Elsa heaved a frustrated sigh, planted her hands on her hips, and stood there in the hallway debating the merits of chasing after Porzia for a confrontation. Porzia had acted out of concern, and whether or not Elsa liked to admit it, investigating the contents of the worldbooks in her current state of exhaustion could be dangerous.
Porzia was certainly right about one thing: her clothes were filthy—coated in a layer of coal dust, and speckled with solder and lubricant from the process of constructing the freeze ray. Elsa went down the hall to the bathroom, struggled out of the dress, and grudgingly accepted the bath Casa had prepared for her. Back in her rooms, she had to pull all the covers off the bed again (one of the house-bots kept sneaking in to make the bed) so she could curl up on the floor.
She would investigate the worldbooks tomorrow, she promised herself. The very first thing tomorrow, but for now, she had no choice but to rest.
*
By the time Leo found himself alone in his room, the fire of jealousy in his chest had dwindled somewhat but not yet been extinguished. His elder brother, Aris, had been a polymath, and his younger brother, Pasca, had given every indication that he would follow in Aris’s footsteps; everyone had expected Leo to display the same breadth of skill, but he never developed a feel for anything but mechanics.
Only Rosalinda made him feel talented instead of stupid. She was the boys’ fencing instructor, and fencing was the one thing Leo did well that his brothers did not. She pushed his training harder than she did with Aris or Pasca, and despite her dour demeanor she would sometimes smile a little just for Leo. But even Rosalinda’s hard-earned praise could not erase that deep-seated sense of his father’s disappointment.
Leo had spent so much of his childhood wishing desperately for a polymath’s talents, and here Elsa was, wielding those talents as if they were as easy as breathing.
Shame followed quickly on the heels of his jealousy. In all other respects, Elsa’s position was hardly enviable. He knew it was not especially mature of him to resent her for her competence—competence that had saved his life. But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? He wanted very much to be the one doing the saving.
Leo let himself out onto his balcony; he should have already had his fill of night air after the long walk from the train station, but the confines of his bedroom made him feel restless. Sleep, he suspected, would be a hopeless cause. Instead, he leaned against the wrought-iron railing and threw his head back to watch the stars.
The door unlatched behind him, and he knew it must be Faraz, because anyone else would have knocked first. They’d been friends a long time and knew which liberties were safe to take with each other. Footsteps crossed the bedroom, and Faraz appeared at the balcony railing beside him.
“Porzia said you were back.”
“Did she.” It was a clear night, and with the lights extinguished in the cloister garden below, the stars were piercingly bright.
Faraz draped one arm over the railing. “She also mentioned you had some … ah, problems with the train.”
Leo grunted a reluctant confirmation.
“Coincidental,” he pressed, “or do you think the sabotage was meant for you and Elsa?”
Leo finally looked down from the sky and met his friend’s eyes. “You know I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Which means either Casa della Pazzia, or the train stations, or the Pisano castle is being watched. Or any combination of the three.” Faraz paused. “We should report this to the Order.”
“I hardly think they’d allow us to pursue the search for Elsa’s mother if they found out we’re in danger. No, we have to keep this to ourselves.”
Faraz sighed. “Well, at least Porzia can’t blame me for not trying to knock some sense into you.”
“Porzia should learn to mind her own business, and so should you,” Leo snapped.
Faraz blinked at him, unfazed by his moods. “Are you entirely well?”
“No, but I’ll feel a lot better when we get Elsa’s mother back. I don’t know whose political game we’re playing in, but I am so very tired of the collateral.”
“You think it’s political?”
Leo snorted. “Everything’s political.” If his father had taught him anything, it was this.
Somehow, even though he thought he didn’t want to talk about it, Leo found himself giving in to Faraz’s questions and relating the details of what had happened. When he set his mind to it, Faraz could be as gently unopposable as the tides wearing away at a rocky coastline—there was nothing to resist, just water sliding out of reach. Leo described the sabotage and told him about Elsa’s ingenious solution, admitting his own failure in the process.
When the story was done, Faraz frowned thoughtfully. “Elsa’s no pawn in the political game, Leo. She’s the goddamned queen. Whoever took her mother may have seen her as nothing more than a loose end, but leaving her behind in Veldana was a serious miscalculation on their part. These people are going to figure out who stopped the train—there were witnesses, after all—and when they do, they’ll come after her. Whatever advantage we might have had in being young and unworthy of notice, we’ve lost it now.”
Leo rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, frustrated. “I know. You think I don’t know that?”
If only he’d come up with a solution first, her identity as a brilliant polymath would be safe. Why hadn’t he just told her to wait in the passenger car, like he should have? Or at least sent the engineers away so there would be no witnesses. Stupid, stupid.
Faraz put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Try to get some rest. I suspect we won’t have much chance for it after tonight.”
9
THE SEEKER AFTER TRUTH IS NOT ONE WHO STUDIES THE WRITINGS OF THE ANCIENTS AND … PUTS HIS TRUST IN THEM, BUT RATHER THE ONE WHO SUSPECTS HIS FAITH.
—Ibn al-Haytham
Elsa woke to the sensation of butterflies in her stomach. With the worldbooks practically calling to her from across the house, she couldn’t even consider trying to eat anything. She hastily got herself ready, grabbed the stability glove from the commode in her sitting room, and ran down the stairs.
Porzia was waiting in the library, seated at one of the reading tables and sipping a cappuccino out of a broad-rimmed china cup. The carpetbag rested on the table at her elbow, looking to Elsa’s eyes rather like an inanimate hostage. Elsa rushed over, opened the bag, and started laying out all the worldbooks on the table.
Porzia regarded her with raised-eyebrow amusement. “Rested then, are we?”
Elsa spared a moment to glower, then finished unpacking the books.
Faraz and Leo arrived with one of the younger children in tow. He was a scrawny lad with wide, dark eyes and a quick smile; Elsa was fairly sure this was the one named Burak.
Leo paused in the doorway and said to the boy, “This is very important: don’t let anyone inside. We have secret business to do for the Order, and we’re not to be disturbed.”