Роберт Беннет - Foundryside

“You’re Occidental?” she said. “A hierophant?”

“Those are just words,” he said. “Divorced from the truth of history long past. I’m nothing now. Now I’m just a ghost within this machine. Don’t pity me, Sancia. I think at times that I deserve worse fates than this one. Listen. You want to open the box, and free what lies within — yes?”

“Yeah. If it’ll stop Estelle and save lives — including mine.”

“It will,” he said, sighing deeply. “For now.”

“For now?”

“Yes. You have to understand, kid, that you’re wading into the depths of a war that has raged for time beyond memory — a war between those who make and that which is made, between those who own and those who are owned. You’ve already seen what the powerful can do — how they can make people into willing slaves, turn them into tools and devices. But if you open the box — if you free what is within — then you’ll open a new chapter in this war.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” said Sancia. “Who is Valeria, really?”

“You already know what she is,” he said. “Don’t you? She showed herself to you, allowed you a glimpse when she changed you — didn’t she?”

Sancia was silent for a long while, thinking. Then she said, “I saw a woodcut once, a strange one…a group of men, standing in a curious room — the chamber at the center of the world, they said it was. There was a box in front of them, and the men were opening it up, and out of the box stepped…something. A god, perhaps.” She looked at him. “An angel in a jar…A god in a basket, or a sprite in a thimble…It’s all her, isn’t it? All of the stories are true, and they’re all about her — the synthetic god in the box, built by Crasedes of metals and machinery…”

“Mm,” said Claviedes. “Not quite a god , really. Valeria is more like a complicated command that was given to reality — a command that reality must change itself. She is still in the process of fulfilling all the requirements of that command — or at least, she’s trying to. She is not a god, in other words — she is a process. A sequence. It just didn’t go as anticipated.”

“And you fought her, didn’t you,” said Sancia. “She wasn’t lying when she told me about that, was she? You fought an entire war against her…”

“I didn’t do any fighting. But…” He was silent for a moment. “All servants,” he said quietly, “eventually come to doubt their masters. Just like you exploit flaws in scrivings, Valeria eventually found a way to exploit the flaws in her own commands. She’s still following her commands…just in an unusual fashion.”

Sancia sat back, dazed. She couldn’t process any of this. “So…We can try to let a synthetic god out of its box. One you fought a catastrophic war against. Or I can let Estelle become a monster. That’s the choice before me.”

“Unfortunately. And though I don’t doubt Valeria will stop Estelle’s ritual — what she does after that is anyone’s guess.”

“Not much of a choice.”

“No. But listen, Sancia,” he said. “Listen closely. You’ve few choices now. But in the future, you will be forced to make many . You’ve been changed. You possess powers and tools and abilities you haven’t even begun to imagine.”

“What,” she said miserably, “you mean tinkering with scrivings?”

“You’ll soon learn to do many things, Sancia — and you’ll have to learn to do many things. Because war is coming. It’s already found you and the rest of this city. And when you decide how to respond, remember — the first few steps of your path will decide the rest of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think of the plantations, of slavery. It was to be a short-term fix to a short-term problem. But they grew dependent on it. It became a part of their way of life. And then, without ever realizing it, they couldn’t imagine a way to stop. The choices you make will change you over time, Sancia. Make sure they don’t change you into something you don’t recognize — or you might wind up like me.” He smiled weakly at her.

“How can we release her, then?” said Sancia. “What can I do?”

“You?” he said. “You’ll do nothing. This is my task. My burden, and mine alone.”

“What do you mean? I thought the key was eroding, falling apart?”

“Oh, it is,” he said. “But the more the walls fall away, the more control I have. And I might not have strength enough to open Valeria’s box — but I do have strength enough to restore the key to its original state. And that can open the box.”

She considered this. “But…if the key is restored to the original state…then would we be able to talk? To speak? To be…friends?”

He smiled at her sadly. “No.”

She sat back, shocked. “But…but that’s not fair.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“I…I don’t want you to scrumming die, Clef! And I know it’s not really death, but it’s damned well close enough!”

“Well. You don’t really have a choice, I’m afraid. This is my choice. But it was good to speak to you, and I had to warn you of what awaits, before we part ways.”

“So…so this is good-bye?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “It is.” Something loud clanked above her, and the machine began to whirl. “Remember — move thoughtfully, give freedom to others, and you’ll rarely do wrong, Sancia. I’ve learned that now. I wish I’d known it in life.”

Something rattled and clattered, and a huge wheel began to move above.

“Good-bye, Sancia,” he whispered.

Then there was the whir of machinery, the hum of gears, and things went white.

Sancia opened her eyes.

She was still in the Mountain, still standing on that tiny shred of floor with Estelle and Tribuno, and the box was still before her, glowing red hot…

Yet Clef was moving. She felt him turn again in her hand, like some part of the lock that had previously resisted her finally gave way.

There was a deep, echoing clank from somewhere within the box. It sounded like it was echoing within an impossibly vast space — one much, much larger than the box itself.

“What did you do?” screamed Estelle. “What did you d —”

Then the lid of the box clunked , and swung back.

A blinding, bright light shone from its interior, as if the sun itself were inside the stone box, and there was a tremendous screeching sound, like enormous metal wheels braking across vast tracks in the sky. Sancia cried out and covered her eyes with one arm, her other hand on Clef, and tried to look away. Yet the light seemed to be everywhere, bathing everything, burning into her, and somewhere she heard a sound like thousands of clocks chiming in a faraway room…

Then the blaze died, the screeching and chiming stopped, and suddenly the box was just a box, cracked and old and empty.

Sancia blinked and looked around. She was still where she was, but…things looked different. The colors were muted and strange, as if a bit of light had leeched out of everything.

Then she heard the clicking — soft and steady, like the rivets and brackets of a massive clock — and she saw her.