Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,106

and shine light in a few places. Then it’ll unlock and open.>

She looked at Berenice. “Keep watch. We can’t get caught doing this.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Use a stolen key,” said Sancia. She approached the door, and, making sure Clef wasn’t visible and that Berenice’s back was turned, she stuck him into the lock.

She’d expected the exchange from before—the bellowing voice, the dozens of questions—but it didn’t come. Rather, the exchange happened so much…faster. It was more like when Clef had picked the mechanical locks, popping the Miranda Brass in the blink of an eye, only she felt a burst of information exchanged between Clef and the door.

He really is getting stronger. The thought filled her with dread.

She pulled the door open. “Come on,” she said to Berenice. “Hurry!”

Inside, they had to change topclothes again—this time into Candiano colors, the black and the emerald. As they dressed, Sancia glanced sideways at Berenice and caught a glimpse of a smooth, pale shoulder dappled with freckles, and tawny, moist hair clinging to her long neck.

Sancia looked away. No, she thought. Stop. Not today.

Berenice pulled on a coat. “Your contacts are good,” she said, “if they were able to get a security key.”

Sancia thought quickly for an excuse. “Something’s up with the Candiano campo,” she said. “They’re mixing up all their security procedures. They even changed over all their sachets. Change makes for a lot of opportunities.” Then she had an idea—because this was all true. “You don’t think that has anything to do with whatever is going on?”

Berenice thought about it, her cool, gray eyes fixed on the Mountain of the Candianos in the distance. “Possibly,” she said.

Once they were changed, they started off into the Candiano campo. And as they walked, Sancia realized something.

She looked at all the houses and streets and shops—these done in a darker shade of moss clay than the rest of the campos she’d seen. And she found none of them familiar.

“I’ve…never worked here before,” she said.

“What?” said Berenice.

“I’ve done jobs on the other campos before,” she said. “Filching this or that. But…never the Candiano campo.”

“You wouldn’t have. You know Company Candiano almost fell apart about ten years ago, right?”

“No. I’ve barely lived here three years, and I’ve mostly been trying to survive, not sharing work gossip.”

“Tribuno Candiano was like a god in this city,” said Berenice, “He was probably the greatest scriver of our era. But then they found out he’d been doctoring the financials, spending fortunes on archaeological digs and supposedly hierophantic artifacts. Then the company came crashing down. They lost a huge amount of talent after that,” said Berenice. “Including the hypatus.”

“You can just call him Orso, you know.”

“Thank you. I am well aware of that. Anyway, nearly everything got bought up by the Ziani family, but not many people stuck around to make sure the ship would still float. That tremendous exodus was a great boon to the other merchant houses, but Company Candiano has never really recovered.”

Sancia looked around. There were a lot fewer lights here, no floating lanterns, and almost no scrived carriages. The only impressive thing in sight was the Mountain of the Candianos, which loomed in the distance like a vast whale parting the seas. “No shit.”

Berenice watched the group of men skulking through the streets of the campo. They seemed to be following the outer wall. “Why aren’t they going deeper in? If this is as secretive as it’s supposed to be—why aren’t they headed straight for the Mountain?”

“You either hide secrets close to your heart,” said Sancia, “or out in the hinterlands. It must be somewhere close, though—otherwise they’d have grabbed a carriage, yes?”

They followed the men along the campo wall. Evening was coming on now, and the mist thickened as the sun withdrew. The pale lights of the Candiano campo were a brittle white—not at all the