“It seems Faraz does good work. Otherwise, I believe I’d be looking all-the-way dead.” Elsa felt oddly comforted by Porzia’s brisk, unworried manner. It made her brush with death seem not so frightening after all.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t expire, because there’s simply so much happening and I really need you alive and conscious. While you were resting, a courier arrived from the Order to confiscate anything having to do with Garibaldi.”
“What!” Elsa sat up straighter. “All of Montaigne’s books?”
“No, no—the worldbooks are safe. I gave the courier just the one journal with Garibaldi’s name in it, the one we’ve already read. Everything else I hid before he got here.” Porzia’s mouth curled up into a sly little smile.
“Oh, that’s good.” Relief cooled her veins, though a moment later she had to wonder if Porzia was feigning all that apparent confidence. “But … your parents are in the Order. Won’t you get in trouble?”
“Only if I get caught,” Porzia said, though the lightness of her tone seemed forced. There was tension across her cheeks, as if she was not entirely happy with herself for what she’d done. “Besides, the worldbooks weren’t mine to give. I just did what I thought you would if you weren’t busy being poisoned.”
Elsa gave the other girl a scrutinizing look; a hint of fear and insecurity hid in her eyes. “Well, I know it was a risk, so thank you.”
“Everything in life is a risk. Now,” Porzia declared, changing the subject. She clasped her palms together eagerly. “If you’re feeling well enough for a short walk, I’ve a surprise for you.”
“Sounds ominous,” Elsa grumbled, half joking. She accepted the support of Porzia’s arm when she unsteadily stood.
Porzia led her out of Faraz’s workshop into an unfamiliar hallway, reminding her once again how massive the house was. Elsa almost gave up when she saw the “short walk” was to include climbing a flight of stairs, but she leaned heavily on Porzia and huffed her way up one stair at a time. Each breath was something of a struggle, and the effort made her light-headed.
Finally they arrived at a wide room that looked like a seamstress’s parlor. Heavy bolts of cloth hung from the far wall, and half-finished projects were strewn about on the worktables. Half a dozen mannequins were clustered in one corner, like a grove of pale trees. To Elsa’s right, a pair of open doorways led to two cavernous walk-in closets.
“Here we are,” said Porzia. “I had a few items altered to suit you. I think the tailor bot finished only one outfit before all the bots went haywire, but one’s enough for now.”
Tired from even so short a walk, Elsa let herself down on a low settee beside a stand of full-length mirrors. “An assassin infiltrated your mother’s stronghold, and your response is … clothes?”
Porzia busied herself while she talked, clearing off a table and laying out the items for Elsa to see. “Whether you like it or not, the train incident was your debut into mad society. Someone was watching, and we need to be ready to show that particular someone you’re not to be trifled with.”
Elsa gave her a skeptical look. “And new clothes will accomplish this?”
“You already are a powerful madgirl, a polymath with danger in every pocket. Now if only you would consent to dress like one—”
“Wait, what? How do you know that?” Elsa interrupted.
“Oh, please.” Porzia gave her a frank look. “If Leo had been the one who stopped the train, he would’ve been crowing from the rooftops instead of stalking around in a foul mood. Process of deduction, darling. I may have never met a polymath before, but I can still put two and two together.”
“Oh.”
“Now, as I was saying, if you’d dress like a polymath, perhaps you’d project more confidence in your powers. In my experience, your sartorial choices can have as much effect on how you feel about yourself as they do on how others perceive you.”
Elsa shook her head. “The clothes do not make the monk, Porzia.”
At that Porzia fumbled in surprise, dropping a boot on the floor and then quickly retrieving it. “Why did you choose those exact words?”
“What?”
“That phrase is an idiom. Not one you’re likely to have heard in the short time since you learned Italian. So how did you know to say it?”
Elsa shrugged, uncomfortable with the intensity of Porzia’s gaze. “I must have overheard…,” she started to say, realizing even as the words left her mouth that she didn’t know how that phrase had popped into her head.
“You know things you shouldn’t know. You can do things you shouldn’t be able to do. You don’t play by the rules the rest of us follow here in reality,” Porzia quietly said. “They should fear you, not the other way around.”
Elsa remained doubtful that the way she dressed would change anything, but she didn’t want to seem dismissive of Porzia’s efforts. She abandoned the comfort of the settee to stand and let Porzia help her into the new outfit.
First came a cream-colored linen work shirt, loose and comfortable. Over this went a leather bustier, which laced up the back like a corset but lacked the too-rigid boning that Elsa had found so constrictive. The bustier was decked out with brass loops and chains, compartments and pouches, all the attachments she would need to comfortably carry an arsenal of gadgets with her. A gun holster to hang at her right side, with a strap to anchor it to her thigh so it wouldn’t bang about. Molded leather cases for her portal device and her books.
There were yet more pockets in the thick, heather-gray trousers. Trousers! Veldanese women never wore trousers. And even the tall leather boots had secret compartments for stashing tools—or knives, as Leo kept in his, Elsa supposed.
Porzia steered her over to the mirrors, and Elsa inhaled sharply at the sight of her own reflection. She did look different—and feel different—as if she were a distilled version of herself. Her reflection looked like someone who was born for the laboratory.
“We’ll have to decide what to do with your hair,” Porzia said, brushing a few black strands over Elsa’s shoulder. “Something practical, of course, if you’re going to be crawling around inside machines.”
“Why are you being so kind to me?” Elsa asked.
Porzia fussed with Elsa’s sleeves, straightening them. “You don’t have much experience with friends, do you?”
“No, I suppose not.” There had only ever been Revan. Even if he wasn’t dead, he probably thought she’d abandoned Veldana and him with it. Revan alive and hating her was the best scenario Elsa could imagine. She swallowed, her throat tight. “Not much experience.”
“Well,” Porzia said primly, “you ought to get used to it.”
Elsa felt a sudden desire to embrace the other girl. Would Porzia think it improper? She wasn’t well versed in the ways of affection. Just do it, she told herself—she threw her arms around Porzia’s neck, squeezed, and then immediately retreated to a safe distance.
“Thank you,” Elsa said, feeling heat rise in her cheeks, but Porzia didn’t look embarrassed at all.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” said Casa, “but a hansom’s pulling up outside. I believe Signor Trovatelli has returned.”