A brief pause.
“I would estimate,” said Valeria, “probably not more than several hundred.”
Sancia threw her hands up in the air. “Well, shit!” she cried.
Orso sighed. “That puts a stop to that, then.”
“Problem? What is?” asked Valeria.
“You and Crasedes might be capable of remembering dozens and hundreds of sigils at once,” said Orso, “but the basic goddamn human being sure can’t.”
“No?”
“No!” said Sancia. “Like—I’m good at scriving because I don’t have to remember every character and sigil and string. I basically get to cheat! There’s no way I can remember several hundred sigils all at once when they come in, what, a flash?”
“Not unless we kill Gregor multiple times,” said Orso.
“Which I would not prefer we do,” said Gregor. He coughed. “I haven’t exactly agreed to this yet, but…my devotion to the theory has its limits.”
Valeria was silent for a long, long time.
“So,” said Sancia. “What do we do?”
“Thinking,” she said. “You all…You are thieves, yes?”
“No,” said Gregor.
“Yes,” said Sancia.
“Sometimes,” said Orso.
“This task before you—it is essentially theft,” said Valeria. “Perhaps would help to think of it this way—you are breaking into Gregor’s mind to steal something valuable. So, I ask you now…when conducting your theft, if you encountered a block such as this…what would you do?”
“If I needed to deal with a specialized lock, or obstacle, or something?” said Sancia. “I’d just find someone who could do it, take them along, and cut them in on the money.”
“I see. Then—is there someone you might recommend? Someone who is capable of memorizing and retaining this number of sigils?”
There was a short pause in the basement. Then everyone slowly turned to look at Berenice.
24
“I am too weak to empower another as I did Sancia,” said Valeria. “But…there might be another way…Another way to grant other girl the same permissions I gave to Sancia, that made her editor, and capable of communing with scrivings.”
“Really?” said Sancia. “There’s a way to give Berenice the same augmentations you gave me?”
“Possibly.” She paused. “This method you have all created…twinning lexicons. Twinning reality.”
“Yeah?” said Sancia.
“Would you consider performing it…on a person?”
The Foundrysiders stared at one another.
“You mean…scriving people?” said Orso, alarmed.
“True. But only very slightly.”
Orso scoffed. “Oh, well, if it’s only slightly, then…”
“Please explain what you mean,” said Gregor. “Scriving the human body is considered an abomination here.”
“I will speak plainly—I am aware of the base commands that make it possible to scrive or alter the human body and mind,” said Valeria. “It is the only method that can be used on a living creature—for life is far too complex to be persuaded. One must use deeper permissions to alter a life form, quickly and permanently. Most other commands, as I am sure your city has learned, are…unsuited for application to life.”
“If by that you mean our shit killed loads of people in horrible ways, yeah,” said Orso. “Yeah, we did do that. So?”
“So—if I give you the base commands for this act,” said Valeria, “then…you should be able to combine it with the technique of twinning reality—to assert that two separate individuals are the same. It would allow two living creatures to share thoughts, experiences, perspectives, memories. Including the knowledge of sigils, and the permissions of an editor.”
“Are you suggesting we should twin Berenice with Sancia?” asked Gregor.
“True. Then when Sancia communes with Gregor’s alterations, she would essentially be taking Berenice with her. Berenice would see what Sancia sees. She would be able to witness the sigils, and remember them, and give them to me to use upon the key.”
“And that’s all she’d see?” asked Sancia.
“Untrue. She would see and experience and know a great deal more than that. She would know everything that Sancia would know, and the reverse is true as well.”
Berenice and Sancia exchanged an uncomfortable glance. “Could you…explain what this would really do to us?” asked Berenice.
“Difficult to describe…Sancia may know more. It would be similar to what it was to touch the key…”
“Like Clef?” said Sancia. “Me and Berenice would share thoughts like…like that?”
“To an extent. Imagine two panes of colored glass, raised to the sun. Now place the edges of one atop the other so that in one small portion, the light flows through both. A slight overlap, if you will.”
“And we wouldn’t need any sacrifices?” asked Orso.
“The full ritual would not be necessary. Would only need to implant them in a living host, which does not require such a formality—that is why the plate in your head first worked, Sancia. An easy bypass.”
“You’re saying…me and Berenice take some plates,” Sancia said slowly, “scrive them with a set of sigils you give us, and then we can…what, stick them inside our actual skin?”
“Swallowing them seems simpler,” said Valeria. “Preferable, yes? Would also render the effects impermanent. You would only share your selves while the plates remained in your systems.”
“All this,” said Orso, “to learn the secrets of time, so we can wake up Clef.”
“You are talking about scriving time—one of the most powerful permissions in all of reality. Not stealing a recipe to make sweetbreads.”
Sancia and Berenice exchanged another look, both clearly unnerved by the proposal.
“Would you really want to try this?” said Sancia to her. “I mean—I’ve had this experience before, a little. I’ve had people in my head. I’m not sure if this is something you will want, necessarily…” She looked at Berenice hard, then glanced at Valeria, as if to say—And I’m not sure we should trust this goddamn thing either.
Berenice reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly, though perhaps she was trying to reassure herself more than anything. “Perhaps you’ll be able to show me, then.”
“Are you sure?” asked Sancia.
“Absolutely not,” said Berenice. “I’m not sure about this at all. But…I don’t see another option.”
“Then I will show you the sigils you need,” said Valeria.
* * *
—
The process was surprisingly simple: Valeria flashed the sigil strings upon the reflections in the walls, and Orso and Berenice copied them down. Then Valeria showed them the way to combine their own work—the process of twinning reality—with hierophantic commands that could apply them to a human being.
“Most critical part,” said Valeria, “is ensuring you apply a gradient to the effects.”
“Meaning…we don’t assert that Sancia is exactly like Berenice?” asked Orso.
“True. That would be very bad.”
“Why?” asked Sancia.
“Imagine your mortal form, suddenly mashed together with Berenice’s—bones inside of bones, veins suddenly shot through your skull, reality unable to decide which is which.”
“Okay,” said Sancia. “That does sound, uh, very bad.”
“I will make sure that the effect is very weak,” said Berenice quickly.
She finished copying down the commands, which were at least several hundred sigils long. “You will need to place this string on something small enough that both people can swallow it,” said Valeria. “A tiny plate, or bead, perhaps. I do not know.”
“Orso is normally the best at such small work�
��” Berenice looked at him, sitting slumped in the chair with his shoulder wrapped in an unpleasantly brown bandage.
“I’m not doing shit in this condition,” rasped Orso. He blinked for a moment, and then he looked at her, his gaze steely. “You’re going to have to.”
“I’m…better at theoretical work,” she said. “Fabrication and whatnot. This is an actual rig, a—”
“You’re going to have to get used to it,” said Orso. “Because we don’t have a damned choice. And I know you can. So stop quibbling.”
Berenice frowned for a moment. Then, with a sigh, she fitted her most powerful loupe into her eye, affixed a tiny bronze plate no larger than three grains of rice in a frame, and set to work, carefully writing out sigils in lines thinner than an eyelash or a spider’s web.
They waited in the doorway, to give her time and space.
“Got to be pretty weird,” said Orso, “opening up your head and letting another person into all your memories. I’d hate if someone was walking around knowing the last time I’d accidentally pissed on my hand at the trough or something.”
“That is unartfully put,” said Gregor, “but the point holds true. This may be a serious violation of privacy. Even for people as close as Sancia and Berenice.”
“You fail to apprehend what twinning is,” said Valeria. “It would be unlikely that you could hold contempt for the failings of one you were twinned with—because, upon being twinned, those failings would also be yours, to an extent. You would not feel revulsion upon knowing these things, because you would already know them.”
“God Almighty,” said Orso. “This is some wild shit.”
“What about pain?” asked Sancia. “Or discomfort?”
“I suspect that, if one of you were injured,” said Valeria, “the other would feel a ghost of the pain. You would also receive echoes of thoughts, memories, ideas, realizations…”
“No more surprise parties, then,” said Orso.
“This sounds quite powerful,” said Gregor. “Why is it that implanting a hierophantic command in a living being doesn’t need the ritual?”
“Permissions can be attained when the lines between life and death are blurred,” said Valeria. “For higher commands, they must be blurred greatly. For lower ones, they only need to be blurred a little. But the line between life and death is always blurred. To live is to die, just very, very slowly.”
Sancia found herself suddenly troubled by this last sentence. What was it Crasedes had said?
…she’s sacrificing you, at this very moment. Just very, very slowly.
Her skin broke out in a cold sweat. It’s a coincidence. It’s got to be a coinci—
“Done,” said Berenice. She removed the two plates from her frame, blew on them, and nodded. “I don’t know if you can check my work, Valeria, but—”
“I can. It is sufficient. Will perform the necessary functions.”
“So…now what?” said Orso. He grunted as he shifted his arm in its sling. “They just swallow them?”
“True. Will take some time for calibration—not a simple thing, for two minds to align. Once this calibration is complete, they should be able to engage with the commands within Gregor—and then the true work will begin.”
Sancia and Berenice each took a tiny plate and poured themselves a cup of wine. Sancia herself was not exactly excited about this, but she wasn’t terrified: she’d had her mind altered enough by scrivings over the years that she knew what it was like. But as Berenice stared into her palm at the little plate, and then into her cup of cane wine, she suddenly looked like she was going to be sick.
“Berenice?” asked Gregor. “Are you all right?”
“I just realized,” she said weakly, “that I’m going to scrive myself. Which…is supposed to be illegal.”
“Now?” said Orso. “You’re worried about the house laws now?”
“And other things! I mean, I barely even drink bubble rum!” she said angrily. “I don’t like losing control of my thoughts! They’re some of the most valuable things I have!”
“Relax,” said Sancia. “What was it you said in the Mountain? After we cracked through Tribuno’s door?”
Berenice managed a watery smile. “Together we’re unstoppable.”
“Want to prove it?”
She laughed miserably. “No. Not at all. But I suppose I’m going to.”
Sancia placed the plate on her tongue, thickly said, “Down the ’atch,” and tossed back her cup of wine.
“Down,” squeaked Berenice. “Hatch. Yes.” Then she did the same.
They swallowed hard—it was akin to swallowing a hard chunk of bread—and then stared at each other, waiting.
“Well?” said Orso.
“I don’t feel…anything?” said Sancia.
“Will take time to calibrate. Several minutes at least.”
They stood in the basement, looking at each other, waiting nervously. The minutes seemed to stretch on and on.
“I…still don’t feel anything,” said Berenice.
“Yeah, me neither,” said Sancia.
Everyone turned to her and frowned, including Berenice.
Sancia looked around nervously. “W-What?”
“Yeah me neither…what?” said Orso.
“What do you mean, yeah me neither what?” said Sancia. “Berenice said she didn’t feel anything, and I said I don’t either.”
They stared. Berenice’s eyes grew terribly wide.
“What?” said Sancia again.
“I…didn’t say that, Sancia,” said Berenice.
Sancia blinked, confused, and looked into Berenice’s eyes—and yet the second she did, she had the most curious, overpowering sensation that she was looking into her own face from Berenice’s eyes.
She gasped as the image flooded into her mind—it was definitely her own face she was seeing, but from another person’s perspective.
“Oh shit,” said Sancia. She touched her cheeks. “When did I get so old? I have so many wrinkles now…”
“I need to change my hair,” said Berenice faintly. She touched the side of her head. “This bun isn’t nearly as becoming as I thought it was…God, I miss having decent mirrors here…”
“What the hell is this shit?” asked Orso.
“I suspect they are seeing each other from the other’s perspective,” said Valeria. “This would be the beginning of the calibration. The next will be the most difficult part, I estimate…”
And then reality all folded in on itself like Sancia was looking into two or three or four mirrors, all perfectly aligned: she saw herself seeing Berenice seeing herself, and then she was seeing herself seeing herself seeing herself, and on and on and on, and suddenly she grew so dizzy she couldn’t remember how to stand up anymore.
She heard Berenice saying nearby, “I need to lie down! I need to lie down!”
Sancia wasn’t nearly as articulate. She just groaned loudly, shut her eyes, and lay facedown on the stone floor, her right cheek touching the cold stone.
Then she had a very queer experience: she felt the cold stone touching her left cheek as well. She slowly realized that, impossibly enough, she was feeling what Berenice was also feeling.
And more: Sancia was uncomfortable, but she was also feeling Berenice’s discomfort, and then she also felt discomfort at feeling each other’s discomfort, and it seemed to amplify and amplify and amplify…
A strange thought bellowed into her mind:
And though this thought was inarticulate and terribly foreign, it was also somehow so distinctly…Berenice.
Sancia sent a thought back:
An answering thought:
She didn’t know, so together they just lay on the floor and moaned mis
erably.
“This goes on for how long?” asked Gregor.
“I do not know,” said Valeria. “Minutes. Or perhaps hours.”
“Oh God,” gasped Sancia and Berenice simultaneously.
* * *
—
Sancia kept her eyes closed: much like an extremely bad bout of intoxication, it was easier to deal with the affliction the more you limited your sensations. But it grew difficult to understand exactly how long she’d had her eyes closed. She realized she wasn’t sure how to mentally measure time when she was aware of someone else in her head who also was attempting to mentally measure time—it was like trying to look at two clocks at once.
Yet as she miserably waited, eyes clamped shut, lost in the darkness with her cheek pressed to the cold floor, she slowly began to feel…different.
The change was slow and curious. The only comparison she had for it was the experience of being asleep in your own bed, and having your pet jump up and nestle in the back of your leg—the faint, warm awareness of another being nestling into you, whether you liked it or not.
A voice blossomed in her mind—a voice that was undeniably, absolutely, unquestionably Berenice:
Sancia fumbled in the darkness—in her mind, she supposed—for how to respond. This was different from the Mountain, or Clef, really: both of them had been separate entities she could access or engage with, but this was much more present. Berenice was not someone she was talking to. She was, in a very real way, someone Sancia was, to a certain extent: She was sharing her mind with her, her very self.
Sancia said:
She felt Berenice recoil at the volume of her thoughts.
There was a pause as they gauged how connected they now were. It was the oddest experience: Sancia suddenly found memories present in her head that were not hers—memories of scriving, of working with Orso, of a childhood in the Commons spent before a game board…and yet there was the immediate sense that they were hers, since she was, to a degree, also this person.
Shorefall Page 30
