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“Who else could there be?” asked Orso.

“Gregor,” said Sancia. “He’s alive. And I have him.”

Orso looked dumbfounded. “He’s what? Gregor Dandolo is alive?”

“Yeah. And he’s…well, it looks like he’s like me. A scrived human. He’s been scrived all along — I just don’t know by who.”

She filled him in on the rest. He listened, shocked. “Someone scrived Gregor Dandolo…boring, dull, stodgy Dandolo…to be a goddamn killing machine?” he asked.

“Basically. He fought it, though. He could have taken my head off, but…he broke himself, somehow. I’ve been trying to take care of him. I’ve got him hidden at the crypt now, recovering. But he’s in a strange way, Orso. He’s lost everything. And he needs our help. After all he’s done, he deserves it.”

Orso sat back, dazed. “Well. Shit. I’d be happy to take him in…and if we can get him back on his feet, he’d make an excellent chief of security. If he can recover, that is.” He looked at her. “Now…would you be willing to take a position with us?”

“There’s one more thing.”

He sighed. “Of course there is.”

She took Clef out and slid him across the desk to Orso.

He gaped at the key. “Really?”

“Don’t be happy. This is a problem, not a gift. He…he doesn’t work anymore, or talk. We need to fix him. We’ve got to fix him. Since he’s the only one who can tell us what really happened, and what’s really going on.”

Orso scratched his head. “Usually when someone haggles over the conditions of one’s employment,” he said, “it’s about pay, or lodgings. Not insane mystical conundrums.”

“You want me,” said Sancia, “you have to take all my baggage with me. There’s a lot more than there used to be.”

“So — is that a yes?”

“Is Berenice here?” she asked.

“She is. She’s overseeing the construction work.”

She thought about it. “What did she say?”

“She said she’d wait to hear what you said.”

Sancia smiled. “Of course she did.”

43

Ofelia Dandolo walked across the Dandolo campo to her front gate, across her courtyards, and into her mansion. She paced down the front hallway, then through a set of doors, then downstairs to the basement level, and then to the back, to an undistinguished-looking cabinet door.

She opened the door. Within was a small, blank room. Ofelia shut her eyes, pressed her hand against the back wall, and waited.

The wall melted away as if it were made of smoke. Behind it was a tiny, cramped spiral staircase, leading down.

Ofelia lit a scrived light and walked down the stairs. It took a long time, for there were many, many steps.

Finally she came to a small wooden door. She waited for a moment, took a breath, and opened the door.

Beyond was a huge stone cellar, with a vaulted ceiling and many, many columns. There was no light within, but she did not need one, and a light would not work here, anyway — for the room was full of moths.

Ofelia carefully walked through the whispering, fluttering storm of moths. She came to the small stone seat in the middle of the room. She sat, and waited. She waited for a very long time.

Finally she saw him, glimpsed him — just a shred of his form, lost amidst the swirl of wings.

She swallowed and took a breath. “I assume,” she said softly, “that…that you are aware of how things have progressed, my prophet.”

He did not move or speak. He just stood there, a figure concealed by the flurry.

“I don’t…I don’t know what happened with my son,” she said. “We spent so much time preparing Gregor…And he’s done so much for us in the wars, arranging your designs…But now, to have him fail…”

Still he did not speak.

“The construct is free,” said Ofelia. “Is…is it possible to withstand this blow? It seems like this is the worst of all possibilities.”

There was a long silence. Then he finally spoke, and as always, he spoke in her mind, loudly and clearly:

<NO.>

“N-No?”

<NO. THE WAR IS NOT LOST BEFORE IT EVER BEGAN. RATHER, IT IS JUST BEGINNING. SHE WILL BEGIN ONCE MORE THE PROCESS SHE STARTED SO LONG AGO. AND WE MUST WORK QUICKLY TO STOP HER.>

“So…What shall we do, my prophet?”

There was a long silence.

<I BELIEVE,> he said, <IT IS TIME TO STOP HIDING.>

Acknowledgments

It is difficult to think of any work of mine that’s changed more during its development than this one. Thank you to my editor, Julian Pavia, and my agent, Cameron McClure, for helping me through the process. And thank you to Ashlee for tolerating many nights where I sat in bed typing away for hours, ignorant of nearly everything around me, and the many times when I did a botched job on the laundry while preoccupied with ideas.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Robert Jackson Bennett is the author, most recently, of the Divine Cities trilogy, which was a 2018 Hugo Awards finalist in the Best Series category. The first book in the series, City of Stairs, was also a finalist for the World Fantasy and Locus Awards, and the second, City of Blades, was a finalist for the World Fantasy, Locus, and British Fantasy Awards. His previous novels, which include American Elsewhere and Mr. Shivers, have received the Edgar Award, the Shirley Jackson Award, and the Philip K. Dick Citation of Excellence. He lives in Austin with his family.

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