Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,29

spied a table in the back, and approached—slowly.

He could tell which one of them was Antonin right away, because the man’s clothes were clean, his skin unblemished, his thin hair combed neatly back, and he was hugely, hugely fat—a rarity in the Commons. He was also reading a book, something Gregor had never seen anyone do in such a place. Antonin had another guard sitting beside him, this one with two stilettos stuffed in his belt, and the guard tensed as Gregor neared.

Antonin’s brow furrowed slightly and he looked up from his book. He glanced at Gregor’s face, then his belt—which held no weapons—and then his sash. “Waterwatch,” he remarked aloud. “What’s Waterwatch doing in a place where the only waters to watch are wine and piss?” Then he peered closer at Gregor’s face. “Ahh…I know you. It’s Dandolo, isn’t it?”

“You are a knowledgeable man, sir,” said Gregor. He bowed slightly. “I am indeed Captain Gregor Dandolo of the Waterwatch, Mr. Antonin.”

“Mr. Antonin…” he echoed. Antonin laughed, showing off black teeth. “Such a well-mannered gent here among us! I’d have wiped myself better this morn if I’d known you’d deign to bless us with your presence. If I recall, I tried to have you killed once…Didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Ahh. Here to return the favor?”

The thickset guard with the ax wandered over to take up a position behind Gregor.

“No, sir,” said Gregor. “I’ve come to ask you a question.”

“Huh.” His gaze lingered on Gregor’s Waterwatch sash. “I will assume your question has something to do with your waterfront disaster?”

Gregor smiled humorlessly. “It would, sir.”

“Yes. It would.” Antonin gestured to the seat across him with one pudgy finger. “Please. Do me the honor of sitting.”

Gregor bowed lightly and did so.

“Now—why would you come to me to ask about that?” said Antonin. “I gave up the waterfront a long time ago. Thanks to you, of course.” His black eyes glittered.

“Because it was an independent,” said Gregor. “And you know independents.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“They used an improvised sailing rig. They planted a construction scriving on one of the carriages—something used for adhesives and mortars—and this acted as a rudimentary arrangement to power their rig. It was shoddily made, and did not seem to work well.”

“Something no real canal operator would ever use, then.”

“Correct. A real one could get the real thing. So. An independent. And independents tend to live in one place—Foundryside. Or close to it. Which is your domain, unless I’m mistaken.”

“Makes sense. Very clever. But the real question is…why would I help you?” He smiled. “Your Waterwatch experiment seems to have failed. Wouldn’t it be in my interests to make sure it stays that way, and reclaim the waterfront?”

“It has not failed,” said Gregor. “That remains to be seen.”

“I don’t need to see,” said Antonin with a laugh. “So long as the merchant houses run their campos like kings, Tevanne won’t ever have anything resembling a policing system—no matter how excellent you make the Waterwatch. And that will fail too, in time. So, my noble captain, I really just need to wait. And then I’ll find my way back in—won’t I?”

Gregor blinked slowly, but did not react—though Antonin was now needling a sensitive wound of his. He had done a lot of work to build up the Waterwatch, and he did not appreciate hearing it threatened. “I can pay,” he said.

Antonin smirked. “How much?”

“Four hundred and fifty duvots.”

Antonin glanced at his satchel. “Which, I assume, you’ve brought yourself. Because I wouldn’t believe you’d pay if you hadn’t.”

“Yes.”

“So what’s keeping me from putting some steel in your ribs and taking it now?” asked Antonin.

“My last name,” said Gregor.

Antonin sighed. “Ah, yes. Were we to expire the sole progeny of Ofelia Dandolo, I’ve no doubt that all hell would come down on us.”

“Yes.” Gregor tried to swallow his self-disgust. His mother was a direct descendant of the founder of Dandolo Chartered, which made them something akin to royalty in Tevanne—but he thoroughly disdained leveraging his family’s reputation for his own ends. “And I would not give up the money easily. You would have to kill me, Antonin.”

“Yes, yes, the good soldier,” said Antonin. “But not the best strategist.” He smiled wickedly. “You were at the siege of Dantua—weren’t you, Captain?”

Gregor was silent.

“You were,” said Antonin. “I know. They call you the Revenant of Dantua—have you heard that?”

Again, he said nothing.

“And I’m told they called you that,” said Antonin, “because you died there. Or came damn close. They even had a memorial service