Роберт Беннет - Foundryside

But this definition only mattered when its scrivings were activated — specifically, when it was swung at the proper speed. Which included being thrown.

Now when the sword activated its scrivings, it did not think it was as heavy as twenty six-pound rapiers, but rather twenty hundred-and-sixteen-pound rapiers. And then, of course, it amplified its gravity, which made the effect even more extreme.

When the rapier hit the far stone wall, it was like it’d been struck by a boulder falling off the side of a mountain. There was a tremendous crash , shrapnel and debris rained throughout the room, and dust filled the air.

Sancia lay on the ground, covering her head and neck with her hands as the pebbles and rocks rained down on her. Then she stood and dashed through the hole in the wall to the window on the far side of the room.

She barely had time to look out — she was about sixty feet up above the Candiano campo. Like a lot of the Candiano campo, this area was deserted, but there was a wide canal just below the wall. She jumped up and shoved the window open. Then she lifted herself up, through, and over, and then she hung on the window of the foundry, reviewing her options to descend.

She heard the sounds of shouts within, and looked up through the window to see seven Candiano soldiers charge in. They stared at her, hanging there on the window, and raised their espringals.

For a moment, she debated what to do. She knew the window was scrived to be unnaturally durable. But she knew at a glance that the soldiers’ espringals were quite advanced.

The hell with it , she thought. She turned and leapt off the window, arms outstretched for the canal below.

She tumbled, end over end. She heard the window explode above her, and she opened her eyes. And then she saw.

Even though she had no mind for it, she nearly cried, “ Oh my God! ” as she fell. Yet not out of fear, or dismay — but rather wonder.

For she was still seeing the scrivings around her. And as she fell, she did something more, something she had no idea she could do: it was like there was a floodgate in her mind, and out of fear or wonder or instinct, it opened up just as she opened her eyes…

Sancia saw the nightscape of Tevanne below her, suddenly rendered in the juddering, jangly tangles of silver scrivings, thousands and thousands and thousands of them, like a dark mountain range covered in tiny candles. She watched in wonder as the scrived bolts hissed through the air above her, glittering like falling stars as they sped out over the city, a city that swarmed with minds and thoughts and desires like a forest full of fireflies.

It’s like the night sky , she thought as she fell. No, it’s even more beautiful than that…

The canal waters rose up to her, and she crashed through.

Sancia swam through unspeakable filth, through rot and flotsam and jetsam, through scum and industrial slurry. She swam until her body was as overwhelmed as her mind, until her shoulders were like fire and her legs like lead, until she finally crawled onto the muddy channel shores below the white Dandolo walls, exhausted and trembling.

Slowly, she stood. Then, filthy, reeking, and bloody, she turned and faced the sight of smoky, foggy, starlit Tevanne, stretched out beneath the skies.

She focused, and opened the floodgates inside of her. She saw Tevanne alight with thought and words and commands, all faint and flickering, like spectral candles burning under the purple morning skies.

Then Sancia, chest heaving, clenched her fists and screamed, a long, hoarse cry of defiance, of outrage, of victory. And as she screamed, some curious things happened in the campo blocks around her.

Scrived lights flickered uncertainly. Floating lanterns suddenly bobbed low, dropping a few feet, as if they’d heard dismaying news. Carriages abruptly slowed, just for half a block or so. Doors that had been scrived to stay shut slowly creaked open. Weapons and armaments that had been commanded to feel lighter felt, for one instant, a bit heavy.

It was like all the machines and devices that made the world run experienced a fleeting moment of paralyzing self-doubt, and they all whispered— What was that? Did you hear that?

Sancia had no idea what she had done. But she did understand one thing, in some wordless fashion: the Sancia that the stars touched right now was slightly less human than the one they had touched the night before.

“It’s a cowardly plan, sir,” said Berenice.

“Oh, come off it, Berenice!” said Orso. “It’s been seven hours , and we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of Sancia or Gregor! No messages, no communications, nothing! And the Candiano campo is suddenly completely shut down! Something has gone wrong. And I’ve no interest in sticking around to see what.”

“But…but we just can’t leave Tevanne!” said Berenice, pacing back and forth across the crypt.

“I could,” said Gio. The two Scrappers were obviously terrified. They were far more vulnerable than two campo scrivers.

“Maybe instead of paying us,” said Claudia, “you can pay for our passage out of here.”

“We can’t abandon Sancia and Gregor!” said Berenice. “We can’t leave the imperiat in Tomas Ziani’s hands! A man like that…Think of the damage he could do!”

“I am thinking of that,” said Orso. “I can’t stop thinking about it! That’s why I want to get the hell out of here! And as for Sancia and Gregor…”

Berenice stopped and glared at him. “Yes?”

Orso grimaced. “They made their choice. They knew the risks. We all did. Some wind up lucky, and others don’t. We’re survivors of all this, Berenice. The wisest thing to do is just keep surviving.”

She heaved a great sigh. “To think of us hopping aboard a ship and sneaking away in the dead of night…”

“What else are we supposed to do?” said Orso. “We’re just some scrivers, girl! We can’t design our way out of this! The idea is preposterous! Anyways, Sancia and Gregor are smart people, maybe they can find their own way ou—”

They froze as they heard the stone door roll away in the crypt passage beyond. This was troubling — because only Gio had the key, and that was currently sitting in his pocket.

They looked at one another, alarmed. Orso held a finger to his lips. He stood, grabbed a wrench, and gingerly approached the opening of the passageway. He paused — he could hear slow footsteps approaching.

He swallowed, took a breath, and screamed and leapt in front of the passageway, wrench raised over his head.

He skidded to a stop. Standing before him, grim and stone-faced, was a wet, filthy, bloody Sancia Grado.

“Holy hell,” said Orso.

“Sancia!” cried Berenice. She ran to her, but stopped a few feet away. “My…my God. What happened to you?”

Sancia had not yet seemed to notice either of them — she was just staring into the middle distance. But at these words, she slowly blinked and looked at Berenice, meeting her eyes. “What?” she said faintly.