“I’ve no idea.” The man’s face—which had previously been riddled with contempt, impatience, and suspicion—was now perfectly bereft of almost all emotion. “You think I commissioned the theft, Captain?”
“I think little so far, because I know little so far, sir. You could have been the person who was robbed.”
Orso smirked. “You think someone stole scriving definitions from me?”
A diversion. But Gregor was willing to be diverted for a bit. “Well…they are the most valuable thing in Tevanne, usually. And they can be quite small, sir.”
“They can be. That’s true.” Orso stood, walked over to a shelf, pulled out three huge tomes, each about seven inches thick, and walked back over to Gregor. “Do you see these, Captain?”
“I do.”
Orso dropped one on the ground, and it made a large thud. “That is the opening definition for reducing a lexicon.” Then the second—which also made a huge thud. “This is a continuation of that definition.” He dropped the third. “And that is the closing definition for reducing a lexicon. Do you know how I know that?”
“I…”
“Because I wrote them, Captain. I wrote every sigil and every string in those big goddamn books.” He stepped closer. “A scriving definition might have fit in a small box. But not one of mine.”
It was a good performance. Gregor was almost impressed. “I see, sir. And nothing else was stolen from you?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Well, then. I suppose the fence made the note concerning you by accident, perhaps.”
“Or you misread it,” said Orso.
Gregor nodded. “Or that. We shall find out soon, I believe.”
“Soon? Why?”
“Well…I think I am close to catching the thief. And unless my instincts are incorrect, I think that their arrangements to sell what was stolen have gone quite wrong. Which means they might still have what was stolen. So we might soon find it, and get to the bottom of all this.” He smiled broadly at Orso. “Which I’m sure we all find reassuring.”
Orso was perfectly frozen now—the man was barely breathing. Then he said, “Yes. We certainly do, I’m sure.”
“Yes.” Gregor looked at the grand machine behind him. “Is it true what they say about lexicons, and the hierophants, sir?”
“What?” said Orso, startled.
“About the hierophants. I’ve heard old stories about how when people were close to a true hierophant—like Crasedes the Great himself—they suffered from powerful migraines. Much like how one feels these days, when close to a lexicon. Is that true, sir?”
“How should I know?”
“I understand that you’re interested in the Occidentals yourself, yes?” asked Gregor. “Or you were, once.”
Orso glared at him, and the severity of his harsh, pale eyes rivaled Ofelia Dandolo’s stare. “Once. Yes. But no longer.”
For a moment the two men just stared at each other, Gregor smiling placidly, Orso’s face fixed in a furious glare.
“Now,” said Orso. “If you will excuse us, Captain.”
“Of course. I will let you get back to your business, sir,” said Gregor. “Sorry to trouble you.” He started toward the steps, but paused. “Oh, I’m sorry, but—young lady?”
The girl looked up. “Yes?”
“I apologize, but I believe I have been quite rude. I don’t think I ever learned your name.”
“Oh. It’s Grimaldi.”
“Thank you—but I meant your first name?”
She glanced at Orso, but he still had his back to her. “Berenice,” she said.
Gregor smiled. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you both.” Then he turned and trotted up the stairs.
* * *
Orso Ignacio listened as the captain’s footfalls faded. Then he and Berenice turned to look at each other.
“Sir…” said Berenice.
Orso shook his head and lifted a finger to his lips. He pointed at the various hallways and doors leading out of the lexicon chamber, then pointed to his ears: Could be people listening.
She nodded. “Workshop?” she asked.
“Workshop,” he said.
They exited the lexicon chamber, called a carriage, and rode back to the Hypatus Department of the inner Dandolo enclaves, a sprawling, rambling structure that somewhat resembled a university. Orso and Berenice walked in, then silently climbed the stairs to Orso’s workshop. The thick, heavy wooden door felt Orso coming, and began opening. He’d scrived it to sense his blood—a deviously difficult trick—but he was impatient, and shoved it open the rest of the way.
He waited for the door to shut after him. Then he exploded.
“Shit. Shit! Shit!” he screamed.
“Ah,” said Berenice. “Yes. I agree, sir.”
“I…I thought the goddamn thing had been destroyed!” cried Orso. “Along with the rest of the goddamn waterfront! But…It was stolen? Again? I’ve been robbed again?”
“It would seem so, sir,” said Berenice.
“But how? We kept it between us, Berenice! We only discussed it in this room! How did someone find out again?”
“That is concerning, sir,” said Berenice.
“Concerning! It’s a hell of a lot more than conce—”
“True, sir. But the larger question is…” She glanced at him, anxious. “What happens if Captain Dandolo does as he suggested, and catches this thief tonight—and they still have the item in their possession?”
Orso went pale. “Then when he brings the thief back…Ofelia will find out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She’ll find out that I paid for another expedition, another artifact.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And…and she’ll find out how I paid for it! And how much.” Orso grabbed the sides of his head. “Oh, God! All the thousands of duvots I took, all that money I took, all that money I arranged in the ledgers just right!”
She nodded. “That is my concern, sir.”
“Shit,” said Orso, pacing. “Shit! Shit! We have to…We have to…” He looked at her. “You have to follow him.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Follow him!” said Orso. “You have to follow him, Berenice!”
“Me, sir?”
“Yes!” He ran to a cabinet and grabbed a small box. “He can’t have left yet. Gregor Dandolo walks all over the campo, like an idiot! Ofelia complains about it all the time! Grab a carriage, go to the southern gates, wait for him, and follow him! And…” He fumbled with the box, frantic, and snatched something out of it. “Take this.”
He shoved what appeared to be a small, scrived strip of tin into her hands, with small tabs at the top and the bottom. “A twinned plate, sir?” she asked.
“Yes!” he said. “I’ll keep its pair. Ah, let’s see—snap off the top tab if Gregor catches the thief. Snap off the bottom if he doesn’t. And snap off both if he catches them and they still have the artifact! If the thief gets away, follow them if you can, and find out where they are. Whatever you do, the same thing will happen to my plate, so I’ll know exactly what’s happened.”
“And you will stay here and do what, exactly, sir?”
“There are favors I can call in,” said Orso. “Debts people owe me, so that I can maybe cover up my own debts to the goddamn company! If Gregor Dandolo comes back here with that key, I need to make it look like I put just a toe out of line, not my whole damn body and thirty thousand scrumming duvots of Dandolo Chartered money!”
“And you plan to arrange all that in…” She glanced out the open workshop window at the Michiel clock tower. “Eight hours?”
“Yes!” he said. “But it would certainly be nice if Gregor Dandolo didn’t bring the thief back here, so then I’d never have to 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
<So now what?> 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. <I don’t know. Survive, I suppose. Maybe steal some food out of a campo’s trash for dinner.>
<You’d eat out of the trash?>
<Yeah. Have before. Probably will again.>
<The jungles to the west look very tropical. Maybe you could hide out there for a while?>
<There are wild pigs as tall as a man’s eye. Apparently they enjoy killing people for sport. Not sure a magic key could be of much help there.>
<Okay, but…but this is a giant city, right? You can’t find anywhere to hide? Anywhere?>
<Foundryside and the Greens aren’t safe. Maybe I could go to the Commons in the north, away from the channel. But the Commons only occupies about a tenth of Tevanne’s land. The rest of the city is campo—and it’s damn hard to hide there.>
<We’re pulling it off now,> said Clef.
<For now. On a rooftop. Yes. But this isn’t exactly a sustainable arrangement.>