Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,45

now an entire criminal organization that wanted him dead, and this Sark would surely soon catch word that Gregor was looking for him, and go to ground.

The one night I have business in the Commons, he thought to himself, is, of course, the one night the entire place falls apart.

He checked to make sure Whip was working. His weapon seemed to be all in order—he had no idea what that odd bit of business had been about back there. Grimacing, he walked inside the Selvo and found a few residents anxiously wandering the halls, wondering what the crash was.

Sark’s door was easy to find—it was the one with eight locks on it. He listened for a bit but heard nothing inside. He walked down the rooms on Sark’s side of the building and quietly tried all the doorknobs. One was open on the very far end. The room within was empty—for sale or abandoned, he supposed.

Gregor stumbled through the dark room. He fumbled with the door on the far end and walked out onto the balcony that dangled on the side of the building. Then he looked down the face of the building at all the balconies, all lined up close together.

An idea occurred to him. I must try my hardest, he thought, straddling the baluster, not to look down.

With slow, careful movements, Gregor Dandolo vaulted from balcony to balcony toward Sark’s rooms. There wasn’t much of a gap between the balconies, only about three feet or so, so his primary concern was that the balconies might not be able to support his weight. But despite a few creaks and cracks, they held.

Finally he came to Sark’s rooms. The door leading in was locked, but this lock was far weaker than the ones in the front door. He wedged the bottom of Whip’s handle into the crack and tugged at it. The lock popped free easily.

He was about to go in when he paused…He thought for just one moment, just a split second, that he’d seen someone on the rooftop across the alley. But now that he looked there didn’t seem to be anyone. He grunted and slipped inside.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Gregor took out a match, struck it, and lit a candle.

Now. What’s to find here?

What he found made his heart sink: this Sark had at least ten safes, all of them lined up along the walls, all of them locked and, to Gregor, impenetrable.

He sighed. If there is evidence in there, he thought, I can’t get to it. So I must find any evidence outside of the safes, then.

He searched the rooms. The space looked like something adapted for an invalid: lots of canes, lots of handles, lots of low seats. He also found Sark had little in the way of crockery and cutlery and pans. He apparently did not make his own food much at all, which was not terribly unusual. Few Commoners could afford all the materials that went into the preparation of food.

Gregor was about to move past the cooking stove and into the living room when he paused.

“If he doesn’t have plates or spoons,” he said aloud, looking down, “and if he doesn’t eat at home…then why does he have a stove?”

Certainly not for heat—Tevanne had no shortage of that: the city’s two seasons were hot and wet, or unbelievably hot and unbelievably wet.

Gregor squatted before the stove. There was no wood ash inside—which was odd.

Grunting, Gregor reached down and felt the back of the stove, until he found a small switch.

He turned it, and the back of the stove popped open. “Oho,” said Gregor. Inside were four small shelves, and on those shelves were many precious items.

He looked at the safes around him. These are just a distraction, aren’t they? Make any interlopers focus on them, while the real safe sits hidden right in front of you…He suddenly thought this Sark a very clever man.

There was a small bag on the top shelf, and he opened it and carefully looked through it. “My goodness,” he murmured.

Inside were four thousand duvots—paper duvots, no less—and multiple documents, almost certainly forged, that would allow the holder to secure quick passage on any number of ships. One of them even granted the bearer the powers of a minor ambassador from Dandolo Chartered—and even though Gregor had little to do with his family’s house, he couldn’t help but feel insulted by that.

He looked through the rest of the bag, and found