Роберт Беннет - Foundryside

“What happened to you wounds my heart, my love,” she said softly. “But I thank you for coming to us now, when we need you the most.”

Gregor’s heart fluttered in his chest. No, no , he thought. No, I’m going mad. This is all a dream. This is all just a dream…

Another memory from that same night in the library — Orso, shrugging and saying: Oh, it probably wasn’t just one merchant house…If one was trying to scrive humans, they all were. It might still be going on, for all I know…

No , Gregor thought. No, no, no.

He remembered himself, saying aloud: …they could scrive a soldier’s mind. Make them fearless…Make them do despicable things, and then forget they’d ever done them…

No! Gregor thought. No, it can’t be! It can’t be!

And then Berenice, whispering: They could scrive you so that you could cheat death itself…

And finally, he remembered his own words, spoken to Sancia beside the Gulf, describing what it’d been like after Dantua: It was like a magic spell had been lifted from my eyes…

His mother watched him, her eyes sad. “You’re remembering now,” she said. “Aren’t you? You usually do about now.”

He remembered her at the Vienzi Foundry, angrily saying: I killed the project. It was wrong. And we didn’t need it anymore anyway.

Which made one wonder — why would you stop trying to scrive humans? Why say you didn’t need it anymore?

Because , thought Gregor slowly, you’d already figured out how to do it.

And then, from that same day at Vienzi, he remembered how his mother had wept, and told him: I did not lose you in Dantua. You survived. As I knew you would, Gregor. As I know you always will…

How did I survive Dantua? he thought, terrified. Did I survive Dantua? Or did I…did I die there?

“I lost your father,” said his mother. “I lost your brother. And I could have lost you in the accident, too, my love. Until he came…He came, and showed me how to save you, to fix you. So I did. But…I had to promise some things in return.”

More of Gregor’s senses returned. He could see now, see the crowd of robed people bearing candles, the curious, rippling walls in the darkness…and there was a whispering sound. At first he thought the robed people were whispering, but that wasn’t it…It was like they were in some kind of forest with velvety leaves. His ears couldn’t make sense of it.

His mother shook herself and cleared her throat. “Enough. Enough sentiment. Listen to me, Gregor.” Her voice became terribly loud in his ears, overpowering his thoughts. “Listen to me. Are you hearing me?”

The fear and rage faded from Gregor’s mind. She took her fingers away. It was as if a cold, wet quilt were being laid over his thoughts.

He heard himself say quietly, “Yes. I hear you.”

“You have died,” she said. “We have saved you, again. But you must do something for us. Do you understand?”

Again, his lips moved and the words sprang from his mouth: “Yes. I understand.”

“You have confirmed something that we have long suspected,” she said. “Estelle Candiano is the person behind this monstrous plot. Say her name. Now.”

“Estelle Candiano,” said his voice. His words were mush-mouthed and indistinct.

“Estelle Candiano is going to try something foolish tonight,” said his mother. “Something that could endanger us all. We’ve tried to keep our efforts secret, tried to never act in the open — but she’s forced our hand. We must respond, and respond directly — though we must maintain whatever deniability we can. She has something in her possession that she does not understand. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes,” he said helplessly. “I am hearing you.”

His mother grew close. “It is a box. With a lock.”

“A box,” he repeated. “With a lock.”

“We have been looking for this box for some time, Gregor,” she said. “We have suspected that the Candianos possessed it — but we have been unable to discern exactly where they had it. But now we know. Because of your efforts, we believe Estelle Candiano is keeping it in the Mountain. Say that.”

“In the Mountain,” he said slowly.

“Listen to me, Gregor,” she whispered. “Listen carefully— there is a devil in this box . Say that.”

Gregor blinked slowly, and whispered, “There is a devil in this box.”

“Yes. Yes, there is,” she said. “We cannot let Estelle open it. And if she does what she wishes to do tonight — if she elevates herself, and becomes a Maker, and if she possesses the key — she will have that capability. But we cannot, cannot, cannot let her release what sleeps within that box.” Ofelia swallowed, and if Gregor had the mind for it, he would have seen she was clearly terrified. “Once it waged a war…A war to end all wars. We cannot risk such a thing again. We must keep the devil inside the box. Say that.”

“We must keep the devil inside the box,” whispered Gregor.

She leaned close, touching her forehead to his temple. “I’m so proud of you for this, my love,” she whispered. “I do not know if it was your intent, or the hand of fate guiding you…But Gregor, I…I just want you to know, that despite everything — I…I love you.”

Gregor blinked slowly, and mindlessly repeated, “I love you…”

Ofelia stood up, her face twisted in shame and disgust, as if pained by his toneless words. “Enough. When you have fully recovered, you must fight your way to the Mountain, Gregor. Once there, you must find Estelle Candiano. Kill her. And then you must take the key and the box. Eliminate anyone who tries to stop you. We have wrought such powerful, beautiful tools to assist you in this task. You must use them to do what you do best, Gregor, to do what we have made you to do — you must fight.”

She pointed over his shoulder. Gregor turned to look.

But as he looked, he realized two things.

The first was that he suddenly understood why the walls of the room seemed to be rippling, why there was that fluttering and whispering in his ears…

The room was full of moths.

Moths swirled and danced and flittered all along the walls, along the ceiling, a sea of white moths flowing around and under and over all of them, their wings like flickering bone.

The second thing he realized was that there was someone standing behind him, and he saw them out of the corner of his eye as he turned, just a glimpse.

It was a man. Maybe. A human figure, tall and thin, wrapped in strips of black cloth like a mummified corpse, and wearing a short, black cloak.

And it was watching him.

Gregor turned to look, but in a flash, the figure was gone. In its place was a column of moths, a storm of them, a swirling vortex of soft, white wings.

He stared at the moths. He realized there was something within the column — they were swirling around something, dancing around it, something white.

The column of moths slowly lifted like a curtain, and he saw.

A wooden stand, and hanging upon it a scrived suit of black armor. Built into one arm was a black, glittering polearm, half massive ax, half giant spear. Built into the other was a huge, round shield, and installed behind it a scrived bolt caster. And set in the center of the cuirass — a curious black plate.