“And through is out,” said Gregor. He walked up to the map of the Candiano campo and traced the main road running up to the huge dome. “There are eleven gates from the outer wall to the Mountain. The last two will be under constant watch, and you need all kinds of papers and scrived credentials to get through.”
Everyone stared at the map in silence.
“What’s that?” asked Sancia. She pointed to a long, winding blue streak that led from the shipping channel to the Mountain.
“That’s the delivery canal,” said Orso. “It’s used by barges full of wine and, hell, whatever else they need in the Mountain. It’s got the exact same problem as the roads, though — the last two gates are intensely guarded. Every delivery is stopped and thoroughly searched before it’s allowed to proceed.”
Sancia thought about it. “Could I cling to the side of a barge? Just below the waterline? And you all could give me some way to breathe air?”
They all looked surprised by that idea.
“The canal gates check sachets just like the rest of the walls,” said Orso slowly. “But…I believe they only pass things that go through them. Under them…that might be a different story.”
“I bet the underside of the barge would trigger the check too,” said Claudia. “But if Sancia was walking along the bottom of the canal…”
“Whoa,” said Sancia. “I didn’t say that.”
“How deep are the canals?” asked Gregor.
“Forty, fifty feet?” said Gio. “The walls definitely wouldn’t check that far down.”
“I never suggested anything like this,” said Sancia, now alarmed.
“We can’t scrive a way for a human to breathe air,” said Orso. “That’s impossible.”
Sancia sighed with relief, since it sounded like they were abandoning this train of thought.
“But…” He glanced around, and laid one hand on a sarcophagus. “There are other options.”
Claudia frowned at the sarcophagus for a moment. Then her mouth dropped open. “A vessel. A casket!”
“Yes,” said Orso. “One that’s waterproof, and small, but capable of holding a person. We plant a weak anchor on one of the barges, and it drags the casket along the bottom of the canal behind it. Simple!”
“With…with me in it?” asked Sancia weakly. “You’re saying I’m in this casket? Being dragged along? Under the water?”
Orso waved a hand at her. “Oh, we can make it safe. Probably.”
“Certainly safer than sneaking around the guards or whatever,” said Claudia. “The barge would secret you up the entire length of the canal, and you wouldn’t risk catching a bolt in the face this way.”
“No,” said Sancia. “I’d just risk hitting a rock too hard and drowning.”
“I told you, we can make it safe!” insisted Orso. “Probably!”
“Oh my God,” said Sancia. She buried her face in her hands.
“Is there any other proposed way of getting Sancia to the Mountain?” asked Gregor.
There was a long silence.
“Well,” said Gregor. “It seems this is our choice, for now.”
Sancia sighed. “Can we at least call it something besides a casket, then?”
“This just leaves the issue of the Mountain itself,” said Gregor. “Getting Sancia up to Ziani’s office.”
“I’m working on a way to give her access,” said Orso. “But access doesn’t mean there won’t be obstacles. I haven’t seen the inside of the Mountain in a decade, I’ve no idea what could have changed. And I understand very little about how the thing really works.”
Gregor turned to Berenice. “There’s nothing in Tribuno’s notes about this? Nothing about how he designed the Mountain?”
She shook her head.
“What is in Tribuno Candiano’s notes?” said Giovanni. “I’d be curious to see the writings of our most acclaimed genius and madman.”
“Well,” said Berenice reluctantly, “there’s all these wax rubbings of what looks like human sacrifices — a body on an altar, and a dagger above — but as for Tribuno’s notes…” She cleared her throat, and read aloud: “I again return to the nature of this ritual. The hierophant Seleikos refers to a ‘collection of energies’ or a ‘focusing of minds’ and ‘thoughts all captured.’ The great Pharnakes refers to a ‘transaction’ or ‘deliverance’ or ‘transference’ of sorts that must take place at ‘the world’s newest hour.’ At other times he says it must be at ‘the darkest hour’ or ‘the forgotten minute.’ Does he mean midnight? The winter solstice? Something else?”
Giovanni stared at her blankly. “What the hell is that?”
“Tribuno’s efforts to determine the source of the hierophants’ nature,” said Orso. “In other words, a hell of a bigger problem than what we’re trying to solve here.”
“It’s not as useful as I hoped,” said Berenice. “He just goes on and on about this transaction — the ‘filling of the pitchers’—though it’s pretty clear Tribuno himself doesn’t understand what he’s talking about.”
“But obviously it was of great value to Tomas Ziani,” said Gregor.
“Or he just thought it was of value,” said Orso, “and he’s wasting blood and treasure on nonsense.”
At that comment, Gregor froze. “Ahh,” he said softly.
“Ahh what?” said Sancia.
Gregor stared into the middle distance. “Blood,” he said quietly. A look of horrible revelation entered his face. “Tell me, Orso. Does…does Estelle Ziani ever see her father?”
“Estelle? Why?” asked Orso suspiciously.
“He’s ill, isn’t he?” He looked at Orso and narrowed his eyes. “Surely she oversees his medical attention — yes, Orso?”
Orso was very still. “Uh. Well…”
“The Mountain checks the blood of a person to make sure they’re the right person,” Gregor said. “You’d have to find a way to log your own blood with the Mountain in order to let you in.” He stepped closer to Orso. “But…what if you had access to the blood of a resident? Like Estelle Ziani — or, better yet, her father? The man who made the Mountain itself? That’s what you aim to do — isn’t it, Orso? To use Tribuno Candiano’s blood as a pass key for Sancia?”
Orso glared at him. “Well. Aren’t you a clever bastard, Captain.”
“Wait,” said Sancia. “You’re going to steal Tribuno Candiano’s blood? Really?”
Everyone stared at Orso. Finally he sighed. “I never said steal,” he said huffily. “It would be voluntarily donated. I thought I’d just…you know, ask Estelle for it.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Claudia.
“What?” he said. “It’s an opportunity we can’t pass up! With his blood, the damned thing should open for her like a schoolgirl’s legs! The Mountain’s a kingdom, riddled with scrived guards, and no guard can turn away their king!”
“And, what, I cover myself with his blood?” asked Sancia. She pulled a face. “That’s not exactly stealthy.”
“I’m sure we can make some kind of container for it!” he said, exasperated.
“Assuming Estelle even consents,” said Berenice, “surely the Candianos have rewritten all the permissions so Tribuno no longer has access, yes?”
“That would suggest there’s someone on the Candiano campo who’s a better scriver than Tribuno,” said Orso. “Which is unlikely. If I’d scrived my own massive house, I’d have put in all kinds of permissions and goodies just for me.”
“And Ziani certainly isn’t a scriver,” said Gio. “But all this assumes our boy here can actually get the man’s blood.”
“You really think that Estelle would do that for you, Orso?” asked Sancia.