Роберт Беннет - Foundryside

“Not all of them,” said Giovanni, stung.

“I’ll give you some Candiano fifth-tier strings,” said Orso. “But none from Dandolo.”

“Any Candiano string from you is going to be outdated,” said Claudia. “You haven’t worked there in a decade.”

“Possibly. But it’s all you’re going to get,” said Orso. “Select Candiano fifth-tier strings, and the fifty most-used third- and fourth-tier strings for both Dandolo and Candiano. Plus whatever proprietary knowledge you gain during the planning process, plus a sum to be agreed upon later.”

Claudia and Giovanni exchanged a glance. “Deal,” they said at the same time.

Orso grinned. Sancia found it a distinctly unpleasant sight. “Excellent. Now. Where the hell are we going to be headquartered?”

Most of the canals in Tevanne were either full or close to it most of the time — but not all.

Every fourth year in the Durazzo was a monsoon year, when the warm waters bred monstrous storms, and although Tevanne lacked any central authority, water cared not a whit about which campo it flowed into. So, eventually, the merchant houses had decided they were obliged to do something about it.

Their solution was “the Gulf”—a massive, stone-lined flood reservoir in the north of the city, which could store and dump floodwater into the lower canals as needed. The Gulf was empty most of the time, essentially a mile-wide, artificial desert of gray, molded stone and dotted with drains. Sancia knew it was prone to shantytowns and vagrants and stray dogs, but there were some parts of the Gulf that even they weren’t desperate or stupid enough to inhabit.

Yet, to her concern, Claudia and Giovanni were leading them to exactly one such spot.

said Clef’s voice suddenly in her ear,

Sancia was so surprised she almost leapt into the air.

There was a silence.

Her skin crawled.

said Clef quietly.

She tried to keep the fear out of her face as she listened to this.

“There it is!” said Giovanni, trotting along the west side of the slanted stone walls. He pointed ahead, and though it was now night, they could see he was pointing to a large, dripping tunnel, blocked off with thick, crisscrossing iron bars.

“That is a storm drain,” said Gregor.

“True,” said Gio. “What marvelous eyes, you have, Captain.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Gregor, “but the problem with working out of a storm drain is that, when there is a storm, it tends to fill with water — which I, personally, cannot breathe.”

“Did I say we were going to be working in a storm drain?” said Gio. He led them down a molded stone path to the storm drain and took out a small, thin, scrived strip of iron. He examined the bars, tapped the strip to one section, and then gave the bars a tug. The bottom quarter of the bars swung open, like the gate of a garden fence.

“Clever,” said Orso, peering at the hinges. “It’s a weak door, and a weak lock — but you don’t need it to be strong if no one knows it’s there.”

“Exactly.” Gio bowed and extended an arm. “After you, good sir. Mind the sewage.”

They entered the massive drain. “I have to admit, I’m getting pretty goddamn tired of pipes,” said Sancia.

“Seconded,” said Berenice.

“We won’t be here for long,” said Claudia. She and Giovanni produced a handful of scrived lights, slashing rosy hues across the rippled walls. They walked down the tunnel about three hundred feet or so. Then the two Scrappers started peering around them.

“Oh, goodness,” said Claudia. “I haven’t been here in ages…Where is it?”

Giovanni slapped his forehead. “Damn! I’m being stupid, I forgot. Just a second.” He pulled out a small, scrived bead of metal, and seemed to twist it, like it was two rotating halves. Then he held it up and let go. The bead zipped over to one wall like it had been ripped along by a string. “There!” said Gio.

“That’s right,” said Claudia. “I forgot you’d installed a flag.” She walked over to the bead — which was now stuck to the wall — and held up a light. Right below the bead was a tiny slot that was practically invisible if you didn’t know to look for it. Gio took back out the scrived iron strip he’d used on the drainage bars and stuck it into the slot.

There was the sound of stone groaning on stone. Gio shoved at the wall with his shoulder, and suddenly a large segment pivoted inward, swinging like a large, circular stone door. “Here we are!”

Sancia and the rest all peered into the rounded door. Inside was a long, tall, narrow passageway, with ornately wrought walls that were lined with what appeared to be some kind of cubbyholes, most of which were empty — but not all. In some of the cubbyholes, Sancia spied urns and…

“Skulls,” she said aloud. “A…Uh, a crypt?”

“Precisely,” said Giovanni.

“What in the hell is a crypt doing in the Gulf?” asked Orso.

“Apparently there had been quite a few minor estates here before the merchant houses made the Gulf,” said Claudia, walking inside. “The houses just tore them down and paved over them. No one thought much about what was underneath, until they started digging the tunnels. Most of the crypts and basements have gotten flooded out — but this one is in fairly good condition.”

Sancia followed her in. The crypt was large, with a big, round, central chamber, and several smaller, narrow wings splitting off from it. “How’d you find it?”

“Someone once traded us jewelry for rigs,” said Claudia. “The jewelry was old and branded with a family crest — and one of us realized it’d had to come from a family grave. We went looking, and found this.”

“We hole up here only when we’ve really pissed off a merchant house,” said Gio. “And it sounds like you lot have done exactly that. So — this should work nicely.”

“So…” said Berenice, staring around. “We’re going to be scriving…and working…and, for a while, living…in a crypt. With…bones.”

“Well, if you’re really going to try to break into the Mountain, then you’re probably going to wind up dead anyway,” said Gio. “Maybe this will help you get used to it.”

Orso had found a hole in the vaulted ceiling. “Does this go up to the surface?”

“Yeah,” said Claudia. “To let heat out if you’re doing any minor forging or smelting.”

“Excellent. Then this should work quite well!” said Orso.

Gregor was leaning over a large stone sarcophagus with a caved-in lid. He peered through the gap at the remains below. “Will it,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” said Orso. He rubbed his hands. “Let’s get to work!”

said Clef.

said Clef.

said Clef.

Once they’d gotten the lay of things, Orso waited out in the tunnel, staring out at the shantytowns beyond. Greasy campfires and thick, black smoke crawled across the surface of the Gulf. The smoke turned the starlit sky into a dull smear.

Berenice emerged from the crypt and joined him. “I’ll make the requisitions now, sir,” she said. “We should be able to move in and get everything ready to start work tomorrow night.”