Ink, Iron, and Glass

by Gwendolyn Clare

The front doors were framed with an elaborate lintel and pilasters, which gave the building a sense of monumental authority. Elsa couldn’t help but think “house” was a bit of an understatement; Fortress of the Madness might have been a better name.

  De Vries stepped up to the doors and lifted the heavy brass knocker. After a minute, Elsa could make out the muffled sound of bolts sliding, and one side of the double doors opened.

  The woman who answered was middle-aged, short and plump, with dark hair pulled back in a practical chignon. The stains on her smock looked like they’d come from an engine instead of a kitchen.

  “Alek! What a surprise,” she said in Italian, her eyes lighting up. She pulled him forward and, much to Elsa’s surprise, planted a kiss on each of his cheeks. “Do come in.”

  De Vries stepped inside, Elsa following warily. The foyer was expansive. A giant gasolier hung from the cavernous fresco-painted ceiling, blue sky and sunset-tinted clouds of pink and orange. The inlaid-tile floor was polished so smooth it reflected and scattered the gaslight. Two curved staircases, one on either side of the room, led up to a balcony on the far wall. Elsa hadn’t expected anything so lavish and formal from an acquaintance of de Vries.

  De Vries, however, seemed perfectly at ease. “You look well, Gia. Is your husband home?”

  “I’m afraid he’s in Firenze for the week. Business with the Order.”

  “In that case, may I present Signorina Elsunani di Jumi da Veldana. Elsa, this is Signora Gioconda Pisano, headmistress of Casa della Pazzia.” Elsa gave her a nod, and de Vries added, “I do wish Filippo were in town. I’m afraid it’s a matter of some concern for the Order.”

  Signora Pisano folded her hands together. “Yes, I had supposed so, on account of your sudden arrival. Shall we go to my office?”

  “One moment.” De Vries turned to Elsa, switching back to Dutch. “How are you doing with the Italian?”

  “Listening is easy. I imagine it will feel strange on my tongue for a while, though.” She watched Signora Pisano’s face, registering the incomprehension there. Good—they could speak privately then. “I have an odd feeling about this place. Are you certain we can trust these people?”

  “I would trust them with my life,” he said gravely.

  “Well, that’s good,” Elsa sniped. “Since that’s precisely what you’re expecting me to do.”

  De Vries gave her a look of mild reproof. “Patience, my dear. I promise—”

  “Watch out!” someone shouted in Italian from above, startling everyone, including Signora Pisano. Elsa looked up to see a young man with a rapier in his hand leaning over the balcony railing. “It’s coming this way!”

  He vaulted over the railing and Elsa sucked in a breath, thinking he was falling to his death, but he landed light as a cat on his feet. The boy looked up, and for a second their gazes locked. He was a study in brass—tawny eyes and olive skin, blond hair grown long enough he had to shake it away to see her clearly. Elsa felt heat rise in her cheeks.

  “Leo, really!” Signora Pisano scolded in a tone that implied shock at his manners more than fear for his safety.

  He broke eye contact with Elsa and turned his head to respond, but a loud buzzing noise began to emanate from the wall beneath the balcony, and a cloud of plaster dust started billowing into the foyer. Leo spun around, lifting his rapier to a ready position. Elsa found herself yet again covering her nose and mouth with her sleeve. A large section of wall detached from the rest and collapsed into the foyer with a crash, and through the cloud of plaster dust a two-meter-tall shadow was visible.

  The imposing shape stepped forward—No, Elsa thought, squinting through the dust, not step so much as roll. Though Leo held his rapier as if waiting for an opponent to advance, the thing he faced was machine, not man, and it had treads instead of feet.

  Leo stepped forward to meet the metal monster, and as the plaster dust began to settle, Elsa’s view of it improved. A round saw blade whirred at the end of one of its six limbs, and two more brandished rapiers. The other arms terminated with a flamethrower, a mallet, and an enormous crablike pincer.

  “Terribly sorry,” said Leo, though his ear-to-ear grin did not give Elsa the impression of remorse. He whipped his rapier through the air, parrying and lunging. “I’m afraid I’ve improved the training bot rather too much.”

  Elsa didn’t know much about swordplay, but the fact that the boy was still in one piece seemed a fair indication of his competence. Even so, flamethrowers and saws hardly made for a fair fight. Elsa drew the revolver from its holster and cocked back the hammer.

  The bot had a head, but without a closer look it was impossible to know if anything important was located there besides the optics. Instead, she aimed for an exposed tube underneath one arm and fired. The tube burst open, spilling thick red-brown fluid down the side of the bot. The bot’s movements became slow and jerky, and after a few seconds its limbs sagged and went still.

  “You shredded the hydraulics!” Leo said. “That’ll take hours to replace.” He gave her an annoyed look, which did nothing to lessen the perfect angles of his features.

  Instead of answering, Elsa busied herself with tucking the gun away in its holster. The whole situation was so strange, she was unsure whether she would actually be expected to apologize for stopping the rampaging machine. She leaned closer to de Vries and muttered in Dutch, “Yes, I feel very safe here already.”

  Signora Pisano was pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “Why, pray tell, would you add a radial saw to a training bot?”

  Leo shrugged and sheathed the rapier, then slipped his hand out of the intricate metalwork of the guard. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

  Signora Pisano took a closer look at the training bot. “How many times do I have to tell you, Leo? No flamethrowers in the house!”

  “It’s only a small one,” he protested.

  “You,” she said, pointing a finger close to his nose, “I will deal with later.” Then she looked away from Leo. “Casa?”

  A disembodied voice echoed through the foyer, making Elsa jump. “Yes, signora?” The voice was deep and resonant, but with a somewhat feminine softness around the edges.

  “We’re ready for repairs here.”

  “Very well, signora.”

  A small army of clockwork bots hurried in, ambling single file like ducklings. Elsa stood still, frozen by amazement. Some of them were tall and narrow with long brass limbs, some were barely knee-height, with a dozen different tools sticking out in all directions. One squat little bot cleaned the floor with round, rotating scrub brushes as it moved along. Elsa felt a sudden longing to grab it and take it apart to find out how it worked—her fingers itched for the feel of its delicate gears.

  “Elsa … Elsa!” De Vries had his hand on her shoulder.

  She shook her head to clear it and blinked up at him. “Yes?”

  “There will be time to examine the bots later.”

  “Right … of course,” she answered slowly.

  “Come along,” said Signora Pisano, “let’s find somewhere we won’t be disturbed again.” At this she cast a scalding look at Leo, then led Elsa and de Vries out of the ruined foyer.

  Signora Pisano’s office was comfortably small compared to the grandiose vastness of the foyer, with wall-mounted gaslamps bringing out the warm tones of the wood paneling. Her shelves displayed mechanical baubles and trinkets instead of books. Signora Pisano sat behind her polished-wood desk while Elsa and de Vries took up the comfortable armchairs placed in front of it for guests.

  When de Vries finished relating all that had happened, Signora Pisano leaned back in her chair and said, “That’s quite a story. You’re right, Alek, the Order will need to hear of this at once.”

  “Naturally,” said de Vries. “I felt it was essential to secure protection for Elsa first, though.”

  “Yes, yes.” Signora Pisano nodded thoughtfully. “I must say, Elsa, given your parentage, I would have
thought scriptology would be your calling, not mechanics.”

  “Well, I do scribe, of course,” said Elsa politely. “My mother taught me when I was little. We’re not exactly living in the steam age in Veldana, though, so I’m afraid I don’t know much about mechanics.”

  Signora Pisano gave de Vries a significant look, complete with a raised eyebrow. “Both?”

  He cleared his throat. “It appears so. Hence why I thought it best to bring her here immediately.”

  Signora Pisano let out a breath and sat back in her chair. “Jumi da Veldana’s daughter, and a polymath besides.” She used the Greek word—polymathes—and it stood out sharp and cold against the lilting Italian syllables. Elsa jerked as if the word were a slap, unprepared for another new language so soon.

  “What does that mean?”

  De Vries took her hand in both of his, as if to deliver bad news. “You must understand, Elsa: most madboys and madgirls have a very specific interest or set of interests. They won’t—perhaps can’t—turn their attention to any topic beyond their chosen obsession. A polymath, however, is someone who experiences the madness but has no particular focus, being able to apply his or her genius to any field of study—scriptology or mechanics or alchemy, or any combination of the three—and thus having unlimited potential.”

  “They’re exceedingly rare,” added Signora Pisano. “So rare some people claim they no longer exist. There are historical examples, of course, but no one alive today. If you are indeed a polymath…”

  She frowned, as if sorting through the implications in her mind. Elsa felt unmoored. Last week she’d known exactly what her place was, but now she was in a different world, one she didn’t fully understand. And Signora Pisano did not seem to think being “rare” was a good thing.

  De Vries said, “It puts you in a precarious position. Most madboys and madgirls are of limited use on the international stage, because their range of talent is too narrow. A government cannot commission a weapon from a madboy who only builds trains. But you…” He trailed off, unwilling to put the conclusion into words.

  Elsa nodded, slipping her hand out of his grasp to knot her fingers together in her lap. Now when she spoke, her voice was small. “Everyone who wants power will want me.”

  “Jumi hid your talents well. Even from me. What a fool I’ve been, thinking she was letting me keep up with her, when she was always two steps ahead.”

  “Well, someone caught up,” Elsa said darkly.

  Signora Pisano pursed her lips. “That they did. And we must assume they left you behind only because they didn’t know—”

  The door flew open and a girl burst in. She was about Elsa’s age but dressed like a wealthy Parisian woman, her hourglass figure accentuated with a corset, the wine-dark velvet of the dress turning her light olive skin almost milky. The curves of her small mouth and round cheeks would have identified her as Signora Pisano’s daughter even if she didn’t immediately say, “Mamma, you’ll never guess—” Her smile vanished. “Oh, you have company.”

  “Yes, Porzia dear, that’s why the door was closed,” Signora Pisano said, but she sounded more amused than annoyed. “There will be plenty of time for you to become acquainted with Signorina Elsa after we’ve finished here.”

  Porzia paused in the doorway for a moment as if considering her options, but decided to take the hint. “Yes, Mamma.” She did a brief curtsy in the general direction of Elsa and de Vries, then swept out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Signora Pisano paused, momentarily distracted. “Well, as we were saying, I suspect it was your mother’s ingenuity at hiding your talents that has kept you safe thus far. But since these unknown assailants now have Jumi in their possession, they may be … learning more.”

  Stony-faced, Elsa replied, “You mean they may be torturing her for information.”

  Beside her, de Vries inhaled sharply. “There’s no point in speculating.”

  Signora Pisano leaned forward for emphasis. “Elsa, my husband and I—and Alek, as well—belong to a society of mad scientists called the Order of Archimedes. Its mission is to prevent the exploitation of mad people and to protect the integrity of our science. The Order will find your mother; this is precisely the sort of problem it exists to solve. Now, Casa, would you prepare a room for our guest?”

  The house’s voice seeped out of the walls. “Already done, signora.”

  “Excellent.” To Elsa, she said, “Try not to worry, dear. We’ll get your mother back soon.”

  Right, thought Elsa. Her whole world had fallen apart—perhaps literally—and she was supposed to simply not worry. Signora Pisano seemed kind enough, but not excessively realistic. Still, if she was going to argue against staying here, best not to do it in front of the lady of the house. Elsa decided to hold her tongue until she and de Vries could speak alone.

  Casa sent a little brass bot to act as a guide, leading Elsa to her new accommodations. The bot led her and de Vries up two flights of stairs—what Elsa wouldn’t give to disassemble the motile mechanism allowing it to do that!—and down a long, windowless hallway.

  “Here you are, signorina,” Casa said, the bot spinning around to face them and gesturing toward the door on their left with its metal claw.

  De Vries gave a start, as if suddenly recognizing where they were. “This door, Casa?”

  Casa hummed innocently, choosing not to answer.

  Elsa glanced around sharply. She hated feeling like everyone else knew something she didn’t. “What is it?” she asked de Vries.

  “Nothing. It’s only … I knew the previous occupant, that’s all.” He reached out to open the door for her, but his grip on the knob was hesitant, as if he expected it might burn him. Elsa followed him inside.

  The entrance opened onto a richly furnished sitting room, with doorways on the left and right leading to a bedroom and a study. In the center of the room, a sofa and two armchairs were arranged together, all upholstered in green-and-beige damask with arms and legs of finely carved wood ending in animal claws.

  Elsa set her carpetbags beside the door and carefully laid out the contents of her belt—the gun, portal device, stability glove, doorbook, and scribing materials—on a marble-topped commode. Then she went to examine the bedroom, which also displayed an excess of polished wood and fine fabrics. How in the world was she supposed to live here when it all looked too old and too fancy to be touched, let alone used?

  When she returned to the sitting room, she saw de Vries had taken Jumi’s gun from the holster and was holding it gently, as if it were a fond memory.

  Elsa said, “It was a good gift, you know. The sort of thing she would have gotten for herself. She’d never say it, but I think she likes that you understand her.”

  De Vries blinked heavily, as if to clear his eyes of moisture. “Thank you. She was never easy, but always worth the effort.”

  Elsa sank down onto the sofa. “Do you love her?” she said, trying to catch him off guard with the directness of the question.

  “Like a daughter,” he answered easily. He set the gun back down and came over to sit beside her. “Which is why my first priority is to protect you, in accordance with what she would want me to do.”

  “I’m not a child anymore. I could be useful.”

  “And that’s precisely what I’m afraid other people might realize.”

  Elsa narrowed her eyes at him, remembering how Signora Pisano had asked Casa to prepare a room for our guest, singular. “How soon?” she said.

  “What?”

  “I know you aren’t staying. You’re going to leave me here with these people. So, how soon?”

  De Vries rubbed the back of his neck, reluctant to admit it. “I’ll catch the evening train to Firenze tonight. But you must know I wouldn’t leave you with just anyone—I’ve known the Pisano family a long time, they’re dear friends. You’ll be safe here.”

  “Safe and useless,” Elsa said sulkily.

  “Yes, safe and useless,” d
e Vries repeated, as if it were a triumph.

  “You can’t stop me from leaving.” Elsa was the one who’d scribed the doorbook that could transport her anywhere in the real world—means of escape were hardly the problem.

  “Please, Elsa—stay here. I couldn’t bear to find Jumi, only to have to tell her that I’d lost her daughter.” Then his tone brightened, as if to coax her toward enthusiasm. “Besides, this is a house of madness—it shouldn’t be too difficult to keep yourself occupied. Make friends, learn from them. Jumi’s an excellent scriptologist, but she couldn’t teach you the other sciences. Think of this as an opportunity, not a prison sentence.”

  Elsa glowered. An opportunity. But could she afford to ignore de Vries’s advice when she knew so little about what it meant to be a polymath in Europe? He seemed genuinely afraid that some government would snatch her off the street.

  “Fine, I’ll stay for now,” she grudgingly agreed, “but I’m going to search Montaigne’s books for clues. You know how he was, always hiding away inside his worlds—he may have left behind something relevant.”

  “That’s a fine idea.” De Vries gave her an indulgent smile, as if he saw this activity more as a distraction than a viable strategy for finding Jumi. “But don’t worry overmuch—the Order of Archimedes will uncover what happened to your mother.”

  After he left, Elsa pulled open the top drawer of the commode and slipped the gun inside. Better not to leave it out for anyone else to find. She trusted de Vries, but his trust in these people was another step removed from that. Her mother would warn her to be cautious, to keep her guard up. On second thought, she tucked away the doorbook and portal device beside the gun. It was rather too obvious a hiding place, but if she hid them more thoroughly she would lose time retrieving them whenever a hasty departure became necessary.

  It wasn’t that she believed de Vries would betray her. It was just that it all seemed … too fortunate. If her luck the past two days served as any indication, she had better be prepared for the worst. Even if it meant turning away from de Vries’s well-intentioned help.

  Jumi had taught her that love was a weakness—that if you let someone in, you gave them the power to hurt you. But before today, Elsa had thought of this as an untried philosophy, a theoretical truth that she had never gotten the chance to test.