Shorefall

by Robert Jackson Bennett

  “Think, Sancia,” said Crasedes. “Come be a liberator with me.”

  Crasedes’s low, gentle voice echoed in her ears, and Clef’s words seemed to fall away.

  She suddenly remembered what life had been like on the plantations: all those miserable bodies stuffed into shacks together, their skin burned and scarred by the ropes and the whips and the manacles and the chains. How she’d dreamed of an emancipator, of a crusader who would stride in and strike down all the slavers…

  And for a sliver of a second, she dreamed of it—she dreamed of herself forcing all the slavers of the world to lay down their arms, and undo their chains, and set the people free.

  But then her gaze fell on Crasedes, and the black, empty eyes of his mask—and her mind went quiet, and her heart fell still.

  “You were right,” she said quietly.

  He cocked his head. “Was I?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You said that power alters the soul more than any design you could ever dream of. And you were right. And to make this city a tool, and place it in your grasp…it’d make you even more of a monster than you are now. For all your mysticism and rhetoric, there’s no difference between you and the merchant houses.”

  Crasedes studied her for a long, long while. Then he sighed and bowed his head. “Well. That’s a pity. I liked you, Sancia. But there is one way I’m not like your merchant houses.”

  “How’s that?”

  He looked at her. “I don’t need to come in there and conquer to get what I want. I just need to say a few words.” Then he turned to the Foundryside rooftop, and he called very clearly, “Gregor Dandolo—your mother’s debt to me is still unpaid.”

  * * *

  —

  Gregor felt the world around him grow still and cold and muted, shrinking until it was all happening far, far, far away from him.

  He knew this. He knew this feeling. He remembered it now.

  No, no, he screamed. No, no! Stop!

  He watched himself drop the imprinter, turn, push past Berenice and Orso, and charge downstairs.

  He watched himself leap down the stairs, run to the front doors of the firm, throw them open, and walk out.

  I have a choice about who I am! I…I have a choice! I don’t want to be this anymore! I DON’T WANT TO BE THIS ANYMORE!

  But his body would not listen.

  * * *

  —

  Sancia turned around as the front doors of the firm burst open. Gregor stepped out and scanned the courtyard, his face dead and cold, his eyes like wet stones sitting in the back of his skull. Then he spotted her and he went still.

  screamed Berenice.

  Yet there was nowhere to run to. Outside the gate was Crasedes, and inside was Gregor.

  “Sancia!” said Valeria’s voice, faint and weak. “Must move! He is coming for the key! Must NOT let the Maker get the key!”

  Gregor started walking toward her.

  She backed away. “Gregor…” she said loudly. “You…You don’t have to do this…”

  “Use plate!” begged Valeria. “Swallow plate! Merge with me! Free me!”

  “You can become someone else,” Sancia said to Gregor. “You can choose to become someone el—”

  But then Gregor, eyes still cold and dead, began to sprint.

  said Clef.

  She turned and ran for the far corner of the courtyard, to perhaps scale the wall and then the face of the building to get up on the roof. Yet as she tried to grasp the first handhold, she realized she was not at all in good enough shape for that anymore: her wrist cried out in pain when she lifted herself, and her legs were weaker than she remembered, beating uselessly at the crinkled stone…

  And then she was ripped backward, and the next thing she knew she was flying across the courtyard.

  She crashed into stone, all the air driven from her, her right arm and right leg bright with pain. The world seemed to spin around her, and she blinked and focused until she saw Gregor converging on where she lay, reaching out for her…

  He threw me, she thought. God, if he’s that strong, oh God…

  “Gregor, stop!” shouted a voice. Sancia looked up and saw Orso hobbling out of the firm’s open doors. “Stop this now! Just stop, stop!”

  Orso ran to Gregor, hands raised as he tried to calm him, but Gregor didn’t even seem to slow down. He grabbed Orso by one wrist and struck him twice in his wounded shoulder, his bloody bandages squelching wetly with the blows. Orso screamed in agony and crumpled to the ground, his face writhing in pain.

  cried Berenice.

  But Sancia could barely hear the words—for Gregor was turning back to her.

  She rolled over and tried to crawl away, gasping in pain. “Gregor…no…” she gasped.

  He darted over to her with shocking speed. She felt him flip her over, felt his hands close about her neck, felt him begin to squeeze…

  His fingers bit into her throat. She felt the air and blood pinched off, and she silently gasped, her eyes swelling with blood, welling with tears…

  “Gregor,” said Crasedes placidly, “I think I’d like to have the key now, yes?”

  Gregor released her throat. He began to search her, patting down her pockets as she coughed and gasped for air. He found the little wooden box with Valeria’s plate in it—the one that she’d made to merge with Sancia—and he stared at it, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly.

  Even as she coughed, Sancia could see something was different.

  He knows what that is, she thought, and…and he’s thinking very hard about it…

  “Gregor?” asked Crasedes. “The key, please.”

  The deadness in Gregor’s eyes returned. He put the box in his pocket, then knelt and ripped open her shirt, revealing where Clef hung from her neck by a small string.

  “And I’d advise you pick it up with a cloth,” said Crasedes. “It was made for my hand, but…if they’ve damaged it more, I expect that it might have some permissions that could make following my commands a little difficult for you…”

  Gregor ripped off the sleeve of his shirt, bundled it around his hand, and reached out for Clef.

 

  Sancia feebly swatted at his hand. Gregor drew back. Then he raised his fist and punched Sancia in the face, once, twice, three times, then four…

  He’s going to kill me, she thought. My friend is going to beat me to death, right here in my courtyard…

  The blows ended. Sancia’s consciousness was just a flickering candle lost in the vaults of her skull, but she could still hear Clef.

 

  Then his voice was gone.

  Sancia tried to put her mind back together. She blinked and groaned and opened her eyes, but one of them seemed swollen shut. It felt like hours had passed since Gregor had beaten her, but apparently it had only been seconds.

  She was lying on her back on the ground, so when she looked up toward Gregor the whole world was upside down. She watched as he walked away from her, Clef gripped in a cloth in his hand, and opened the Foundryside gates, and calmly walked out…

  “Gregor,” she moaned. “Please. Stop!”

  But he did not stop. He walked to Crasedes and held Clef out to him.

  Crasedes reached out, his black-wrapped fingers moving slowly and lovingly, and he plucked the golden key from Gregor’s grasp.

  He held it high, his masked face raised in adoration.

  “Finally!” said Crasedes.
He raised Clef to his face, and leaned the brow of his head against the tooth of the key—a queerly sentimental posture—and when he spoke again his voice shook with emotion. “How I missed you. How I missed you.”

  Then he extended Clef into the air before him, as if fitting him into a lock in an invisible door.

  And then…

  There was a tremendous crack, like some huge, thick stone had split in two.

  Then Crasedes blurred, and he was gone.

  * * *

  —

  All the world was silent.

  Sancia blinked and stared. She’d expected something more terrifying, some bright blaze of power, but…Crasedes was just gone. And now that she noticed, Gregor had vanished as well.

  “W-What?” said Sancia, stunned.

  She stared at the muddy road before the Foundryside gates. It was totally empty—yet she could see footprints where Gregor had walked to Crasedes.

  “Valeria?” asked Sancia. “What…What did he do? Where did he go? What’s happening?”

  But Valeria was silent.

  she asked.

  Nothing.

  Sancia slowly sat up, spat out a mouthful of blood, and looked around. There was no sign of either Crasedes or Gregor. Orso lay on the stones of the courtyard, moaning.

  She crawled over to him and shook him. “Orso. Are you still alive?”

  He moaned again and said, “Unfortunately.” He opened his eyes. “What…What the hell happened? Where’s Crasedes? Where’s Gregor?”

  “I don’t know. They just…vanished. I don’t know how, though, but…”

  She remembered his words: He would give me the permissions to slip through your reality like a minnow through river reeds…

  She stared around, imagining Crasedes flitting through the strata below reality, like a cockroach scuttering behind a tapestry.

  Oh God, she thought. Oh God, oh God…

  “Berenice?” panted Orso. “Is she alive?”

  Sancia focused and reached out to her. She sensed that Berenice was alive and safe and moving, but her own head ached so much it was difficult to glean much more than that.

  “And…Valeria?” asked Orso. “Did he…Did he get to her?”

  Ignoring the pain in her right arm and leg, Sancia hobbled through the front door and through the Foundryside shelves until she came to the door to the basement. She peered inside, looked down into the cracked stone room—and saw Valeria’s lexicon was gone.

  “What?” she said. “How…How…”

  There was a crack behind her, and she turned to find Crasedes standing there in the library, watching her. It was like he’d appeared out of thin air—and then she noticed the glimmer of gold in his hand.

  “Clef…” she whispered.

  She staggered back, her heart fluttering in terror. The sight of him here, in their sanctum, walking about, unfettered and free…

  “I could kill you,” he whispered. “You know that, yes?”

  She said nothing, her mind wild and mute with fear.

  “Did you know?” he asked. “Did you expect me to break in? Is that why you hid it?”

  “Hid what?” asked Sancia, bewildered.

  “Tell me the truth,” said Crasedes. “Tell me the truth. Where is it?”

  His words swirled in her ears, and she couldn’t fight him. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to tell him where it was—but she didn’t know what he meant.

  “Where is what?” she gasped.

  “The imperiat,” he said. “Where is it?”

  “W-What?” she said.

  “The imperiat,” he said, louder. “I know you had one. I know you know how to use it. It must have been here. But it’s gone. So—where is it now?”

  Sancia looked around, her head aching. “I…I don’t…” She could hear her words were slurred and sloppy.

  “Did you steal it away?” he said. “Hide it somewhere in the city? What have you done with it? Or should I ask Orso, and make him tell me?”

  She fell to her knees, her skull pounding. “W-What have you done with Valeria?” she said.

  “I have removed her,” he said angrily, “to safe containment. But that can be threatened if someone misuses the imperiat. So—where is it? Who has it? What have you done, Sancia? Tell me—now.”

  Sancia dropped to all fours. She saw blood drizzling across the floorboards below her, and realized her face was bleeding freely. She could barely understand what he was saying. The imperiat had been here in Foundryside just minutes ago—she had no idea why he couldn’t find it now.

  But then she wondered…

  she asked.

  She did not get a firm response. Perhaps Berenice was too terrified to think properly. But she did get a sudden burst of emotion—of assent, of confirmation, of validation.

  Berenice is alive, somewhere. She got away. And she has the imperiat.

  “I have no idea,” gasped Sancia. She glared at up at him, feeling blood pour down her lips. “But I hope that wherever it is, it turns all your grand plans into shit.”

  He watched her, unmoving. Then there was a sound from the courtyard outside, a thunder of footfalls and then Orso screaming swears, and suddenly dozens of Dandolo soldiers poured through the Foundryside front door. They flooded the library, all of them with espringals raised and trained on Sancia.

  “Disappointing,” said Crasedes. “But somehow…I think you’re lying, Sancia.”

  One of the soldiers took out a small silver box, and opened it. Three black darts lay inside—dolorspina darts, she knew.

  A pain in her neck, and she knew no more.

  * * *

  —

  Crasedes Magnus drifted through the Foundryside courtyard as the Dandolo soldiers ransacked the offices. He circled the shabby building, studying the windows and doors and roof and chimneys, carefully making note of all the exits and entry points, any way someone might have escaped…

  It had to have been here. It must have.

  He looked back at the Foundryside walls, and the gates, which still stood open. Then he floated along the walls’ perimeter until he came to a small, crooked little door that led to a reeking ditch where the residents of this filthy quarter apparently dumped their waste.

  Crasedes approached the door, and reached out and tested the knob. It was unlocked.

  Someone was here. Someone has come this way.

  He floated into the filthy ditch that wound between the buildings of the Lamplands. It would have been difficult to see much in the darkness—but Crasedes Magnus possessed many methods of perceiving and interpreting the world. Darkness was not an obstacle for him.

  His gaze fell upon a set of tracks running through the muck, along the edge of the ditch: small yet deep, like someone running as fast as they could.

  He silently drifted along the tracks. They crossed a narrow wooden bridge that some thoughtful citizen had apparently constructed, led down a stone alley, and vanished into the city.

  “Hmm…” he said quietly, studying the tracks closer.

  They seemed a little…malformed. Almost as if the person making them had suddenly realized they were leaving very noticeable tracks—and then began to walk backwards, carefully stepping in their own footprints, until they returned to the ditch.

  But that would imply that the person who’d fled was still here. And this, Crasedes knew, was not possible. He had many sights available, permissions of perception he’d crafted for himself many centuries ago—and one of them allowed him to spy any instance of warm, beating blood within a hundred feet of him, at least.

  And yet, as he turned back and studied the ditch, there was nothing he could see. None of his sights caught any hint of the person who had fled Foundryside.

  This was very troubling.
Because there was only one person Crasedes had any issue perceiving or influencing—and that was Sancia Grado. The construct had given her protections that made it quite difficult to see her, unless she was standing out in plain sight.

  So, he thought, has the construct made another Sancia? Or…has something else occurred? Or is my assessment of the situation simply wrong?

  He watched the ditch for a long, long time, studying it closely. There was nothing besides the flies and the vermin.

  I have better things to be doing tonight.

  Then, with a crack, he vanished.

  * * *

  —

  Berenice waited a few minutes more after the crack echoed through the ditch. Then she gasped, released herself, and fell into the mire below.

  It had not been easy, wedging herself under the bridge across the waste. And she had not expected to be hiding from Crasedes Magnus himself.

  And most of all, she’d not expected that such a hiding place might actually work.

  How in the hell, she thought as she staggered up to the bank, did the first of all hierophants miss me?

  Heart still pounding, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the imperiat.

  She studied the golden tool, which glimmered through the streaks of mud. Then she shut her eyes, and focused—and found Sancia. Or rather she found Sancia’s experience of the world, which was dark, and silent, and still…It was faint—twinning, after all, was proximal, so the two objects had to be moderately close for them to share their twinned characteristics—but it was enough.

  She’s asleep. She’s alive.

  Berenice looked up through the buildings around her. She spied the walls of the Dandolo campo. Then she set her jaw and started off, the imperiat in her hand.

  32

  Ofelia Dandolo sat on her balcony in a large, cushioned wooden chair, and looked out on the city before her. Her balcony was ornately designed, with elaborate fountains, trailing vines, and even a set of small, potted trees that gave the space a feeling of a quiet, restful forest grove, suspended here over the sprawl of Tevanne.