Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,149

carvings—along with a huge rusty, cracked old metal box that looked, she thought, like the test lexicon back in Orso’s workshop.

Sancia tried to look harder at the items on the table, but since she didn’t have control over her own eyes she got no more than a fleeting glance. Still, she managed to think—This is Tribuno’s collection, isn’t it? The trove of Occidental treasures that Ziani mentioned…

Then she saw what waited in the middle of the room. And though she couldn’t move, the urge to scream flooded her mind.

It was an operating table, complete with restraints for the patient’s wrists and ankles.

Tomas Ziani did something to the imperiat, and she stopped moving. Then she watched in horror as two Candiano guards picked her up, laid her flat on the table, and strapped her in.

No, no, no, she thought, panicked. Anything but that…

They did something to her restraints, turning a small, metal key on the sides. A whispering and chattering filled her ears.

They’re scrived, she thought. The restraints are scrived.

The guards departed.

I’m not getting out of here, am I?

Tomas walked to stand over her, still holding the imperiat. “Now, let’s see,” he muttered. “If what Enrico said is correct, this should…” He adjusted something on it.

Sancia felt her will return—her body was her own again.

She flew forward and snapped her teeth, trying her hardest to take a bite out of Tomas. She nearly did, but he stumbled backward, surprised. “Son of a bitch!” he cried.

Sancia snarled at him, bucking and arching her back and heaving at her restraints—but since they were augmented, they didn’t budge an inch.

“Filthy little…” growled Tomas. He made a move to strike her, but when she didn’t flinch, he backed down, probably concerned she might try to bite his hand.

“You want us to put her down?” said a guard.

“Did I say anything to you?” said Tomas.

The guard looked away. Tomas walked around to the edge of the table and turned a crank. The scrived restraints on her wrists and ankles slowly slid out along the surface of the table, stretching her out until she was spread-eagle, unable to move. Then he walked back around, raised a fist high, and slammed it down on Sancia’s stomach, driving the air out of her.

Sancia flexed and coughed, gasping for breath. “There,” he said savagely. “That’s how it is, yes? You do as I say, or else I get to do what I want. See?”

She blinked tears from her eyes and glared at him. His gaze had a sadistic gleam to it.

“I’m going to ask you some questions now,” he said.

“Why did you kill Sark?” Sancia gasped.

“I said I’d ask the questions.”

“He wasn’t anything to you. He had no one to betray you to. He didn’t even know who you were.”

“Shut up,” snapped Tomas.

“What did you do with his body?”

“God, you’re mouthy.” He sighed. He turned a wheel on the imperiat, and, as if she were descending into cold seawater, her will abandoned her again.

“There,” said Tomas. “I rather like this. I wish more people had them. I could just turn them on or off as I pleased…”

Sancia lay limp and still on the operating table. Trapped in her body yet again, she silently screamed and raved—until she noticed that her head happened to be facing the far wall of the room, where the table with all the Occidental treasures lay.

It was hard to look without having any control over her eyes, but she did her best. She couldn’t tell much from the materials there—lots of papers, lots of books—but the lexicon-like box at the end of the table…that was interesting. It wasn’t exactly a lexicon—it wasn’t a hundred feet long and broiling hot, for one thing—but it did have what looked like an array of scrived discs running along its top, though the discs were horribly old and corroded.

Really, most of the box was falling apart, with one notable exception: there was a seam running around the middle of the box, and set in the seam in the front was a large, complicated, golden contraption with a slot in its center…

I know a lock when I see one, thought Sancia, looking at the gold device. And that’s a serious one. Someone didn’t want anyone getting into that thing—whatever it is.

Which, of course, made her wonder—what was inside? What could be so valuable that the Occidentals had made a device solely for locking it away?

And now that she thought about it—why did it look somewhat familiar?

Then she felt his