1 Soul Bound
1.3 Making a Splash
1.3.2 An Allotropic Realignment
1.3.2.14 Laying it on thick
Bulgaria needed her to put on an act? She felt like grinning, but kept control of her face. This... this was going to be fun.
Kafana: {Sys, stop hiding my titles and activate Aura of Power. Let’s see if I can level up bargaining and my other rulership skills.}
Kafana: “Bulgaria the Great is more than just a playwright you know. He is also a Questing Spirit. I imagine that the press which prints the first ever book from beyond Covob will go down in history.”
Bungo: “Just for its uniqueness, every library and collector will want a copy. I know I’d want one, even if it were just filled with numbers. It will spawn debate in fashionable salons, from Lavarre to Kyiv.”
Bulgaria: “I wouldn’t go that far, but it is true that both Lady Pia Trinci and the doyenne of Salon Signora have mentioned the play kindly in their correspondence.”
She was vaguely aware of a *ding* from the reputation system, but something told her that this wasn’t yet the time to press for a decision. Her aura guiding her, finding the sweet spot that would resonate? Ok, give Manutius time to think; time to understand her better and perhaps to help her out.
Kafana: “But what would I know? You are the expert, and it is the Aldine’s reputation at stake. While I’m here, though, I would love to know more about the Aldine Press. What does it stand for? What is it like? If it wouldn’t be too much bother, I’ve never seen inside one before, and I’m curious.”
Manutius: “Suor Kafana the Martyred Bard? Twice-Born Guardian of all Deities and Saviour of Basso?”
She sounded like she was having trouble believing the instinctive prompts the system was feeding her, as though she suspected a fraud. Kafana just gave a nod and felt her aura intensify, as she willed the woman to believe. It wasn’t a fair contest.
Manutius: “I…” *hrumph* “I suppose I can spare you a bell. This way.”
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A decorative bronze coin was carefully fastened to the lintel above the entrance, and she paused a moment to admire the artist who’d almost brought to life the image of a curious dolphin nosing around an anchor that intruded upon his domain. Manutius noticed her looking.
Manutius: “My late husband always swore it was lucky. The inscription says ‘make haste slowly’, and he adopted it as his motto.”
Tomsk was nodding approvingly.
Tomsk: “What did that mean to him?”
Kafana looked around the room. She recognised Master Cardano as the man who’d played board games with Bungo during their trip to the Arsenal district. He was sitting on a wooden stool in front of a tilted table that held a hand-written parchment next to a square galley tray which he had covered with a grille, similar to the laths with oval perforations she’d seen earlier at the foundry. Below the table was a large rotating turntable, like a lazy susan except that instead of placing bowls of different appetisers conveniently at finger height, it delivered trays of metal pegs, each tray labelled by case and font.
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Not that Cardano needed labels. The pegs were shaped to fit on the lines of the galley, and each bore a letter or number; the trays themselves contained tall rectangular compartments for each vowel, and much shorter ones for most consonants. His thin long-fingered hands were flicking from tray to galley with such practiced dexterity that his eyes never looked down, but instead switched between parchment and galley with the regularity of a metronome. Wellington went over to stand quietly behind him, watching as if hypnotised.
Manutius: “If you rush an author or a type-setter, the resulting errors cost you more time than you saved. When deadlines approached, people would try to pressure him into demanding his employees work longer hours. They’d say he should expand his business by accepting more books of lower quality. His answer would always be the same. The way to go faster, he’d say, wasn’t working harder but working better - invest in quality, in doing more with what you already have.”
Tomsk: “It sounds like he was a good man to work for.”
Manutius: “One of the best. He really cared about people. About books too. He loved ideas and loved sharing them. Nothing made him happier than finding the right book for a customer and seeing their eyes light up as they turned the pages. I think he’d have given them away for free if he could have. He invented a new smaller book format, just so he could sell books cheaper and get them into the hands of children.”
Kafana: “I wish I could have met him. Which of the books he printed, was he most proud of?”
A smile crept over Manutius’ face.
Manutius: “The Strife of Love in a Dream. It worked on so many levels. If you took it at face value, it was a story about a man in a dream who searched for his lover. The writer used a pseudonym to protect their anonymity, but many speculated that the pseudonym picked was an encoding of their real name, so the writer could later prove their authorship if they wanted to. Guessing who the author was, and who they’d been unfaithful to, became quite a popular mystery.”
Kafana: “But it was more than that?”
Manutius: “You know many ancient Hellenic tales had legendary figures being actual children and descendants of the deities themselves?”
Only Bulgaria nodded, so the widow explained further.
Manutius: “Oh yes. Saga, the first to write down the story of creation, was thought of as being the daughter of Wayland the Crafter and Luluwa the embodiment of News. Luluwa herself was the daughter of the prime deity Lun, seduced by sly Hermes who sprang fully grown from a scytale shaft being used to send messages backwards and forwards between Lun and Rac as they argued.”
She saw the rest of them comprehend, and continued.
Manutius: “So Strife was also a work of allegory, full of wordplay and double meanings, referencing those ancient tales. At that level it wasn’t just about romantic love between one man and one woman. It was about a greater fraternal love, calling for peace and tolerance between all peoples. The style of writing was very popular at the time, and spread like wildfire in Mezelay where ‘courtly love’ was still fashionable.”
Bulgaria: “You originally said ‘many’ levels. Was there a third layer?”
Manutius: “There was indeed. He’s dead now, safe from any retaliation, so I break no confidences in telling you that the author was no lovelorn loon. His true name was Fra Colonna, and he became a respected priest in Torello’s sanctuary, after having been exiled from Mezelay by the Hierophant for preaching a Bembist interpretation of Cov’s teachings. Concealed in the illustrations and made up languages were messages aimed at Bembists, but presented in a way that was deniable and hard to ban. My husband called it his little victory over the censorious.”
Bulgaria: “Your husband understood the author’s intentions and worked to enhance them.”
Manutius: “He put his heart and soul into the project. And, in doing so, he discovered that levelling up in the profession of Printer depends not just upon the number of books you print and the profits you make - they have to be books worthy of your level, demonstrating how skilled you are at what you do. He was, without a doubt, the greatest printer to ever grace Torello’s sunny shores. He made a thing of mystery into a thing of beauty.”