As an automaton, I could dissolve that spell.

Was Gutenberg so different from Charles Hubert? Like Hubert, Gutenberg had enslaved his enemies, trapping their spirits within the bodies of his automatons and forcing them to serve him throughout the centuries. Who had Katherine Pfeifferin been? A criminal who deserved imprisonment, or a would-be lover who had spurned Gutenberg and paid the price?

Saving Gutenberg’s life meant restoring him to his position of power over the Porters. It meant allowing him to continue to manipulate the minds and magic of those who broke his rules.

Nobody truly knew Johannes Gutenberg. He had watched over the Porters for so long, and his presence had maintained a degree of peace and stability. But how far would he go to protect the organization? What had he done to maintain his seat as de facto lord of all things magical?

I looked down at the frail, pale figure of the world’s most powerful libriomancer and whispered, “I don’t know.”

A new voice from the doorway said, “Whatever you choose, I suggest you choose quickly.”

Lena reacted before me, snatching up Excalibur and pointing it at the ghostly man standing behind us. The office was dimly lit, and the man’s form was unfocused, but both the voice and the magic emanating from his form identified him as well as a fingerprint.

“Aren’t you forbidden from leaving Spain?”

“Which is why I’ve not left. Physically.” Ponce de Leon chuckled and limped past us, passing through Lena’s sword like a ghost. He leafed idly through the books on the desk. His fingers never touched them, but the pages fluttered open in response to his power. “Charles Hubert is dead?”

“He killed himself,” said Lena.

“Did he, now? I wonder . . .” He clucked his tongue as he studied a copy of Rabid. “Clumsy work on these locks. Like he was trying to reshape the Venus de Milo with a chainsaw.”

He stepped toward Gutenberg. I raised my arm, but he merely chuckled. “I couldn’t hurt him if I wanted to. Not in this form, at any rate.” He reached out to brush spectral fingers through the hair on Gutenberg’s forehead. “Oh, Johannes. You knew this couldn’t last forever.”

“What couldn’t last?” asked Lena.

De Leon ignored the question. “You’re unhappy about the choices Gutenberg has made? You think someone else could do better?”

“You mean someone like you?” Lena asked.

De Leon raised his hands as if warding off an assault. “Chain myself with politics and bureaucracy again? Oh, God, no.” He looked up at me. “Isaac, on the other hand, shows potential. Magic is both art and science, and judging from what he’s done to himself here, he’s got a handle on both. I imagine, with a little work, he could figure out how to control the remaining automatons, and from there it’s a pretty straight road to the top spot.”