Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,130

“Did you know that?”

She blinked, surprised. “W-what?”

“I don’t remember my brother. I remember him dying. But that’s all. Of Father, I have nothing. No memory at all. Both of them are lost to me, since the accident.” He turned back to her. “I want to miss them, but I don’t know how. Because I never really knew them. To me, Mother, they are both just creatures in a painting that hangs outside your office. Noble ghosts I can never quite live up to. But do you grieve them? Does their loss wound you, Mother?”

“Gregor…”

“You lost Domenico and Father,” he said, voice shaking. “And you lost me. I nearly died in Dantua. Would you risk me again? Again? Is that how you think of me? As something so expendable?”

“I did not lose you in Dantua,” she said fiercely. “You survived. As I knew you would, Gregor. As I know you always will.”

“Why? Why this certainty?”

Yet his mother could not answer. It seemed, for the first time, like Gregor had deeply wounded her. And curiously, he felt no regrets.

“I have lived my life in war,” he said to her. “I returned to Tevanne to find civilization. It was not as civilized as I liked, Mother. So I shall focus on amending that, and nothing more.” Then he turned and walked away.

24

On the third day, they finished their preparations, hastily crafting each tool and each design. Orso oversaw their efforts, pacing around the capsule, reviewing the chalkboards and scriving blocks, carefully eyeing every string of sigils. He twitched and groaned and huffed, but though the designs were not up to his standards, he felt they would work.

The stone door creaked open and Gregor strode in. “A fine time to pop in!” snapped Orso. “We’ve had some last-minute changes that have thrown everything into goddamn chaos, and we damned sure could’ve used you!”

“I need to talk to you, Orso,” he said. He pulled him aside.

“What the hell’s the matter, Captain?” asked Orso.

Gregor leaned close. “Did you develop some kind of light-absorbing rig for my mother, Orso?”

“What! How the hell did you know about that?”

Gregor told him about the meeting with his mother. Orso was stunned. “She’s making some…some kind of assassin’s lorica?”

“In essence.”

“But…but, my God, Ofelia Dandolo never struck me as the type at all for plots and coups and revolutions!”

“So you knew nothing of this?” asked Gregor.

“Not a word.”

Gregor nodded, his face grave. “It’s nothing I can do much about right now. I’m not even sure what to do, frankly. But it makes me wonder…”

“Wonder what?”

“If her house hypatus had no idea this was happening—what other secrets is she keeping?”

“What’s that?” asked Sancia loudly. She pointed at a rig on the far table.

Orso looked over his shoulder. “Oh, that. We’ll get to that in a minute.”

“It looks like an air-sailing rig,” said Sancia.

“We’ll get to that.”

“And you haven’t mentioned an air-sailing rig yet.”

“I said we’ll get to that!”

They applied the last few finishing touches. Then they regrouped around the map and Orso reviewed the plan, step by step.

“First, we bring the capsule to this part of the Commons,” he said. He pointed at a stretch of canal on the map. “The delivery canal passes through there. Sancia will enter the capsule, it will submerge, and as the barge passes through, Berenice will plant the marker. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” said Berenice.

“The barge then pulls Sancia”—he traced the canal with a finger—“right up to the Mountain’s dock. It’s a big dock, and well guarded—which is why the marker will put a hundred feet between the capsule and the barge. That should give Sancia enough distance to safely surface and slip out without anyone noticing. Yes?”

Sancia said nothing.

“Sancia then goes to here.” He pointed at a spot outside the Mountain. “The sculpture gardens. That’s where Tribuno’s secret entrance is hidden. It’s apparently been cleverly concealed underneath a small white stone bridge—it’s literally invisible unless you have this.” He pointed at a small, bronze box on the table. The smooth metal was covered in condensation. “It’s a cooling casket—and inside is a vial of Tribuno’s blood. Procured by his daughter.”

Everyone stared at the bronze box. Gregor wrinkled his nose.

“The secret entrance will react to Tribuno’s blood, and open up for Sancia,” said Orso. “She then enters, goes through the passageway—and then she’ll be in the Mountain.”

Sancia cleared her throat and said, “Where in the Mountain, exactly?”

“On the fourth floor,” said Orso.

“Where on the fourth floor?”

“That I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“No. But you’ll need to get