Salamander by Thomas Wharton Page A

passed between the two of them the moment Irena looked into his eyes and he guessed that she herself had stopped the castle clock. He would draw near the flame.
    Setting aside the book of mirrors, he began work on a small octavo volume, the text an old sermon taken from his stock of waste sheets. The sectarian preacher in London who’d commissioned the work had fled the country, and so Flood had been forced to break up what he had already set in type and find another use for the already printed pages.
    He inked the formes in a kind of delirium, laughing and humming to himself. He prayed the Count would not appear unannounced and see the idiot grin on his face. As he stitched the signatures together his hands shook.
    When the secret book was printed and bound, the word
Desire
gold-tooled on its spine, he tucked it away with the seventeen-volume
Libraria Technicum
. In order to make his interloper fit on the shelf, he had to remove the seventh volume,
Helix-Longitude
, which he tucked away in the concealed compartment of his type-cabinet, the place he always kept dangerous manuscripts.

    In the morning the requested cases of new type arrived from Venice, along with a tarnished spoon, and a letter.
    I’ve already been to the Count’s giant orrery. The only reason I might be tempted to return would be to see the Countess again
.
However, I will simply ask you to give her my good wishes
.
    I trust the cases of type are as ordered. The other enclosed item is my response to your comments about infinity. My father always used to say
, The spoon tastes not the broth.
    Regards,
S. Kirshner

    She stood beside him, her hands cupped together, waiting until he swam up out of his thoughts and became aware of her.
    – I didn’t hear you, he said, rising from his chair.
    – I know, she said, nodding to the lines and angles he had been drawing. You were in the land of geometry. I found something down in the cellars. Something I think you’ll like.
    She lowered her hands to the desk and opened them. On her palm sat a small, shiny creature, like a frog but with a tail. Its S-shaped body a glossy black speckled with bright yellow spots. He realized he had never seen a real, living salamander.
    – She’s a beauty, he said. Or
is
it a she?
    – I’m not sure. We have Linnaeus’
Systema Naturae
, but it wasn’t much help.
    – Oh, yes. The Swede who’s invented categories for all living things.
    Irena nodded, her eyes brightening with amusement.
    – He suggests animals be classified on the basis of whether or not they have breasts.
    In the silence that followed they both examined the creature intently.
    – She led me a merry chase though, Irena finally said, stroking the salamander’s back. They live among the steam engines and the gears, where the dungeons used to be.
    – It’s not moving, Flood said. Is it … ?
    He extended a tentative finger. Before he could touch it the salamander writhed out of Irena’s palm onto the desk and disappeared into a surf of loose paper.
    – Where did it … ?
    – There –
    – Got you!
    Flood’s hand rose with a flourish. Between his thumb and forefinger was a short stub of yellow-and-black tail. He grimaced.
    – I’ve dismembered the poor thing.
    Irena shook her head.
    – She’ll grow herself a new tail. If you’d pulled off her leg she could grow that back, too.
    – Not even the mythical salamander can do that.
    – I read about it, in Pliny.
    She closed her eyes.
    –
An … insectivorous batrachian, that springs from some unknown Source, appearing during great Rains, or, according to ancient Authorities, arising from the Midst of the most ardent Flames. When seiz’d by their Enemies, these Creatures elude Capture by leaving a Leg or a Part of their Tail behind, the Missing Extremity soon replaced by the growth of another –
    She broke off as the salamander emerged. Flood gently scooped the creature up and returned it to Irena’s hands.
    – I should take her back where I