Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,138

“We’ve got time before the barge gets here!”

Sancia slowed and waited. Berenice was walking along the canal, holding out a fishing pole and dragging a small wooden ball through the waters by a string. Sancia could see the capsule drifting along underneath it, but just barely. It seemed to be floating well—which was a relief.

“I want time to make sure that goddamn thing works,” said Sancia. “It’d make an unfashionable coffin.”

“I take offense to that,” said Berenice. “It’s a knock against my craftsmanship.”

“Now is not the time to hurry,” said Gregor, lumbering along behind Berenice. “Carelessness begets many graves.” He was wearing a thick scarf and wide hat, to keep as much of his face hidden as possible.

Finally they came to the fork in the canal, where the delivery route broke off from the main branch. Sancia looked along its length, spying where it passed through the Candiano walls beyond. “The barge should be carrying a delivery of mangos,” said Berenice. “Which is why I brought this.” She held up a small, unripe mango, and turned it over to reveal a small hole in it, and a switch within. “Inside is the anchor that will pull the capsule along.”

“Clever,” said Gregor.

“I hope so. It should be difficult to notice. When the barge passes, I’ll toss it aboard.”

“Good,” said Gregor. He looked around. “I’ll go to the Candiano campo now to set up the anchor for the air-sailing rig.”

“Make sure you’re in range,” said Sancia. “Otherwise I jump off the side of the Mountain and plummet to my death.”

“Orso gave me an exact cross-street for its position,” he said. “It should be in range. Good luck to you both.” Then he skulked off into the night.

Berenice looked over her shoulder at the rosy face of the Michiel clock tower in the distance. “We have about ten minutes. Time to get ready.” She pulled the wooden ball back in, adjusted something on it, and held it out over the sloshing waters like someone trying to entice a crocodile to bite.

The waters at their feet bubbled and churned, and the black metal plating of the capsule slowly surfaced.

“Oh shit,” whispered Sancia. She calmed herself, and knelt down and opened the hatch.

“I’ll help you in,” said Berenice. She held out a hand and steadied Sancia as she awkwardly climbed into the capsule, which suddenly felt terribly small.

“God,” said Sancia. “If I survive this, I’ll…I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

“I don’t know. Do something really fun and stupid.”

“Hm,” said Berenice. “Well. Why don’t we go get a drink, then?”

Sancia, sitting in the capsule, blinked. “Uh. What?”

“A drink. You know—the fluid you put in your mouth, and swallow?”

She stared at Berenice, mouth open, unsure what to say.

Berenice smiled slightly. “I saw you looking at me. When we were moving from Commons to campo and whatnot.”

Sancia shut her mouth, hard. “Uh. Oh.”

“Yes. I thought it’d be wise to maintain professionalism at the time, but”—she looked around at the filthy, reeking canal—“this is not terribly professional.”

“Why?” asked Sancia with genuine surprise.

“Why ask?”

“Yeah. No one’s ever really asked before.”

Berenice struggled for the words. “I…suppose I find you…refreshingly uncontained.”

“Refreshingly uncontained?” said Sancia. She wasn’t at all sure how to take that.

“Let me put it this way,” said Berenice, pinkening. “I am a person who stays inside of a handful of rooms all day. I do not leave those rooms. I do not leave the building, the block, the enclave, the campo. So, to me you are…quite different. And interesting.”

“Because,” said Sancia, “I’m refreshingly uncontained.”

“Ah. Yes.”

“You do know,” said Sancia, “that the only reason I go to all these places is so that I can steal enough to buy food, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you know you seem to usually have enough firepower in your pocket to literally blow down a wall, yeah?”

“True,” she said. “But I never did any such thing until you came along.” She looked up. “I think that’s the barge.”

Sancia lay back into the tiny capsule, pulled out a scrived light, and turned it on. “I’ll think about that drink. If I survive, that is.”

“Do,” said Berenice. Her smile faded. “I’m going to submerge the capsule next, and then plant the anchor. Hold on.”

“All right,” said Sancia. Then she shut the hatch.

* * *

said Clef as she sat alone in the capsule.

She didn’t finish the thought—her belly swooped as the capsule abruptly descended, sinking to the bottom of the canal. “Oh shit!” she whispered. She could hear the water gurgling