She spoke to it, feeding it her commands. Then she opened her eyes and gave the bars of the portcullis a hard jerk.
With a clink and a groan, the portcullis slowly rose up.
“In,” said Sancia. “Now.”
The four of them slipped inside, sprinting through the ruined canal, up the stone stairs set in its side, and then on into the innermost circles of the enclave.
Sancia paused to look back. There was a pop from the other side of the enclave walls, and she saw something strange rising into the sky: a large circular green floating lantern, like the ones they used in the campo carnival parades. It rose into the air until it hovered about fifty feet above the walls, surrounded by the flock of smaller floating lanterns. She heard the applause of the revelers from here.
Should be easy to see, thought Sancia. Lighting the way home…
“Lead the way,” said Orso.
Sancia’s heart felt like lead as she tried to remember the path ahead. “How I’d hoped,” she said, “that I’d never have to do this again…”
“I sympathize,” said Gregor.
* * *
—
The strangest thing about moving through the Candiano enclave was how empty it was. Nearly everything was dark—there were no lights, neither in the streets nor in the buildings. The huge twisting spires were totally abandoned. The streets were covered in refuse that had blown into the gutters and the alleys.
“Weird,” said Orso softly. They stared at the countless magnificent, vacant structures around them. “Weird.”
“It seems,” said Gregor, “that the Michiels are not doing much with the space.”
“I’ll scrumming say.” Sancia flexed the muscle in her mind. Although most campo enclaves would have been an eruption of light and logic from all the designs keeping everything going, the Candiano enclave was more like a handful of candles flickering in the dark. “The only scrivings that are active are the ones keeping the buildings up. Everything else is shut down.”
“Then the darkness will be helpful,” said Orso. “Let’s keep moving.”
They continued through the enclave until they emerged onto a main fairway, and the Mountain rose into view. Again, she was awed by the sight of the thing. The Mountain was so incomprehensibly huge, a giant black dome with tiny round windows dotting its surface—and yet now it was also so incomprehensibly damaged.
“Let’s hope they left the front door open,” said Orso.
Together they moved through the side streets around the towers beside the Mountain, Sancia peering up at the scrivings around them, mindful of any movement.
Then she saw a tangle of logic hovering in the building ahead.
She stopped immediately and held up a hand.
“What’s wrong?” asked Gregor.
Sancia narrowed her eyes at the tangle of scrivings. She saw commands for velocity, for durability, for density, and gravity…
“It’s an espringal,” she said.
“What?” said Gregor.
“There in that building.” She pointed. “On the balcony. It’s an espringal, a high-powered one. And it’s moving.”
“A Michiel guard, then?” asked Berenice.
Sancia cocked her head, studying the logic. “No. I don’t think so. This looks like someone else’s work. I think it’s…Dandolo.”
Gregor, Berenice, and Orso looked at one another. “What?” said Orso. “What the hell? I thought the Michiels owned this enclave!”
“It could be a break-in,” said Berenice. “We know Crasedes is after the same thing we are, and we know Ofelia is working with…or for him.”
“We can’t stop here, even if this is a nasty surprise,” said Sancia. “We just…choose another route.” She backed away from the building. “One that’s far away from that.”
But getting closer to the Mountain proved harder than she’d thought. Every time they crept up some thoroughfare or alley, she always spied a scriving closer to the Mountain: an espringal, or a bundle of rapiers, or some other armament that surely belonged to guards keeping watch. And all of them were Dandolo.
“How in the hell have the Dandolos moved a private army into the enclave?” whispered Sancia as they huddled behind a corner. “Surely the Michiels would have noticed all these goddamn assholes!”
Gregor made a pained face. “Unless…my mother, or Crasedes…made them give the whole place up?”
“He couldn’t do that!” scoffed Orso. Then he saw Sancia’s and Gregor’s faces. “Could he do that?”
“The sound of his voice almost made me tell him where Clef was,” said Sancia. “God knows what it could make a regular person do.”
Gregor peered down the alley at the dark, cracked skin of the Mountain. “They’re in there. I’m sure of it. My mother’s probably had Dandolo scrivers in there all day, trying to get at the same components we’re after. And they’ve set up guards everywhere.”
“So…do we walk away?” asked Orso.
“No!” said Sancia. “If we walk away, then not only do we lose Valeria’s protections, but Crasedes will be one step closer to remaking her into something that could tear reality to pieces like a wasp in a beehive! This is our only chance!”
“Then what do you propose we do?” asked Orso.
Berenice suddenly walked farther out from the corner, staring not at the Mountain but rather at the land around its base.
“What the hell are you doing?” whispered Sancia.
“The secret entrance,” said Berenice quietly.
“What?” said Gregor.
“There’s a secret entrance to the Mountain—isn’t there? We used it last time. Could that still be guarded?”
Sancia thought about it. “I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s worth trying.”
They trotted through a string of parks that had been overtaken with monkeys until finally they came to the entrance to Tribuno Candiano’s personal sculpture garden. Sancia studied the balconies and alleys around them, but found them all empty.
“We’re alone,” she whispered. “They don’t know about it!”
“Then let’s see if it still works,” said Gregor.
They entered the garden. It was a powerfully unsettling experience for Sancia: the last time she’d been here the topiaries had been trimmed, the lawns freshly cut, and the statues had been clean and imposing. Now everything was overgrown, the statues and follies were filthy with dust and mold, and the topiaries had grown so thick Gregor had to hack them away with a scrived rapier.