Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,87

“Check out a carriage again, and take them to my house. Get them bathed and cleaned up. They can spend the day there. But this is not a permanent fix. Even the inner enclaves aren’t safe.”

15

Berenice checked out a small passenger carriage and drove them north, grumbling a touch about “not being a damned house servant.” Sancia stared out the windows as they drove. She hadn’t really been paying attention before, but now she couldn’t stop staring at the inner Dandolo enclaves.

The strangest thing about them was that almost all of them glowed. The entire enclaves glowed a soft, warm, rosy color that seemed to emanate from the corners of the huge towers, or from the bases, perhaps—it was hard to tell. She suspected that scrived lights had been built into the facades, lights that had been designed to cast indirect luminescence so no beams of light shone into anyone’s windows at night.

There were other wonders, of course. There were floating lanterns, like the ones her client had used to search for her: they floated in flocks above the main fairways like schools of jellyfish. There were also many narrow canals, full of needle-shaped boats with reclining seats. She imagined residents hopping in a boat and being zipped off across the waters to their destination.

It was unreal. To imagine that people lived in muddy alleys mere miles from here, that she herself had lived in a squalid rookery that shared the same rain clouds as this place…She glanced at Berenice and Gregor. Berenice was totally indifferent to it all. Gregor, on the other hand, had a faint scowl on his face.

Finally they came to a tall, gated mansion, the sort of place for a prestigious campo official. It was impossible to imagine Orso Ignacio living here—yet the copper gates silently parted before them.

“The hypatus bound them to respond to my blood,” said Berenice. She didn’t sound too happy about it. “Along with his own, of course. It’s a favorite trick of his. He rarely comes here.”

“Why wouldn’t he come to the goddamn mansion he owns?” asked Sancia.

“He gets the house as a condition of his position—he didn’t go out and buy the place. I don’t think he actually cares about it at all.”

This became apparent when they walked inside: the carpets, tables, and lanterns all bore a faint coating of dust. “Where does he sleep?” asked Sancia.

“In his office,” said Berenice, “I think. I’ve never actually seen him sleep.” She gestured to the stairs. “The bedrooms are upstairs on the fourth floor, as are the bathing facilities. I suggest you both use them if you’re going to be on the campo, in case someone spots you—it would be wise if you looked the part.” She looked at them and wrinkled her nose. “And you don’t, right now.”

Gregor thanked her and Berenice departed. Sancia wandered upstairs to the third floor, where she found an immense set of windowed doors that opened onto the balcony. She opened them, stepped out, and looked.

The Dandolo inner enclaves curled out before her, bright and creamy and pink as a rose. There was a park across the cobblestone fairway, with a hedge maze and bursting flowers. People were walking the paths together. It was a stupefying idea to Sancia—in the Commons, if you were outdoors at night, there was a decent chance you’d die.

“They went a bit overboard, didn’t they,” said Gregor’s voice behind her.

“Eh?” said Sancia.

He stood beside her. “With the lights. The Daulos call us the glow-men, in their language, because we tend to put lights on everything.”

“Something you picked up in the Enlightenment Wars?”

“Yes.” He turned to her, leaning up against the balcony. “Now. Our deal.”

“You want my client,” said Sancia.

“I want your client,” he said. “Very much so. If you can give him to me.”

“In what condition? You want his name, his head, or what?”

“No, no,” said Gregor. “No heads. These are the stakes of our deal—you not only help me find him, but also get the evidence I need to expose him. I don’t want his name, his money, his company, or his blood. I want ramifications. I want consequences.”

“You want justice,” she said, sighing.

“I want justice. Yes.”

“And why do you think I can help you get it?”

“Because you have evaded nearly every effort to kill you or seize you. And you stole from me. You are—and this is not a compliment, mind—a very accomplished sneak. And I suspect we will need someone with your talents if we are