There was total silence. Even the hums from the fans were gone.
“Uhhh,” said Giovanni. “Did we do that?”
People did not have many scrived devices in Foundryside and the Greens, and those who did kept them secret. But as some of the residents checked on their hidden treasures, they found something…strange.
Lights went out. Machines that had previously worked just up and died. Musical trinkets went silent. And a few of the larger scrivings simply failed — some with disastrous results.
Like the Zoagli rookery in Foundryside. Though the residents didn’t know it, the supports beneath the building that kept it upright were actually scrived with commands that convinced the wooden pieces they were dark stone, immune to the rotting effects of moisture and waste.
But when those scrivings stopped, the wooden beams remembered what they really were…
The wood creaked. Groaned. Moaned.
And then snapped.
In an instant, the entire Zoagli Building collapsed, bringing all the roofs and all the floors down on its residents before they could even understand what was happening.
Sancia looked up when she heard the enormous crack from Foundryside, and stared as a building collapsed. It was like watching a big stack of books slowly slump to the side and then tumble to pieces — yet she knew that dozens and dozens of people had to be inside that structure.
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
<Urrghhh,> said Clef drunkenly. <Some…sumthin’s not right, Sanchezia…>
She looked back at the campo man. He looked surprised by the sound of the building’s collapse, even nervous, and stowed the golden pocket watch away in his vest — a curiously guilty gesture.
Sancia looked at the dead lanterns lying in the street.
<I can’t…think,> Clef muttered. <Can’t do…anything…>
Her bare hand was pressed into the rooftop, but the rooftop was still silent to her.
A mad idea wriggled into her thoughts.
No, said Sancia, horrified. That can’t be…
Then a voice to her left: “Scrumming little bastard!” She looked up, and saw the man in the rookery window lifting up an espringal.
“Shit!” she cried.
She sprang to her feet and started to run toward the building behind the warehouse.
<I thoughted you…uhh, you weren’t sure you cuhh-could make that jump!> said Clef.
<Shut up, Clef!>
A bolt thudded into the rooftop just ahead of her. She screamed and covered her head as she ran — not like that would stop the next shot — but in some calm, distant corner of her mind, she recognized that it had not been a scrived bolt. A scrived bolt likely would have punched right through the poorly built roof.
Sancia ran faster, faster. She took note of the stone shingles of the rooftop beyond, imagining how she’d land on them, how the soles of her boots would grip them.
I really goddamn hope, she thought as she madly pumped her arms, that I was right about it being twenty feet…
She came to the corner and jumped.
The alley soared beneath her, dark and yawning, passing ever so slowly like a cloud traversing the face of the sun. She’d pushed off with her left foot and stretched out with her right, pointing the arch of her foot at the edge of the distant rooftop, every tendon in her leg and hip and back extending to connect with that one spot, like a sprouting plant reaching toward a sunbeam.
She lifted her arms as she leapt and pumped them back down, maximizing her propulsion. She lifted her left foot to join her right. She pulled her knees up. The edge of the roof flew closer to her.
The man in the rookery screamed, “No scrumming way!”
And then…
She compressed her legs as she landed, lessening the impact. She’d made it — almost. For one splinter of a moment she seemed to hang here, the edge of the roof biting into her feet, her ass dangling over the alley below.
Then momentum, that oh-so-fickle friend of hers, carried her forward just a little, until…
Sancia found her equilibrium, and stood up.
Her body was still. She’d made it.
A voice in the alley below shouted, “Shoot! Shoot her!”
She started running as the bolts thudded into the wall below her, up from the alley — they must have surrounded the clothier’s warehouse. She leapt forward and skidded along the slimy stone roof until she came to a small raised hatch, leading down.
The hatch was locked. She fumbled for Clef again, but screamed as a bolt slammed into the roof right beside her shoulder.
“She’s over there!” cried the man from the rookeries. She peeked over the hatch and saw him signaling to someone below as he reloaded, cranking his espringal once, twice. “On the roof, on the other roof!”
She finally pulled Clef out and jammed him into the lock in the hatch.
<Now,> said Clef. <Lemme see here…>
Another bolt came hurtling down, this one a handful of feet away.
<Right now now now would be just terrific, Clef!> she said.
<Huh? Uhh right…There!>
A sharp click. Sancia wrenched the hatch open and leapt down the dark stairs to the floor below, flying from floor to floor.
But she wasn’t alone. Sancia could hear footsteps below.
She came to the second floor. She glimpsed someone running up the stairwell just below her — a woman’s face, a dagger in her hand. She screamed, “Stop! Stop, you!”
“Not a harpering chance,” whispered Sancia.
She leapt herself through the door to the second floor, then slammed it shut behind her.
<Lemme lock it!> said Clef drunkenly.
Sancia threw her shoulder against it as she ripped Clef off the string around her neck. She tried to slip him into the lock, but then…
Bang. Someone on the other side hit the door hard, almost knocking Sancia to the ground. She gritted her teeth, threw herself against the door again, and wriggled Clef into the lock…
Click.
Someone slammed into the door again. But this time, because it was locked, it didn’t move. A voice on the other side moaned in surprise and pain.
She ran down the hallway as people poked their heads out their doors. She took a left, kicked down one door, and ran into the room.
The apartment was small and filthy. A young couple was lying on a pallet, quite nude, and Sancia could not see much of the man’s face, as most of it was obscured by the woman’s thighs. Both of them screamed in abject terror as Sancia darted inside.
“Pardon,” she said. She ran through the apartment, kicked open the wooden shutters, climbed up onto the window, and jumped across the alley to the next building.
It was an aging structure — her favorite kind, as it offered plenty of good handholds and niches to stuff her toes into. She crawled down its side slowly and awkwardly, since she’d lost her ability to sense the walls at a touch, then leapt into the muddy alley below and started running north, away from the Anafesto channel, away from the Greens, away from the Commons and the fisheries and the smell of rot and the hissing bolts…
Screams echoed in the distance. Maybe another building had fallen down.