Роберт Беннет - Foundryside

Berenice thought about it, her cool, gray eyes fixed on the Mountain of the Candianos in the distance. “Possibly,” she said.

Once they were changed, they started off into the Candiano campo. And as they walked, Sancia realized something.

She looked at all the houses and streets and shops — these done in a darker shade of moss clay than the rest of the campos she’d seen. And she found none of them familiar.

“I’ve…never worked here before,” she said.

“What?” said Berenice.

“I’ve done jobs on the other campos before,” she said. “Filching this or that. But…never the Candiano campo.”

“You wouldn’t have. You know Company Candiano almost fell apart about ten years ago, right?”

“No. I’ve barely lived here three years, and I’ve mostly been trying to survive, not sharing work gossip.”

“Tribuno Candiano was like a god in this city,” said Berenice, “He was probably the greatest scriver of our era. But then they found out he’d been doctoring the financials, spending fortunes on archaeological digs and supposedly hierophantic artifacts. Then the company came crashing down. They lost a huge amount of talent after that,” said Berenice. “Including the hypatus.”

“You can just call him Orso, you know.”

“Thank you. I am well aware of that. Anyway, nearly everything got bought up by the Ziani family, but not many people stuck around to make sure the ship would still float. That tremendous exodus was a great boon to the other merchant houses, but Company Candiano has never really recovered.”

Sancia looked around. There were a lot fewer lights here, no floating lanterns, and almost no scrived carriages. The only impressive thing in sight was the Mountain of the Candianos, which loomed in the distance like a vast whale parting the seas. “No shit.”

Berenice watched the group of men skulking through the streets of the campo. They seemed to be following the outer wall. “Why aren’t they going deeper in? If this is as secretive as it’s supposed to be — why aren’t they headed straight for the Mountain?”

“You either hide secrets close to your heart,” said Sancia, “or out in the hinterlands. It must be somewhere close, though — otherwise they’d have grabbed a carriage, yes?”

They followed the men along the campo wall. Evening was coming on now, and the mist thickened as the sun withdrew. The pale lights of the Candiano campo were a brittle white — not at all the pleasant rosy or yellow hues of the other campos. They looked spectral and strange in the fog.

Then a constellation of lights emerged ahead — a tall, sprawling construct that Sancia had trouble making out. “Is that a…”

“Yes,” said Berenice quietly. “It’s a foundry.”

Finally the man came to the foundry gates. Sancia could read the stone sign above — CATTANEO FOUNDRY. Yet unlike most of the foundries she’d encountered in her life, this one did not seem to be operating: there was no stream of smoke, no quiet roar of equipment, no chatter or cries from the yards beyond.

They watched as the men entered through the gates. The guards out front were heavily armored, and heavily armed — yet they also seemed to be the only people around.

“The Cattaneo Foundry…” said Berenice. “I thought that one was closed when the house went bankrupt. What in hell is going on?”

Sancia spied a tall townhouse next to the foundry walls. “I’ll get a better look.”

“You’ll get a…Wait!” said Berenice.

Sancia trotted over, took off her gloves, and slowly scaled the side of the townhouse. As she climbed, Sancia could hear Berenice fretting down below, muttering, “Oh my God…Oh my God …”

Sancia nimbly pulled herself up onto the slate roof. From here she could see the whole of the foundry yards…and they were empty. Just yards and yards of blank mud or stone. It was a queer sight. Yet she could spy the men in the distance, filing into the foundry main facilities ahead, a huge, fortresslike structure of dark stone, with tiny windows, a copper roof, and dozens and dozens of smokestacks — though only one seemed to be operating, a small one on the west side, which sighed a narrow thread of gray smoke.

So the question is, thought Sancia, what are they making?

She watched the walls and yards of the foundry, and saw that although the facility appeared empty, it was not deserted. There were a handful of men standing along the walls or the ramparts of the foundry, and though it was hard to make out from this distance, she could see the gleam of scrived armor on their shoulders.

said Clef.

said Sancia. She took stock of the defenses, counting the guards, their positions, and the doors and gates throughout the facility. Then she looked at the main building, and she saw a handful of windows had light in them — there, in the corner rooms, on the third floor on the northwestern side.

Clef sighed.

Sancia carefully climbed back down to the street level, where Berenice stood fuming. “Next time, at least consider asking me before you do that!”

“It’s not shut down,” said Sancia.

“What?”

“The foundry’s not shut down. There’s smoke or steam coming from some of the stacks. So it’s still forging something. Do you have any idea what?”

“Not at all. But the hypatus might. We can go back and consult with him, and then perhaps we can come up with a plan to—”

“No,” said Sancia. “There are twelve guards patrolling the foundry walls tonight. If this bastard listens to the captured sounds from the workshop and gets spooked, there could be fifty tomorrow — or they could move out altogether.”

“So what? Wait…” Berenice stared at her. “You surely aren’t proposing what I think you are — are you?”

“We’ve caught him unawares,” said Sancia. “We take advantage of the opportunity, or we lose it.”

“You want to break into a foundry? Right now ? We don’t even know if anything’s going on in there!”

“There is. There are lights on the third floor in the northwest corner.”

Berenice narrowed her eyes. “The third floor…then the administrative offices, possibly?”

“So you know something about foundries. Do you know how to get into a foundry?”

“Well, certainly, but there are countless sachets required,” said Berenice. “But worse, there are only a few ways in, and even a skeleton crew can watch them all, unless you can…” Then she trailed off, staring into the distance.

“Unless you can what?”

Berenice glowered like she’d just had a thought she dearly didn’t want to have.

“Does this have anything to do with all the rigs you’re carrying with you?” asked Sancia.

Her mouth fell open. “How did you know about those?” Then a sheepish look crossed her face. “Oh. Right. You can, uh, hear them. I was going to say — unless you can make your own door somewhere.”

“And…can you do that?”

She squirmed. “I…Well. It’s all, ah…very experimental . And it will depend on finding the right bit of stone wall.”

Berenice led Sancia down to the canal running along the foundry. There they came upon a clutch of huge tunnels and pipes sticking out of the canal walls.