“She said you were good,” said Orso. “And you might be good enough for this. Maybe. What did she tell you about the job?”
Claudia glanced at Sancia, and Sancia thought she could detect a hint of wrath there, which she couldn’t blame her for. “She said you needed us,” said Claudia. “And a workshop of your own. And materials.”
“Good,” said Orso. “Let’s try to keep things that simple.”
“They can’t possibly stay that simple,” said Claudia. “You’re disrupting everything we do here. We’ve got to know more to get on board with this!”
“Fine,” said Orso. “We’re going to break into the Mountain.”
They stared at him, incredulous.
“The Mountain?” Giovanni looked at Sancia. “San, are you mad?”
“Yes,” said Orso. “That’s why we’re here.”
“But…but why?” said Claudia.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Orso. “Just know that someone wants us dead—including, yes, me. The only way for us to stop them is to get into the Mountain. Help us, and you get paid.”
“And what’s the payment?” said Claudia.
“Well, that depends,” said Orso. “Originally I was going to pay you some huge sum of money…but having seen what you’re doing here, some alternate options seem available. You’re working with spotty, secondhand knowledge. So…perhaps some of the third-and fourth-tier sigil strings from Dandolo Chartered and Company Candiano would be more valuable to you.”
Sancia didn’t understand what that meant, but both Claudia’s and Giovanni’s eyes shot wide. They froze, and both seemed to do some rapid calculations.
“We’d want fifth tier too,” said Claudia.
“Absolutely not,” said Orso.
“Half the Dandolo fourth-tier fundamentals are intended to function with fifth-tier strings,” said Giovanni. “They’d be useless without them.”
Orso burst out laughing. “Those combinations are all for massive designs! What are you trying to do, build a bridge across the Durazzo, or a ladder to the moon?”
“Not all of them,” said Giovanni, stung.
“I’ll give you some Candiano fifth-tier strings,” said Orso. “But none from Dandolo.”
“Any Candiano string from you is going to be outdated,” said Claudia. “You haven’t worked there in a decade.”
“Possibly. But it’s all you’re going to get,” said Orso. “Select Candiano fifth-tier strings, and the fifty most-used third-and fourth-tier strings for both Dandolo and Candiano. Plus whatever proprietary knowledge you gain during the planning process, plus a sum to be agreed upon later.”
Claudia and Giovanni exchanged a glance. “Deal,” they said at the same time.
Orso grinned. Sancia found it a distinctly unpleasant sight. “Excellent. Now. Where the hell are we going to be headquartered?”
* * *
Most of the canals in Tevanne were either full or close to it most of the time—but not all.
Every fourth year in the Durazzo was a monsoon year, when the warm waters bred monstrous storms, and although Tevanne lacked any central authority, water cared not a whit about which campo it flowed into. So, eventually, the merchant houses had decided they were obliged to do something about it.
Their solution was “the Gulf”—a massive, stone-lined flood reservoir in the north of the city, which could store and dump floodwater into the lower canals as needed. The Gulf was empty most of the time, essentially a mile-wide, artificial desert of gray, molded stone and dotted with drains. Sancia knew it was prone to shantytowns and vagrants and stray dogs, but there were some parts of the Gulf that even they weren’t desperate or stupid enough to inhabit.
Yet, to her concern, Claudia and Giovanni were leading them to exactly one such spot.
<We’ve been to some rough places, kid,> said Clef’s voice suddenly in her ear, <but this is the roughest yet.>
Sancia was so surprised she almost leapt into the air. <Clef! Holy shit! You haven’t talked since that…that thing in the foundry!>
<Yeah. I’m…I’m sorry about that, kid. I think I almost broke you.>
<Yeah, what was that? What was the thing wrapped in black? Was that…Was that who made you, Clef?>
There was a silence. <I think…maybe. Being close to that lexicon, when it was spiking…I just remembered that was what it felt like to be…Well. To be around him.>
<Who’s him?>
<I don’t know. It was just a flash—a picture of him atop the dunes—and no more. That’s all I have.>
Her skin crawled. <They say the way it feels to be close to a lexicon—the headaches, the nausea—that’s what it was like to draw near to a hierophant.>
<Do they,> said Clef quietly. <After hearing what Orso said…maybe someone made me, and then he changed himself so much, he…he became that thing. I don’t know.>
She tried to keep the fear out of her face as she listened to this. <God.>
<Yeah. It’s not comforting to think of Tomas Ziani trying to follow in such a thing’s footsteps.>
“There it is!” said Giovanni, trotting along the west side of the slanted stone walls. He pointed ahead, and though it was now night, they could see he was pointing to a large, dripping tunnel, blocked off with thick, crisscrossing iron bars.
“That is a storm drain,” said Gregor.
“True,” said Gio. “What marvelous eyes, you have, Captain.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Gregor, “but the problem with working out of a storm drain is that, when there is a storm, it tends to fill with water—which I, personally, cannot breathe.”
“Did I say we were going to be working in a storm drain?” said Gio. He led them down a molded stone path to the storm drain and took out a small, thin, scrived strip of iron. He examined the bars, tapped the strip to one section, and then gave the bars a tug. The bottom quarter of the bars swung open, like the gate of a garden fence.
“Clever,” said Orso, peering at the hinges. “It’s a weak door, and a weak lock—but you don’t need it to be strong if no one knows it’s there.”
“Exactly.” Gio bowed and extended an arm. “After you, good sir. Mind the sewage.”
They entered the massive drain. “I have to admit, I’m getting pretty goddamn tired of pipes,” said Sancia.
“Seconded,” said Berenice.
“We won’t be here for long,” said Claudia. She and Giovanni produced a handful of scrived lights, slashing rosy hues across the rippled walls. They walked down the tunnel about three hundred feet or so. Then the two Scrappers started peering around them.
“Oh, goodness,” said Claudia. “I haven’t been here in ages…Where is it?”
Giovanni slapped his forehead. “Damn! I’m being stupid, I forgot. Just a second.” He pulled out a small, scrived bead of metal, and seemed to twist it, like it was two rotating halves. Then he held it up and let go. The bead zipped over to one wall like it had been ripped along by a string. “There!” said Gio.
“That’s right,” said Claudia. “I forgot you’d installed a flag.” She walked over to the bead—which was now stuck to the wall—and held up a light. Right below the bead was a tiny slot that was practically invisible if you didn’t know to look for it. Gio took back out the scrived iron strip he’d used on the drainage bars and stuck it into the slot.
There was the sound of stone groaning on stone. Gio shoved at the wall with his shoulder, and suddenly a large segment pivoted inward, swinging like a large, circular stone door. “Here we are!”
Sancia and the rest all peered into the rounded door. Inside was a long, tall, narrow passageway, with ornately wrought walls that were lined with what appeared to be some kind of cubbyholes, most of which were empty—but not all. In some of the cubbyholes, Sancia spied urns and…
“Skulls,” she said aloud. “A…Uh, a crypt?”
“Precisely,” said Giovanni.
“What in the hell is a crypt doing in the Gulf?” asked Orso.
“Apparently there had been quite a few minor estates here before the merchant houses made the Gulf,” said Claudia, walking inside. “The houses just tore them down and paved over them. No one thought much about what was underneath, until they started digging the tunnels. Most of the crypts and basements have gotten flooded out—but this one is in fairly good condition.”
Sancia followed her in. The crypt was large, with a big, round, central chamber, and several smaller, narrow wings splitting off from it. “How’d you find it?”
“Someone once traded us jewelry for rigs,” said Claudia. “The jewelry was old and branded with a family crest—and one of us realized it’d had to come from a family grave. We went looking, and found this.”
“We hole up here only when we’ve really pissed off a merchant house,” said Gio. “And it sounds like you lot have done exactly that. So—this should work nicely.”
“So…” said Berenice, staring around. “We’re going to be scriving…and working…and, for a while, living…in a crypt. With…bones.”
“Well, if you’re really going to try to break into the Mountain, then you’re probably going to wind up dead anyway,” said Gio. “Maybe this will help you get used to it.”
Orso had found a hole in the vaulted ceiling. “Does this go up to the surface?”