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room were set aside –
    – Set aside? the count growled, sitting back in his chair and dabbing at his lips with a white silk napkin. A room
set aside
, the fellow says. Young man, have you any inkling – Has no one, my daughter or some other member of my household, explained to you the workings of this castle?
    – I arrived quite late last night, and as yet no one has explained anything to me. In any case, a printing press must be bolted down to prevent jarring and shaking.
    – Of course, the Count said, blinking. He tilted his head back and gulped down his coffee. Of course. I will have my head carpenter discuss the matter with you later today. I am sure we will be able to arrive at some kind of suitable compromise. In the meantime, my daughter will provide you with a basic plan of the castle, and the latest timetable, to help you navigate.
    – I’ll see to those now, Father, Irena said, rising and nodding to the Abbé and Flood in turn. She glided noiselessly away, her long gown concealing her feet so that she seemed to slide across the floor like one of the castle’s mechanisms. There was something in her carriage, Flood noticed for the first time. An odd stiffness.… He followed her with his eyes until a deep, sonorous
bong
, more a felt vibration than a sound, jolted him back to his former circumspection. He glanced quickly at the Abbé, who was regarding him now with a slightly more corporeal smile. As the reverberations of the sound died away, one of the pier glasses slid upward and a wall, panelled and wainscotted, began to slide outward into the room. At the same moment, another pier glass on the other side of the room also opened and a second wall began sliding towards the first.
    A movement from the Abbé drew Flood’s attention back to the table.
    – I will take my leave as well, Excellency, the Abbé said, rising and brushing at his black cassock.
    – Off to work with you then, my handsome friend, the Count said over his shoulder. You cannot disappoint those fair readers who are no doubt panting in their corsets waiting for your next offering.
    The Abbé bowed slightly and then turned to Flood.
    – I hope we will have more opportunity for conversation.Our nations may be rattling spears at one another, but that is no reason for us to do likewise.
    – Of course not.
    The Abbé nodded, bowed again to the Count, turned smartly on his heel, and walked between the moving walls, which came together behind him with a soft click.
    – Time, the Count said, checking the gold watch that hung on a heavy chain around his neck. Give us time, Mr. Flood. You will come to appreciate what at the moment seems only utter chaos.
    From somewhere unseen a clavier struck a trio of spindly opening chords, and then a lute, a horn, and a high, plaintive voice joined in. Flood, who had never cared for music, found the noise vaguely irritating. Another distraction within a distraction, like everything else in this castle.
    – Now to the heart of the matter, the Count said, rubbing his hands together. One of the possible origins for the name of my people, Mr. Flood, is the word
slovo;
that is, the word
word
. Thus we Slovaks, one might say, are the People of the Word. But what irony that our national literature scarcely exists. The republic of letters has no ambassador from our country. Tell me, can you name an imperishable classic by a Slovak author?
    – Well, I –
    – Exactly. The Abbé asked me the other day to recommend a good Slovak novel, and I had to tell him there were none. Not just
no good
Slovak novels. No novels whatsoever. Almost everything we read, everything we say, everything we think, comes to us in someone else’s language.
    He sat back, fingering his white silk napkin. The ceiling above his head opened and with a groan of gears another wall began ponderously to descend. The Count sprang forwardagain so suddenly that Flood jerked backward before he could stop himself.
    – Did we Slovaks utter the first