“Do…do you really think Tomas could have done that?”
“I’ve had some civilized and proper people try to kill me over the years. Do you know anything, Estelle? And, again, if you did—would you tell me?”
She stared at him, and a mixture of expressions passed over her face: surprise, anger, resentment, then sadness. “Do I owe you that?”
“I think so,” said Orso. “I never asked you for much.”
She was silent for a long while. “That’s not true,” she said. “You…you did ask me to marry you. But after that…no, you never asked me for anything else again.”
They stood in the hallway, surrounded by servants, not knowing what to say.
Estelle blinked rapidly. “If I thought Tomas was a threat to you, I would tell you, Orso.”
“Even if it betrayed Candiano interests to do so?”
“Even if it did that.”
“Thank you.” He bowed deeply to her. “I…I appreciate your time, Lady Ziani.” He turned and walked away.
He kept his head level and his arms stiff as he moved. Once he was about a few hundred feet down the hall, he ducked beside a column and watched the Company Candiano crowd.
He could tell when Tomas Ziani and the others emerged—the servants all sat up straight, keenly aware that their masters were now here. But not Estelle. She stood seemingly frozen, staring into space. And when her husband came and took her hand and led her away, she barely seemed to notice.
17
Sancia was still asleep when there was a knock at the door. “Sun is setting,” Gregor’s voice said. “Our chariot shall be here soon.”
Sancia groaned, hauled herself off the sheetless bed, and staggered downstairs. All the injuries and scrapes from the past two days felt like they’d grown until her whole body was a bruise. When she saw Gregor she realized he must feel the same way: he was standing crooked, so as to not put pressure on his back, and he had his bandaged arm pulled close to his chest.
After a while, the front door opened and Berenice walked in. She looked at the two of them. “Good God,” she said. “I’ve seen cheerier faces in a mausoleum. Come on. The carriage is ready. I’ll warn you, though—he’s in a foul mood.”
“He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who has good moods,” said Sancia, following her.
“Then this is a worse mood,” said Berenice.
She drove them back to the hypatus department just as the sun slipped behind the clouds.
<Are you ready for this, Clef?> Sancia asked.
<Sure,> he said. He sounded chipper and cheerful again.
<And…you feel all right?>
<I feel great. Really great. That’s kind of the problem, kid.>
She tried not to let her concern show in her face.
<Cheer up,> said Clef. <I’ll get you out of this jam, at the least. I promise.>
The hypatus offices were still and dark. They used a back entrance to a small, forgotten staircase, and they climbed until they found Orso waiting at the top, next to his workshop.
<So that’s the guy who bought me, huh?> asked Clef.
<Yeah.>
<What’s he like?>
“Took you damned long enough!” snapped Orso. “God, I thought I’d die of scrumming old age up here!”
<Never mind, I think I got it.>
“Good evening, Orso,” said Gregor. “How was the committee meeting?”
“Dull and short,” said Orso. “But not…entirely useless. I had some ideas—and if we can find that damn rig, I can confirm if those ideas are right.” He stood and pointed at Sancia. “You. Are you ready to do this again?”
“Sure,” said Sancia.
“Then please,” he said. “Astound us.”
“All right. Give me a second.” She looked down the stairs. To her, it was all just a sea of noise, of whispers and chanting. <Clef?>
<Yeah?>
<So, ah, you hear anything?>
<Oh, lots of stuff. But here. Let me focus.>
There was a silence. She assumed he was searching, and would answer her after he found something.
But then things…changed.
The murmurings and chanting grew louder, and then the sounds seemed to stretch…And bubble…And blur…
Then words emerged among them—words she could hear.
<…bring heat, bring it up, bubble it up, and store it away, there it goes, keep the heat there, oh, please, how I love to make the tank hot…>
<…will NOT let anyone in, absolutely NO ONE, they CANNOT enter unless they possess KEY, key is VERY IMPORTANT, and I…>
<…rigid form, rigid form, rigid form, pressure at the corners, I am like the stone in the depths of the earth…>
Sancia realized she could hear the scrivings, that she could understand them—without touching them. She nearly fell over from shock. She was fairly sure she’d just heard some kind of water tank, a lock, and a scrived support structure, all from somewhere in the building.
<Holy…holy shit!> she said.
The voices returned to quiet chanting. <What?> said Clef. <What is it?>
<I…I could hear them! I could hear what they were saying, Clef! All the devices, all of them!>
<Huh,> said Clef. There was a pause. <Yeahhhh, I was worried that might happen.>
<That what might happen?>
<As I grow stronger, more of my thoughts may leak into you. Into your brain, your mind. I’m, uh, overpowering you a little, I think.>
<You mean I’m hearing what you hear?>
<And feeling what I feel, yeah. So.> Clef coughed. <I guess this could get weird.>
She noticed Orso glaring at her impatiently. <Is it dangerous?>
<I don’t think so…>
<Then let’s just ignore it for now. Find the recording rig before these bastards start worrying, and we’ll figure this out later!>
<All right, all right…It’s, like, a thing that captures sound, right?>
<I guess! I barely understand any of this shit!>
<Hm. Okay.>
There was another pause…and then the voices flooded back into her head, an avalanche of words and desires and anxious fears.
Except some of the voices grew louder or softer, rapidly, one after another. It was as if Clef were sorting through a stack of papers, looking at each one before passing on to the next—except it was happening inside her brain. The sensation was profoundly disorienting.
Then one voice arose from the chaos: <…I am a reed in the wind, dancing with my partner, my mate, my love…I dance as they dance, I move as they move, I trace our dance within the clay…>
<That’s it,> said Clef. <That’s the one. Hear it?>
<Dancing? Clay? Love? What the hell?>
<That’s how they think, how they work,> said Clef. <These rigs are made by people. And people make things that work kind of like people—if you want a device to do something, you build the desire into the device, see? It’s in the basement, I think. Come on.>
“I’ve got it, I think,” said Sancia.
“Then lead the way,” said Gregor.
Listening to the whispering device, Sancia wandered through workshops filled with half-built devices, rows of cold furnaces, wall after wall of bookshelves. Clef led her down the stairs, across the mezzanine, and then to a side hall, which then led to another stairway. Then he led her down flight after flight of stairs, to the basement, which seemed to double as a library. Orso, Berenice, and Gregor followed, bearing small, scrived lights, not speaking—but Sancia’s head was filled up with words.
She was still getting used to this. For so long she’d been accustomed to scrivings being nothing more than murmurings in the back of her head. To have Clef clarify them was like having someone wipe away a layer of sand to reveal words written on the path before you.
But if I’m hearing this from him, wondered Sancia, what else am I picking up? And what’s he picking up from me? She wondered if she would start to think like Clef, to act like him, and never even notice it.
They entered the basement. And then, abruptly, the trail ended before a blank wall.
<Now what?> asked Sancia.
<It’s, uh, back there.>
<What do you mean, back there? Behind the wall?>
<Seems to be. I can show you where it is, but I can’t tell you how to get to it. Listen…>
Another pause, and then she heard it, mumbling behind the walls: <…still no dance…still no sounds. Silence. Nothing to dance to, no steps and twirls to scrawl in the clay…>
<Yeah,> said Sancia. She stepped back and looked at the wall. <It’s back there. Shit.> She sighed, and said, “Anyone know what’s behind this wall?”
“More wall, I would assume,” said Orso.
“It’s not. The thing’s back there.”
“You found the rig?” Gregor asked. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. Now we just have to figure out how they access it.” She grimaced, then pulled off her gloves. “Hold on a second.” She took a breath, focused, shut her eyes, and placed her palms against the wall.
Instantly, the wall bloomed inside her mind, all those old, pale stones and layers of plaster leaping into her thoughts. The wall told her of age and pressure, decades spent bearing all the weight of the building above and transferring it to the foundation below. Except…
In one place, the foundation wasn’t there.