“You goddamn scrivers!” snarled Tomas. “Don’t you see that you are no longer men of action? I swear to God, are your crotches as smooth as a riverbank? Did your candles wither and fall off while you peered at your sigils?”
The handful of bright scrivings grew closer to the door.
“I recognize, sir, that you are attempting to salvage this project,” said Enrico. His voice was quaking. “But…but surely you must see that she is valuable?”
“The thing I see,” said Tomas, “is that she is a worthless, grubby Foundryside whore. And she and her master, Orso Ignacio, have frustrated me at every turn! Almost as much as you pinheaded, so-called experts have frustrated me! So now, Enrico — and I suggest you take this into suggestion regarding your own well-being — the only thing I want to see tonight, is to see someone die!”
The shining scrivings were at the door now. She watched as the handle began to turn.
I suddenly think, thought Sancia, that Tomas is going to get his wish soon.
The door fell open with a creak. All the men froze and turned. One guard whirled and pulled out a dagger — but then he paused as a woman walked into the room.
Tomas stared at her. “Estelle?”
32
Sancia cracked an eye to get a better a look. The woman stared around, eyes dull, her mouth open. Her facepaint had been smearily applied, and parts of her elaborate hairstyle had come unraveled. She took a breath, and slurred out the words, “T-Tomas…my darling! What’s going on? What’s…what’s happened to you?”
“Estelle?” said Tomas. “What the hell are you doing here?” His tone was not that of a husband greeting his wife, but rather a boy speaking to an older sister who was disrupting his slumber party.
Estelle Ziani? Sancia thought. Is that…Is that Orso’s old girlfriend, the one who gave us her father’s blood?
“I…I heard of some dis”—she hiccupped—“some disruption at the campo gates…All the walls are shut down?”
She didn’t talk at all like Sancia had expected — not like an educated, noble, wealthy woman, and a brilliant scriver at that, as Orso had described her. Her voice was oddly…breathy. High-pitched. She was talking, Sancia thought, like how a rich man would expect his dumb wife to talk.
“Dear God,” said Tomas. “You’re drunk? Again?”
“Uh, Founder,” said Enrico nervously. He glanced at Sancia. “Now might not be the time…”
Estelle looked at Enrico, swaying slightly, as if she hadn’t noticed him before. To the average eye, she would have appeared to simply be a drunk founder woman. Yet Sancia no longer possessed an average eye — and she could see incredibly powerful devices hidden in Estelle’s sleeves, like tiny stars.
What’s she playing at?
“Enrico!” cried Estelle in surprise. “Our most brilliant remaining scriver! How wonderful it is to see you…”
“Ah,” said Enrico. “Th-thank you, Founder?”
Yet Sancia saw that when Estelle touched Enrico, she left a tiny, shining dot on his shoulder, and he seemed to have no idea it was there. It’s a scrived rig, Sancia thought. But it’s tiny…and amazingly potent…She tried to decipher the nature of the thing from where she lay, yet this was harder than she’d thought it’d be. Apparently her new talents were aided by proximity and contact. But she thought the tiny thing looked…
Hungry. Weirdly, powerfully hungry.
“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Tomas. “How did you get in?”
Estelle shrugged. This slight motion pushed her off-balance, making her stumble to the side. “I…When you left the Mountain, you looked so upset, in such a hurry…I had my maid follow you, to here, to surprise y—”
“You what?” sputtered Tomas. “Your maid knows about this place? Who else knows?”
“What?” she said, surprised. “No one.”
“No one?” he demanded. “You’re sure?”
“I…I just wanted to assist you, my love,” she said. “I wanted to be the dutiful wife you’ve always expected me to b—”
“Oh God.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You wanted to help, didn’t you? Again. You wanted to be a scriver. Again. I told you the last time, Estelle, I would not tolerate another intrusion…”
She looked crushed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re sorry,” said Tomas. “That’ll help! I can’t believe you’ve somehow found a way to make this situation worse!”
“I promise, it will go no further!” she said. “It will be just you, me, Enrico, and…and these two faithful servants.” She touched the Candiano guards on the shoulder — the two men exchanged a look — but Sancia saw she left two tiny scrived pieces on them as well.
Tomas was shivering with rage. “I told you,” he hissed, “I’d had enough of these silly fancies of yours. Enough silly games about scriving, and finances. You people…You’re all so quibbling and weak and…and academic!” He said this last word like it was the worst slur he could imagine. “I’ve spent a decade of my life trying to modernize this damned place! And right when I might actually get things turned around, you and your maid come stumbling through the door, leading God knows who else to my last remaining advantage!”
She looked down. “I just wanted to be your obedient spouse…”
“I don’t want a spouse!” shouted Tomas. “I want a company!”
She paused, her head at an angle. Sancia could not see Estelle’s expression — her face was shadowed now, lost in darkness — but when she spoke, her voice was not the high, breathy, drunken ramble she’d been using so far. Now she spoke in the dry, firm, cold tones of an assertive woman.
“So if you could end our arrangement,” she said, “would you?”
“Absolutely!” screamed Tomas.
Estelle nodded slowly. “Well, then. Why didn’t you say so?” She pulled out a small stick of some kind — its edges were alight with bindings, Sancia saw — and snapped it like it was a toothpick.
The instant she did, the room lit up with screams.
The screams started in perfect unison, so it was difficult to understand exactly what was happening, or who was screaming.
Enrico and the Candiano guards all shrieked in agony, shuddering and writhing as if in the grips of a horrible fever. They clawed at their bodies — at their arms, their chests, their necks and sides — much like a bug had suddenly hopped into their clothes.
And Sancia saw that something was indeed crawling on them: the tiny, shiny scrived pieces Estelle had placed on their persons had somehow slipped into them, below their skin and into their bodies, and were slowly making their way into their torsos. She saw that all the bugs — she couldn’t help but think of them as such now — had apparently burned their way into the men: tiny strings of smoke emerged from their shoulders, their arms, their backs. All from exactly where Estelle had placed the tiny scrived dots.
Tomas stared around in alarm. “What…what is this?” he cried. “What’s happening?”
“This, Tomas,” said Estelle quietly, “is the beginning of our separation.”