Роберт Беннет - Foundryside

“And what, pray tell, is that?”

He leaned forward in his cage, grinning evilly. “We took out the oldest merchant house in Tevanne in one night ,” he said. “If I were a merchant house…Well. Personally, I would not go screwing about with Foundryside Limited.”

Sancia slowly climbed the wooden stairs, wondering exactly what in the hell she was walking into.

It had been a chaotic two days — sneaking Gregor from place to place, living in ditches like fugitives, trying like mad to reach her old contacts. The crypt had proven to be totally empty, and almost all of her contacts were gone — but those that remained had all said the same thing: If you want to find the Scrappers, go to Foundryside, to the Diestro rookery. Only it’s not called that anymore.

Well then , she’d asked, what the hell is it called?

Foundryside Limited , they’d all said. Don’t you know? It’s the new merchant house.

Which was unheard-of. And yet it’d been true: she’d walked through the door of the Diestro to find not just Claudia and Giovanni hard at work, but dozens of craftsmen and laborers who were renovating the entire building into something that resembled…

Well. A merchant house. A small one, and a dirty one — but still a merchant house.

Neither Claudia nor Giovanni had answered any of her questions. They’d just pointed at the stairs, and said: He wants to talk to you first. Before any of us do, anyways.

And so here she was. Walking up the stairs, totally unsure about what awaited her.

The stairs ended in a large room that was nearly empty, except for a desk in the back. Orso Ignacio stood behind it, reviewing some schematics for what looked like a lexicon. He looked up at her as she approached. “Ah, finally,” he said. He grinned. “Sancia, my dear girl. Take a seat.” He noticed there wasn’t a chair. “Or just stand comfortably, I guess.”

“Orso,” she said. “Orso, what the hell is going on? What is this place? Where have you been?”

“Well, the last question’s easy,” he said blithely. “I just got out of a trial where everyone wanted to kill me.” He sat. “As for the other questions…That’s a bit more complicated.”

“But…Orso…did you start your own damned merchant house ?”

“I did,” he said, nodding.

She stared at him. “Really?

“Really.”

“And you…you bought this building?”

“Yep. Well, Claudia bought it for me, with my money. But yes. You need property and a good number of employees to be a chartered merchant house, and Claudia gave me both. Nice girl. Thanks for introducing us, by the way.”

“You made a deal with the Scrappers? All of them? And they get what, to be employed at a somewhat real merchant house?”

“Not just employment,” said Orso. “Ownership. They get to be founders. I supplied the starting capital, they supply the labor and raw resources, and we all share a piece of the profits. It’s not as mad as it sounds.” He thought about that. “Well, it is pretty mad, but I thought it was a smart play. Company Candiano’s been on the decline for ages, and Estelle and Tomas’s mad shit was the last straw for lots of employees — and clients. Clients who still have needs, of course — but now that people are fleeing Company Candiano like mad, again , what merchant house do you think the clients are going to?”

“The one spearheaded by Tribuno Candiano’s former lieutenant,” said Sancia.

He grinned wickedly. “ Exactly. I know more about Candiano processes than anyone. I’ve already got three supply deals in the pipeline. And we also came up with some cunning, monetizable shit during all of our desperate plotting. So long as we stay functioning and solvent, we all duck the loop. Though we’re going to get bombarded by the other houses, and soon.” He took a breath. “So. That brings us to what I wanted to discuss with you. Because though I’d like to pretend I can do this all myself…I know I can’t.”

She stared at him. “Wait. Orso, are…are you offering me a job ?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not. I’m saying that, if you were to ask for a position here at the good and noble merchant house of Foundryside Limited, I’d give it to you. In fact, at this stage of our development, it’d essentially make you a founder, Sancia.”

“Me? A founder?”

“In the most technical sense of the word, yes,” said Orso. “Someone who has started something — though no one will have any idea how it’ll finish. It could all go very poorly. So if you want to be free of Tevanne…to get out of here, and go live your own life…then do that instead. You’ve earned it. I want you to feel entirely free to have it, if you want. Because I’m scrumming charitable as hell, you see.”

He looked at her. She looked back.

“There’s more to it than just me,” said Sancia.

“Who else could there be?” asked Orso.

“Gregor,” said Sancia. “He’s alive. And I have him.”

Orso looked dumbfounded. “He’s what ? Gregor Dandolo is alive ?”

“Yeah. And he’s…well, it looks like he’s like me. A scrived human. He’s been scrived all along — I just don’t know by who.”

She filled him in on the rest. He listened, shocked. “Someone scrived Gregor Dandolo…boring, dull, stodgy Dandolo…to be a goddamn killing machine?” he asked.

“Basically. He fought it, though. He could have taken my head off, but…he broke himself, somehow. I’ve been trying to take care of him. I’ve got him hidden at the crypt now, recovering. But he’s in a strange way, Orso. He’s lost everything. And he needs our help. After all he’s done, he deserves it.”

Orso sat back, dazed. “Well. Shit. I’d be happy to take him in…and if we can get him back on his feet, he’d make an excellent chief of security. If he can recover, that is.” He looked at her. “Now…would you be willing to take a position with us?”

“There’s one more thing.”

He sighed. “Of course there is.”

She took Clef out and slid him across the desk to Orso.

He gaped at the key. “Really?”

“Don’t be happy. This is a problem, not a gift. He…he doesn’t work anymore, or talk. We need to fix him. We’ve got to fix him. Since he’s the only one who can tell us what really happened, and what’s really going on.”

Orso scratched his head. “Usually when someone haggles over the conditions of one’s employment,” he said, “it’s about pay, or lodgings. Not insane mystical conundrums.”

“You want me,” said Sancia, “you have to take all my baggage with me. There’s a lot more than there used to be.”

“So — is that a yes?”

“Is Berenice here?” she asked.

“She is. She’s overseeing the construction work.”

She thought about it. “What did she say?”

“She said she’d wait to hear what you said.”

Sancia smiled. “Of course she did.”

Ofelia Dandolo walked across the Dandolo campo to her front gate, across her courtyards, and into her mansion. She paced down the front hallway, then through a set of doors, then downstairs to the basement level, and then to the back, to an undistinguished-looking cabinet door.