Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,140

or snakes, right?>

She kept walking. The end of the tunnel didn’t seem to get any closer. She glanced at the smooth gray walls.

She kept walking. And walking. It felt like she was walking into empty space.

Then Clef spoke up:

She looked behind, and saw no line or seam in the smooth gray stone.

After at least ten more minutes, she finally came to a set of stairs up, though these were winding rather than straight. She climbed and climbed until she came to the top, where they ended at a blank wall.

A vast whispering filled her mind as she got to the passageway at the top. She spied a handle on the side wall. She paused before she pulled it.

Sancia pulled the handle. Again, a perfectly round seam appeared in the stone, and the stone circle rolled aside to let her through. But on the other side was—well, nothing, or so it appeared at first. It looked like she was seeing a sheet of cloth. Then she realized—He hid the door behind some kind of wall hanging—and she shoved it aside and stepped through.

She emerged into a lavish, dark-green stone hallway, tall and ornate with elaborate gold molding running along the top. There were white wooden doors dotting the green stone walls, all perfectly circular with black iron handles in the middle. It was clearly a residential wing of the Mountain, and there was some kind of radiant light at the end of the hallway.

Sancia walked toward it. Then she saw what lay beyond, and gasped.

The Mountain, she realized, was a giant shell. And being inside of it was like being inside a hollowed-out…

Well. Mountain.

She stared at the rings and rings of floors beyond, all gold and green and shimmering, all lined with windows as the people within them lived and worked and toiled. She was four floors above the main level of the space, which was indescribably vast, lit by massive, brilliant floating lanterns carved of glass and crystal. Huge brass columns ran in staggered formations across the marble floor—and some of the columns appeared to be moving, sliding up or down. It took her a moment to realize the columns were actually hollow, and had tiny rooms in them that rose or fell, ferrying people up to dangling stations above. Those must be the lifts Orso mentioned, she thought. Huge banners hung in between the stations, the giant, bright-gold Candiano loggotipo glimmering in the glow of the scrived lights below. All of it formed an endless, circling wall of light and color and movement.

It was like another world, just like Orso had said. And all of it was enabled by…

The side of her head grew bright hot and her eyes watered. She gritted her teeth as the sound of so many scrivings hit her, drilling into her, biting into her mind.

said Clef.

she cried.

said Clef.

The eruption of murmurs warbled, then diminished rapidly, until it was a bearable level—though it did not vanish.

She gasped, relieved.

said Clef.

Sancia rose, took a breath, and started off into the Mountain.

* * *

Gregor carefully navigated through the outer paths of the Candiano campo. He stuck to the edges of the streets, moving through the shadows. It was an odd experience—he’d never really spent much time on other campos before.

He saw the cross-streets Orso had described ahead.