Salamander Read Online Free PDF Page B

disoriented and still dazed with sleep. As he turned at the sound of his bed trundling slowly back down the way it had come, a wheeled tray laden with dishes rolled up beside him. Numbly he took a platter heaped with pig trotters, spiced eggs, and an assortment of braided, looped, and knotted pastries. The tray clattered out again.
    Flood glanced cautiously at the Count, intent upon the pastry roll he was buttering. Conscious of the fact that he had not yet washed or shaved, the printer could not bring himself to look directly at Irena. Out of the corner of his eye he took in her primrose-coloured morning gown, the lace cuffs embroidered with tiny silver violets, her quilted white satin petticoat that flashed in the light as she reached across the table to pour her father some coffee. Catching sight of his dishevelled hair in the polished silver coffeepot, he thanked Providence that at least he was in clean clothes. Mumbling a quick grace over his food, he picked up a knife and fork and began to push things around on his plate, still too overwhelmed to dare plunging a utensil into anything.
    He was so dazed he almost did not hear the Count asking him the same question Irena had asked the night before. He stammered a polite reply.
    – And what did you think of my ship?
    – It took some getting used to, Excellency.
    – Did it? I confess that answer surprises me, coming from someone like yourself.
    – It does?
    –
Light am I
, the Count intoned,
yet strong enough to carry a man away. Small am I, yet within me multitudes sleep, waiting to be awakened. Silent am I, yet my words cross great distances and never falter
.
    – A book, Flood said after a moment’s thought.
    – Not long ago, the Count said, brushing at the flakes of pastry lodged in his moustache, I purchased a library from a retired colonel in Boston. One of its volumes was a book of yours.
    Another panel in the ceiling opened and a servant in red livery appeared on a descending platform, vigorously brushinga pair of knee-length riding boots. He caught Flood’s eye and, with a lopsided grin that spoke of resignation in the face of madness, disappeared through a trapdoor in the floor.
    The Count dug in a pocket of his dressing gown and pulled out the
Conjectural Treatise on Political Economy
.
    – I’m sure you recognize this.
    Flood nodded.
    – One of my first commissions. For a philosophical society in Dublin.
    – Well, somehow or other it found its way to New England. I would be willing to wager that your so-called philosophical society is in reality a revolutionary cabal. With chapters on both sides of the Atlantic.
    – I would know nothing about that, Flood said. I print what I am asked to print. What people do with the books after they leave my shop is their own business.
    He quickly bit into a bread roll, alarmed at the resentment that had slid into his voice.
    – Of course, the Count said. What goes on in your nation’s disgruntled colonies concerns me very little as well. To tell you the truth, I was surprised to learn that there are such things as libraries in the American wilderness. I had always thought it inhabited only by painted savages and woodsmen.
    While he was speaking, the Count had been removing each nested volume, until the innermost book sat in his palm.
    –
The great do devour the little
. Ingenious.
    – Excellency, I am –
    – Indeed you are, Mr. Flood. A clever man. My daughter will tell you of my delight when I first saw this.
    Flood raised his eyes to Irena.
    – We were both very impressed, Father.
    – And now, said the Count, at last – he closed his hand slowly around the tiny book – you are here. And I will tell you why. I am building a library like no other. A library of one-of-a-kind volumes, oddities, editions consisting of a single, unique copy. But there is yet, in spite of all my efforts, one book that has always eluded me. Rather than continue to search in vain, however, I’ve decided to have it printed for