Apparently Captain Dandolo had the control for the ropes: after adjusting something on his espringal, he was able to reduce their density enough that he could flip her over. He kept her bound, of course. “Something we used back in the wars, when capturing trespassers,” he said merrily. He grabbed the ropes with each hand, and picked her up much as one would a bound pig. “I’d know the smell of the Michiel foundry smoke like I would the scent of jasmine. I had to come here all the time to commission armaments. Flame and heat, as one would expect, are useful when making war.”
“Let me go, you dumb bastard!” she said. “Let me go!”
“No.” He somehow packed an infuriating amount of cheer into that one word.
“You put me in prison and they’ll kill me!”
“Who, your client?” he said, making his way for the stairs down. “They won’t be able to get at you. We’ll put you in the Dandolo jailhouse, which is quite safe. Your only concern will be me, young lady.”
Sancia bucked and kicked and snarled, but Dandolo was quite strong, and seemingly indifferent to her countless swears. He hummed happily as they started down the stairs.
He exited the stairs and hauled her across the street to a scrived carriage bearing the Dandolo loggotipo—the quill and the gear. “Our chariot awaits!” he said. He opened up the back, set her down on the floor, and reactivated the scrivings on the rope—there was some kind of dial on the side of the espringal—until she was pinned to the floor. “I hope this will be comfortable during our short ride.” Then he looked her over, took a breath, and said, “But first, I must ask…where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The item you stole,” he said. “The box.”
<Oh, shit,> said Clef. <This guy isn’t as stupid as he looks.>
“I don’t have it!” said Sancia, inventing a story as fast as she could. “I gave it over to my client!”
“Did you,” he said flatly.
<I don’t think he believes you,> said Clef.
<I know that! Shut the hell up, Clef!>
“Yes!” she said.
“Then why is your client trying to kill you, if you did as they asked? That is why you’re trying to escape the city—yes?”
“Yes,” said Sancia honestly. “And I don’t know why they’re out for me, or why they killed Sark.”
That gave him pause. “Sark is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Your client killed him?”
“Yes. Yes!”
He scratched his beard at his chin. “And I suppose you don’t know who your client is.”
“No. We were never to know names, and never to look in the box.”
“What did you do with it, then?”
Sancia decided on a story that was close to the truth. “Sark and I took the box to an appointed place and time—an abandoned fishery in the Greens. Four men showed up. Well-fed, campo sort. One took the box away and said he wanted to confirm it. Left us with the other three. Then there was some signal, and they stabbed Sark, and nearly killed me.”
“And you…fought your way out?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes,” she said defensively.
His large, dark eyes flicked over her small frame. “All by yourself?”
“I’m decent enough in a fight.”
“What fishery was this?”
“By the Anafesto Channel.”
He nodded, thinking about this. “Anafesto, eh. Well then,” he said. “Let’s go have a look, then!” He shut the door and climbed into the pilot’s seat.
“Look where?” said Sancia, startled.
“To the Greens,” said the captain. “To this fishery of which you speak. Presumably there will be dead bodies inside—yes? Bodies that might suggest exactly who paid you to rob my waterfront?”
“Wait! You…you can’t take me there!” she cried. “Just hours ago there were dozens of big bastards walking around there, looking to gut me!”
“Then you had better stay quiet, hadn’t you?”
* * *
Sancia lay perfectly still as the carriage rattled over the muddy Commons lanes to the Greens. This was possibly the worst outcome for her: she’d intended to never return to the Greens, let alone trussed up in Captain Gregor Dandolo’s carriage. <You tell me the second you sense something big coming at me, okay?> she said.
<Why, so you can sit and watch your death approach?> said Clef.
<Just do it, all right?>
Finally the carriage rolled to a stop. There was darkness outside the windows, but she could tell they were at the fisheries by the smell. Dread bloomed in her stomach as she remembered that night—just last night, though it seemed so long ago now.
For a long time, Dandolo said nothing. She imagined him sitting hunched in the cockpit, watching the streets and the fisheries. Then she heard his voice, quiet but confident: “Won’t be a moment.”
The carriage rocked slightly as he climbed out and slammed the door.
Sancia sat there, and waited. And waited.
<How the hell are we going to get out of this?> asked Clef.
<No idea yet.>
<If he searches you…I mean, I’m just on a string around your neck!>
<Gregor Dandolo is a campo gentleman,> said Sancia. <He might also be a veteran, but deep down, all good campo boys have absolutely no desire to touch a Commons person, let alone feel up a Commons girl’s chest.>
<I think you’ve misjudged hi…Wait.>
<What?>
<There…there is something scrived nearby.>
<Oh God…>
<No, no, it’s small. Really small. Tiny, even, easy to miss. It’s…like a dot, stuck to the outside of the carriage, in the back.>
<What’s it doing?>
<It’s…trying to join something else? Kind of like your construction scrivings, I guess. It’s like a magnet, it’s pulling really hard toward something that must be…kind of close…>
Sancia tensed up. She realized what must be happening. <Shit!> she said. <He’s been followed!>
<What do you mea—>
The cockpit door opened, and someone climbed in—presumably Gregor Dandolo, but she couldn’t see. Then she heard his voice quietly saying, “No bodies. None.”
Sancia blinked in shock. “But…That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Yes!”
“Where ought there have been bodies, young miss?”
“Upstairs, and on the stairs!”
He looked over the back of the seat at her. “Are you sure? Positive?”
She glared at him. “Yes, damn it!”
He sighed. “I see. Well. I did find quite a bit of blood in both of those locations—so I must grudgingly admit that some aspect of your story appears to be at least somewhat true.”
She stared at the ceiling, outraged. “You were testing me!”
He nodded. “I was testing you.”
“You…You…”
“Do you know what was in the box?” he demanded suddenly.
Surprised, Sancia tried to recover. “I told you. No.”
He stared off into the distance, thinking. “And…I suppose you don’t know anything about the hierophants?” he said softly.
Her skin went cold, but she said nothing.
“Do you?” he asked.
“Beyond that they were magic giants?” said Sancia. “No.”
“I think you’re lying. I think you’re lying to me about something—about what was in the box, about how your deal went down, about how that blood got there.”
<Goddamn,> said Clef. <This guy is terrifying.>
<Are you sure that thing’s on the back of the carriage?>
<Yeah. Bottom right if you’re facing it.>
“And I think I’m about to save your life,” she said. “Again.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Walk around to the back of your carriage and look for something. It’ll be stuck on the bottom right. Looks like a button, one that shouldn’t be there.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “What kind of ploy is this?”
“It’s not a ploy at all. Go on,” she said. “I’ll wait.”
He looked at her for a moment. Then he reached down and pulled at her ropes, confirming they were secure. Satisfied, he opened the door again and climbed out.
She listened to the crunch of his feet outside. He stopped somewhere behind the carriage.
<He got it,> said Clef. <Pried it off.>
Gregor walked around and looked through the back passenger window at her. “What’s this?” he asked, slightly outraged. He held it up—it looked like a big brass tack. “It’s scrived, on the bottom. What is this?”
“It’s like a construction scriving,” said Sancia. “It pulls at its twin, like a magnet.”
“And why,” he said, “would someone want to stick a construction scriving to my carriage?”
“Think for a second,” said Sancia. “They stick one half to your carriage. Then they tie another to a string. Then the string will act like a needle in a compass, always pointing to you like you’re true north.”
He stared at her. Then he looked around, peering at the streets behind him.
“Now you’re figuring it out,” asked Sancia. “See anyone?”
He was silent. Then he thrust his head back through the window. “How did you know it was there?” he demanded. “How did you know what it was?”
“Intuition,” she said.