do this at all!”
“I hesitate to say this, sir,” she said. “But I’m surprised that you aren’t asking me to interfere with the captain’s efforts, and make sure the thief gets away. Then Ofelia would never know.”
He paused. “Gets away? Gets away? Berenice—that key could change everything, everything we know about scriving. There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do to get it. If I’ve got to let Ofelia Dandolo cane me raw, so be it! I just don’t want her tossing me in the campo prison and keeping it for herself! And…” His face slowly twisted into an expression of pure, murderous rage. “And I certainly wouldn’t mind getting ahold of that damned thief—who has humiliated me not once, but twice—and seeing them dismembered right in front of my scrumming nose, either.”
11
asked Clef.
Seated on the edge of a Michiel rooftop, just downwind from the foundries, Sancia tried to shrug, and found she didn’t have the spirit.
said Clef.
Sancia thought about it.
She pointed north.
She sighed.
She laughed lowly.
She yawned, stretched out, and lay down on the flat stone roof.
Clef paused.
Sancia lay on the roof, staring up at the sky. She thought about Sark, about her apartment—which, as barren as it was, now seemed like a paradise to her.
she said.
He thought about it. His voice grew soft, and a singsong cadence crept into it.