Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,121

dogs, but there were some parts of the Gulf that even they weren’t desperate or stupid enough to inhabit.

Yet, to her concern, Claudia and Giovanni were leading them to exactly one such spot.

said Clef’s voice suddenly in her ear,

Sancia was so surprised she almost leapt into the air.

There was a silence.

Her skin crawled.

said Clef quietly.

She tried to keep the fear out of her face as she listened to this.

“There it is!” said Giovanni, trotting along the west side of the slanted stone walls. He pointed ahead, and though it was now night, they could see he was pointing to a large, dripping tunnel, blocked off with thick, crisscrossing iron bars.

“That is a storm drain,” said Gregor.

“True,” said Gio. “What marvelous eyes, you have, Captain.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Gregor, “but the problem with working out of a storm drain is that, when there is a storm, it tends to fill with water—which I, personally, cannot breathe.”

“Did I say we were going to be working in a storm drain?” said Gio. He led them down a molded stone path to the storm drain and took out a small, thin, scrived strip of iron. He examined the bars, tapped the strip to one section, and then gave the bars a tug. The bottom quarter of the bars swung open, like the gate of a garden fence.

“Clever,” said Orso, peering at the hinges. “It’s a weak door, and a weak lock—but you don’t need it to be strong if no one knows it’s there.”

“Exactly.” Gio bowed and extended an arm. “After you, good sir. Mind the sewage.”

They entered the massive drain. “I have to admit, I’m getting pretty goddamn tired of pipes,” said Sancia.

“Seconded,” said Berenice.

“We won’t be here for long,” said Claudia. She and Giovanni produced a handful of scrived lights, slashing rosy hues across the rippled walls. They walked down the tunnel about three hundred feet or so. Then the two Scrappers started peering around them.

“Oh, goodness,” said Claudia. “I haven’t been here in ages…Where is it?”

Giovanni slapped his forehead. “Damn! I’m being stupid, I forgot. Just a second.” He pulled out a small, scrived bead of metal, and seemed to twist it, like it was two rotating halves. Then he held it up and let go. The bead zipped over to one wall like it had been ripped along by a string. “There!” said Gio.

“That’s right,” said Claudia. “I forgot you’d installed a flag.” She walked over to the bead—which was now stuck to the wall—and held up a light. Right below the bead was a tiny slot that was practically invisible if you didn’t know to look for it. Gio took back out the scrived iron strip he’d used on the drainage bars and stuck it into the slot.

There was the sound of stone groaning on stone. Gio shoved at the wall with his shoulder, and suddenly a large segment pivoted inward, swinging like a large, circular stone door. “Here we are!”

Sancia and the rest all peered into the rounded door. Inside was a long, tall, narrow passageway, with ornately wrought walls that were lined with what appeared to be some kind of cubbyholes, most of which were empty—but not all. In some of the cubbyholes, Sancia spied urns and…

“Skulls,” she said aloud. “A…Uh, a crypt?”

“Precisely,” said Giovanni.

“What in the hell is a crypt doing in the Gulf?” asked Orso.

“Apparently there had been quite a few minor estates here before the merchant houses made the Gulf,” said Claudia, walking inside. “The houses