“Thank you,” she said. She looked out at the balcony and the dreary sight of the canal below. She sighed, like the sight of it pained her.
“Are you hurt, Estelle?” he said.
“I fell recently. I hurt my elbow, I’m afraid.”
“You fell?”
“Yes. While climbing the stairs.”
He watched her for a long time, looking her over. Was he imagining it, or was she standing somewhat…crooked? As if walking on a ginger knee?
“You didn’t fall, did you,” he said.
She said nothing.
“It was Tomas,” he said. “He did this to you. Didn’t he?”
She was still for a long time. “Why did you leave, Orso? Why did you leave the house? Why did you leave me there, alone, with my father?”
Orso was silent as he thought about how to answer. “I…I asked you to marry me,” he said.
“Yes.”
“On this very balcony.”
“Yes.”
“And…you said no. Because of the inheritance laws on the campo, everything you owned would go to me. You said you wanted to prove to your father that you could be as good as him, that you could be a scriver, a leader, someone who could guide the house. You thought he could change the rules for you. But…I knew he wouldn’t ever do that. Tribuno was a foresighted man in many ways. But he was also terribly…traditional.”
“Traditional,” she echoed. “What a curious word that is. So bland, and yet often so poisonous.”
“He mentioned it to me, once. Asked me why we weren’t engaged yet. I told him you were considering your options. And he said, ‘If you want, Orso — I could just make her.’ As if I would ask for that. As if having you by force was the same as having you. So there I was. Stuck between two people I found increasingly unpleasant or…painful.”
“I see,” she said quietly.
“I’m…sorry,” said Orso. “I’m sorry for all that’s happened to you. If I’d known how things were going to go — if I’d known how deeply in debt Tribuno had gone, I’d…”
“You’d what?”
“Have tried to steal you away, I guess. Flee the city. Go somewhere new, and leave all this behind.”
She laughed quietly. “Oh, Orso…I knew you were still a romantic, down underneath it all. Don’t you see? I’d never have left. I’d have stayed and fought for what I felt I was due.” She grew solemn. “I’ll help you.”
“You…you will?”
“Yes. Father gets bled frequently for his condition. And I know a way into the Mountain. A way designed just for him, one Tomas has never known about.”
“Really?” said Orso, astonished.
“Yes. Father grew secretive in the later years, as you know. When he was buying up all that historical junk, spending thousands of duvots a day. He wanted to move freely, without anyone being aware of it.”
She told him when and where he could expect to receive Tribuno’s blood, and where the secret entrance could be found. “It’ll open up for whoever’s carrying the blood,” she said. “Though you must keep the blood cooled — if it decays too much, it’ll be useless. This means you’ll have a short time period to get this done — you need to do it in three nights, essentially.”
“Three days to prepare?” he said. “God…”
“It gets worse,” said Estelle. “Because the Mountain will probably figure out that the person you’ve sent in is not my father — eventually. I doubt if they’ll be able to leave the way they came in.”
Orso thought about it. “We can fly her out, maybe. Use an anchor somewhere in the city, pull her to it — she’s done such things before.”
“A dangerous flight. But it might be your only option.”
He glanced at her. “And if we pull this off — what happens to you, Estelle?”
She smiled weakly and shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll let me take charge. Maybe I’ll get a moment of freedom before they bring in another ruthless merchant to run things. Or maybe they’ll suspect me immediately, and execute me.”
Orso swallowed. “Please take care of yourself, Estelle.”
“Don’t worry, Orso. I always do.”
23
For the next two days, they worked.
Sancia had seen the Scrappers scrive and alter devices before, but that was nothing compared to this. Berenice brought in raw iron ingots and, using the scrived cauldrons and devices they’d procured, they began to build the capsule from scratch, plate by plate and rib by rib. By the end of the first day it had started to resemble a huge metal seedpod, about six feet long and three feet in diameter, with a small hatch set in the center. But though the sight of Berenice, Claudia, and Giovanni fabricating this thing out of raw metal was amazing, it didn’t exactly make Sancia feel relaxed.
“Doesn’t seem like there’s a lot of breathing room in there,” she said.
“There will be,” said Berenice. “And it will be quite safe. We’ll apply bracing and durability sigils to the entirety of the capsule, along with waterproofing, of course.”
“How in the hell is this thing going to move around?” said Sancia.
“Well. That’s been tricky. But your friends here have come up with a clever idea that might work.”
“Floating lanterns,” said Gio cheerfully.
“What do they have to do with this?” asked Sancia.
“Floating lanterns are scrived to believe they’ve got a big balloon in them,” explained Claudia, “and then, on the campos, they follow guided paths along markers placed on the ground.”
“Only, this marker will be on the barge,” said Gio. “It’ll keep you a set distance below the water.”
“And…how do I get out of the water?”
“You hit this switch here.” Berenice pointed to the interior of the capsule. “This will make the capsule float up and surface.”
“Then you climb out, shut the hatch,” said Gio, pointing to a button on the outside of the capsule, “hit this, and it’ll sink. Then you’re all set. Somewhat. Except for the Mountain bit.”
“Orso’s working on that,” said Berenice testily.
“One would hope,” said Gio.
Sancia stared at the capsule. She imagined being crammed inside the tiny thing. “God. Now I sort of wish I’d let Gregor lock me up.”
“Speaking of which,” said Claudia, looking around, “where is the captain?”
“He said he had business to attend to,” said Berenice. “Back on the campo.”
“What business could possibly be more important than this?” asked Claudia.
Berenice shrugged. “He mentioned putting a matter to rest — something that’d been bothering him. When I saw the look on his face, I didn’t ask more.” She quickly scrawled out a line of sigils. “Now. Let’s make sure this thing is really waterproof.”
Gregor Dandolo was good at waiting. Most of military life was nothing but waiting: waiting for orders, waiting for supplies, waiting for the weather to change, or just trying to out-wait your opponent, baiting them into doing something.
Yet Gregor had been waiting in front of the Dandolo Chartered Vienzi site foundry for three hours now. And, since he had much better things to do that day, and since theoretically Tomas Ziani’s thugs could try to kill him even there, this was really pushing it.
He looked back at the front gates of the Vienzi site foundry. He’d been told this was where he could find his mother, and this did not surprise him: the Vienzi was one of the newest Dandolo foundries, built to perform some of the company’s most complicated production. He’d known that few were allowed inside, but he’d assumed that he, being Ofelia’s son, would be granted entrance. And yet, he’d been simply told to wait.