Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,196

decide how it will be repaid in full. For now—tread carefully, little bird. An old monster has been hiding in your city. And tonight, you have made an enemy of him. He will not forgive you for this. So, as I said—tread carefully.”

There was a tremble in the air. The clicking rose to a shriek—and went silent. The shadow vanished, and then…

* * *

Sancia collapsed onto the ground, groaning. She lay there for a moment—her body ached in countless places—then she shook herself and looked around.

Valeria was gone. The box stood open, yet it seemed to hold nothing anymore.

Did that really happen? Or did I imagine it?

Then Sancia saw Estelle and Tribuno. Tribuno was clearly dead. Estelle was still gripping the dagger.

“What…what happened?” Estelle said faintly. “Why isn’t it working anymore?”

Sancia looked at the dagger. It wasn’t gold anymore—now it seemed to be common iron, and it bore no sigils at all.

“Why aren’t I immortal?” said Estelle. “Why…why aren’t I a hierophant?”

There was a soft pattering as Estelle’s blood fell to the floor. Then she lost her strength and sank down the side of the bed, pawing uselessly at its legs.

Sancia walked over and looked down on her.

“It’s not fair,” whispered Estelle. She was as pale as white sands. “I…I was going to live forever…I was going to do such amazing things…” She blinked and swallowed. “I did everything right. I did everything right.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Sancia. “Look at yourself. How could you think such a thing?”

Estelle’s eyes searched the skies, panicked. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all.”

Then she was still.

Sancia looked at her for a moment longer. Then she turned to Gregor.

He lay there, trapped in his lorica, staring at her with blank, sad eyes, and blood pooling at his side. She walked to him and said, “Come on. Let’s get you out of that thing.” She cut away the ties, and saw Estelle had seriously injured his arm. She made a crude wrapping to tie it off and helped him sit up. “There. There we go. Can you talk?”

He didn’t move, or speak.

“We need to get the hell out of here, Gregor. Now. Okay?” She glanced around, and grabbed the imperiat. Then she paused and looked at the box.

Clef was still sticking out of the lock. She slowly walked over to him, hesitated, and reached out and plucked him out.

she asked.

Nothing. Just silence, as she’d expected. The key just sat there in her hand.

“I’ll…I’ll find a way to fix you,” she said, sniffing and rubbing her eyes. “I promise. I…” Beleaguered, she looked out on the city. She could see a lot of the Candiano campo from there, and it looked like Dandolo troops were pouring through the gates.

She walked back over to Gregor. “Come on. Get up. It’s time for us to go.”

* * *

“Did it work?” said Berenice. “Is it over?”

Orso peered through the spyglass at the broken dome of the Mountain. “I can’t see shit! How am I supposed to know?”

“Ah—sir? You will want to look behind us.”

Orso lowered the spyglass and looked back into the Commons. Armored soldiers were pouring through the streets, bearing swords and espringals. They were all wearing yellow and white—Dandolo colors.

“Should we feel…good about this?” asked Berenice.

Orso looked at their faces. They looked grim and hard, the expressions of men who have been given permission to do ghastly things. “No,” he said. “No, we should not. You get going, Berenice.”

“What?” she said, startled.

“Sneak off somewhere. Down that road, or that one.” He pointed. “I’ll hold them up. I think they’re here for me, anyways. Get back to the crypt if you can. I’ll try and find you.”

“But sir…”

“Now,” he snapped.

She backed away, watching him for a moment, then turned and ran down a side road into the Commons.

Orso took a breath, puffed himself up, and marched toward the soldiers. “Evening, boys! How are you doing tonight? Uh, I am Orso Ignacio, and I—”

“Orso Ignacio!” shouted one of the soldiers. “Hypatus of Dandolo Chartered! You are hereby ordered to raise your hands and place your body and self upon the ground!”

“Yep,” said Orso. “Yep. Got it.” He lay down on the ground and sighed. “God. What a night.”

IV

FOUNDRYSIDE

Any given innovation that empowers the individual will inevitably come to empower the powerful much, much more.

—TRIBUNO CANDIANO, LETTER TO THE COMPANY CANDIANO CHIEF OFFICERS’ ASSEMBLY

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“The nature of the case is quite clear,” said Ofelia Dandolo, her harsh,