Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,160

asked desperately.

said the shackles.

“Is she dead?” asked Tomas’s voice.

“She’s breathing,” said Enrico.

“And is this kind of thing just, like, regular when you’re a scrived person?”

“Ah…as I have only had about ten minutes of engagement with a scrived human, sir, it would be difficult to say.”

She heard Tomas grow close. “Well. If she’s passed out…maybe she’s done us a favor. Maybe now’s the time to rip that damned plate out of her skull without her causing a fuss.”

asked Sancia, panicking.

said the shackles, as if bemused by the question.

asked Sancia.

said the shackles.

“Sir…I am not sure if rash action is wise,” said Enrico’s voice.

“Why not? If Orso’s thug makes it out of here with the key, then we need to be getting pretty goddamn rash!”

“We’ve barely questioned her, sir. She is the only person in Tevanne to have ever touched the key. That makes her a resource in itself!”

“That plate in her head might make the key irrelevant,” said Tomas. “Or at least that’s what you said.”

“The operative word being might,” Enrico said. An unsettling pleading tone entered his words. “And we also don’t know how to extract the plate! Proceeding without caution might damage the thing we’re trying to salvage!”

Sancia, who still hadn’t moved an inch, wondered what else to ask the shackles. But then she saw something.

A handful of scrivings had just come into view. New ones, and they were bright—because they were powerful, she saw. Incredibly powerful.

And they were moving.

She cracked her eye just a bit, and saw that the scrivings were on the other side of the wall, approaching the door.

Someone was coming. Quietly and slowly, someone was coming. And they had a lot of potent toys at their disposal.

Uh-oh, thought Sancia.

“You goddamn scrivers!” snarled Tomas. “Don’t you see that you are no longer men of action? I swear to God, are your crotches as smooth as a riverbank? Did your candles wither and fall off while you peered at your sigils?”

The handful of bright scrivings grew closer to the door.

“I recognize, sir, that you are attempting to salvage this project,” said Enrico. His voice was quaking. “But…but surely you must see that she is valuable?”

“The thing I see,” said Tomas, “is that she is a worthless, grubby Foundryside whore. And she and her master, Orso Ignacio, have frustrated me at every turn! Almost as much as you pinheaded, so-called experts have frustrated me! So now, Enrico—and I suggest you take this into suggestion regarding your own well-being—the only thing I want to see tonight, is to see someone die!”

The shining scrivings were at the door now. She watched as the handle began to turn.

I suddenly think, thought Sancia, that Tomas is going to get his wish soon.

The door fell open with a creak. All the men froze and turned. One guard whirled and pulled out a dagger—but then he paused as a woman walked into the room.

Tomas stared at her. “Estelle?”

32

Sancia cracked an eye to get a better a look. The woman stared around, eyes dull, her mouth open. Her facepaint had been smearily applied, and parts of her elaborate hairstyle had come unraveled. She took a breath, and slurred out the words, “T-Tomas…my darling! What’s going on? What’s…what’s happened to you?”

“Estelle?” said Tomas. “What the hell are you doing here?” His tone was not that of a husband greeting his wife, but rather a boy speaking to an older sister who was disrupting his slumber party.

Estelle Ziani? Sancia thought. Is that…Is that Orso’s old girlfriend, the one who gave us her father’s blood?

“I…I heard of some dis”—she hiccupped—“some disruption at the campo gates…All the walls are shut down?”

She didn’t talk at all like Sancia had expected—not like an educated, noble, wealthy woman, and a brilliant scriver at that, as Orso had described her. Her voice was oddly…breathy. High-pitched. She was talking, Sancia thought, like how a rich man would expect his dumb wife to talk.

“Dear God,” said Tomas. “You’re drunk? Again?”

“Uh, Founder,” said Enrico nervously. He glanced at Sancia. “Now might not be the time…”

Estelle looked at Enrico, swaying slightly, as if she hadn’t noticed him before. To the average eye, she would have appeared to simply be a drunk founder woman. Yet Sancia no longer possessed an average eye—and she could see incredibly