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.”