Their carriage rattled on into the campo.
* * *
—
Sancia had never been to the inner enclaves of the Michiel campo, so she hadn’t been sure what to expect. She was aware that the Michiels, who were known for being the most accomplished at manipulating heat and light—as well as for being insufferably artsy snobs in general—had one of the most impressive campos in Tevanne. But as Gregor drove their carriage into the depths of the campo, she found she had not expected…this.
Buildings wrought of glass blossomed out of the streetscapes, and twisted and rose and ran together, their innards glimmering with a warm, entrancing luminescence. Whole walls had apparently been converted into art displays, their surfaces shifting and changing to show beautiful, looping designs that moved.
And then there were the suns.
She stared at one as it came close. Most campos used floating lanterns as the preferred method of illumination, but it seemed the Michiels had not been satisfied with this. Instead, they had created some kind of giant, glittering, glowing orb that slowly drifted about three hundred feet above the city streets like a miniature sun, bathing everything below it in something very close to daylight. It would have been an astounding sight at any time, but it was especially striking now, drifting along in the pouring rain.
“Scrumming hell,” said Sancia.
“Yes,” said Berenice. “You can see the tops of the suns from certain towers in the city, I’ve been told.”
“Self-indulgent bullshit,” grumbled Orso. “Absolute twaddle.”
They rumbled on through the towers until they were stopped again at the next gate. There they were instructed to get out of their carriage and into another one—this one a Michiel carriage, full of Michiel guards. The Foundrysiders obeyed, Gregor carrying their locked box, and the carriage took off for the innermost sanctum of the Michiel campo, close to the illustris—the head building of the entire merchant house.
This was not their destination, however. Instead their carriage rumbled toward a tall, violet, shimmering structure studded with tiny round windows—the Michiel Hypatus Building, where the house scrivers experimented with sigils and logic, finding new ways to reshape reality to their liking.
They stopped at the front steps and climbed out, the Michiel guards carrying their locked box behind them. No one was there to greet them. Instead they were ushered inside, through chambers of glass and glowing walls and up the stairs, until they finally came to a tall, spacious room that felt like something of a performance venue, with a stage and lights—though the audience area was piled up with couches, cushions, and plates and plates of food.
Sancia stared at the food as they walked in. It had been a long time since she’d starved, but she still couldn’t believe the sight before her: pies and stews and chocolates and cuts of smoked meats, all delicately arranged on tiered, golden plates. There were also jugs and jugs of wine—she noticed Orso looking at these with a very interested look on his face.
“I thought the slave rebellions in the plantations meant everyone was tightening their belts,” said Sancia.
“These will be the senior hypati officers of the campo,” said Berenice quietly. “They will not lack for anything, no matter the circumstances.”
“You can begin setting up there,” said a Michiel guard, pointing at the table on the stage. “The hypatus will be here shortly.”
Sancia watched as the guards took up posts in the corners of the room. She wasn’t surprised—she’d known that every second of their time here they would be closely observed.
“This will work, yes?” said Orso, approaching the table. He was pointing to something sitting on it that to most would have looked like a large, curious metal kiln; but even the most novice scriver would have recognized it as a large heating chamber containing a test lexicon—a much smaller, simpler version of the giant lexicons they used to run the foundries all over Tevanne.
“It’s much more advanced than what we’re working with now,” said Berenice, studying the rig’s casing.
Orso snorted. “ ’Course it is. We haven’t got a million duvots to toss around out in the Commons.”
“But…I think we can make it work, yes?” Berenice said, looking at Sancia.
Sancia stooped and studied the heating chamber containing the test lexicon. Mostly she was checking the thing’s seams and boundaries—because if they were going to showcase their technology for the Michiels, the whole thing had to be airtight.
“We need to seal it up here and here,” she said, pointing to two seams she thought looked weak. “But otherwise it should be good.”
“Check again,” said Orso. “We need our designs to work.”
Sighing, Berenice and Sancia opened their wooden crate, took out a few scrived magnifying loupes, and began measuring and testing the heating chamber, confirming there were no flaws. It was monotonous work. Sancia felt like a physiquere inspecting a patient for plague lesions.
She glanced up at Berenice, whose loupe was wedged tight in her eye. “You have any plans after this?” she asked.
Berenice blinked and looked up at her, puzzled. “Eh?”
“I was thinking we could go to a puppeting show. Pasqual’s got some kind of scrived giraffe puppet that I’ve heard is quite amazing.”
Berenice allowed a sardonic smile. “Is that so?”
“It is. Thought we could swing by a tavern…”
“Try the latest cane wine…”
“A bowl of saffron rice…”
“Sugared redtail, maybe.”
“Yes,” said Sancia. “And then go see the puppets. Sound good?”
“Sounds wonderful,” said Berenice. She refixed her loupe and went back to work. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. But! Maybe…”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow would be better, yes. Though now that I think of it, the day after that…”
“Is even better.”
“Right in one.”
Sancia laughed grimly. “Of course.”
This was an old joke of theirs. Despite their desire to get out of their workshops and enjoy themselves, Sancia and Berenice both knew they almost certainly wouldn’t get it. They’d probably spend another night working till dawn over scriving definition plates and blackboards, and nursing their tottering old lexicon back to health.
One day, thought Sancia, I will be a person who has a girlfriend all the time and a job when I have to, rather than someone with a job all the time and a girlfriend whenever time allows.