Sancia walked up to the street level and moved down the fairway until she spotted the garden entrance, a big white stone gateway stretching above a somewhat tattered-looking hedge wall. White floating lanterns made lazy circles above the garden. She glanced around and slipped inside.
The garden skirted the edge of the Mountain’s walls, which gave it the feeling of a quaint courtyard built next to a cliff. The trimmed hedges and noble statues and stone follies looked queer and disturbing on the rolling green lawns, lit by washes of brittle white light from the lanterns.
<Guards here,> Clef said. <Three of them. Walking through the hedges. Be careful.>
The garden was theoretically open to any enclave resident, but she didn’t risk it. With Clef’s direction, she evaded their slow circuits until she found the stone bridge, which arched above a small babbling stream. She touched the cold metal casket, hidden in her pocket. This would be the first test of the blood Estelle Candiano had given them.
She waited until the way was clear, then paced up the stream to the bridge. As she neared it, a perfectly round seam formed in the smooth stone face. Then, without making a sound, the round plug of stone sank into the bridge and rolled aside.
<Whoa,> said Clef. <That was impressive! This thing was scrived by a brilliant hand, kid.>
<Not reassuring, Clef.>
<Hey, credit where credit’s due.>
She slipped through the round door. It silently shut behind her. She now stood at the top of a set of stairs, and she walked down until they ended in a straight, smooth, gray stone tunnel, lined with bright white lights, which stretched forward so far it confused the eye.
She descended and started down the hall. <This is a lot nicer than most of the tunnels I have to move through.>
<Yeah. No shit or rats or snakes, right?>
<Right.> She kept walking. The end of the tunnel didn’t seem to get any closer. <But…I’d frankly prefer the old kind.> She glanced at the smooth gray walls. <This creeps me out. Are we close to the end?>
<I can’t tell. Which means no, I think.>
She kept walking. And walking. It felt like she was walking into empty space.
Then Clef spoke up: <Whoaaaa…>
<What? What is it?>
<You don’t feel that?>
<No? Feel what? >
<We just crossed some…barrier of some kind.>
She looked behind, and saw no line or seam in the smooth gray stone. <I don’t see anything.>
<Well, trust me. We did. We’re in some…place. I think.>
<The Mountain?>
<Hell if I know, kid.>
After at least ten more minutes, she finally came to a set of stairs up, though these were winding rather than straight. She climbed and climbed until she came to the top, where they ended at a blank wall.
A vast whispering filled her mind as she got to the passageway at the top. She spied a handle on the side wall. She paused before she pulled it. <Anyone on the other side of the wall, Clef?>
<Uh, no.>
<What is on the other side, Clef?>
<A whole bunch of stuff. You’ll see.>
Sancia pulled the handle. Again, a perfectly round seam appeared in the stone, and the stone circle rolled aside to let her through. But on the other side was—well, nothing, or so it appeared at first. It looked like she was seeing a sheet of cloth. Then she realized—He hid the door behind some kind of wall hanging—and she shoved it aside and stepped through.
She emerged into a lavish, dark-green stone hallway, tall and ornate with elaborate gold molding running along the top. There were white wooden doors dotting the green stone walls, all perfectly circular with black iron handles in the middle. It was clearly a residential wing of the Mountain, and there was some kind of radiant light at the end of the hallway.
Sancia walked toward it. Then she saw what lay beyond, and gasped.
The Mountain, she realized, was a giant shell. And being inside of it was like being inside a hollowed-out…
Well. Mountain.
She stared at the rings and rings of floors beyond, all gold and green and shimmering, all lined with windows as the people within them lived and worked and toiled. She was four floors above the main level of the space, which was indescribably vast, lit by massive, brilliant floating lanterns carved of glass and crystal. Huge brass columns ran in staggered formations across the marble floor—and some of the columns appeared to be moving, sliding up or down. It took her a moment to realize the columns were actually hollow, and had tiny rooms in them that rose or fell, ferrying people up to dangling stations above. Those must be the lifts Orso mentioned, she thought. Huge banners hung in between the stations, the giant, bright-gold Candiano loggotipo glimmering in the glow of the scrived lights below. All of it formed an endless, circling wall of light and color and movement.
It was like another world, just like Orso had said. And all of it was enabled by…
The side of her head grew bright hot and her eyes watered. She gritted her teeth as the sound of so many scrivings hit her, drilling into her, biting into her mind.
<Okay, hold on,> said Clef.
<It’s…it’s too much, Clef!> she cried. <It’s too much, it’s too much! I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it!>
<Hold on, hold on!> said Clef. <Your talents are a two-way connection—I can share your mind just as my thoughts can barge into yours. Let’s see if I can bear the load for you…>
The eruption of murmurs warbled, then diminished rapidly, until it was a bearable level—though it did not vanish.
She gasped, relieved. <What did you do, Clef?>
<It’s sort of like the canals,> said Clef. <When one gets too full, it dumps water into another. Now all that noise is going into me. God…I knew it was bad for you, kid, but not this bad.>
<Are you all right? Can you bear it?>
<I can for now.>
<And…is it damaging you more?>
<Everything’s damaging me more. Come on. Let’s stop wasting time and go.>
Sancia rose, took a breath, and started off into the Mountain.
* * *
Gregor carefully navigated through the outer paths of the Candiano campo. He stuck to the edges of the streets, moving through the shadows. It was an odd experience—he’d never really spent much time on other campos before.
He saw the cross-streets Orso had described ahead. He started across a small square toward it—but then he paused ever so slightly.
Gregor abruptly turned right, away from the cross-streets. He walked to a small alley, stepped into a doorway, and stopped and watched the square and the streets around him.
There was no one. Yet he’d suddenly had an overpowering feeling that someone had been following him—there’d been a movement somewhere, out of the corner of his eye.
He waited, not moving. Perhaps I imagined it, he thought. He waited a bit longer. I need to hurry, he thought. Or else Sancia will try to jump off the Mountain with nowhere to fly to. He walked to the cross-streets, knelt, and started installing the anchor in the cobblestone.
* * *
What struck Sancia most about the Mountain was not just the size of the thing, but also the emptiness of it. She roved through huge banquet halls with vaulted ceilings, indoor gardens with pink, circling floating lanterns, immense counting offices filled with rows and rows of desks—and most were almost empty, occupied by only one or two people. She’d heard rumors that the Mountain was haunted, but maybe it just felt haunted because it seemed so abandoned.
<Candiano really is on the decline,> said Clef.
<No kidding.>
She knew she needed to find a lift, and she needed to use it without attracting attention. She finally found a more populated segment of the Mountain, full of residents and employees. They sped past her or ambled this way and that as they went about their daily lives, ignoring her; but then, they would—Orso had supplied her with clothing that made her look like a mid-level functionary.
She spied a few important-looking young men and followed them until they finally came to a lift. They stood around, waiting on the little room to arrive, and chatted in bored tones. Finally the round brass doors opened for them—presumably the rig checked their blood to make sure they could use it—and they walked inside, chatting and gesturing. Then the doors shut, and the lift rose.
<I’ll catch the next one,> she thought.
<This place is…strange,> said Clef.
<Yeah, no shit.>
<No, I mean I feel this pressure, like we’re in a room with too much air. It’s hard to explain—and I’m not even sure I understand it.>
The lift doors opened again, and she stepped inside. There was a brass panel by the door, with a round dial set in the middle. The dial was labeled with numbers running from 1 to 15, and it was currently pointed at 3. <It doesn’t go all the way up,> she thought.
<Then go as far as you can, I guess.>
She set the dial to 15, and the doors shut and the lift began to rise.
<So we just keep taking lifts until we get to thirty-five,> Clef said. <Easy. Hopefully.>
They rode in silence.
Then Sancia heard a voice. It was just like when she heard Clef’s voice—but this voice was not Clef’s. It was the voice of an imperious old man, and his words echoed loudly in her head as he said, <A Presence felt. But…unknown.>