“Ah,” said the sergeant. “And you think…” He looked over his shoulder at the line of safes.
“I’m having the boys comb the stacks as we speak,” said Dandolo. “But if they’re mad enough to fly into the waterfront with this thing, maybe they’re mad enough to go for the safes.” He sucked his teeth. “Keep an eye out, Sergeant, but stay at your post. I’ll look around. Just to see.”
“Right, sir.”
Sancia watched with growing horror as Dandolo mounted the stairs, the wood creaking under his considerable weight.
Shit! Shit!
She considered her options. She could go back to the window, open it up, slip outside, and stand on the doorframe below, waiting for Dandolo to leave. But this took a lot of risks, since she could be seen or heard by the man.
She could shoot Dandolo with the dolorspina dart. That would likely cause him to go tumbling back down the stairs, alarming the sergeant below, who could then raise the alarm. She debated if she could reload in time to hit him too, and found this plan no better.
Then she had a third idea.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the knot of twine and the scrived lead ball.
She’d intended to save this final trick as a distraction while she made her escape. But then, she did need to escape from this current situation.
She put away her pipe, gripped each end of the twine knot, and looked up at the approaching captain, who was still climbing the stairs in front of her.
You’re an asshole for scrumming this up for me, she thought.
She gripped the ends of the twine knot, and ripped it untied in one fast motion.
Sancia vaguely understood how the scriving mechanism worked: the interior of the lead ball was lined with sandpaper, and the twine was treated with fire potash, so when it was ripped through the sandpaper, it ignited. Just a small flare, but that was enough.
Because the scrived ball in her hands was linked with a second lead ball, which was far, far away in the box atop the paper crates in the cargo stacks. Both balls were altered to be convinced that they were actually the same ball—and thus, whatever happened to the one happened to the other. Dunk one in cold water, and the other would grow rapidly cool. Shatter one, and the other would shatter as well.
So this meant that when she pulled the twine and ignited the flare inside, the second ball in the cargo stacks suddenly grew burning hot too.
But the second ball was packed in quite a lot more fire potash—and the box it sat in was filled to the brim with flash powder.
The instant Sancia ripped the twine through the lead ball, she heard a faint boom way out in the cargo stacks.
The captain paused on the stairs, bewildered. “What the hell was that?” he said.
“Captain?” called the sergeant downstairs. “Captain!”
He turned away from Sancia and called down the stairs, “Sergeant—what was that?”
“I don’t know, Captain, but, but…There’s smoke.”
Sancia turned toward the window and saw that the scrived device had worked quite well—there was now a thick column of white smoke out in the cargo stacks, along with a cheery flame.
“Fire!” shouted the captain. “Shit! Come on, Prizzo!”
Sancia watched, pleased, as the two of them sprinted out the door. Then she dashed downstairs to the safes.
Let’s hope it keeps burning, she thought as she ran. Otherwise I might crack the safe, and get the prize—but I’ll have no tricks left to get me off the waterfront.
* * *
Sancia looked at the line of safes. She remembered Sark’s instructions—It’s safe 23D. A small wooden box. The combinations are changed every day—Dandolo is a clever bastard—but it should be no issue for you, girl. Should it?
She knew it shouldn’t. But then, she was now working with a much tighter deadline than she’d previously planned for.
Sancia approached 23D and took her gloves off. These safes were where civilian passengers stored away valuables with the Waterwatch—specifically, passengers unaffiliated with the merchant houses. If you were affiliated with one of the merchant houses, it was assumed you’d store your valuables with them directly, because they, being the manufacturers and producers of all scrived rigs, would have far better security and protection than just a bunch of safes with combination locks.
Sancia placed one bare hand on 23D. Then she leaned her bare forehead against it, took the tumbler wheel in her other hand, and shut her eyes.
The safe blossomed to life in her mind, telling her of iron and darkness and oil, the chattering of its many toothed gears, the clinkings and clankings of its stupendously complicated mechanisms.
She slowly started turning the wheel, and felt instantly where it wanted to go. She slowed the combination wheel down, and…
Click. One tumbler fell into place.
Sancia breathed deep and started turning the wheel in the opposite direction, feeling the mechanisms clicking and clanking inside the door.
There was another boom out in the cargo yard.
Sancia opened her eyes. Pretty sure I didn’t do that one…
She looked back at the window on the western side of the offices, and saw that the greasy glass panes were dancing with greedy firelight. Something must have caught out there, something much more flammable than the paper crate she’d intended to set alight.
She heard shouting, screaming, and cries out in the yard. Ah, hell, she thought. I need to hurry before the whole damned place burns down!
She shut her eyes again and kept turning the wheel. She felt it clicking into place, felt that perfect little gap approaching…and the scar on her head burning hot, like a needle in her brain. I’m doing too much. I’m pushing myself too damned far…
Click.
She sucked her teeth. That’s two…
More screams from outside. Another soft boom.
She focused. She listened to the safe, letting it pour into her, feeling the anticipation of the mechanism within, feeling it wait with bated breath for that one final turn…
Click.
She opened her eyes and turned the handle on the safe. It opened with a clunk. She swung it open.
The safe was filled with an abundance of items: letters, scrolls, envelopes, and the like. But at the back was her prize: a wooden box, about eight inches long and four inches deep. A simple, dull box, unremarkable in nearly every way—and yet this bland thing was worth more than all the precious goods Sancia had ever stolen in her life combined.
She reached in and picked up the box with her bare fingers. Then she paused.
Her abilities had been so taxed by the evening’s excitement that she could tell something was curious about the box, but not immediately what—she got a hazy picture in her mind of pine wood walls within walls, but not much more. It was like trying to look at a painting in the dark during a lightning storm.
She knew that wasn’t important, though—she was just meant to get it, and not ask questions about its contents.
She stowed it away in a pouch on her chest. Then she shut the safe, locked it, and turned and ran for the door.
As she exited the Waterwatch offices, she saw that the little fire was now a full-on blaze. It looked like she’d set the entire damned cargo yard alight. Waterwatch officers sprinted around the inferno, trying to contain it—which meant likely all of the exits were now available for her to use.
She turned and ran. If they find out I did this, she thought, I’ll be harpered for sure.
She made it to the eastern exit of the waterfront. She slowed, hid behind a stack of crates, and confirmed that she was right—all the officers were tending to the blaze, which meant it was unguarded. She ran through, head aching, heart pounding, and the scar on the side of her head screaming in pain.
Yet just as she crossed, she looked back for one moment, watching the fire. The entire western fifth of the waterfront was now a wild blaze, and an unbelievably thick column of black smoke stretched up and curled about the moon above.
Sancia turned and ran.
3
A block away from the waterfront, Sancia slipped into an alley and changed clothing, wiping the mud from her face, rolling up her filthy thieving rig, and putting on a hooded doublet, gloves, and hosiery.
She cringed as she did so—she hated changing clothes. She stood in the alley and shut her eyes, wincing as the sensations of mud and smoke and soil and dark wool bled out of her thoughts, and bright, crunchy, crispy hemp fabric surged in to replace them. It was like stepping out of a nice warm bath and jumping into an icy lake, and it took some time for her mind to recalibrate.