibaldi would not lack for allies.”

  “And it’s far enough away that our commanders don’t have much control over what the local Carbonari do,” Vincenzo added, resting a hand on the intricate hilt of his rapier. “Or who they associate with.”

  “So you can’t get me in with them?” Elsa said sharply.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I can get you in.” He turned to Signora Scarpa. “Do we have documentation to get her across the border, or are we to use stealth for that?”

  Porzia, who had been watching this exchange with increasingly narrowed eyes, interrupted, “If you’ll excuse us for a moment…,” and pulled Elsa aside.

  “So?” Elsa said, keeping her voice low and leaning close to Porzia. “What do you think—can we trust him?”

  “Trust him? How would I know! I’ve only just met him,” Porzia hissed, exasperated but not for a second forgetful of the need for discretion. “You’re not seriously going to put your life in the hands of a total stranger, are you?”

  “Well … Leo trusted Signora Scarpa, and she trusts Vincenzo.”

  “Leo, of all people, does not get a vote,” Porzia snapped.

  At that moment, Faraz came rushing down the grand stairs, and Elsa and Porzia rejoined Signora Scarpa and Vincenzo as introductions were made. Then Faraz asked, “So how do we orchestrate this? Elsa’s infiltration, so to speak.”

  Vincenzo said, “She’s got to prove she’s no longer with the Order of Archimedes, so she’ll need to do something no Order member would ever do.”

  At this Porzia looked alarmed. “Like what?”

  “Like supply them with a special piece of tech, something only a pazzerellone could build.”

  Porzia groaned at the same time that Elsa said, “Not a problem. But how, specifically, will this work?”

  “We’ll take the late train to Bologna tonight,” Vincenzo explained, “if that gives you enough time to prepare. I know the Carbonari there, they trust me, and that makes them easy to manipulate. From their leader we’ll get a location for the Carbonari in Trento, who can deliver us to Garibaldi’s doorstep. We’ll have to behave exactly as disaffected Carbonari looking for a new leader to put our faith in—no one can know the truth except us.”

  “And Leo,” Faraz amended. Then, looking to Elsa and taking in her determined expression, he said it again with less confidence. “And Leo, right?”

  Elsa shook her head. “I may not be able to convince him of the lie, but I definitely can’t rely on him to help.”

  Porzia snorted. “He’s the best liar I’ve ever met, he’d do fine.”

  “But if you’re right, and Faraz is wrong,” Elsa said, “if he thinks he belongs with them … then I can’t trust him. Even if I’m trying to rescue him, Faraz, I can’t trust hi
m.” The words threatened to catch in her throat and left a bitter taste in her mouth. Rescue was a lie; in her heart she knew there was no path back for such a traitor.

  Faraz sucked air in between his teeth. “So in the best-case scenario, we come out the other end with two fugitives.”

  Vincenzo, inexplicably, was grinning. “Three fugitives,” he amended, hooking a thumb at himself. “The Carbonari aren’t exactly going to be pleased with me, either.”

  “And that doesn’t concern you?” Faraz said.

  “I don’t lead a life of certainty,” he said, shrugging. “But you should know, even arriving as Carbonari, they will not simply trust us. Garibaldi’s no chicken waiting to be plucked—he’ll anticipate that we’re there to cross him. He’ll plan for every contingency.”

  “We’ll have to improvise, then,” Elsa replied. “The first step is still to ease their suspicion, and then we can gather more information about how to proceed.”

  “Keep your lies as close to the truth as possible,” Faraz unexpectedly offered. “Leo can deliver any ridiculous claim as if it were fact, but if you’re not a practiced liar, they’ll see through you. Incorporate as much honesty as you can into your lies to make them feel real.”

  Sourly, Porzia muttered, “Sage advice from one bad liar to another.”

  Elsa felt heat rise in her cheeks. She’d told her first lies in this very conversation where Faraz advised her on how to do it. At least her skin tone would hide the flush. She was no good at deceiving a friend; if any of them were going to take up a career as a spy, it should have been Leo.

  Signora Scarpa said, “The trip will take a couple of days. There will be time for Vincenzo to give Elsa some training along the way.”

  “Oh good,” Porzia retorted. “Two days’ worth of spy training before she enters the viper’s nest. All my fears have been assuaged.”

  “Signorina Porzia, if I may interrupt…,” Casa said. Oddly, Elsa detected not only distress but confusion in the house’s tone. “There is an intruder in the library.”

  “What!” Porzia screeched, at the same time that Faraz morosely said, “Again?”

  Elsa, however, felt a kick of fear in her chest. “The Veldana worldbook is in the library.” Had someone come to steal it? Or worse?

  The three of them dashed through the house back toward the library, with Vincenzo and Rosalinda following a few steps behind. In the hallway outside the library, Elsa yanked her revolver from its holster as she ran.

  They burst through the library doors with Elsa in the lead, aiming the gun, and Vincenzo pushing forward to stand beside her. His eyes alert, his muscles tense, his rapier pulling free with a metallic shnick.

  But Elsa stopped short. The intruder was no black-clad ex-Carbonari assassin—he was a dark-skinned, brown-eyed Veldanese boy.

  “Revan!” she exclaimed, disbelieving her own eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked in Veldanese.

  “What do you mean? I came for you, of course,” he said, eyes wide at the sight of everyone.

  “What’s going on?” demanded Vincenzo, who couldn’t understand them.

  Elsa holstered her revolver. “It’s all right—he’s a friend,” she explained, though perhaps that was stretching the truth. At least they had been friends when they were younger, before Elsa’s responsibilities drew her away. She was the future caretaker of their world, and that set her apart from the other Veldanese. “Porzia, Faraz, you remember Revan of Veldana.”

  “Good day,” Porzia said in awkward Veldanese. Elsa was surprised she knew even that one phrase, although both Porzia and Faraz had briefly visited her home.

  To Revan, she said, “You shouldn’t be off-world.”

  Revan looked taken aback. “You disappear with no warning and are gone for weeks, returning only to bring Jumi home and then disappearing again. What did you expect I’d do?”

  Honestly, she hadn’t given a moment’s thought to what Revan—or any of the Veldanese, for that matter—would think or feel about her recent actions. She’d certainly never imagined that he would try to pursue her. How had he even managed to leave Veldana?

  “Vincenzo,” Signora Scarpa said from the doorway, quiet but commanding. “Leave them to it.”

  Vincenzo sheathed his rapier and reluctantly withdrew. Elsa heard him say on the way out, “Old friends unexpectedly showing up? I don’t like it.”

  “It doesn’t concern us,” Rosalinda stated as she left the library with Vincenzo.

  Revan watched them go with wide eyes. “Where are we? Why does everyone have weapons?”

  Elsa snorted. “Welcome to Earth.”

  She took a moment to really look at him. He seemed somehow larger than the Revan of her memory, though he surely could not have filled out much in the short time since last she’d seen him. It was only that she’d grown accustomed to the softness of refined and mannered city folk. Not that she thought of Porzia and Faraz as weak, but they didn’t spend their days pushing a plow through the dirt or hauling firewood. Revan did, and though she had never noticed it before, it showed. She glanced at Porzia and had to suppress a smirk, because clearly Elsa was not the only person noticing.

  Faraz, however, wore an expression somewhere between disapproval and worry. “I’m confused. Why is he here? Did something happen in Veldana?”

  Elsa set her hands on her hips, determined not to feel any embarrassment about the situation. “I’m afraid he came because he was concerned about me.”

  “You must be joking,” Faraz said. “As if we didn’t have enough trouble on our hands, without adding tourists to the mix.”

  “Faraz,” Porzia scolded. “What a thing to say, when he left his home to come to Elsa’s aid.”

  “Is he a pazzerellone?” Faraz asked Elsa.

  “No, not that I know of.”

  Faraz shook his head. “Then I’m sorry, Porzia, but I can’t imagine what aid he thinks he’s going to be able to provide.”

  Revan was observing the conversation, listening intently though with little comprehension. Elsa wondered if he would pick up Italian as quickly as she had; her own talent for learning languages derived from a clause Jumi had added to the Veldana worldbook, so in theory any native Veldanese should share the ability.

  “Alchemy, scriptology, and mechanics are not the only three skills in existence,” Elsa felt the need to point out.

  But before Faraz could reply, Casa interrupted, “Shall I serve the evening meal without you? Or can this discussion be relocated to the dining hall?”

  In the end it was decided that all their guests—Rosalinda and Vincenzo and Revan—would be invited to dinner, and what would happen after that could be sorted out with full stomachs.

  * * *

  Elsa had cleared her plate away to make room for the doorbook and an inkwell. A few seats away, at the end of the long table, Porzia was engaging Vincenzo in conversation, though something about her carefully polite expressions made Elsa think it was more of a subtle interrogation than anything else. Beside her, Revan was still picking at his pasta as if uncertain that what he’d been served was, in fact, food. He held the fork in his fist like a child, unaccustomed to the implement.

  “Are you ever coming home?” Revan asked. He’d been nudging her for information through the whole meal; Elsa had done her best to deflect his questions rather than encourage them, but this one struck her by surprise.

  “Of course, I mean, eventually…,” she replied, stumbling over the words. After what Leo had done, a part of her wanted nothing more than to return to Veldana and lick her wounds and try to forget about the Garibaldis. But the situation wasn’t that simple; now that she’d made friends here on Earth, it would never be that simple.

  “‘Later’ is just a sly way of saying no,” Revan said, quoting a phrase his mother, Baninu, had often used on them when they were little.

  Elsa took a breath to regain her composure. “I need to concentrate.” She opened the doorbook to a blank page and focused on her memor
y of bright-painted buildings and luminous blue water. Putting nib to paper, she began scratching out a new description. When she was halfway done, Revan set his fork down with a clack that spoke of impatience.

  “What are you writing?” he asked.

  She glanced up briefly. “A destination.”

  He planted an elbow on the table and leaned his cheek against his fist. “I wouldn’t mind a slightly more detailed explanation, you know. It’s getting a bit frustrating, having no idea what’s going on.”

  “Well,” Elsa said slowly while scribing another line, “maybe you should’ve thought of that before you left Veldana.”

  Revan snorted, but didn’t pursue the subject. Elsa felt a twinge of guilt at leaving him in the dark, but sharing the details of her predicament would only encourage him to involve himself further. And the hard truth was that he knew even less about Earth than she did, and she worried he would be more of a liability than an asset.

  As she finished the last line, Elsa became aware that the once-empty chair on her other side was now occupied. Most of the children had already abandoned the dining table, but she looked up to see Olivia sitting there, quietly watching her. The resemblance to Porzia was striking—the round cheeks, the small mouth, the rich brown eyes beneath sharp eyebrows—though Olivia didn’t seem to know she was pretty yet, whereas Porzia wielded her beauty like a polished weapon. Elsa, who had no siblings, found these familial details fascinating. Of the four Pisano children, Sante was the only one who didn’t seem to take after Gia—his hair a lighter shade of brown and his face a bit too narrow across the cheekbones—and Elsa wondered if his traits came from his father, whom she hadn’t yet met.

  Olivia seemed to be withering beneath Elsa’s scrutiny, so Elsa decided to take pity on the girl and break the silence. “Hi there.”

  “Hi,” Olivia said, barely above a whisper.

  “Do you need something?” Elsa gently persisted.

  Olivia straightened in her chair, mustering her bravery, though not quite enough to look Elsa in the eye. “I just wanted to ask … are you going to bring Leo home?”