Sancia remembered the vision of Clef’s she’d seen: the thing wrapped in black, standing on the dunes. “They were goddamn monsters,” she rasped. “They were devils. That thing in the box told me as much — they waged a war that turned the land to ash and sand. One could do the same here.”
“Right,” said Orso, shivering. “So. I…I think my first plan is looking pretty good right now. We find a boat. We get on that boat. We take the boat far across the ocean. And then we, I don’t know, keep living for a while. How does that sound?”
“You weren’t listening,” said Sancia lowly. “I told you. She said she wants to become Company Candiano.”
“And what’s the significance of that?” cried Orso. “It’s not like that stands out from the sea of other crazy shit you’ve been saying for the past half hour!”
“Think. I told you — that machine, the voice in the box…”
“This Valeria you spoke to,” said Orso.
“Right.”
Sancia hesitated. This part of her story, she knew, was the most inexplicable, and the most disturbing. “You…you believe me about that, right?” she asked. “About what she said, what she did to me? I know it all sounds insane…”
Orso was still for a long time, thinking. “I have some…ideas about that. But I do believe. Please continue.”
“Okay. So. Valeria told me that the way the hierophants did their ritual,” said Sancia, “you first mark the body holding the spirit, then mark what you wish to transfer it into.”
“I must admit,” said Gio, “that in the course of our projects, it’s grown pretty hard to discern one bit of mystical shit from another.”
“Gio’s right,” said Claudia. “Please clarify how that matters.”
“Remember — right as I took the job for Clef, Candiano Company changed up their sachets, yes?” said Sancia.
“Yeah,” said Gio. “We had to make whole new ones for half the prostitutes in Tevanne.”
“Right. It was a big shift. Nobody knew why it got changed. At the time, I didn’t think much about it. But now, after hearing what she said…I’m thinking that those new sachets are more than just sachets.”
Berenice’s mouth dropped open in horror. “You think the sachets…the little buttons being carried by every single Candiano employee…”
Sancia nodded grimly. “Estelle either issued them, or tampered with them when they went out. I think they double as the markers the hierophants used.”
“Then…then when Estelle starts the ritual,” said Orso, “all the people carrying those sachets with the markers…”
“They all die,” said Sancia. “Maybe a few who set their sachets aside get lucky, but, for all intents and purposes, the whole of Company Candiano dies. All of their minds and souls get invested in Estelle. Who then becomes a hierophant.” She looked at Orso. “We leave and let Estelle do her thing, and all your old coworkers, and all the other thousand some — odd people who work at Company Candiano, even the damned maids, all die a horrible, horrible death.”
For a moment they all just sat there.
“So,” said Sancia. “Yeah. We have to stop her. The voice in the box — Valeria — said she could edit all their tools so they wouldn’t work anymore. But to do that, we need Clef. Which Estelle has. After…after she killed Gregor.” She shook her head. “So. Sorry, Orso. But it seems like we’re going to have to figure out a way to kill your old girlfriend. And we’ve got until midnight to do it.”
Orso and Berenice looked horrified. “Assassinate Estelle Candiano?” said Orso faintly. “On the Candiano campo?”
“I’ve gotten in there before,” said Sancia. “I can do it again.”
“Doing it once,” said Berenice, “actually makes it harder. They’ve got the gates closed, and they know we came in through the canals. All the easy routes will be eliminated. They’ll be ready.”
“But I’m not just a thief anymore,” whispered Sancia, staring into space. “I can do a hell of a lot more than I used to.” She looked around the crypt, her eyes unfocused, like she was seeing many invisible things. “And I think soon I’ll learn how to do a whole lot more…”
“You might be changed,” said Orso. “And you might have escaped Estelle. But you can’t do much against a couple of cohorts of soldiers shooting at you, Sancia. One person, no matter how augmented, can’t fight an army.”
“We don’t even know where we want to attack,” said Giovanni.
“Yes, we do,” said Sancia. She looked at Orso. “And you do too. Estelle needs to start her ritual with the death of one person — just one. She hated Tomas — but there’s someone else she hates even more. Someone who’s still alive. And I can think of only one place she’d choose for her transformation.”
Orso frowned at her for a moment. Then he went white and said, “Oh my God…”
“Is this where you want him, ma’am?” asked the attendant.
Estelle Candiano stared around her father’s office. It was as she’d remembered it, all grim gray stone, all walls with far too many angles. A huge window on the far side stared out at the city of Tevanne, and a second small circular window stared up at the sky — these were the only reminder that this large room existed in any semblance of reality.
She remembered being here, once. As a child, when her father had first built it — she’d played before his desk, drawing on the stone floor with chalk. She’d been a child then, but when she’d gotten older, and become a woman, she’d been disinvited from such places, where powerful men made powerful decisions. Women, she’d understood, were unfit for inclusion among those ranks.
“Ma’am?” asked the attendant again.
“Mm?” said Estelle. “What?”
“Do you want him there?” asked the attendant. “By the wall?”
“Yes. Yes, that will do.”
“All right. They should have him here shortly.”
“Good. And the rest of my things — from the abandoned foundry — they’re on the way, yes?”
“I believe so, ma’am.”
“Good.”
She looked around at the office again. My workshop, she thought. Mine. And soon, I shall have the tools here to make wonders the world cannot imagine…
Estelle looked at her left hand. Within a few hours the skin there, as well as the skin on her wrist, her arm, her shoulder and breast, would all be marked with delicately drawn sigils, a chain leading from her palm — which would be holding the dagger, of course — to her heart. Ancient sigils of containment, of transference, capable of directing huge amounts of energies into her body, her soul.
There was the sound of squeaking, rattling wheels in the hall outside.
Estelle Candiano considered that she was likely the only person alive who knew of those ancient sigils, and how to use them.
The sound of squeaking wheels grew closer.
She was the only one, she thought — except possibly the person being wheeled to her right now.
Estelle turned to face the door as the two attendants directed the rolling bed into the office. She looked at the shrunken, frail figure nestled in its sheets, face covered in sores, eyes tiny and bleary and red and thoughtless.
She smiled. “Hello, Father.”
34
“Is a direct attack even possible?” said Claudia. “If you all are right about this imperiat thing, couldn’t Estelle shut down any assault?”