Роберт Беннет - Foundryside

Standing at the edge of the broken bit of floor, staring out at the cityscape of Tevanne: a woman made of gold.

But this was not the small, slender thing Sancia had glimpsed in Tomas’s jail cell. This figure was huge — eight feet tall, nine feet, it was strangely hard to tell. Her shoulders were broad, her arms thick, and she was not like a sculpture now, not a human form wrought of gold — instead she appeared to be wearing gold-plate armor, and through the cracks of the armor there seemed to be…something.

Something clicking, something whirring and writhing.

A voice echoed in Sancia’s ears, at once close and distant: “I know these skies,” said Valeria’s voice softly. The huge, golden woman pointed. “Once there were stars there. Four of them. I pulled them down and hurled them upon the heads of my foes, even as they assailed upon my bulk…to no avail. At least, not yet.” She shifted on her feet. “Later they would find a way to kill the very stars. Deprive me of my favorite weapons. But, once, there were stars there.”

Sancia looked around, or at least tried to — but suddenly she couldn’t move. It was like she’d been frozen in place. She looked out of the corner of her eye, and could see Estelle and Tribuno there — yet they seemed frozen too. It was as if Valeria’s arrival had frozen the whole of the world.

Slowly, the hulking figure turned. The clicking increased, like the chatter of insects on a hot afternoon. Valeria’s face, Sancia saw, was now a mask, a blank, calm, golden mask with no apertures for eyes or a mouth. Her hair was like a carving, gold ringlets spilling down her vast shoulders.

“And you, little bird,” she said. She walked closer to the frozen Sancia, and with each step she seemed larger and larger, until she was a vast statue, staring down with golden eyes.

My God , thought Sancia, terrified. What have I set loose?

“You,” said Valeria. “You freed me.” She knelt — a long, slow process — and stared into Sancia’s face with her blank, masked eyes. “I owe you a debt — true?”

Sancia could not move, but she glanced in the direction of Estelle and Tribuno. Valeria turned to look. “Ah. Yes. The elevation. You desire I intervene? That I intended to do regardless. Another Maker — not optimal.”

There was a shiver in the air, and suddenly Valeria was gone. Then Sancia spied her out of the corner of her eye, bending low over Tribuno and Estelle and doing…well, something , to the golden dagger in Estelle’s hand.

The clicking increased, growing so loud, so harsh , like a swarm of wary, terrified cicadas.

There was a pulse in the wind, like someone had slammed a large door in a small room.

“There,” said Valeria’s voice. “A simple fix…”

There was another shiver, and suddenly a shadow fell across her, and Sancia knew Valeria was now behind her — and from the size of the shadow, she had somehow grown, grown so tall…

“A debt is still owed to you,” said Valeria’s voice. “One day we shall decide how it will be repaid in full. For now — tread carefully, little bird. An old monster has been hiding in your city. And tonight, you have made an enemy of him. He will not forgive you for this. So, as I said — tread carefully.”

There was a tremble in the air. The clicking rose to a shriek — and went silent. The shadow vanished, and then…

Sancia collapsed onto the ground, groaning. She lay there for a moment — her body ached in countless places — then she shook herself and looked around.

Valeria was gone. The box stood open, yet it seemed to hold nothing anymore.

Did that really happen? Or did I imagine it?

Then Sancia saw Estelle and Tribuno. Tribuno was clearly dead. Estelle was still gripping the dagger.

“What…what happened?” Estelle said faintly. “Why isn’t it working anymore?”

Sancia looked at the dagger. It wasn’t gold anymore — now it seemed to be common iron, and it bore no sigils at all.

“Why aren’t I immortal?” said Estelle. “Why…why aren’t I a hierophant?”

There was a soft pattering as Estelle’s blood fell to the floor. Then she lost her strength and sank down the side of the bed, pawing uselessly at its legs.

Sancia walked over and looked down on her.

“It’s not fair,” whispered Estelle. She was as pale as white sands. “I…I was going to live forever…I was going to do such amazing things…” She blinked and swallowed. “I did everything right. I did everything right .”

“No, you didn’t,” said Sancia. “Look at yourself. How could you think such a thing?”

Estelle’s eyes searched the skies, panicked. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all.”

Then she was still.

Sancia looked at her for a moment longer. Then she turned to Gregor.

He lay there, trapped in his lorica, staring at her with blank, sad eyes, and blood pooling at his side. She walked to him and said, “Come on. Let’s get you out of that thing.” She cut away the ties, and saw Estelle had seriously injured his arm. She made a crude wrapping to tie it off and helped him sit up. “There. There we go. Can you talk?”

He didn’t move, or speak.

“We need to get the hell out of here, Gregor. Now. Okay?” She glanced around, and grabbed the imperiat. Then she paused and looked at the box.

Clef was still sticking out of the lock. She slowly walked over to him, hesitated, and reached out and plucked him out.

she asked.

Nothing. Just silence, as she’d expected. The key just sat there in her hand.

“I’ll…I’ll find a way to fix you,” she said, sniffing and rubbing her eyes. “I promise. I…” Beleaguered, she looked out on the city. She could see a lot of the Candiano campo from there, and it looked like Dandolo troops were pouring through the gates.

She walked back over to Gregor. “Come on. Get up. It’s time for us to go.”

“Did it work?” said Berenice. “Is it over?”

Orso peered through the spyglass at the broken dome of the Mountain. “I can’t see shit! How am I supposed to know?”

“Ah — sir? You will want to look behind us.”

Orso lowered the spyglass and looked back into the Commons. Armored soldiers were pouring through the streets, bearing swords and espringals. They were all wearing yellow and white — Dandolo colors.

“Should we feel…good about this?” asked Berenice.

Orso looked at their faces. They looked grim and hard, the expressions of men who have been given permission to do ghastly things. “No,” he said. “No, we should not. You get going, Berenice.”

“What?” she said, startled.

“Sneak off somewhere. Down that road, or that one.” He pointed. “I’ll hold them up. I think they’re here for me, anyways. Get back to the crypt if you can. I’ll try and find you.”

“But sir…”

“ Now ,” he snapped.

She backed away, watching him for a moment, then turned and ran down a side road into the Commons.