Tuesday 30 October 2012

sapphique


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Also by Catherine Fisher
Incarceron
The Oracle
The Archon
The Scarab
The Lammas Field
Darkwater Hall
Other titles available from Hodder Children’s Books
Piratica
Piratica II — Return to Parrot Island
Piratica III — The Family Sea
THE WOLF TOWER SEQUENCE
Law of the Wolf Tower
Wolf Star Rise
Queen of the Wolves
Wolf Wing
Tanith Lee
Airborn
Skybreaker
Silverwing
Sunwing
Firewing
Kenneth Oppel
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SAPPHIQUE
Catherine
Fisher
Hodder
Children’s
Books
A division of Hachette Children’s Books
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For more information on Catherine Fisher, please visit:
www.geocities.com/catherinefisheruk
Text copyright © 2008 Catherine Fisher
.
First published in Great Britain in 2008
by Hodder Children’s Books
The right of Catherine Fisher to be identified as the Author of
the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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All rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law,
this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form,
or by any means with prior permission in writing from the publishers
or in the case of reprographic production in accordance with the terms of
licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency and may not be
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that
in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and
any resemblance to real persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
A Catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library
ISBN-13: 978 0 340 89361 6
Typeset in Beinbo by Avon DataSet Ltd,
Bidford on Avon, Warwickshire
Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon, CR0 4TD
The paper and board used in this paperback by Hodder Children’s Books
are natural recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests.
The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations
of the country of origin.
Hodder Children’s Books
a division of Hachette Children’s Books
338 Euston Road, London NWI 3BH
An Hachette Livre UK company
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L’amor che muove il sole e l’altre stelle.
DANTE
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The Art
Magicke
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Sapphique, they say, was not the same after his Fall. His mind
was bruised. He plunged into despair, the depths of the Prison.
He crawled into the Tunnels of Madness. He sought dark
places, and dangerous men.
LEGEND OF SAPPHIQUE
The alleyway was so narrow that Attia could lean against
one wall and kick the other.
She waited in the dimness, listening, her breath
condensing on glistening bricks. A flicker of flames
around the corner sent red ripples down the walls.
The shouts were louder now, the unmistakeable roar of
an excited crowd. She heard howls of delight, sudden
gales of laughter. Whistles and stamping. Applause.
Licking a fallen drip of condensation from her lips she
tasted its salty grit, knowing she had to face them. She
had come too far, searched too long, to back out now. It
was useless feeling small, and scared. Not if she ever
wanted to Escape. She straightened, edged to the
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end of the alley, and peered out.
Hundreds of people were crammed into the small torchlit
square. They were squeezed together, their backs to her, the
stench of sweat and bodies overpowering. Behind the mob a
few old women stood craning to see. Halfmen crouched in
shadows. Boys climbed on each other’s shoulders,
scrambling up on to the rooftops of squalid houses. Stalls of
gaudy canvas sold hot food, the pungency of onions and
spitting grease making her swallow with hunger.
The Prison was interested too. Just above her, under the
eaves of filthy straw, one of its tiny red Eyes spied curiously
on the scene.
A howl of delight from the crowd made Attia set her
shoulders; she stepped out deliberately. Dogs fought over
scraps; she edged round them, past a shadowy doorway.
Someone slipped out behind her; she turned, her knife
already in her hand.
‘Don’t even try.’
The cutpurse stepped back, fingers spread, grinning. He
was thin and filthy and had few teeth.
‘No problem, darling. My mistake.’
She watched him slide into the crowd.
‘It would have been,’ she muttered. Then she sheathed her
knife and barged in after him.
Forcing a way through was tough. The people were tightly
packed and eager to see whatever was going on up front;
they groaned, laughed, gasped in unison. Ragged
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children crawled under everyone’s feet, getting kicked and
stepped on. Attia pushed and swore, slipped into gaps,
ducked under elbows. Being small had its uses. And she
needed to get to the front. She needed to see him.
Winded and bruised, she squirmed between two huge men
and found air.
It was acrid with smoke. Firebrands crackled all around;
before her, an area of mud had been roped off.
Crouched in it, all alone, was a bear.
Attia stared.
The bear’s black fur was scabby, its eyes small and savage.
A chain clanked around its neck, and, well back in the
shadows, a bearkeeper held the end, a bald man with long
moustaches, his skin glistening with sweat. Slung at his side
was a drum; he beat it rhythmically and gave a sharp tug on
the chain.
Slowly, the bear rose to its hindlegs, and danced. Taller
than a man, lumbering awkwardly, it circled, its muzzled
mouth dripping saliva, its chains leaving bloody trails in its
pelt.
Attia scowled. She knew just how it felt.
She put her hand up to her own neck, where the welts and
bruises of the chain she had once worn were faded to faint
marks.
Like that bear, she had been a manacled thing. If it hadn’t
been for Finn she still would be. Or, more likely, dead by
now.
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Finn.
His name was a bruise in itself. It hurt her to think of his
treachery.
The drum beat louder. The bear capered, its clumsy
dragging at the chain making the crowd roar. Attia watched
grim—faced. Then, behind it, she saw the poster. It was
plastered on the damp wall, the same poster that had been
pasted tip all over the village, everywhere she had looked.
Ragged and wet, peeling at the corners, it invited gaudily.
Attia shook her head in dismay. After searching for two
months through corridors and empty wings, villages and
cities, swampy plains and networks of white cells, for a
Sapient, for a cell-born, for anyone who would know about
Sapphique, all she’d found was a tacky sideshow in a back
alley.
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The crowd clapped and stamped. She was shoved aside;
when she’d pushed her way back she saw the bear had
turned to face its handler; he was hauling it down, alarmed,
prodding it away into the darkness with a long pole. The
men around her roared with scorn.
‘Try dancing with it yourself next time,’ one of them yelled.
A woman giggled.
Voices from the back rose, calling for more, something
new, something different, sounding impatient and scathing.
Slow handclaps began. Then they faded, to silence.
In the empty space among the torches a figure was
standing.
He came from nowhere, materializing into solidity from
shadows and flamelight. He was tall, and wore a black coat
that glistened strangely with hundreds of tiny sparkles; as he
raised his arms wide the sleeves fell open. The collar of the
coat was high around his neck; in the gloom he looked
young, with dark long hair.
No one spoke. Attia felt the crowd shock into stillness.
He was the image of Sapphique.
Everyone knew what Sapphique had looked like; there
were a thousand pictures, carvings, descriptions of him. He
was the Winged One, the Nine-Fingered, the One who had
escaped from the Prison. Like Finn, he had promised to
return. Attn swallowed, nervous. Her hands were shaking.
She clenched them tight.
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‘Friends.’ The magician’s voice was quiet; people strained
to hear him. ‘Welcome to my ring of wonders. You think you
will see illusions. You think I will fool you with mirrors and
false cards, with hidden devices. But I am not like other
magicians. I am the Dark Enchanter, and I will show you
true magic. The magic of the stars
As one, the crowd gasped.
Because he raised his right hand and on it he was wearing
a glove, of dark fabric, and from it white flashes of light were
sparking and crackling. The torches around the walls flared
and sank low. A woman behind Attia moaned in terror.
Attia folded her arms. She watched, determined not to be
overawed. How did he do it? Could that really be
Sapphique’s Glove? Could it have survived? Was there some
strange power still lingering in it? But as she watched, her
doubts began to slip from her grasp.
The show was astonishing.
The Enchanter had the crowd transfixed. He took objects,
made them vanish, brought them back, plucked doves and
Beetles out of the air, conjured a woman to sleep and made
her rise slowly, unsupported, into the smoky acrid darkness.
He drew butterflies from the mouth of a terrified child,
conjured gold coins and threw them out to desperate,
grabbing fingers, opened a door in the air and walked
through it, so that the crowd bayed and howled for him to
come back, and when he did it was from behind
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them, walking calmly through their frenzy so that they fell
away, awed, as if afraid to touch him.
As he passed Attia felt the brush of his coat against her
arm; her skin prickled, all the hairs on her skin standing up
with a faint static. He gave one glance to the side, his eyes
bright, catching hers.
From somewhere a woman screamed, ‘Heal my son, Wise
One! Heal him.’
A baby was lifted up, began to be passed forward over
people’s heads.
The Enchanter turned and held up his hand.
‘That will be done later. Not now’ His voice was rich with
authority. ‘Now I prepare for the summoning of all my
powers. For the reading of minds. For the entry into death
and back to life.’
He closed his eyes.
The torches flickered low.
Standing alone in the dark the Enchanter whispered, ‘There
is much sorrow here. There is much fear.' When he looked
out at them again he seemed overwhelmed by the numbers,
almost afraid of his task. Quietly he said, ‘I want three
people to come forward. But they must be only those willing
to have their deepest fears revealed. Only those willing to
bare their souls to my gaze.’
A few hands shot up. Women called out. After a moment
of hesitation, Attia put her hand up too.
The Enchanter went towards the crowd. ‘That woman,’
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he called, and one was shoved forward, hot and stumbling.
‘Him.’ A tall man who had not even volunteered was
dragged out by those around him. He swore and stood
awkwardly, as if transfixed by terror.
The Enchanter turned. His gaze moved inexorably across
the massed faces. Attia held her breath. She felt the man’s
brooding stare cross her face like heat. He stopped, glanced
back. Their eyes met, a dark second. Slowly he raised his
hand and stabbed a long finger in her direction, and the
crowd cried aloud because they saw that, like Sapphique, his
right forefinger was missing.
‘You,’ the Enchanter whispered.
She took a breath to calm herself. Her heart was
hammering with terror. She had to force herself to push
through into the dim, smoky space. But it was important to
stay calm, not show fear. Not show she was any different
from anyone else.
The three of them stood in a line and Attia could feel the
woman next to her trembling with emotion. The Enchanter
walked along, his eyes scrutinizing their faces. Attia met his
stare as defiantly as she could. He would never read her
mind; she was sure of that. She had seen and heard things he
could never imagine. She had seen Outside.
He took the woman’s hand. After a moment, very gently,
he said, ‘You miss him.’
The woman stared in amazement. A strand of hair stuck
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to her lined forehead. ‘Oh I do, Master. I do.’
The Enchanter smiled. ‘Have no fear. He is safe in the
peace of Incarceron. The Prison holds him in its memory. His
body is whole in its white cells.
She shook with sobs of joy, kissed his hands. ‘Thank you,
Master. Thank you for telling me.’
The crowd roared its approval. Attia allowed herself a
sardonic smile. They were so stupid! Hadn’t they noticed this
so—called magician had told the woman nothing? A lucky
guess and a few empty words and they swallowed it whole.
He had chosen his victims carefully. The tall man was so
terrified he would have said anything; when the Enchanter
asked him how his sick mother was he stammered that she
was improving, sir. The crowd applauded.
‘Indeed she is.’ The Enchanter waved his maimed hand for
silence. ‘And I prophesy this. By Lightson her fever will have
diminished. She will sit up and call for you, my friend. She
will live ten more years. I see your grandchildren on her
knee.’
The man could not speak. Attia was disgusted to see tears
in his eyes.
The crowd murmured. Perhaps they were less convinced,
because when the Enchanter came to Attia he turned to face
them suddenly.
‘It is easy, some of you are thinking, to speak of the future.’
He raised his young face and stared out at them.
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‘How will we ever know, you’re thinking, whether he is
right or wrong? And you are right to doubt. But the past, my
friends, the past is a different thing. I will tell you now of this
girl’s past.’
Attia tensed.
Perhaps he sensed her fear, because a slight smile curled
his lips. He stared at her, his eyes slowly glazing, becoming
distant, dark as the night. Then he lifted his gloved hand and
touched her forehead.
‘I see,’ he whispered, ‘a long journey. Many miles, many
weary days of walking. I see you crouched like a beast. I see
a chain about your neck.’
Attia swallowed. She wanted to jerk away. Instead she
nodded, and the crowd was silent.
The Enchanter took her hand. He clasped his own around it
and his gloved fingers were long and bony. His voice was
puzzled. ‘I see strange things in your mind, girl. I see you
climbing a tall ladder, fleeing from a great Beast, flying in a
silver ship above cities and towers. I see a boy. His name is
Finn. He has betrayed you. He has left you behind and
though he promised to return, you fear he never will. You
love him, and you hate him. Is that not true?’
Attia’s face was scorching. Her hand shook. ‘Yes,’ she
breathed.
The crowd were transfixed.
The Enchanter stared at her as if her soul was transparent;
she found she could not look away. Something was
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happening to him, a strangeness had come into his face,
behind his eyes. Small bright glints shone on his coat. The
glove felt like ice around her fingers.
‘Stars,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I see the stars. Under them a
golden palace, its windows bright with candles. I see it
through the keyhole of a dark doorway. It is far, far away. It
is Outside.’
Amazed, Attia stared at him. His grasp on her hand hurt
but she couldn’t move. His voice was a whisper.
‘There is a way Out. Sapphique found it. The keyhole is tiny,
tinier than an atom. And the eagle and the swan spread their
wings to guard it.'
She had to move, break this spell. She glanced aside.
People crowded the edges of the arena; the bearguard, seven
jugglers, dancers from the troupe. They stood as still as the
crowd.
‘Master,’ she whispered.
His eyes flickered.
He said, ‘You search for a Sapient who will show you the
way Out. I am that man.’ His voice strengthened; he swung
to the crowd. ‘The way that Sapphique took lies through the
Door of Death. I will take this girl there and I will bring her
back!’
The audience roared. He led Attia by the hand out into the
centre of the smoky space. Only one torch guttered. There
was a couch. He motioned her to lie on it.
Terrified, she swung her legs up.
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In the crowd someone cried out, and was instantly hushed.
Bodies craned forward, a stench of heat and sweat.
The Enchanter held up his black-gloved hand. ‘Death,’ he
said. ‘We fear it. We would do anything to avoid it. And yet
Death is a doorway that opens both ways. Before your eyes,
you will see the dead live.’
The couch was hard. She gripped the sides. This was what
she had come for.
‘Behold,’ the Enchanter said.
He turned and the crowd moaned, because in his hand was
a sword. He was drawing it out of the air; slowly it was
unsheathed from darkness, the blade glittering with cold
blue light. He held it up, and unbelievably, miles above them
in the remote roof of the Prison, lightning flickered.
The Enchanter stared up; Attia blinked.
Thunder rumbled like laughter.
For a moment everyone listened to it, tensed for the Prison
to act, for the streets to fall, the sky roll away, the gas and the
lights to pin them down.
But Incarceron did not interfere.
‘My father the Prison,’ the Enchanter said quickly, ‘watches
and approves.’
He turned.
Metal links hung from the couch; he fastened them around
Attia’s wrists. Then a belt was looped over her neck
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and waist. ‘Keep very still, he said. His bright eyes explored
her face. ‘Or the danger is extreme.’
He turned to the crowd. ‘Behold,’ he cried. ‘I will release
her. And I will bring her back!’
He raised the sword, both hands on the grip, the point
hovering over her chest. She wanted to cry out, gasp, ‘No,’
but her body was chilled and numb, her whole attention
focused on the glittering, razor-sharp point.
Before she could breathe, he plunged it into her heart.
This was death.
It was warm and sticky and there were waves of it, washing over
her like pain. It had no air to breathe, no words to speak. It was a
choking in her throat.
And then it was pure and blue and as empty as the sky she had
seen Outside, and Finn was in it, and Claudia, and they were
sitting on golden thrones, and they turned to look at her.
And Finn said, ‘I haven’t forgotten you, Attia. I’m coming back
for you.’
She could only manage one word, and as she said it she saw his
shock.
‘Liar.’
She opened her eyes.
Her hearing seemed to pop, to come back from somewhere
far; the crowd were roaring and howling with joy, and the
fastenings were undone. The Enchanter was
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helping her up. She stared down and saw that the blood on
her clothes was shrivelling, vanishing away, that the sword
in his hand was clean; that she could stand. She took a great
breath and her eyes cleared; she saw that people were on the
buildings and roofs, hanging on awnings, leaning out of
windows, that the storm of applause went on and on, a
screaming tide of adoration.
And the Dark Enchanter gripped her hand and made her
bow with him, and his gloved fingers held the sword high
above the crowd as the jugglers and dancers discreetly
moved in to collect the rain of coins that showered like
falling stars.
When it was all over, when the crowd was streaming away,
she found herself standing in the corner of the square
clutching her arms around herself. A low pain burned in her
chest. A few women clustered at the door that the Enchanter
had entered, their sick children already in their arms.
Attia breathed out slowly. She felt stiff, and stupid. She felt
as if some great explosion had deafened and stunned her.
Quickly, before anyone noticed, she turned and ducked
under the awnings, past the bearpit, through the ragged
camp of the jugglers. One of them saw her, but stayed sitting
by the fire they had lit, cooking slivers of meat.
Attia opened a small door under an overhanging roof and
slipped in.
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The room was dark.
He was sitting in front of a smeared mirror lit only by a
single guttering candle, and he looked up and saw her in the
glass.
As she watched he took off the black wig, unfurled his
missing finger, wiped the smooth make-up from his lined
face, tossed the ragged coat on the floor.
Then he leant his elbows on the table and gave her a gaptoothed
grin. ‘An excellent performance,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I told you I could do it.’
‘Well, I’m convinced, sweetie. The job’s yours, if you still
want it He slipped a wad of ket into his cheek and began to
chew.
Attia glanced round. There was no sign of the Glove.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I want it.’
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2
How could you betray me, Incarceron?
How could you let me fall?
I thought I was your son.
It seems I am your fool.
SONGS OF SAPPHIQUE
Finn flung the documents at the wall. Then he picked the
inkwell up and hurled it after them. It exploded into a black,
dripping star.
‘Sire,’ the chamberlain gasped. ‘Please!’
Finn ignored him. He heaved the table over; it collapsed
with a crash. Papers and scrolls cascaded everywhere, their
seals and ribbons tangling. Grim, he stalked over to the door.
‘Sire. There are at least sixteen more . . .‘
‘Stuff them.’
‘Sire?’
‘You heard. Burn them. Eat them. Feed them to the dogs.’
‘There are invitations which need your signature.
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The deeds of the Stygian Accord, the orders for the
coronation robes.’
Savagely, Finn turned on the thin figure scrabbling among
the papers. ‘How many times do I have to say it. There will be
no coronation!’
Leaving the man open-mouthed he turned and hauled the
doors open. The guards outside stiffened to attention but as
they closed in behind him he swore at them. Then he ran,
down the panelled corridor, through the curtains and across
the Great Salon, vaulting the upholstered sofas, flinging the
dainty chairs over, leaving the guards panting behind. With
one quick leap on to the table he slithered over its polished
surface, dodged silver candlesticks, jumped up on to the
wide windowseat, slid through the casement, and was gone.
Back in the doorway, breathless, the chamberlain groaned.
He stepped discreetly into a small side chamber, closed the
door and hefted the pile of crumpled paper wearily under
one arm. With a careful look around, he took out the
minicom she had given him and pressed the button, with
distaste, because he deplored this breach of Protocol. But he
didn’t dare not to, because she could be almost as ferocious
as the Prince.
The device crackled. ‘What now?’ a girl’s voice snapped.
The chamberlain swallowed. ‘I’m sorry Lady Claudia, but
you asked me to tell you if it happened again. Well, I think it
just did.’
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* * *
Finn landed on all fours on the gravel outside the window
and picked himself up. He stalked off across the grass.
Parading groups of courtiers scattered as he passed, the
women under their flimsy parasols dropping hurried
curtsies, the men making elaborate bows and sweeping their
hats off. Eyes fixed, Finn marched past. He scorned the
pathways with their finely raked surfaces, cutting directly
across the parterre, crunching the white seashells underfoot.
An indignant gardener came out from behind a hedge, but as
soon as he saw it was Finn he crumpled to one knee. Finn
allowed himself a cold smile. Being the Prince in this pretty
Paradise had some advantages.
The day was perfect. Tiny fleecy clouds moved high in the
sky, the amazingly blue sky he could never get used to. A
flock of jackdaws cavorted over the elms near the lake.
It was the lake he wanted.
That smooth blue expanse of water drew him like a
magnet. He undid the stiff collar they made him wear,
tearing it open, cursing everything over and over: the
constricting clothes, the baffling rules of courtesy, the endless
Protocol. Suddenly he broke into a run, past statues and
classical urns planted with floral displays, making a gaggle
of geese on the grass squawk and flutter and hiss away.
He was breathing more freely now. The sparks and dull
pain behind his eyes were easing. The fit had been coming
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on him, back there in that stuffy unbearable room, behind
that heaped desk. It had been growing inside him like anger.
Maybe it was anger. Maybe he should have let it happen,
fallen gratefully into it, the seizure that always waited for
him somewhere like a black pit in the road. Because
whatever it made him see, however much it hurt, after it was
over he could sleep, deep and oblivious, without dreams of
the Prison. Without dreams of Keiro, the oathbrother he had
left there.
The lakewater rippled under the faint breeze. He shook his
head, angry at how perfectly judged the temperature was,
how serene it all looked. At the jetty rowing boats bobbed
and knocked at the end of their ropes, surrounded by flat
green waterlily leaves, where tiny gnats danced.
He had no idea how much of it was real.
At least in the Prison he had known that.
Finn sat on the grass. He felt worn, and his anger was
turning on himself. The chamberlain had only been doing his
best. Throwing the ink had been stupid.
Lying on his stomach he buried his forehead under his
arms and let the warm sun comfort him. It was so hot, and so
bright. He could take it now, but for the first few days
Outside he had been blinded, had had to wear dark glasses
because his eyes wept and watered. And then all those long
weeks until his skin had lost that white pallor, those days of
washing and delousing and the endless medication Jared
had made him take. Weeks of patient
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lessons from Claudia in how to dress, how to talk, how to eat
with knives and forks; the titles, the bows, how not to yell,
spit, swear, fight.
Two months ago he had been a Prisoner without hope, a
starved, ragged thief and liar. Now he was a Prince in
Paradise.
And yet he had never been more unhappy.
A shadow darkened the red light behind his eyelids.
He kept them tight shut but the scent of the perfume she
wore came to him clearly; the rustle of her dress was loud as
she sat beside him on the low stone parapet.
After a moment he said, ‘The Maestra cursed me, did you
know that?’
Claudia’s voice was cold. ‘No.’
‘Well she did. The Maestra, the woman whose death was
my fault? I took the crystal Key from her. Her dying words
were “I hope it destroys you”. I think her curse is coming true,
Claudia.’
The silence went on so long that he raised his head and
looked at her. She had her knees up under the peach silk
dress and her arms hugged around them and she was
watching him with that concerned, annoyed look he had
come to know. ‘Finn...'
He sat up. ‘Don’t! Don’t tell me I should forget the past.
Don’t tell me again that life here is a game, that every word
you say and every smile, every gracious bow is a move in a
game. I can’t live like that! I won’t.’
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Claudia frowned. She saw the strain in his eyes. When the
fits came he always had this look. She wanted to snap at him,
but instead she made herself say quietly, ‘Are
you all right?’
He shrugged. ‘It was coming. But it’s gone. I thought... I
thought when I Escaped there would be no more fits. All
those stupid documents. .
Claudia shook her head. ‘Not them. It’s Keiro again, isn’t
it?’
Finn stared ahead. After a while he said, ‘Are you always
this sharp?’
She laughed. ‘I’m the pupil of Jared Sapiens. Trained in
observation and analysis. And,’ she added bitterly, ‘I’m the
daughter of the Warden of Incarceron. The game’s finest
player.’
He was surprised she had even mentioned her father. He
pulled a blade of grass and began to shred it. ‘Well you’re
right. I can’t stop thinking about Keiro. Keiro is my
oathbrother, Claudia. We swore loyalty to each other, loyalty
to death and beyond. You can’t even guess what that means.
In the Prison no one can survive alone; he looked after me
when I didn’t even know who I was. He watched my back in
a hundred fights. That time in the cave of the Beast he came
back for me, even though he had the Key, even though he
could have gone anywhere.’
Claudia was silent. Then she said, ‘I made him find you.
Don’t you remember?’
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‘He would have done it anyway.’
‘Would he?’ She gazed over the lake. ‘From what I saw,
Keiro was arrogant, ruthless and incredibly vain. You were
the one who seemed to take all the risks. He only cared about
himself.’
‘You don’t know him. You didn’t see him fight our
Winglord. He was amazing that day. Keiro is my brother.
And I’ve left him in that hell, after I promised to get him Out’
A group of young men were strutting from the Archery
Court. Claudia said, ‘It’s Caspar and his cronies. Quick.’
She jumped up and hauled one of the boats to shore; Finn
stepped in and took the oars and she scrambled after him.
With a few strokes they were safely out in the stillness of the
lake, the prow rippling among the lily-leaves. Butterflies
danced in the warm air. Claudia lay back on the cushions
and stared up at the sky. ‘Did he see us?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
Finn watched the effete youths in disgust. Caspar’s red hair
and gaudy blue frockcoat were clear from here. He was
laughing; he raised his bow and aimed it at the boat,
twanging the empty string with a mocking grin. Finn stared
back grimly. ‘Between him and Keiro I know which brother
I’d choose.’
Claudia shrugged. ‘Well I’m with you there. Remember,
30
I nearly had to marry him.’ She let the memory of that day
come back to her; the cold deliberate pleasure she had felt in
tearing the wedding dress, ripping its lace and white
perfection apart, as if it had been her life she was tearing, or
herself and her father. Herself and Caspar.
‘You don’t need to marry him now,’ Finn said quietly.
They were silent then, as the oars dipped and splashed in
the water. Claudia trailed her hand over the side, not looking
at him. They both knew that she had been betrothed as a
child to Prince Giles, and only when he had been presumed
dead had Caspar, the younger prince, taken his place. But
Finn was Giles now. She frowned.
‘Look...’
They both said it together. Claudia was first to laugh.
‘You first.’
He shrugged, not even smiling. ‘Look, Claudia, I don’t
know who I am. If you thought getting me out of Incarceron
would bring my memory back, you were wrong. I can’t
remember any more than before — just flashes, visions that
the fits bring. Jared’s potions haven’t made any difference He
stopped rowing suddenly, letting the boat drift, leaning
forward. ‘Don’t you see? I may not be the real prince. I may not
be Giles, despite this.’ He held up his hand; she saw the
faded tattoo of the crowned eagle. ‘And even if I am. . . I’ve
changed.’ He struggled to get the words out. ‘Incarceron has
changed me. I don’t fit in here. I can’t settle. How can Scum
like me be what you want? I
31
keep looking behind me. I keep thinking that a small red Eye
is spying on me up in the sky.’
Dismayed, she watched him. He was right. She had
thought it would be easy, had expected an ally, a friend. Not
this tormented streetfighter who seemed to loathe himself,
who spent hours gazing at the stars.
His face was drawn, his voice a low mutter. 'I can’t be the
King,’ he whispered.
Claudia sat up. ‘I’ve told you. You have to. If you want the
power to get Keiro out you have to!’ Angry, she turned and
stared back at the lawns.
A gaudy gathering of courtiers was assembling. Two
footmen carried a stack of gilt chairs, another was laden with
cushions and croquet mallets. A sweating gang of
underservants was propping a vast tasselled awning of
yellow silk over trestle tables, and a procession of butlers and
maids carried jellies, sweetmeats, cold capons, dainty
pastries and jugs of iced punch on silver trays.
Claudia groaned. ‘The Queen’s buffet. I’d forgotten:
Finn looked over. ‘I’m not going.’
‘Yes you are. Take the boat back in.’ She gave him a fierce
hard look. ‘You have to keep it together, Finn. You owe me. I
didn’t wreck my life to get some thug on to the throne. Jared
is working all hours on the Portal. We’ll get it to work. We’ll
get Keiro out of the Prison. And that bitch Attia too, even
though I notice you’ve been careful not to mention her. But
you have to do your part!’
32
He scowled. Then he picked up the oars and rowed them
back.
As they came close to the jetty; Claudia saw the Queen. Sia
was wearing a dress of dazzling white, the elaborate skirts
looped like a shepherdess, showing small feet in glimmering
slippers. Her pallid skin was protected from the sun by a
wide hat, and a graceful wisp of shawl was tucked around
her shoulders. She looked about twenty, but she must be
four times that, Claudia thought sourly. And her eyes were
strange, with pale irises. Witch’s eyes.
The boat bumped.
Finn took a breath. He did up his collar, climbed out and
held out his hand. Formally, she took it and stepped
elegantly on to the wooden boards. Together they walked
towards the gathering.
‘Remember she breathed. ‘Use the napkins, not your
fingers. Don’t swear, don’t scowl.’
He shrugged. ‘What does it matter? She’d like us both dead
anyway.’
Claudia stepped away from him, as the Queen hurried up.
‘So here you both are! My dear boy, you look so much
better today.’
Finn bowed, awkward. Claudia dropped a low curtsy
beside him. The Queen ignored her, took Finn’s arm and
swept him away. ‘Come and sit by me. I have such a surprise
for you.’
33
She led Finn to the awning and made him sit beside her on
the gilt thrones, clapped her hands for a servant to bring
more cushions.
‘I suppose he thinks he’s King already.' The slurred voice
was right behind Claudia; she turned and saw Caspar, his
doublet unlaced, a half-empty goblet in his hand. ‘My socalled
stepbrother.’
‘You stink of wine,’ she muttered.
He winked sourly at her. ‘You like him better than me,
don’t you, Claudia? Your rough scabby thief. Well, don’t get
too close. Mama has her claws out for you. You’re finished,
Claudia. Without your father to protect you you’re nothing.’
Furious, she stepped away from him but he came after her.
‘Just watch now Watch Mama make her first move.' The
Queen is the strongest piece on the board. That could have
been you, Claudia.’
Queen Sia called for silence. Then she said in her silvery
voice, ‘Dear friends. I have such good news. The Council of
the Sapienti have sent word that everything is ready for the
Proclamation of the Heir. AU the edicts are drawn up and
my dearest stepson Giles’s right to the throne will be
approved. I’ve decided to hold the ceremony tomorrow in
the Crystal Court, and invite all the Ambassadors to the
Realm, and all the Court to witness it. And afterwards, a
masked ball for everyone!’
The courtiers applauded, the women whispering with
34
delight. Claudia kept her face pleasant, though instantly she
was alert. What was this? What was Sia up to? She loathed
Finn. It had to be some sort of trap. Jared had always said the
Queen would delay the Proclamation, for months, let alone
the coronation. Yet here she was announcing it. For
tomorrow!
Sia’s eyes met hers through the shimmering throng. She
was laughing her tinkling laugh, making Finn stand,
clasping his hand, lifting a thin glass of wine to toast him.
Every nerve in Claudia’s mind was tense with disbelief.
‘Told you,’ Caspar smirked.
Finn looked furious. He opened his mouth but caught
Claudia’s glare and kept silent, simmering.
‘He looks so cross,’ Caspar grinned. She turned on him but
he jerked back, at once, alarmed. ‘Yuk! Get the filthy thing
off me!’
It was a dragonfly, a green glimmer of flickering wings; it
darted at him and he swiped at it and missed. It landed, with
a faint crackle, on Claudia’s dress.
Before anyone else could see she took two steps toward the
lake and turned, her voice a whisper. ‘Jared? This is not a
good time.’
No reply. The dragonfly flexed its wings. For a moment she
thought she had made a mistake, that it was a real insect.
Then it breathed. ‘Claudia. . . Please. Come quickly..:
‘Jared? What is it?’ Her voice rose in anxiety.
‘What’s wrong?’
35
No answer.
‘Master?’
A faint sound. Glass falling, and smashing.
Instantly she turned and ran.
36
3
Once Incarceron became a dragon, and a Prisoner crawled into his
lair. They made a wager. They would ask each other riddles, and
the one who could not answer would lose. If it was the man, he
would give his life. The Prison offered a secret way of Escape. But
even as the man agreed, he felt its hidden laughter.
They played for a year and a day. The lights stayed dark. The
dead were not removed. Food was not provided. The Prison
ignored the cries of its Inmates.
Sapphique was the man. He had one riddle left. He said,
‘What is the Key that unlocks the heart?’
For a day Incarceron thought. For two days. For three. Then it
said, ‘If I ever knew the answer, I have forgotten it.’
SAPPHIQUE IN THE TUNNELS OF MADNESS
The showmen left the village early, before Lightson.
Attia waited for them outside the ramshackle walls, behind
a pillar of brick where gigantic shackles still hung, rusting to
red powder. When the Prison lights snapped on with their
acrid flicker she saw seven waggons were already
37
rumbling down the ramp, the bear cage strapped on one, the
rest covered by contraptions of starry cloth. As they
approached she saw the bear’s small red eyes squint at her.
The seven identical jugglers walked alongside, tossing balls
to each other in complex patterns.
She swung up on to the seat and sat beside the Enchanter.
‘Welcome to the troupe: he said. ‘Tonight’s triumph is in a
village two hours away, through the tunnels. A rat- haunted
heap, but I hear they have a good stash of silver. You can get
down well before we reach it. Remember, Attia, my
sweetkin. You must never be seen with us. You do not know
us.’
She looked at him. In the harsh glare of the lights he had
none of the youth of his stage disguise. His skin was pocked
with boils, his coppery hair lank and greasy. Half his teeth
were gone, probably in some fight. But his hands were
powerful and delicate on the reins. A magician’s dexterous
fingers.
‘What do I call you?’ she muttered.
He grinned. 'Men like me change their names like coats.
I’ve been Silentio the Silent Seer, and Alixia the One-eyed
Witch of Demonia. One year I was the Wandering Felon, the
next, the Elastic Outlaw of the Ash Wing. The Enchanter is a
new direction. Confers a certain dignity, I feel.’ He flicked
the reins; the ox plodded patiently round a hole in the
metallic track.
38
‘You must have a real name’
‘Must I?’ He grinned at her. ‘Like Attia? Call that real?’
Annoyed, she dumped her bundle of possessions at her
feet. ‘Real enough.’
‘Call me Ishmael he said and then laughed, a sudden
throaty bark that startled her.
‘What?’
‘From a patchbook I once read. About a man obsessed with
a great white rabbit. He chases it down a hole and it eats him
and he’s in its belly for forty days.’ He gazed out at the
featureless plain of tilted metal, its few spiny shrubs. ‘Guess
my name. Riddle me my name, Attia mine.’
She scowled, silent.
‘Is my name Adrax, or Malevin, or Korrestan? Is it Torn Tat
Tot or Rumpelstiltsker? Is it—’
‘Forget it,’ she said. There was a crazy glint in his eye now;
he was staring at her in a way that she didn’t like. To her
alarm he leapt up and yelled out, ‘Is it Wild Edric who rides
upon the wind?’
The ox strode on, unbothered. One of the seven identical
jugglers ran alongside. ‘All right, Rix?’
The magician blinked. As if he had lost balance he sat
down heavily. ‘Now you’ve told her. And it’s Master Rix to
you, fumblefingers.’
The man shrugged and glanced at Attia. Discreetly he
tapped his forehead, rolled his eyes and walked on.
She frowned. She had thought he was high on ket, but
39
maybe she’d got herself mixed up with a lunatic. There were
plenty of those in Incarceron. Half-brained or broken cellborns.
The thought made her think of Finn, and she bit her
lip. But whatever this Rix was, there was something about
him. Did he really have Sapphique’s Glove, or was it just
some stage-prop? And if he did, how was she going to steal
it?
He was silent now, gloomy all at once. His moods seemed
to change swiftly. She didn’t speak either, staring out at the
grim landscape of the Prison.
In this Wing the light was a muted, fiery glow, as if
something burnt just out of sight. The roof here was too high
to see, but as the waggons rumbled down the track they
swerved around the end of a vast chain hanging down; she
gazed up, but its top was lost in rusty wisps of cloud.
She had once sailed up there, in a silver ship, with friends,
with a Key. But like Sapphique, she had fallen low.
Ahead, a range of hills rose up, their shapes odd and
jagged.
‘What are those?’ she said.
Rix shrugged. ‘Those are the Dice. There’s no way over
them. The road goes under.' He glanced at her, sidelong. ‘So
what brings an ex-slave to our little group?’
‘I told you. I need to eat.’ She bit her nail and said, ‘And
I’m curious. I’d like to learn a few tricks.’
He nodded. ‘You and everyone else. But my secrets die
with me, sister. Magician’s Pledge.
40
‘You won’t teach me?’
‘Only the Apprentice gets my secrets.’
She wasn’t that interested, but she needed to find out about
the Glove. ‘That’s your son?’
His bark of laughter made her jump. ‘Son! I probably have
a few of those around the Prison! No. Each magician teaches
his life’s work to one person, their Apprentice. And that
person comes once in a lifetime. It could be you. It could be
anyone.’ He leant closer, and winked. ‘And I know them
only by what they say.’
‘You mean, like a password?’
He swayed back, in exaggerated respect. ‘That’s exactly
what I mean. A word, a phrase, that only I know. That my
old master taught to me. One day, I will hear someone speak
it. And that someone will be the one I teach
‘And pass your props on to?’ she said quietly.
His eyes slid to her. He jerked the reins; the ox bellowed,
hauled to a clumsy standstill.
Attia’s hand shot to her knife.
Rix turned to her. Ignoring the shouts of the waggoners
behind he watched her with sharp, suspicious eyes. ‘So that’s
it,’ he said. ‘You want my Glove’
She shrugged. ‘If it was the real one...'.
‘Oh it’s real.’
She snorted. ‘Sure. And Sapphique gave it to you.’
‘Your scorn is meant to draw out my story’ He flicked the
reins, and the ox lumbered on. ‘Well I’ll tell you,
41
because I want to. It’s no secret. Three years ago, I was in a
wing of the Prison known as the Tunnels of Madness.’
‘They exist?’
‘They exist, but you wouldn’t want to go there. Deep in one
I met an old woman. She was sick, dying by the roadside. I
gave her a cup of water. In return, she told me that when she
was a girl, she had seen Sapphique. He had appeared to her
in a vision, when she slept in a strange tilted room. He had
knelt beside her, and taken from his right hand the Glove,
and slid it under her fingers. Keep this safe for me until I return,
he said.’
‘She was mad,’ Attia said quietly. ‘Everyone who goes
there goes mad.’
Rix laughed his harsh bark. ‘Just so! I myself have never
been quite the same. And I didn’t believe her. But she drew
from her rags a Glove, and closed my fingers over it. ‘I have
hidden it for a lifetime,’ she whispered, ‘and the Prison hunts
for it, I know. You are a great magician. It will be safe with
you.’
Attia wondered how much was true. Not the last sentence,
for sure. ‘And you’ve kept it safe.’
‘Many have tried to steal it.’ His eyes flicked sideways. ‘No
one has succeeded.’
He obviously had suspicions. She smiled, and went on the
attack. ‘Last night, in that so-called act of yours. Where did
you get that stuff about Finn?’
‘You told me, sweetkin.’
42
‘I told you I’d been a slave and that Finn. . . rescued me.
But what you said about betrayal. About love. Where did
you get that?’
‘Ah.’ He made his fingers into a quick elaborate steeple.
‘I read your mind.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘You saw. The man, the sobbing woman
‘Oh I saw!’ She let a rich disgust enter her voice. ‘Tricking
them with that junk! He is safe in the peace of Incarceron. How
can you live with yourself?’
‘The woman wanted to hear it. And you do both love and
hate this Finn’ The gleam was back in his eye. Then his face
fell. ‘But the rumble of thunder! I admit that astonished me.
That has never happened before. Is Incarceron watching you,
Attia? Is it interested in you?’
‘It’s watching us all,’ she growled.
From behind, a shrill voice screeched, ‘Speed up, Rix!’ The
head of a giantess was peering from the starry cloth.
‘And that vision of a tiny keyhole?’ Attia had to know.
‘What keyhole?’
‘You said you could see Outside. The stars, you said, and a
great palace.’
‘Did I?’ His eyes were puzzled; she had no idea if it was
pretence or not. ‘I don’t remember. Sometimes when I wear
the Glove 1 really think something takes over my mind.’ He
shook the reins. She wanted to ask him more but he said, ‘I
suggest you get down and stretch your legs.
43
We’ll be at the Dice soon, and then we all need to be on our
guard
It was a dismissal. Annoyed, Attia jumped from the cart.
‘About time,’ the giantess snarled.
Rix smiled his toothless smile. ‘Gigantia, darling. Go back
to sleep.’
He whipped up the ox. Attia let the cart rumble ahead; in
fact she let them all pass, the gaudy painted sides, the red
and yellow spoked wheels, the pots and pans clattering
underneath. Right at the back a donkey trailed on a long
rope, and a few small children trudged wearily.
She followed, head down. She needed time to think. The
only plan, when she had heard the rumours of a magician
who claimed to own Sapphique’s Glove, had been to find
him and steal it. If she had been abandoned by Finn, she
would try anything to find her own way out. For a moment,
as her feet tramped along the metal roadway, she allowed
herself to relive the frill misery of those hours in the cell at
the World’s end, Keiro’s scorn and his pity and his ‘He’s not
coming back. Get used to it.’
She had turned on him then. ‘He promised’ He’s your
brother!’
Even now, two months later, his cold shrug and his answer
chilled her.
‘Not any more.’ Keiro had paused at the door. ‘Finn’s an
expert liar. His speciality is getting people to feel sorry for
him. Don’t waste your time. He’s got Claudia now, and his
44
precious kingdom. We’ll never see him again.’
‘And where are you going?’
He had smiled. ‘To find my own kingdom. Catch me up.’
Then he had gone, shoving his way down the collapsed
corridor.
But she had waited.
She had waited alone in the dingy silent cell for three days,
until thirst and hunger drove her away. Three days of refusal
to believe, of doubt, of anger. Three days to imagine Finn out
in that world where the stars were, in some great marble
palace with people bowing to him. Why hadn’t he come
back? It must have been Claudia. She must have persuaded
him, put a spell on him, made him forget. Or the Key must
have got broken, or lost.
But now it was harder to think like that. Two months was a
long time. And there was another thought that hid in her
mind, that crept out when she was tired or depressed. That
he was dead. That his enemies out there had killed him.
Except that last night, in that moment of fake death, she
had seen him.
A shout, ahead.
She looked up, and saw, towering over her, the Dice.
That was exactly what they were. A great tumble of them,
vaster than mountains, their sides white and faintly
gleaming, as if a giant had tipped a pile of sugar cubes in the
way, with smooth hollows that might be arranged in
45
sixes and fives. In places stunted stubby growths struggled
to grow; deep in the clefts and valleys a faint moss clung like
grass. No roads led up there; the cuboid hills must be hard as
marble, and smooth, impossible to climb. Instead the track
ran into a tunnel hacked into the base.
The waggons halted. Rix stood up, and said, ‘People.’
Quite suddenly faces were peering out from the waggons,
all the stunted, enormous, shrivelled, dwarfish faces of the
freakshow. The seven jugglers clustered round. Even the
bearguard ambled back.
‘The rumour is that the gang that runs this road is greedy
but thick.’ Rix took a coin from his pocket and spun it. It
vanished into the air. ‘So we should get through without
problems. If there are. . . obstructions, you all know what to
do. Be alert, my friends. And remember, the Art Magicke is
the art of illusion
He made an elaborate bow and sat back down. Puzzled,
Attia saw how the seven jugglers were distributing swords
and knives, and small balls of blue and red. Then each of
them climbed up by a driver. The carts closed together, a
tight formation.
She climbed hastily behind Rix and his guard.
‘Are you seriously taking on some Scum gang with
collapsible knives and fake swords?’
Rix didn’t answer. He just grinned his gappy grin.
As the tunnel entrance loomed Attia loosened her own
knife and wished desperately that she had a firelock. These
46
people were crazy, and she didn’t intend to die with them.
Ahead, the tunnel’s shadow loomed. Soon intense
darkness closed over her.
Everything disappeared. No, not everything. With a wry
smile she realized that if she leant out she could see the
lettering on the waggon behind; that it was picked out in
glowing luminous paint — The One, the Only, Travelling
Extravaganza — that its wheels were whirling spokes of
green. There was nothing else. The tunnel was narrow; from
its roof the noise of rumbling axles reverberated into an
echoing thunder.
The further in they went, the more worried she became. No
road was without its owners; whoever held this one had a
surefire ambush site. Glancing up she tried to make out the
roof, whether any one was up there on walkways or hanging
from nets, but apart from the web of one uberspider she
could see nothing.
Except, of course, the Eyes.
They were very obvious in the darkness. Incarceron’s small
red Eyes watched her at intervals, tiny starpoints of curiosity
She remembered the books of images she had seen, imagined
how she must look to the curious Prison, tiny and grainy,
gazing up from the waggon.
Look at me, she thought, bitterly. Remember, I’ve heard you
speak. I know there is a way Out from you.
‘They’re here,’ Rix muttered.
She stared at him. Then, with a crash that made her
47
jump, a grid smashed down ahead in the darkness; and
another, behind. Dust billowed up; the ox bellowed as Rix
dragged it to a halt. The waggons creaked into a long
straggling stillness.
‘Greetings!’ The shout came from the darkness ahead.
‘Welcome to the toll gate of Thar’s Butchers.’
‘Sit tight,’ Rix muttered. ‘And follow my lead.’ He jumped
down, a lanky shadow in the darkness. Immediately a beam
of light lit him. He shaded his eyes against it. ‘We’re more
than willing to pay great Thar whatever he wants.’
A snort of laughter. Attia glanced up. Some of them were
overhead, she was sure. Stealthily she drew her knife,
remembering how the Comitatus had captured her with a
flung net.
‘Just tell us, great one, what’s the fee?’ Rix sounded
apprehensive.
‘Gold or women or metal. Whatever we choose, showman.’
Rix bowed, and let relief creep into his voice. ‘Then come
forward and take what you want, masters. All I ask is that
the properties of our art are left us.’
Attia hissed, ‘You’re just going to let them—’
‘Shut up,’ he muttered. Then, to the juggler, ‘Which one are
you?’
‘Quintus.’
‘Your brothers?’
48
‘Ready, boss.’
Someone was coming out of the dark. In the red glimmer of
the Eyes, Attia saw him in flickers, a bald head, stocky
shoulders, the glint of metal strapped all over him. Behind,
in a sinister line, other figures.
On each side, green lights flared with a sizzle.
Attia stared; even Rix swore.
The gangleader was a halfman.
Most of his bald skull was a metal plate, one ear a gaping
hole meshed with filaments of skin.
In his hands he held a fearsome weapon, part axe, part
cleaver. The men behind him were all shaven-headed, as if
that was their tribemark.
Rix swallowed. Then he held up a hand and said, ‘We’re
poor folk, Winglord. Some thin silver coins, a few precious
stones. Take them. Take anything. Just leave us our pathetic
props.’
The halfman reached out and gripped Rix by the throat.
‘You talk too much.’
His henchmen were already climbing all over the waggons,
pushing the jugglers aside, ducking under the canvas.
Several of them came straight back out.
‘Hell’s teeth,’ one muttered. ‘These are beasts not men.’
Rix smiled wanly at the Winglord. ‘People will pay to see
ugliness. It makes them feel human.’
A stupid thing to say, Attia thought, watching Thar’s grim
face.
49
The Winglord narrowed his eyes. ‘So you’ll pay us coins.’
‘Any amount.’
‘And women?’
‘Indeed, lord
‘Even your children?’
‘Take your pick.’
The Winglord sneered. ‘What a stinking coward you are:
Rix pulled a rueful face. The man dropped him in disgust.
He flicked a glance at Attia. ‘What about you, girl?’
‘Touch me she said quietly, ‘and I’ll cut your throat.’
Thar grunted. ‘Now that’s what I like. Guts.’ He stepped
forward and fingered the edge of his blade. ‘So tell me,
coward. What are these . . . props?’
Rix paled. ‘Things we use in our act:
‘And what makes them so precious?’
‘They’re not. I mean...' Rix stuttered. ‘To us, yes, but. .
The Winglord pushed his face close to the magician’s.
‘Then you won’t mind me looking at them, will you?’
Rix looked stricken. His own fault, Attia thought sourly. The
Winglord pushed past him. He reached into the waggon,
wrenched open the cavity that was hidden under the driver’s
footboard, and dragged out a box.
‘No.’ Rix licked cracked lips. ‘Sir, please! Take anything we
have, but not that! Without these trinkets we can’t perform. .
‘I have heard: Thar smashed the hasp of the box
50
thoughtfully, ‘tales about you. About a certain Glove:
Rix was silent. He looked panic-stricken.
The halfman tore the box lid off and looked inside.
Reaching in, he drew out a small black object.
Attia drew a breath. The glove was tiny in the man’s paw;
it was worn and had been mended, and the forefinger was
marked with what might have once been bloodstains. She
made a move; the man glanced at her and she froze. ‘So,’ he
said greedily. ‘Sapphique’s Glove.’
‘Please.’ Rix had lost all his bluster. ‘Anything but that:
The Winglord grinned. With mocking slowness, he began
to pull the glove on over his fat fingers.
51
4
We have been most careful in setting the locks of the Prison. No
one can break in or out. The Warden will hold the sole Key. Should
he die without passing on his knowledge the Esoterica must be
opened. But only by his successor. For these things are forbidden
now .
PROJECT REPORT; MARTOR SAPLENS
‘Jared?’
Breathless, Claudia burst through the door into her tutor’s
room and stared round.
It was empty.
The bed was neatly made, the spartan shelves lined with a
few books. On the wooden floor sweet rushes were scattered,
and a tray on the table had a plate with crumbs on it and an
empty wineglass.
As she whirled to go the draught of her skirt lifted a paper.
She stared at it. It looked like a letter, on thick vellum,
tucked under the glass. Even from here she could see
52
the royal insignia on the back, the crowned Havaarna eagle,
its raised talon holding the world. And the Queen’s white
rose.
She was in a hurry. She wanted to find Jared, but still she
stared at it. It had been opened, and read. He had left it lying
around. It couldn’t be a secret.
Still she hesitated. She would have read anyone else’s
letters without a scrap of remorse; in the Court everyone was
a stranger, perhaps an enemy. They were part of the
game. But Jared was her only friend. More than that. Her
love for him was old and strong.
So when she crossed the room and opened the letter she
told herself that it didn’t matter, that he would only tell her
about it anyway. They shared everything.
It was from the Queen. Claudia read it, her eyes widening.
My dear Master Jared,
I write to you because I feel I need to make things clear between
us. You and I have been enemies in the past; that really no longer
need be the case. I know you are busy with your work of trying to
reactivate the Portal. Claudia must be desperate to have news of her
dear father. But I wonder f you might find time to wait on me? I
will expect you in my private rooms, at seven.
Sia, Regina.
And in small letters underneath: We could be of great help to
each other.
53
Claudia frowned. She folded the note, jammed it back
under the glass, and hurried out. The Queen was always
plotting. But what did she want with Jared?
He had to be at the Portal.
As she grabbed a candle and shook it into life she tried not
to feel so agitated. She opened the door in the panelling of
the lavish corridor and pattered down the spiral staircase
that led to the cellars, ducking cobwebs that regenerated
themselves with irritating speed. The deep vaults were damp
and chilly. Squeezing between the barrels and winecasks she
hurried to the darkest corner where the high bronze doors
reared to the roof and found to her horror that they were
shut. The great snails that seemed to infest this place clung to
the icy metal; their trails crisscrossed the damp surface.
‘Master!’ Claudia slammed her fist against the door.
‘Let me in!’
Silence.
For a moment she knew for sure that he couldn’t, that he
was lying unconscious, that the slow illness that had been
consuming him for years had crumpled him in pam. Then
another fear stabbed her even harder; that he had finally got
the Portal to work and had trapped himself in Incarceron.
The door sprang open with a click.
She slipped in and stared.
And then she laughed.
54
On his hands and knees, trying to pick up hundreds and
hundreds of glistening blue feathers, Jared glanced up at her
irritably. ‘This is not funny, Claudia.’
She couldn’t stop. She was silly with relief. She sat down in
the single chair and let the giggles rise to a sort of hysteria
that left her wiping her eyes with the silk of her skirt. Jared
leant back on his hands in the blue ocean of plumage and
watched her. He wore a dark green shirt, the sleeves rolled
up. His Sapient coat, flung over the chair, was buried in
feathers. His long hair was tangled. But his smile, when it
came, was rueful and real. ‘Well, all right. Perhaps it is.’
The room that had always been so pure and white looked
as if a thousand kingfishers had been plucked in it. Feathers
lay on the metal desk and coated the sleek silver shelves with
their unknowable devices. The floor was ankle deep. Clouds
of them rose and settled at every movement.
‘Be careful. I knocked a flask over trying to grab them.’
‘Why feathers?’ she managed to say at last.
Jared sighed. ‘One feather. I picked it up from the lawn.
Small. Organic. Perfect for experimentation.’
She stared at him. ‘One? Then...'
‘Yes, Claudia. I finally managed to get something to
happen. But not the right thing.’
Amazed, she gazed around. The Portal was the way into
Incarceron, but only her father knew its secrets and he had
sabotaged it in his escape inside. He had sat in this very
55
chair and disappeared, and she knew that he was lost
somewhere within the miniaturized world that was the
Prison. And since then nothing here had worked. Jared had
spent months studying the controls of the desk, infuriating
Finn with his care and delicate probing, but no switch or
circuit had even lit.
‘What happened?’ She jumped up from the chair, suddenly
afraid she might disappear.
Jared pulled a blue feather from his hair. ‘I placed it on the
chair. For the last few days I’ve been experimenting with
replacing broken components with various substitutes; the
last was an illicit plastic I acquired from a trader in the
market.’
Claudia said immediately, ‘Did anyone see you?’
‘I was well cloaked, so I trust not.’
But they both knew that he had probably been followed.
‘Well?’
‘It must have worked. Because there was a flash and a . . .
shiver. But the feather did not disappear, nor did it
miniaturize. It multiplied. They’re all perfectly identical.’ He
looked round with a wan helplessness that suddenly struck
Claudia; the smile went from her face. Quietly she said, ‘You
mustn’t work yourself too hard, Master.’
He glanced up at her, his voice gentle. ‘I am aware of that.’
‘I know Finn is always prowling here, bothering you.’
56
‘You should call him Prince Giles.’ He stood, wincing
slightly. ‘Soon to be King’
They looked at each other. Claudia nodded. Glancing
round, she found a sack that held tools; she emptied them
out and began to stuff the feathers in, handful by handful.
Jared sat on the chair and leant forward. ‘Can Finn cope with
such a pressure?’ he asked quietly.
She paused. He saw how her hand stayed in the sack; when
it came out she worked harder and faster.
‘He’ll have to. We brought him out of Incarceron to be
King. We need him.’ She looked up. ‘It’s strange. All I cared
about when this started was not marrying Caspar. And
getting the better of my father. All my life I’ve plotted and
planned, been obsessed with those things...’
‘And now you’ve achieved them you are not satisfied.’ He
nodded. ‘Life is a series of stairs up which we climb, Claudia.
You’ve read Zelon’s Philosophies. Your horizons have
moved.’
‘Yes, but Master, I don’t know. .
‘You do.’ He reached out his delicate hand and gripped
hers, stopping her. ‘What do you want of Finn, when he
becomes King?’
For a long moment she was still, as if thinking. But she said
exactly what he knew she would. ‘I want him to overturn the
Protocol. Not the way the Steel Wolves want, by killing the
Queen. I want to find a way peacefully, so we can start time
again, live naturally without this
57
stagnation, this stifling false history’
‘Is that possible? We have few reserves of energy.’
‘Yes and they’re all wasted on palaces for the rich, and
keeping the sky blue, and trapping the poor and forgotten in
a Prison run by a tyrannical machine.’ Savagely she swept up
the last feathers and stood. ‘Master, my father is gone. I
never thought it possible, but I feel like half of me is gone
with him. But I am his successor, and if anyone is Warden of
Incarceron now, it’s me. So I’m going to the Academy. I’m
going to read the Esoterica.'
She turned, not wanting to see the alarm on his face.
Jared said nothing. He gathered up his coat and followed
her out, and as they crossed the threshold of the door they
both felt again that strange shift; as if the room straightened
itself out behind them. Turning, Claudia stared at its white
purity; the place that existed both here and at home, as her
father’s study.
Jared swung the gates closed and fastened the chains
across. He clipped a small device to the bronze. ‘This is just a
safeguard. Medlicote was down here this morning.’
Claudia was surprised. ‘My father’s secretary?’
Jared nodded, preoccupied.
‘What did he want?’
‘He had a message for me. He took a good look round. I
think he’s as curious as everyone else in the Court
Claudia had always disliked the tall, silent man who
58
worked for her father. But now she said, quietly.
‘What message?’
They had reached the stairs. She dumped the sack of
feathers for some servant to clear; Jared stepped back with
perfect Protocol to let her go first. For a moment, as she
swished up under the cobwebs, a silver of fear came to her, a
fear that he would lie, or evade her question. But his voice
was normal. ‘A message from the Queen. I’m not sure what
it’s about. She wants to meet with me.’
Claudia smiled sweetly into the dimness. ‘Well you should
go. We need to know what she’s up to.’
‘I have to say I find her terrifying. But yes, you’re right.’
She waited for him at the top; as he emerged from the
doorway he caught the frame and breathed in sharply for a
moment, as if a spark of pain had stung him. Then he caught
her eye and straightened. They walked along the panelled
corridor in silence, turning into a long hallway lined with
hundreds of blue and white vases each as high as a man,
filled with ancient potpourri that mouldered mustily. Under
their feet the wooden boards creaked.
‘The Esoterica are kept at the Academy,’ Jared said.
‘Then I’ll have to go there.’
‘You’ll need the Queen’s permission. And we both know
she does not really want the Portal reopened.’
‘Master, I’ll go, whatever she says. And you’ll have to come
with me, because I won’t understand any of what I find.’
59
‘That will mean leaving Finn here on his own.’
She knew that. She had been thinking about that for days.
‘We’ll need to find a bodyguard for him.’
They had reached the Honeysuckle Court. The sweet scent
of its tangling flowers was like a wave of summer, it made
her feel happier. As they walked out into the maze of formal
paths the evening sun lit the cloisters of twisted crystal and
gold; tiny mosaic pieces glittered, and a few bees hummed in
the clipped rosemary and lavender.
Far off, the clock on the high tower began to chime a
quarter to seven. Claudia frowned. ‘You’d better go. Sia
doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’
Jared took out the watch from his pocket and checked it.
Claudia said, ‘You always carry that now.’
‘Your father gave it to me. I think of myself as its guardian.’
The timepiece was digital and accurate. Inside its gold case
it was purely non-Era, and that had always amazed her,
because her father had been meticulous about detail. Gazing
now at the fine silver chain, the tiny cube that hung from it,
she wondered how the Warden was coping with the filth and
poverty of the Prison. But then he knew it well enough. He
had been there many times.
Jared clicked the watch shut. He held it still a moment.
Then, his voice very soft, he said, ‘Claudia, how did you
know I was to meet the Queen at seven?’
60
She froze.
For a moment she couldn’t say anything. Then she glanced
at him. She knew her face was flushed.
‘I see,’ he said.
‘Master, I . . . I’m sorry. The note was lying there. I picked it
up and read it.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry!’
She felt ashamed. And somewhere, annoyed at her slip.
‘I won’t say I’m not a little hurt,’ he said, buttoning his
coat. Then he looked up and his green eyes were fixed on
her. Urgently he said, ‘We must never doubt each other,
Claudia. They will try to divide us, try to turn us against
each other, you and me and Finn. Never let them do that.’
‘I never will.’ She was fierce. ‘Jared, are you angry with
me?’
‘No.’ He smiled, ruefully. ‘I have long known you are your
father’s daughter. Now, I’ll ask the Queen to let us ride to the
Academy. Come to the tower later, and I’ll tell you all about
it.’
She nodded, and watched him walk away, bowing as he
passed two ladies-in-waiting who curtsied and watched his
slim dark shape appreciatively. They turned, and saw
Claudia. She fixed them with a cold stare; they hurried away.
Jared was hers. But however much he tried to hide it, she
knew she had hurt him.
* * *
61
At the corner of the cloister Jared waved back at Claudia and
turned into the archway. As soon as he was out of her sight,
he stopped. Leaning his hand on the wall he took deep
breaths. Before seeing the Queen he would need his
medication. He took a handkerchief out and wiped his
forehead, letting the sharp spasm subside, quietly counting
the pulse rate under his finger.
He should not be so upset. Claudia was right to be
inquisitive. And after all, he had one secret even from her.
He took out the watch and held it till the metal grew warm
in his hand. For a moment back there, he had been about to
tell her, until she had given herself away about the Queen.
And what had stopped him? Why shouldn’t she know that
he held between his fingers the tiny cube that was
Incarceron, the place where her father, and Keiro, and Attia
were imprisoned?
He let it rest on his palm, remembering the Warden’s voice,
mocking his horror. ‘You are like a god, Jared. You hold
Incarceron in your hands.’ Beads of sweat smeared it; he wiped
them away. He shut the watch up and plunged it in his
pocket, and hurried to his room.
Claudia stared gloomily at her feet. For a moment she had
almost hated herself; now she told herself not to be stupid.
She had to get back to Finn. The news of the proclamation
would be hard for him. As she walked quickly through the
cloister she sighed. Sometimes in these last few weeks,
62
when they had been out hunting, or riding in the woods, she
had had the feeling that he was on the brink of fleeing, of
turning his horse’s head and galloping away into the woods
of the Realm, away from the Court and the burden of being
the Prince who had come back from the dead. He had
wanted so hard to Escape, to find the stars. And all he had
found was a new prison.
Beyond the cloister were the mews; on a sudden impulse
Claudia ducked under the low archway into the dusty hail.
She needed time to think and this was her favourite place in
the crowded Court. Sunlight fell through a high window at
the far end of the building; the air smelt of old straw and
dust, and the birds.
They sat, tethered to posts, all the noble hawks and falcons
of the Court. Some wore tiny red hoods that covered their
eyes; as they tossed their heads or preened small bells rang, a
miniature plume rippled. Others stared at Claudia as she
passed down the aisle between their enclosures, the great
owls with their wide eyes twisting their necks soundlessly,
the sparrowhawks with a fierce tawny gaze, the merlin
sleepily. At the far end, tethered by Leather jesses, a great
eagle glared arrogantly at her, its beak yellow and cruel as
gold.
She took a gauntlet down and pulled it on; tugging a
fragment of meat from a hanging bag, she held it out. The
eagle turned its head. For a moment it was as still as a statue,
watching her intently. Then its beak snatched; it tore
63
the sinewy flesh between its talons.
‘A true symbol of the Royal house.’
Claudia jumped.
Someone was standing in the shadows behind a stone
screen. She could see his hand and arm in the slant of
sunlight, where dust motes floated. For a moment she almost
thought it was her father, and a stab of feeling she couldn’t
guess at jerked her hand into a fist.
Then she said, ‘Who is that?’
A rustle of straw.
She had no weapon. No one was here. She took one step
back.
The man came forward, slowly. The sunlight slashed on his
tall, thin shape, his greasy hair hanging scraggily, the small
half-moons of his glasses.
She breathed out, angrily. Then she said, ‘Medlicote.’
‘Lady Claudia. I hope I didn’t startle you.’
Her father’s secretary made a stiff bow and she dropped a
brief cold curtsy. It struck her that though she had seen the
man nearly every day of her life when her father was home,
she had probably hardly ever spoken to him before.
He was gaunt and had a slightly hunched look, as if the
hours spent labouring over a desk had begun to bend him.
‘Not at all she lied. Then, hesitantly, ‘Actually, I’m glad to
have the chance to speak to you. My father’s affairs...'
‘Are in perfect order.’ The interruption astounded her; she
stared at him. He stepped closer. ‘Lady Claudia, forgive
64
my discourtesy, but we have little time. Perhaps you may
recognize this.’
He held out ink-stained fingers and dropped something
small and cold into the gauntlet she wore. The slash of
sunlight fell across it. She saw a small metal token; a running
beast, its mouth open and snarling. She had never seen it
before. But she knew what it meant.
It was a steel wolf.
65
5
‘I could breathe fire on you,’ the wirewolf growled.
‘Do it,’ said Sapphique. ‘Just don’t throw me into the water.’
‘I could gnaw your shadow away.’
‘That’s nothing, compared with the black water.’
‘I could crush your bones and sinews.’
‘I fear the terrible water more than you.’
The wirewof flung him angrily into the lake.
So he swam away, laughing.
THE WIREWOLF RETURNS
The Glove was too small.
Horrified, Attia watched how the material stretched, how
small tears opened at its seams. She glanced at Rix; his eyes
were fixed in fascination on the Winglord’s fingers.
And he was smiling.
Attia breathed in; suddenly she understood. All that
pleading for them not to touch the props — he had wanted this
all along!
She glanced at Quintus. The juggler held a red ball
66
and a blue ball, alert. Behind, in the gloom, the troupe
waited.
Thar held up his hand. In the darkness the black glove was
almost invisible, as if his limb had been severed at the wrist.
He barked a harsh laugh. ’So now. If I snap my fingers do
gold coins tumble from them? If I point at a man does he fall
dead?’
Before anyone could answer he had tried it, turning and
jabbing his forefinger at one of the bulky men behind him.
The thug’s face went white. ‘Why me, chief?’
‘Scared, Mart?’
‘I just don’t like it, that’s all.’
‘More fool you .’ Thar swung back and stared at Rix
contemptuously. ‘I’ve seen better props under a waggon
wheel. You must be some showman to make anyone believe
in this junky
Rix nodded. ‘So I am. The greatest showman in Incarceron.’
He raised his hand.
lnstantly, Thar’s scorn flicked off; he glanced down at his
gloved fingers.
Then he howled in agony.
Attia jumped. The echo of the cry rang in the tunnel; the
Winglord was yelping and clutching the glove. ‘Get it off me!
It’s burning me!’
‘How very unfortunate,’ Rix murmured.
Thar’s face was red with fury. ‘Kill him,’ he roared.
67
His men moved but Rix said, ‘Do that and you’ll never get
it off.’ He folded his arms, his thin face unmoved. If it was a
performance, Attia thought, it was masterly. Slowly, so no
one noticed, she slipped over into the driver’s seat.
Thar was swearing, tearing desperately at the Glove.
‘Acid! It’s eating into my skin!’
‘If you will misuse the things of Sapphique, what can you
expect?’ There was an edge in Rix’s voice that made Attia
glance at him. The gap-toothed grin was gone; he had that
hard look of obsession that had alarmed her before. Behind
her the juggler, Quintus, made a nervous click with his
tongue.
‘Kill the others then!’ Thar was gasping now.
‘No one will be hurt.’ Rix fixed the gang with a level stare.
‘You will allow us to pass, right out of the Dice hills, and
then I take the spell off. Any treachery; and the anger of
Sapphique will burn him for all eternity.’
Their eyes flickered at each other.
‘Do it,’ Thar howled.
It was a moment of danger. Attia knew that everything
depended on the fear the Bandits had of their leader. If one
of them ignored him or killed him or took command, Rix
was finished. But they looked cowed, and uneasy. First one,
then the rest, shuffled back.
Rix jerked his head.
‘Move,’ Quintus hissed.
Attia grabbed the reins.
68
‘Wait!’ Thar screamed. His gloved fingers twitched, as if
electric sparks were jerking through them. ‘Stop it. Stop it
doing that.’
‘I’m not making it do anything,’ Rix said, interested.
The black fingers clutched, convulsed. The halfman lurched
forward, snatched a brush from the bucket of gilt paint
hanging under the waggon. Gold drips splatted the tunnel
floor.
‘What now?’ Quintus muttered.
Thar staggered to the wall. With a huge splashing
movement, his gloved hand drew five shining letters on the
curved metal.
ATTIA.
Everyone stared in astonishment. Rix looked at her. Then
he swung to Thar. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m not doing it!’ The man was almost choking with terror
and fury. ‘The filthy glove is alive!’
‘You can write?’
‘Of course I can’t write. I don’t know what it says!’
Attia was breathless with awe. She scrambled down from the
waggon and ran to the wall. The letters dripped and ran,
long spindly streaks of gold.
‘What?’ she gasped. ‘What next?’
With a jerk, as if it dragged him, Thar’s hand whipped the
brush up and wrote.
THE STARS EXIST, ATTIA. FiNN SEES THEM.
‘Finn,’ she breathed.
69
SOON, SO WILL I. BEYOND SNOW AND STORM.
Something brushed her skin. She caught it; a small, soft
object, it drifted down from the dark roof.
A blue feather.
And then they were falling all around, soft as laughter, a
snow of tiny blue feathers, each identical, falling on the
waggons and the warband and the road, a muffling,
impossible storm, feathers hissing and crackling in the
flames, snuffled away and trampled by the oxen, falling in
eyes and on shoulders, on the canvas roofs, on the blades of
axes, sticking in the clots of paint.
‘The Prison is doing this!’ Rix’s voice was a whisper of awe.
He caught her arm. ‘Quickly. Before—’
But it was too late.
With a roar the tempest came out of the dark and flattened
him against her; she staggered, but he hauled her up. The
wrath of Incarceron raged; a scream of hurricane that
scoured the tunnel and smashed down the gates. The
warband were scattered; as Rix dragged Attia away she saw
how Thar crumpled, how the black glove shrivelled and split
on his hand, dissolving to a network of holes, skeins of raw,
bloody skin.
Then she was scrambling aboard; Rix yelled and whipped
at the oxen and they were moving, rumbling on blindly
through the blizzard. Attia covered her head with her arms
as the feathers gusted at her, and above them she saw the
thrown spheres of the jugglers light the
70
eerie storm with green and red and purple.
It was hard going. The oxen were tough, but even they
staggered with the force of the wind, putting their heads
down and plodding on. Beside her, Attia heard a faint,
windsnatched hysteria; glancing up she saw that Rix was
laughing softly to himself, blue feathers snagged in his hair
and clothes.
It was too hard to talk, but Attia managed a look back.
There was no sign of the Bandits. After twenty minutes the
tunnel became lighter; the wagon came round a long bend
and she saw light ahead, a jagged entrance through the
feather—storm.
As they plodded towards it the storm died, as suddenly as
it had come.
Slowly, Attia took her arms down and drew breath. At the
tunnel entrance Rix said, ‘Anyone following?’
She tried to see. ‘No. Quintus and his brothers are at the
back.’
‘Excellent. A few stunballs will stop pursuit.’
Her ears stung from the icy wind. Huddling her coat
around her she picked feathers from her sleeves, spat out
blue fluff. Then she said, appalled, ‘The Glove was
destroyed!’
He shrugged. ‘What a pity.’
The deadpan words, the smug grin made her stare. Then
she looked past him at the landscape.
It was a frozen world.
71
Below them the road ran down between great banks of ice,
head high, and she could see that this whole Wing was an
open tundra, abandoned and windswept, stretching far into
the gloom of the Prison. There was a great moat blocking
their way, with a bridge fortified with a portcullis of black
metal worn thin by the abrasions of sleet. An entrance had
been jaggedly cut through it; the ends of steel bars bent back.
Oily slush showed where traffic had passed, but to Attia the
sudden cold seared like fear.
‘I’ve heard of this place she whispered. ‘This is the Ice
Wing.’
‘How clever of you, sweetkin. So it is:
As the oxen slipped and clattered down the slope she was
silent. Then she said, ‘So it wasn’t the real Glove?’
Rix spat to one side. ‘Attia, if he’d opened any box or
hidden compartment on this waggon he’d have found a
glove. A small black glove. I never said it was Sapphique’s.
None of them are, in fact. Sapphique’s Glove is too close to
my heart to be stolen.’
‘But . . . it burned him.’
‘Well, he was right about the acid. As for not being able to
take it off, he was perfectly able to. But I made him believe
he could not. That is magic, Attia. To take a man’s mind and
twist it to believe the impossible.’ For a moment he
concentrated on guiding the ox round a jutting girder. ‘Once
he had let us go he would have believed the spell to be
ended’
72
She watched him sideways. ‘And the writing?’
Rix’s eyes slid to hers. ‘I was going to ask you about that.’
‘Me?’
‘Even I can’t make an illiterate man write. The message was
for you. Odd things have been happening, Attia, since we
met you.’
She realized she was biting her nails. She wrapped her
hands hastily in her sleeves. ‘It’s Finn. It must be Finn. He’s
trying to speak to me. From Outside.’
Rix’s voice was quiet. ‘And you think the Glove will help?’
‘I don’t know! Perhaps . . . if you let me just see it...’
He stopped the waggon so abruptly that she almost fell off.
‘NO. It’s dangerous, Attia. Illusions are one thing, but this is
a real object of power. Even I wouldn’t dare wear it.’
‘You’ve never even been tempted?’
‘Maybe. But I’m crazy not stupid.’
‘But you wear it in the act.’
‘Do I?’ he grinned.
‘You’re infuriating she said.
‘My life’s ambition. Now. This is where you get down.’
She stared round. ‘Here?’
‘The settlement is about two hours ahead. Remember, you
don’t know us, we don’t know you.’ He fished in his pocket
and put three brass coins into her hand.
‘Get yourself something to eat. And tonight, sweetkin,
73
remember to tremble a bit more when I raise the sword.
Look scared stiff.’
‘I don’t need to act.’ She climbed down, then stopped,
halfway. ‘How do I know that you’re not just dumping me
here and heading on?’
Rix winked and whipped up the ox. ‘I wouldn’t dream of
such a thing:
She watched them all pass. The bear was hunched in
misery, its cage floor blue with feathers. One of the jugglers
waved at her, but no one else even put their heads out.
Slowly, the troupe rolled into the distance.
Attia tugged her pack on to her back and stamped life into
her cold feet. She walked quickly at first, but the track was
treacherous, a frozen metalway greasy with oil. As she
descended into the plain the walls of ice slowly rose on each
side; soon they were higher than her head, and as she picked
her way past them she saw objects and dust embedded deep
inside. A dead dog, its jaws wide. A Beetle. In one place,
small round black stones and grit. In another, so deep among
blue bubbles she could barely see it, the bones of a child.
It grew bitterly cold. Her breath began to cloud around her.
She hurried, because the waggons were already out of sight,
and only by walking fast could she keep warm.
Finally, at the bottom of the slope, she reached the bridge.
It was stone, and it arched over the moat, but as she slipped
along in the cart ruts she saw that the moat was
74
frozen solid, and leaning over the side made her shadow
darken its dirty surface. Debris was strewn across it. Chains
led from the cutwaters, disappearing deep into the ice.
The portcullis, when she came to it, was black and ancient.
The ends of the bent bars glittered with icicles, and on the
very top a solitary long-necked bird perched, white as snow.
For a moment she thought it was a carving, until suddenly it
spread its wings and flew, with a mournful cark, high into
the iron-grey sky.
Then she saw the Eyes.
There were two, one on each side of the iron gate. Tiny and
red, they stared down at her. Icicles hung from them like
frozen tears.
Attia stopped, breathless, holding her side.
She stared up. ‘I know you’re watching me. Was it you that
sent the message?’
Silence. Only the low cold whisper of snow.
‘What did you mean, that you would see the stars soon?
You’re the Prison. How can you see Outside?’
The Eyes were steady points of fire. Did she imagine that
one had winked?
She waited until she was too cold to stand there any longer.
Then she climbed through the gap in the portcullis and
trudged on.
Incarceron was cruel, they all knew that. Claudia had said
that it wasn’t meant to be, that the Sapienti had nude the
Prison as a great experiment, a place of light and
75
warmth and safety. Attia laughed aloud, bitterly. If so, it had
failed. The Prison kept it own council. It rearranged its
landscapes and struck down troublemakers with laserfire, if
it felt like it. Or it let its inmates fight and prey on each other
and laughed to see them struggle. It knew nothing of mercy.
And only Sapphique — and Finn — had ever Escaped it.
She stopped and raised her head. ‘I suppose that makes
you angry,’ she said. ‘I suppose that makes you jealous,
doesn’t it?’
There was no answer. Instead the snow became real. It fell
gently and relentlessly, and she shouldered her pack and
walked wearily through it, a noiseless cold that chilled her
fingers and toes, chapped her lips and cheeks, made her
breath a frosted cloud that did not disperse.
Her coat was threadbare, her gloves had holes. She cursed
Rix as she stumbled in frozen potholes, tripped over broken
mesh.
The track was covered already, the ruts of the waggons
hidden. A pile of ox-dung was a frozen mound.
But when she looked up, her lips blue with cold, she saw
the settlement.
It seemed to be a collection of low round mounds, as white
as their surroundings. They rose out of the tundra, all but
invisible except for the smoke escaping from vents and
chimneys. Tall poles soared above them; she saw a man at
the top of each, as if they were lookouts.
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The track branched off and she saw how the troupe’s
waggons had crushed snow here, how wisps of straw and a
few feathers had fallen at the turn. Walking cautiously on
she peered round the ice wall and saw that the road ended in
a barrier of wood. On one side of it a plump woman sat
knitting before a brazier of hot coals.
Was this their security?
Attia bit her lip. Tugging her hood closer down on her face,
she trudged through the snow and saw the woman look up,
hands knitting rhythmically.
‘Got any ket?’
Surprised, Attia shook her head.
Good. Need to see your weapons.’
She took out her knife and held it up. The woman dumped
the knitting and took it, opened a chest and
shoved it in. ‘Any more?’
‘No. So what do I defend myself with?’
‘No weapons in Frostia. Rules of the town. Need to search
you now.’
Attia watched her bag being rummaged. Then she spread
her arms and the woman frisked her efficiently and stepped
away. ‘Fine. Go ahead.’ She picked up the knitting and
clacked away.
Bewildered, Attia climbed over the frail barrier. Then she
said, ‘Will I be safe?’
‘Plenty of empty rooms now’ The woman glanced up. ‘You
can get a room at the second dome, if you ask.’
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Attia turned away. She wanted to know if just one old
woman had searched all of Rix’s waggons, but couldn’t ask,
since she wasn’t supposed to know them. Still, just before
she ducked into the dome entrance, she said, ‘Do I get the
knife back when I leave?’
No one answered. She gazed back.
And stood still in astonishment.
The stool was empty. A pair of knitting needles clattered
by themselves in midair. If one is lost, another will take his place.
Red wool trailed on the snow, like a bloodstain. ‘No one
The Clan will endure until Protocol dies.
leaves,' it said.
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6
If one is lost, another will take his place.
The Clan will endure until Protocol dies.
THE STEEL WOLVES
Claudia took a deep breath, dismayed and astonished. Her
fingers closed on the tiny metal wolf.
‘I see you understand,’ Medlicote said.
The eagle stirred at his voice, turning its cruel head and
glaring at him.
She didn’t want to. ‘This was my father’s?’
‘No, my lady. It belongs to me.’ His gaze behind the small
half-moon glasses was calm. ‘The Clan of the Steel Wolf has
many secret members, even here at Court. Lord Evian is
dead and your father has vanished, but others of us remain.
We hold to our purpose. To overthrow the Havaarna
dynasty. To end Protocol.’
All she could think of was that this was a new threat
to Finn. She held out the Steel Wolf and watched him take
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‘What do you want?’
He took his glasses off and rubbed them. His face was
gaunt, his eyes small. ‘We want to find the Warden, my lady.
As you do.’
Did she? The remark shook her. Her eyes swerved to the
doorway, down the sun-slashed hall beyond the brooding
hawks. ‘We shouldn’t talk here. We may be watched.’
‘It is important. I have information.’
‘Well tell me.’
He hesitated. Then he said, ‘The Queen plans to install a
new Warden of Incarceron. It will not be you, my lady.’
She stared at him. 'What!’
‘Yesterday she held a private meeting of her advisors, the
Privy Council. We believe the purpose was to—’
She couldn’t believe this. ‘I’m his heir! I’m his daughter!’
The tall secretary paused. When he resumed, his voice
was dry . ‘But you are not his daughter, my lady.’
It silenced her. She found she was clutching her dress;
she let go, and drew a deep breath. ‘So. That’s it.’
‘Of course your origin as a baby brought from
Incarceron is known to the Queen. She told the members of
the Council that you had no rights in blood to the
Wardenship, or the house and lands of the Wardenry...’
Claudia gasped.
‘...and that there were no official documents of adoption
— in fact the Warden had committed a serious crime by
releasing you, an Inmate and the daughter of Inmates.’
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She was so angry now she felt it like a chilly sweat on her
skin. She stared at the man, trying to work out where he
stood in this. Was he really from the Wolves, or was he
working for the Queen?
As if he sensed her doubt he said, ‘Madam, you must know
I owed everything to your father. I was merely a poor
scrivener; he advanced me and I respected him greatly. I feel,
in his absence, that his interests must be protected.’
She shook her head. ‘My father is an outlaw now. I don’t
even know if I want him back.’ She paced over the stone
floor, her skirt sending dust swirling up into the light. But
the Wardenry! She certainly wanted that. She thought of the
beautiful old house where she had lived all her life, its moat
and rooms and corridors, Jared’s precious tower, her horses,
all the green fields and woods and meadows, the villages
and rivers. She could never let the Queen take them. And
leave her penniless.
‘You’re agitated Medlicote said. ‘It is hardly surprising. My
lady, if—’
‘Listen to me.’ She turned on him, sharply. ‘Tell these
Wolves that they must do nothing. Nothing! Do you
understand?’ Ignoring his surprise she said, ‘You mustn’t
think Finn .... Prince Giles . . . is your enemy. He may be the
Havaarna heir but I assure you he is as determined to abolish
Protocol as you are. I insist you stop any plots against him.’
Medlicote stood still, looking at the stone floor. When
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he looked up she realized her show of temper had had no
effect on him.
‘Madam, with respect, we too thought that Prince Giles
might be our saviour. But this boy, if he is indeed the Prince,
is not what we expected. He is melancholy, indeed sullen,
and rarely appears in public. When he does his manner is
awkward. He seems to brood on those he has left behind in
Incarceron . . .’
‘Isn’t that understandable?’ she snapped.
‘Yes, but he is far more interested in finding the Prison than
about what happens here. Then there are the fits he has, the
loss of memory. . .’
‘All right!’ She was furious with him. ‘All right. But leave
him to me. I mean that. I order you.’
Far off the stable clock chimed seven. The eagle opened its
beak and made a harsh cry; the merlin, far down on its
perch, flapped its wings and screeched.
A shadow darkened the mews door.
‘Someone’s coming,’ she said. ‘Go. Quickly.’
Medlicote bowed. As he stepped back into the shadows
only the half—moons of his glasses glittered. He said, ‘I will
report your order to the Clan, my lady. But I can give no
assurances.’
‘You will,’ she hissed, ‘or I’ll have you arrested.’
His smile was grim. ‘I do not think you would do that,
Lady Claudia. Because you too would do anything to change
this Realm. And the Queen needs only a
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small excuse to remove you.’
She swept away from him and marched towards the door,
tossing down the gauntlet. Her anger burnt her, but she
knew it was not just at him. She was angry with herself,
because he had said what she thought, what she had been
secretly thinking for months, only she had never allowed
herself to realize it. Finn was a disappointment to her.
Medlicote’s judgement had been coldly accurate.
‘Claudia?’
She looked up and saw Finn was standing in the doorway.
He looked hot and agitated. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere.
Why did you run off like that?’
He stepped towards her but she swept past him, as if
irritated. ‘Jared called me.’
Finn’s heart leapt. ‘Has he got the Portal to work? Has he
found the Prison?’ He grabbed her arm. ‘Tell me!’
‘Let go of me.’ She shook him off. ‘I suppose you’re in a
panic because of this Proclamation. It’s nothing, Finn. It
means nothing.’
He scowled. ‘I keep telling you, Claudia. I won’t be King
till I can find Keiro. . .’
Something snapped in her. Suddenly all she wanted to do
was hurt him. ‘You never will,’ she said. ‘Don’t you realize
that? Are you so stupid? And you can forget all your maps
and searches because the Prison isn’t like that, Finn. It’s a
world so small that you could crush it between your lingers
like an ant and not even notice!’
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‘What do you mean?’ He stared at her. There was a
warning itch behind his eyes, a prickle of sweat on his back,
but he ignored it. He caught her arm again and knew he was
hurting her; furious, she flung him away.
He couldn’t breathe. 'What do you mean?’
‘It’s true! Incarceron is only huge from inside. The Sapient
miniaturized it to some zillionth of a nanometer! That’s why
no one comes or goes. That’s why we have no idea where it
is. And you’d better get it into your head, Finn, because
that’s why Keiro and Attia and the thousands of Prisoners in
there will never come out. Never! There’s not enough power
left in the whole world to do it, even if we knew how.’
Her words were dark black spots that flew at him. He beat
them away. ‘It can’t be . . . you’re lying . . . ‘
She laughed, harshly. The silk of her dress crackled in the
sun. Its brilliance stabbed him like a bright dagger. He
rubbed a hand down his face and his skin was dry as paper.
‘Claudia,’ he said. But no sound came out.
She was talking. She was saying something hard and
scathing and storming away from him, but it was all too far
for him to hear now. It was behind the sparkling itchy
shimmer that was rising around him, the familiar, dreaded
heat that crumpled his knees and turned the world black,
and all he could think of as he fell was that the cobbles were
stone and that his forehead would smack against them and
that he would lie in his own blood.
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And then there were hands, grabbing him.
There was a forest and he fell from his horse into it.
And then there was nothing.
Jared said softly, ‘I believe the Queen is expecting me.’
The guardsman outside the Royal Apartments barely
nodded. He turned and gave a smart rap on the door; it
opened instantly, and a footman in a coat as blue as the
feathers had been stepped out.
‘Master Sapient. Please follow me.’
Jared obeyed, wondering at the amount of powder on the
man’s wig. There was so much that it had dusted his
shoulders with a faint greyness like ash. Claudia would have
been amused. He tried to smile about it, but his nervousness
tightened the muscles of his face, and he knew he was pale
and scared. A Sapient should be calm. In the Academy they
had taught techniques of detachment. He wished he could
concentrate on them now.
The Royal Apartments were vast. He was led down a
corridor frescoed on each side with murals of fish, so lifelike
that it was like walking underwater. Even the light through
the high windows was a filtered green. After that came a
blue room painted with birds and a room with a carpet as
yellow and soft as desert sand, with palm trees growing out
of it in elaborate urns. To his relief he was ushered past the
entrance of the Great State Chamber; he had not been in
there since the terrible morning of
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Claudia’s non-wedding, and he didn’t want to. It brought
back memories of how the Warden had looked at him
through the crowd. He shivered even now to think of it.
The footman paused before a padded door and opened it,
bowing low. ‘Please wait here, Master. Her Majesty will be
with you shortly.’
He stepped in. The door closed with a soft click. Like a
muffled trap.
The room was small and intimate. Upholstered sofas faced
each other across a wide stone hearth where an enormous
bowl of roses stood, flanked by sconces in the shape of
eagles. Sunlight poured through the high windows.
Jared wandered to one of them.
Wide lawns lay beyond. Bees buzzed in archways of
honeysuckle. The voices of croquet players laughed from the
nearby gardens. He wondered if the game was quite in Era.
The Queen tended to pick and choose what pleased her.
Threading his hands together nervously, he turned away and
walked to the fireplace.
The room was warm and faintly stuffy, as if rarely used.
The furniture smelt musty.
Wishing he could loosen his collar, he made himself sit
down.
At once, as if she had been waiting for just that, the door
opened and the Queen glided in. Jared jumped up.
‘Master Jared. Thank you so much for coming.'
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‘My pleasure, Madam.’
He bowed, and she made a graceful curtsy. She still wore
the shepherdess costume; he noticed a wilting bunch of
violets tucked in her belt.
Sia missed nothing, including his glance. She gave her
silvery laugh and dropped the flowers on to the table. ‘Dear
Caspar. Always so thoughtful to his mama.’ She lounged on
one sofa and pointed to the other. ‘Please sit, Master. Let’s
not be too formal
He sat, his back upright.
‘A drink?’
‘No. Thank you.’
‘You look a little too pale, Jared. Are you getting enough
fresh air?’
‘I’m quite well, thank you, Your Majesty.’ He kept his voice
steady. She was playing with him. He thought of her as a cat,
a mischevious white cat toying with the mouse it will
eventually kill with one clawed blow. She smiled. Her
curiously light eyes gazed at him.
‘I’m afraid that isn’t quite true, is it? But let’s talk about
your search. What progress have you made?’
He shook his head. ‘Very little. The Portal is badly
damaged. I fear it may be beyond repair.’ He did not say
anything about the Warden’s study at home, nor did she ask.
Only he and Claudia knew that the Portal was identical in
both places. He had ridden there weeks ago to check it. It
was exactly the same as here. ‘However,
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something happened today that I did not expect.’
‘Oh?’
He told her about the feather. ‘The replication was
extraordinary. But I have no way of knowing whether
anything happened in the Prison. Since the Warden took
both Keys with him we have no communication with the
Inmates.’
‘I see. And have you come any closer to finding
Incarceron’s actual location?’
He moved slightly, feeling the watch’s heavy tick against
his chest. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Such a pity! We know so little.’
What would she do if she knew he carried it in his pocket?
Stamp on it with her white-heeled shoes?
‘Lady Claudia and I have decided we must visit the
Academy.’ He surprised himself by his assured tone. ‘The
records of the making of the Prison may be there among the
Esoterica. Perhaps there will be diagrams, equations.’ He
paused, aware that he was perilously close to infringing
Protocol. But Sia’s gaze was on her neat fingernails.
‘You will go,’ she said. ‘But not Claudia.’
Jared frowned. ‘But ...'.
She lifted her eyes and smiled at him sweetly, full in his
face. ‘Master, how many more years does your physician
think you will live?’
He breathed in sharply. He felt as if she had stabbed him, a
bitter resentment that she could ask him, a cold
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dread of answering. His hands shook.
Glancing down, he tried to speak steadily, but his voice
sounded strange to himself.
‘Two years. At most.’
‘I am so very sorry.’ She did not take her eyes off him. ‘And
you agree with him?’
He shrugged, hating her pity. ‘I think he is a little
optimistic.’
She made a small pout with her red lips. Then she said, ‘Of
course, we are all the victims of fate and destiny. For
example, if there had never been the Years of Rage, the great
war, the Protocol, a cure for even your rare condition would
certainly have been available years ago. Research then was
extensive. Or so I gather.’
He stared at her, his skin prickling, sensing danger.
The Queen sighed. She poured out wine into a crystal cup
and settled back with it, curling her legs under her up on to
the sofa. ‘And you are so young, Master Jared. Barely thirty I
understand?’
He managed to nod.
‘And a brilliant scholar. Such a loss to the Realm. And dear
Claudia! How will she bear it?’
Her cruelty astounded him. Her voice was silken and sad;
she ran one long finger thoughtfully round the rim of the
cup. ‘And the pain you will have to bear,’ she said softly.
‘Knowing that soon no medicine will help, that you will lie
helpless and ill, day after long day sinking further from
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what you were, until not even Claudia will be able to bring
herself to see you. Until death will be welcome.’
He stood, abruptly. ‘Madam, I don’t know what—‘
‘You do know. Sit down, Jared.’
He wanted to walk to the door, open it, storm out, away
from the horror she faced him with. Instead, he sat. His
forehead was damp with sweat. He felt defeated.
She eyed him calmly. Then she said, ‘You will go and
examine the Esoterica. The collection is vast, the remnants
of a world’s wisdom. I’m sure you will find some medical
research that can help you. The rest will be up to you.
You will need to experiment, to test, to do whatever
it is you Sapienti do. I suggest you remain at the
Academy; the medical facilities there are the best we
have. A blind eye will be turned to any infringements
of Protocol; you can do as you wish. You can spend
your remaining time as it should be spent, in the research
that will cure you.' She leant forward, her skirts rustling.
‘I offer it to you, Jared. The forbidden knowledge.
The chance of life.’
He swallowed.
In the stuffy room every sound seemed magnified, the
voices outside worlds away.
‘What do you want in return?’ he said, hoarse.
She leant back, smiling. As if she had won. ‘I want
nothing. Literally, nothing. The Portal must never open
again. The gates of Incerceron, wherever that place is, must
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be found to be impassable. All attempts must fail.’
Over the top of the crystal glass, her eyes met his.
‘And Claudia need never know.’
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7
Sapphique leapt up, overjoyed. ‘If you cannot answer, then I’ve
won. Show me a way Out.’
Incarceron laughed in its million halls. It raised a claw and the
skin of the claw split and the dragonskin Glove curled off and lay
on the ground.
Sapphique was alone. He picked the shining thing up and cursed
the Prison.
But when he put his hand into Incarceron’s he knew its plans.
He dreamed its dreams.
SAPPHIQUE IN THE TUNNELS OF MADNESS
That evening’s show was packed.
The troupe had erected their creaking wooden stage in the
central space of one of the snow-domes, a smoky hollow of
hewn iceblocks, melted and refrozen over so many years that
the roof was twisted and seamed, gnarled with gloops and
pinnacles of ice, black with soot.
Watching Rix stand before the two chosen volunteers next
to her Attia tried to keep her face rapt and
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wondering, but she knew he was very tense. The crowd here
had been quiet all evening. Too quiet. Nothing seemed to
impress them.
And things hadn’t gone well. Perhaps it was the bitter cold,
but the bear had refused to dance, crouching mournfully on
the stage, despite all prodding. The jugglers had dropped
their plates twice, and even Gigantia had only managed to
draw a few spatters of applause by lifting a man on a chair
with one of her huge hands.
But when the Dark Enchanter had appeared, the silence
had grown deeper, more intense. The people stood in
attentive rows, their eyes fixed in fascination on Rix as he
faced them, young and dark, the black glove on his right
hand, its forefinger pinned back to show the maiming.
It was more than fascination. It was hunger. From this
close, Attia saw the sweat on his forehead.
The things he had said to the two women had been greeted
with silence too. Neither of them had wept or clasped his
hands with joy or given any indication of recognizing
anything, even though he had managed to pretend they had.
Their rheumy eyes just gazed imploringly at him. Attia had
had to do the sobbing and cries of amazement; she thought
she hadn’t overplayed it, but the stillness had cowed her. The
applause had been a mere ripple.
What was wrong with them all?
As she gazed out she saw they were dirty and sallow,
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their mouths and noses muffled and scarved against the
cold, their eyes sunken with hunger. But that was nothing
new. There seemed to be few old people, hardly any
children. They stank of smoke and sweat and some sweet
herbal tang. And they stood apart; they did not crowd
together. Some sort of commotion caught her eye; to one side
a woman swayed and fell. Those nearby stepped away. No
one touched her, or bent over her. They left a space around
her.
Maybe Rix had seen it too.
As he turned Attia caught a flash of panic under his makeup,
but his voice was as smooth as ever.
‘You search for an Enchanter of power, a Sapient who will
show you the way out of Incarceron. AU of you search for
that!’ He swung on them, challenging, daring them to deny
it.
‘I am that man! The way that Sapphique took lies through
the Door of Death. I will take this girl through that door. And
I will bring her back!’
She didn’t have to pretend. Her heart was thudding hard.
There was no roar from the crowd, but the silence was
different now. It had become a threat, a force of such desire it
scared her. As Rix led her to the couch she glanced out at the
muffled faces and knew that this was no audience happy to
be fooled. They wanted Escape like a starving man craves
food. Rix was playing with fire here.
‘Pull out,’ she breathed.
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‘Can’t.’ His lips barely moved. ‘Show must go on.’
Faces pressed forward to see. Someone fell, and was
trampled. A soft ice-thaw dripped from the roof, on Rix’s
make-up, on her hands gripping the couch, on the black
glove. The crowd’s breath was a frosted contagion.
‘Death,’ he said. ‘We fear it. We would do anything to
avoid it. And yet Death is a doorway that opens both ways.
Before your eyes, you will see the dead live!’
He drew the sword out of the air. It was real. It gleamed
with ice as he held it up.
This time there was no rumble, no lightning from the roof.
Maybe Incarceron had seen the act too often. The crowd
stared at the steel blade greedily. In the front row a man
scratched endlessly, muttering under his breath.
Rix turned. He fastened the links around Attia’s hands.
‘We may have to leave fast. Be ready.’
The loops went round her neck and waist. They were false,
she realized, and was glad.
He turned to the crowd and held up the sword. ‘Behold! I
will release her. And I will bring her back!’
He’d switched it. It was fake too. She only had seconds to
notice, before he plunged it into her heart.
This time there was no vision of Outside.
She lay rigid, unbreathing, feeling the blade retract, the
cold damp of fake blood spread on her skin.
Rix was facing the Silent mob; now he turned, she sensed
him come near, his warmth bending over her.
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He tugged the sword away. ‘Now,’ he breathed.
She opened her eyes. She felt unsteady, but not like the first
time. As he helped her stand and the blood shrivelled
miraculously on her coat she felt a strange release; she took
his hand and was shown to the crowd and she bowed and
smiled in relief, forgetting for a moment that she was not
supposed to be part of the act.
Rix bowed too, but quickly. And as her euphoria drained
away, she saw why.
No one was applauding.
Hundreds of eyes were fixed on Rix. As if they waited for
more.
Even he was thrown. He bowed again, lifted the black
glove, stepped backwards on the creaking boards of the
stage.
The crowd was agitated; someone shouted. A man shoved
himself forward, a thin gangly man muffled up to the eyes;
he tore himself out from the crowd and they saw he held one
end of a thick chain. And a knife.
Rix swore briefly; out of the corner of her eye Attia saw the
seven jugglers scurrying for weapons backstage.
The man climbed up on the boards. ‘So Sapphique’s Glove
brings men back to life.’
Rix drew himself up. ‘Sir, I assure you...’
‘Then prove it again. Because we need it.’
He hauled on the chain, and a slave fell forward on to the
boards, an iron collar around his neck, his skin raw with
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hideous sores. Whatever the disease was, it looked terrible.
‘Can you bring him back? I’ve already lost…’
‘He’s not dead,’ Rix said.
The slaveowner shrugged. Then quickly, before anyone
could move, he cut the man’s throat. ‘He is now.’
Attia gasped; her hands over her mouth.
The red slash overflowed; the slave fell choking and
writhing. All the crowd murmured. Rix did not move. For a
moment Attia had the sense he was frozen with horror, but
when he spoke his voice had not a tremor. ‘Put him on the
couch.’
‘I’m not touching him. You touch him. You bring him
back.’
The people were shouting. Now they were crying out and
crawling up the sides of the stage, all around, closing in. ‘I’ve
lost my children,’ one cried. ‘My son is dead,’ another
screamed. Attia looked round, backing away, but there was
nowhere to go. Rix grabbed her hand with his black-gloved
fingers. ‘Hold tight,’ he hissed. Aloud he said, ‘Stand well
back, sir.’
He raised his hand, clicked his fingers.
And the floor collapsed.
Attia fell through the trapdoor with a suddenness that
knocked the breath out of her; crashed on a mat stuffed with
horsehair.
‘Move!’ Rix yelled. He was already on his feet; hauling her
up he ran, crouched under the planking of the stage.
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The noise above them was a fury; running footsteps, shouts
and wails, a clash of blades. Attia scrambled over the joists;
there was a curtain at the back and Rix dived under it,
tugging off wig and make-up, false nose, fake sword.
Gasping he whipped his coat off, turned it inside out and put
it back on, tied it with string, became a bent, hunched beggar
before her eyes.
‘They’re all bloody mad!’
‘What about me?’ she gasped.
‘Take your chance. Meet outside the gate, if you make it.’
And he was gone, hobbling into a snow tunnel.
For a moment she was too furious to move. But a head and
shoulders came down the trapdoor behind her; she hissed
with fear and ran.
Dodging into a side cavern she saw that the waggons were
gone, their tracks deep in the snow. They hadn’t waited for
the end. She scrambled after them, but there were too many
people down that way, people surging out of the dome,
some fleeing, some a mob smashing everything within reach.
She turned back, cursing. To have come all this way and
even to have touched the Glove and then to lose it to a
baying crowd!
And in her mind the red slash of the slave’s throat opened
over and over.
The tunnel led out between the snow-domes. The
settlement was in chaos; strange cries echoed, the sickly
smoke burnt everywhere. She ducked into a quiet alley and
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ran down it, wishing desperately for her knife.
The snow here was thick, but hardpacked, as if from many
feet. At the end of the lane was a large dark building; she
ducked inside.
It was dim, and icy cold.
For a while she just crouched behind the door, breathing
hard, waiting for pursuers. Distant shouts came to her. Her
face against the frozen wood, she stared through a crack.
Nothing but darkness caine down the lane. .. And a light,
falling snow.
Finally, she stood, stiff, brushing ice from her knees, and
turned.
The first thing she saw was the Eye.
Incarceron gazed at her from the roof, its small curious
scrutiny. And under it, on the ground, were the boxes.
She knew what they were as soon as she saw them.
A stack of coffins, hastily built, stinking of disinfectant.
Kindling was piled all around them.
She stopped breathing, flung her arm over nose and
mouth, gave a wail of horror.
Plague!
It explained everything; the people falling, the cowed and
muffled silence, the desperation for Rix’s magic to be real.
She stumbled out backwards, sobbing with dread,
grabbing snow, scrubbing her hands, her face, her mouth
and nose. Had she caught it? Had she breathed it in? Oh god,
had she touched anyone?
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Breathless, she turned to run.
And saw Rix.
He was stumbling towards her. ‘No way out,’ he gasped.
‘Can we hide in there?’
‘No!’ She caught his arm. ‘This is a plague village. We have
to get out of here,’
‘So that’s it!’ To her amazement he laughed in relief. ‘Just for
a minute there, sweetie, I thought I was losing my touch. But
if it’s just—’
‘We could already be infected! Come on!’
He shrugged, turned.
But as he faced the darkness he stopped.
A horse stepped out from the smoky shadows of the lane, a
horse dark as midnight, its rider tall, wearing a tricorn hat.
He wore a black mask with narrow eyeholes. His coat was
long and his boots supple and fine. He carried a firelock, and
now he pointed it with practised skill straight at Rix’s head.
Rix froze.
‘The Glove,’ the shadow whispered. ‘Now.’
Rix wiped his face with one black hand, then spread his
fingers. His voice adopted its cringing whine. ‘This, lord? It’s
just a prop. A stage-prop. Take anything from me, sir, but
please, not—’
‘Cut the act, Enchanter.’ The highwayman’s voice was
amused and cold. Attia watched, alert. ‘I want the real Glove.
Now.’
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Reluctant, Rix slowly took a small black bundle from his
inside pocket.
‘Give it to the girl.’ The firelock edged slightly towards her.
‘She brings it to me. You make any move and I kill both of
you.’
Attia surprised herself, and both of them, by her harsh
laugh. The masked man glanced quickly at her, and she
caught his blue eyes. She said, ‘That’s not the Glove either.
The real one he keeps in a small pouch under his shirt. Close
to his heart?
Rix hissed with fury. ‘What is this? Attia!’
The masked man clicked the trigger back. ‘Then get it.’
Attia grabbed Rix, tugged the robe open and dragged the
string from around his neck. His face, close to hers,
whispered, ‘So you were a plant all along.’
The pocket was small, of white silk.
She stepped back, thrust it into her coat. ‘I’m sorry, Rix,
but…’
‘I believed in you, Attia. I even thought you might turn out
to be my Apprentice.’ His eyes were hard; he stabbed a bony
finger at her. ‘And you’ve betrayed me.’
‘The Art Magicke is the art of illusion. You said it.’
Rix’s face contorted in white fury. ‘I won’t forget this.
You’ve made a mistake crossing me, sweetie. And believe
me, I’ll have my revenge on you.’
‘I need the Glove. I need to find Finn.’
‘Do you? Keep it safe, Sapphique said. Is he safe, your
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thief friend? What does he want it for, Attia? What harm
will he do with it?’
‘Maybe I’ll wear it.’ The highwayman’s eyes were cold
through his mask.
Rix nodded. ‘Then you will control the Prison. And the
Prison will control you.’
‘Take care of yourself, Rix,’ Attia said. She put up her arm,
and Keiro leant down and pulled her up behind him.
They turned the horse in a circle of sparks. Then they
galloped away into the icy dark.
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The Boy
in The Yellow Coat
103
104
8
Our Realm will be splendid. We will live as men should live, and
the land will be tilled for us by a million yeomen. Above us the
ruined moon will be our emblem of the Years of Rage. It will flicker
through the clouds like a lost memory.
KING ENDOR’S DECREE
Finn lay deep in a softness of pillows so comfortable that his
whole body was relaxed. Sleep was a drowsy content; he
wanted to slip back into it, but already it was receding,
withdrawing from him like a shadow from the sun.
The Prison was quiet. His cell was white and empty and
only a small red Eye watched him from the ceiling.
‘Finn?’ Keiro’s voice came from somewhere close. Behind it
the Prison remarked, ‘He looks younger when he sleeps.’
Bees hummed through an open window. There was a
sweet scent of flowers he had no name for.
‘Finn? Can you hear me?’
He turned, licked dry lips.
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When he opened his eyes the sun dazzled him. The figure
bending over him was tall and fair but it was not Keiro.
Claudia sat back with relief. ‘He’s awake.’
Finn felt all the knowledge of where he was flood him like
a wave of despair. He tried to sit but Jared’s hand came
down gently on his shoulder. ‘Not yet. Take your time.’
He lay in the enormous four-poster bed, on soft white
pillows. Above him the dusty canopy was embroidered with
suns and stars and intricate twining briar—roses. Something
sweet smouldered in the hearth. Servants moved discreetly
round, bringing water, a tray.
‘Get them out,’ he croaked.
Claudia said, ‘Stay calm.’ She turned. ‘Thank you all.
Please tell the Queen’s Majesty that His Highness is quite
recovered. He will attend the Proclamation.’
The chamberlain bowed, ushered the footmen and maids
out, and closed the double doors.
At once Finn struggled up. ‘What did I say? Who saw me?’
‘Don’t distress yourself.’ Jared sat on the bed. ‘Only
Claudia. When the seizure ended she summoned two of the
groundsmen. They brought you up the back stairs. No one
saw.’
‘But they all know.’ He felt sick with anger and shame.
‘Drink this.’ The Sapient poured a cordial into a crystal
glass; he held it out and Finn took it quickly. His throat was
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parched with thirst. It always was, afterwards.
He didn’t want to meet Claudia’s eyes but she seemed
unembarrassed; when he looked up she was pacing
impatiently at the foot of the bed.
‘I wanted to wake you, but Jared wouldn’t let me. You
slept all night and half the morning! The ceremony is in less
than an hour.’
‘I’m sure they can wait for me.’ His voice was sour. Then,
slowly, he gripped the empty glass and looked at Jared. ‘Is it
true? What she told me? That the Prison . . . that Keiro is so
small?’
‘It’s true.’ Jared refilled the glass.
‘It’s not possible.’
‘It was only too possible for the Sapienti of old. But Finn,
listen to me. I want you to try not to think of it, not now You
have to prepare yourself for the ceremony.’
Finn shook his head. Astonishment was like a trapdoor
inside him; it had opened under him and he could not stop
falling into it. Then he said, ‘I remembered something.’
Claudia stopped.’ What?’ She came round the bed. ‘What
was it?’
He lay back and glared at her. ‘You sound just like Gildas.
All he ever cared about were the visions. Not about me.’
‘Of course I care.’ She made a real effort to calm her voice.
‘When I saw you were ill I—’
‘I’m not ill.’ He swung his feet out of bed. ‘I’m a Starseer.’
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They were silent. Then Jared said, ‘The seizures have an
epileptic nature but I suspect they were triggered by
whatever drug they gave you to forget your past.’
‘They? You mean the Queen.’
‘Or the Warden. Or indeed the Prison itself. If it’s any
consolation, I do think the fits will become less severe with
time.’
Finn scowled. ‘Fine. Meanwhile the Crown Prince of the
Realm collapses into a twitching cripple every few weeks.’
‘This is not the Prison,’ Jared said quietly. ‘Illness is not a
crime here.’ His voice was sharper than usual. Claudia
frowned, annoyed at Finn’s clumsiness.
Finn put the glass on the table and his head in his hands,
dragging his fingers through his tangled hair. After a
moment he said, ‘I’m sorry, Master. I’m always thinking only
of myself.’
‘But what did you remember?’ Claudia was impatient. She
leant against the bedpost, staring at him, her face tense with
expectation.
Finn tried to think. ‘The only things I’ve ever been sure of
as memories have been blowing out the candles on the cake,
and the boats on the lake. .
‘Your seventh birthday. When we were betrothed.’
‘...So you say. But this time, it was different.’ He wrapped
his arms round his chest; Claudia took the silk robe from the
chair arid brought it quickly. He put it on,
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concentrating. ‘I think . . . I’m sure really, that I was older
this time. I was certainly riding a horse. A grey horse. There
was undergrowth whipping against my legs
bracken, very high. The horse crashed through it. There were
trees.’
Claudia took a breath; Jared’s hand came up to keep her
silent. Calmly he said, ‘The Great Forest?’
‘Maybe. Bracken and brambles. But there were Beetles too.’
‘Beetles?’
‘They’re in the Prison. Small metal things; they clear away
rubbish, eat metal and plastic and flesh. I don’t know if this
was a forest here, or Inside. How could they have been here.
. .?‘
‘You just might be mixing things up.’ Claudia couldn’t
keep quiet any longer. ‘But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a real
memory. What happened?’
Jared took a small scanner from his pocket, and placed it on
the bedclothes. He made an adjustment to it, and it beeped.
‘The room is almost certainly full of listening devices. This
will give us some protection, if you speak quietly.’
Finn stared at it. ‘The horse jumped. There was a pain in
my ankle. I fell.’
‘A pain?’ Claudia came and sat next to him. ‘What sort of
pain?’
‘Sharp. Like a sting. It was …‘ He paused, as if the
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memory was fiickering, just beyond reach. ’Orange. Orange
and black. Small.’
‘A wasp? A bee?’
‘It hurt. I looked down at it.’ He shrugged. ‘Then nothing.’
Hurriedly he pulled up his ankle and examined it. ‘Just
here. It went through the boot leather.’
There were many old marks and scars. Claudia said,
‘Could it have been some sort of tranquillizer? Like your
false insects, Master.’
‘If it was; Jared said slowly, ‘the maker was skilful, and
unbothered by Protocol.’
Claudia snorted. ‘The Queen uses Protocol to control
others, not herself.’
Jared fingered the collar of his robe. ‘But Finn, you have
ridden in the forest many times since you left the Prison. This
may not be an old memory. It may not even be a memory at
all.’ He paused, seeing the defiance come into the boy’s face.
‘I say this because others may say it. They’ll say you dreamt
it.’
‘I know the difference.’ Finn’s voice was angry. He stood
up, tying the robe around him. ‘Gildas always said the
visions came from Sapphique. But this was memory. It was
so . . . sharp. It happened, Jared. I fell. I remember falling.’
His eyes held Claudia’s. ‘Wait for me. I’ll get ready.’
They watched him walk into the wood-panelled dressingroom
and slam the door.
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Bees hummed peacefully in the honeysuckle outside.
‘Well?’ Claudia whispered.
Jared got up and crossed to the window. He opened the
casement wider and sat on the sill, leaning his head back.
After a moment he said, ‘In the Prison, Finn had to survive.
He learnt the power of lies.’
‘You don’t believe him?’
‘I didn’t say that. But he is skilful at telling the stories his
listeners want to hear.’
She shook her head. ‘Prince Giles was hunting in the Forest
when he fell. What if this is that memory? What if he was
drugged then, and taken to wherever they wiped his mind?’
Excited, she jumped up, came over to him. ‘What if it’s all
coming back to him?’
‘Then that’s good. But do you remember his story of the
Maestra, Claudia? The woman who gave him the Key? We
have heard several versions of that. Each time he tells it
differently. Who knows which if any is the truth?’
They were silent a moment. Claudia smoothed the silk of
her dress, trying not to feel deflated. She knew Jared was
right, that at least one of them had to keep a clear head. It
was the method he had always taught her, to weigh up
arguments, to probe them without favour. But she so wanted
Finn to remember, to change, to become suddenly the Giles
they needed. She wanted to be sure of him.
‘You don’t resent my scepticism, Claudia?’ Her tutor’s
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voice was wistful; she looked up, surprised, and saw he was
looking at her closely.
‘Of course not!’ Caught by some sadness in his eyes she
came over and sat by him, gripping his arm. ‘Are you well,
Master? All this worry over Finn...’
‘I am quite well, Claudia.’
She nodded, not wanting to know if he was lying. ‘But I
haven’t asked you about the Queen. What did she have to
say that was so urgent?’
He looked away, out at the green lawns. ‘She wanted to
know how the efforts to open the Portal went. I told her
about the feathers.’ He smiled his rare smile. ‘I don’t think it
impressed her.’
Claudia said, ‘No.’
‘And I broached the subject of the Academy.’
‘Don’t tell me. She won’t let me go.’
It was his turn to be surprised. ‘Correct. You think it is
because of what Medlicote told you? That she plans to
disinherit you?’
‘She can try;’ she said fiercely. ‘She’ll have a battle on her
hands.’
‘Claudia, there is more. She . . . is happy for me to go.
Alone.’
She opened her eyes wider. ‘To search for the way In? But
why? We both know she doesn’t want it found.’
He nodded, gazing down at his thin fingers.
‘It’s some sort of plot. She wants to get you out of
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Court.’ Claudia bit her nails, thinking hard.’ Out of the way.
Perhaps she knows you won’t find anything, that you’ll be
wasting your time. Maybe she already knows where
Incarceron is. .
‘Claudia, I have to tell you. . .‘ He looked up and turned
but at that moment the tower clock began to strike, and the
dressing-room door opened.
Finn ran out. ‘Where’s my sword?’
‘Here.’ Claudia took the foil from the chair and watched
him buckle it on. ‘You should have a servant to do that.’
‘I can do it myself.’
She looked at him. His hair had grown longer since his
Escape; now it was hastily tied back in a black ribbon. His
frockcoat was a rich midnight blue, and though the sleeves
were edged with gold it had none of the laced and ruffled
extravagance of the other courtiers. He wouldn’t wear
powder, or bright colours, or any of the perfumed sashes and
stars and plumed hats the Queen had sent him. It was as if
he was in rnourning. The austerity reminded her of her
father.
He stood there nervously. ‘Well?’
‘You look fine. But you should have more gold lace. We
have to show these people. .
‘You look every inch the Prince Jared said, coming and
opening the door.
Finn didn’t move. His hand gripped the swordhilt as if it
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was the only familiar thing there. ‘I don’t know if I can do
this,’ he said.
Jared stepped back. ‘Yes you can, Finn.’ He moved closer
and his voice was so quiet Claudia barely caught the words. ‘
You will do it for the Maestra’s sake.’
Startled, Finn stared at him. But then the bell rang again,
and Claudia slipped her arm firmly in his and led him from
the room.
All the corridors of the Court were lined with people. Wellwishers,
servants, soldiers, secretaries, they gathered in
hallways and peered from doors and galleries to see the
Crown Prince of the Realm going to his Proclamation.
Preceded by a guard of thirty men-at—arms, sweating in
their shining cuirasses, ceremonial swords upright in their
hands, Claudia and Finn walked quickly towards the State
Apartments. Flowers were thrown at Finn’s feet, applause
rippled from doorways and stairs. But it was muted, and
Claudia knew that, and she wanted to frown under the
gracious smile she had to keep on her face. Finn wasn’t
popular enough. People didn’t know him. Or they thought
he was surly and remote. It was all his own fault.
But she smiled and nodded and waved at them, and Finn
walked stiffly, bowing here and there at faces he recognized,
and she knew Jared was reassuringly behind her, his Sapient
coat swirling the dust on the floor. They were escorted
through the myriad apartments of the Silver Wing, and the
Gold Rooms, and the Turquoise Ballroom,
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massed with staring crowds, and the Mirrored Salon where
the walls of looking-glass made the gathering seem
overwhelmingly huge. Under glittering chandeliers they
walked, through air that was hot and cloying with perfume
and sweat and pomander oils, through whispers and polite
cheers and curious scrutiny. Music tinkled from viols and
cellos on a high balcony; rose petals were tossed in showers
from the ladies-in-waiting. Finn looked up and managed a
smile; the pretty women tittered and hid their faces behind
fans.
His arm was hot and tense in Claudia’s; she squeezed his
wrist in reassurance. And as she did so she realized how
little she really knew of him, of the agony of his memory
loss, of the life he had lived.
As they came to the entrance of the Crystal Court two
livened footmen bowed and flung the doors back.
The vast room shimmered. Hundreds of people turned
their heads.
Claudia loosened her arm, and stepped back beside Jared.
She saw how Finn gave her one glance; then he drew himself
up and marched on, one hand on his sword. She followed,
wondering what terrors of the Prison had taught him such
cold bravado.
Because the room was full of danger.
As the crowd fell back she walked between their sweeping
bows and elegant curtsies and wondered how many secret
weapons were concealed here, how many
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assassins lurked, how many spies pushed close. A silken
flock of smiling women, Ambassadors in full regalia,
Countesses and Dukes and all the ermine robes of the Privy
Council opened to show the scarlet carpet that led the length
of the room, and the tiny birds in bright cages that sang and
fluttered in the high arches of the roof. And everywhere, like
a bewildering maze, the thousand crystal pillars that gave
the room its name reflected and twisted and entwined from
the vaulted ceiling.
On each side of the dais ranks of Sapienti stood, their
iridescent robes catching the light. Jared joined them, quietly
moving to the end of the line.
The dais itself was raised on five wide marble steps, and on
the top of it were two thrones. Queen Sia rose from one.
She wore a hugely looped gown of white satin, a cloak
trimmed with ermine, and the crown. It was oddly small on
her elaborate hair, Claudia thought, stopping at the front
row of courtiers next to Caspar. He glanced at her, and
grinned, and the hulking bodyguard called Fax stood close
behind him. Claudia turned away, frowning.
She watched Finn.
He climbed the steps swiftly, his head slightly bowed. At
the top he turned to face the crowd and she saw his chin go
up, the steady defiant stare he sent out at them all. But for
the first time she thought, If he tried he could look like a prince.
The Queen held up her hand. The murmuring crowd
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fell silent; only the hundreds of finches cheeped and warbled
high above.
‘Friends. This is a historic day. Giles, who was once lost
from us, has returned to take up his inheritance. The
Havaarna Dynasty welcomes its Heir. The Realm welcomes
its King.’
It was a pretty speech. Everyone applauded it. Claudia
caught Jared’s eye and he blinked slowly. She tried not to
smile.
‘And now we will hear the Proclamation.’
As Finn stood rigidly beside Sia the First Lord Sapient, a
thin austere man, stood and handed his silver wand tipped
with its crescent moon to a footman. From another he took a
parchment scroll, unrolled it and began to read from it in a
firm, sonorous voice. It was long and tedious, full of clauses
and titles and legalese, but Claudia realized it was essentially
an announcement of Finn’s intention to be crowned, and the
assertion of his rights and fitness. When the phrase, ‘sane in
mind and whole in body and in spirit’ rolled out she
stiffened, sensing rather than seeing Finn’s tension. Beside
her, Caspar made a small tutting noise.
She glanced at him. He still wore the stupid smirk.
Suddenly a cold fear sprang up in her. Something was
wrong. They had something planned. She moved, agitated;
Caspar’s hand caught hers.
‘I hope you’re not going to interrupt,’ he breathed in her
ear, ‘and ruin Finn’s lovely day.’
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She stared at him.
The Sapient ended, rolling the scroll. ‘. . . Thus it is
Proclaimed. And unless there be any who cry out against it,
I affirm and announce here and before these witnesses,
before the Court and the Realm, that the Prince Giles
Alexander Ferdinand of the Havaarna, Lord of the
Southern Isles, Count of—’
‘I object.’
The Sapient faltered, fell silent. The crowd turned,
astonished.
Claudia whipped her head round.
The voice had been quiet but firm, and it came from a boy.
He pushed his way through and past her, and she saw he
was tall and had brown hair and there was a clear,
purposeful look in his eyes. He wore a coat of fine golden
satin. And his resemblance to Finn was astonishing.
‘I object.’
He looked up at the Queen and Finn and they stared back,
and the First Sapient made a sharp gesture, and the soldiers
lifted their weapons quickly.
‘And who are you, sir, that you think you may object?’ the
Queen said in amazement.
The boy smiled, and held out his hands in a curiously regal
gesture. He stood on the step and bowed low.
‘Madam Stepmother,’ he said, ‘don’t you know me? I am
the real Giles.’
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9
So he rose up and sought the hardest way, the road that leads
inward. And all the time he wore the Glove he did not eat or sleep
and Incarceron knew all his desires.
LEGEND OF SAPPHIQUE
The horse was tireless, its metal legs deep in snow. Attia held
tight to Keiro, because the cold made her stiff and her hands
numb, and several times she almost, felt she would fall.
‘We have to get far enough away,’ Keiro said over his
shoulder.
‘Yes. I know.’
He laughed. ‘You’re not a bad little operator. Finn would
be proud.’
She didn’t answer. The plan of how they should steal the
Glove had been hers and she had known she could do it, but
she felt a curious shame at betraying Rix. He was crazy, but
she’d liked him and his ramshackle troupe. As they rode she
wondered what he would be doing now, what story he
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would be spinning them. But he’d never used the real Glove
in the act, so they should be able to carry on. And she
shouldn’t feel sorry for him. There was no place for pity in
Incarceron. But as she thought that she thought of Finn, who
had pitied her, once, and rescued her. She frowned.
The Ice Wing glittered in the darkness. It was as if the
artificial light of the Prison had been stored deep in its frozen
strata, so that even now, in darkness, the vast tundra was
pale and phosphorescent, its pitted surface swept by cold
winds. Shimmers of aurora rippled in the sky, as if
Incarceron amused itself with strange effects in the long
hours of the arctic night.
They rode for over an hour, the land becoming more and
more contorted, the air colder. Attia grew tired; her legs
aching, her back an agony.
Finally, Keiro slowed the beast. His back was damp with
sweat. He said, ‘This will have to do?
It was a great overhang of ice, sheened with a frozen
waterfall.
‘Great,’ she muttered.
Slowly, the horse picked its way in, among boulders furred
with frost. Attia swung both feet over and slid gratefully
down. Her legs almost gave way; she grabbed one of the
rocks, then stretched, groaning.
Keiro jumped down. If he was stiff he was far too proud to
show it. He took off the hat and mask and she saw his face.
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‘Fire,’ he muttered.
There was nothing to burn. Finally he found an ancient
tree-stump; there was still some bark that could be snapped
off, and with some kindling from the pack and a great deal of
impatient swearing he managed to get it alight. The heat was
paltry, but Attia was glad to stretch out her hands and shiver
over it.
She crouched, watching him. ‘We said a week. You were
lucky I’d managed to guess...’
‘If you think I was going to hang around a stinking plagueheap,
you were wrong? He sat opposite. ‘Besides, things
were getting rough back there. That mob might have got to it
first.’
Attia nodded.
Keiro watched ice drip into the fire. The damp wood hissed
and crackled. His face was edged with shadows, his blue
eyes red-rimmed with weariness, but his old arrogance was
still there, his effortless sense of superiority ‘So how was it?’
She shrugged. ‘The magician’s name was Rix. He was . . .
strange. Maybe a little mad.’
‘His act was rubbish.’
‘You would think that? She remembered the lightning in
the sky, the dripping letters painted by the man who could
not write. ‘A few odd things happened. Perhaps because of
the Glove. I thought I saw Finn.’
Keiro lifted his head sharply. ‘Where?’
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‘It was . . . a sort of dream.’
‘A vision?’ He groaned. ‘Oh, fantastic! That’s all I need!
Another Starseer .’ Dragging the pack nearer, he took out
some bread, tore it open and tossed her the smaller part. ‘So
what did you see my precious oathbrother doing? Sitting on
his golden throne?’
Exactly, she thought, but instead she said, ‘He looked lost.’
Keiro snorted. ‘Sure. Lost in his luxurious corridors and
throne rooms. His wine and women. I suppose he’s got them
all eating out of his hand, Claudia and his stepmother, the
Queen, and whoever else is soft enough to listen to him. I
taught him how to do that. I taught him how to survive,
when he was a stunned kid sobbing at every loud bang. And
this is how he repays me.’
Attia swallowed the last of the bread. She had heard all this
before. ‘It wasn’t Finn’s fault you couldn’t Escape.’
He glared at her. ‘I don’t need you to remind me.’
She shrugged, trying not to glance at his hand. He always
seemed to wear gloves now, even when it wasn’t so cold. But
under the dirty and embroidered red gauntlet was Keiro’s
secret, the thing that haunted him and of which he never
spoke, the single metal fingernail that told him that he was
not entirely human. And that he had no idea how much of
his body Incarceron had made.
Now he muttered,’ Finn swore he’d try to find some way to
get me Out. All the Sapienti of his pathetic kingdom
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would work at it. But I don’t intend to wait around. He
forgot the Outside, so maybe he’s forgotten us now. All I
know is if I ever find him again he’ll regret it.’
‘Unlikely to happen,’ Attia said heartlessly.
He glanced at her, his handsome face flushed. ‘And what
about you? Always had a soft spot for poor old Finn, didn’t
you?’
‘He saved my life.’
‘Twice. Once with my magic ring. Which I should still
have, instead of it being wasted on you.’
She was silent. She was used to his scorn, and his moods.
He tolerated her because she was useful, and she stayed with
him because if Finn came back, it would be to find Keiro. She
had no illusions about that.
Gloomily, Keiro sank a mouthful of sour beer. ‘Look at me.
Skulking in the Ice Wing, when I should have been leading
the old gang now, out on some raid, taking the chief’s share
of the plunder. I beat Jormanric in a fair fight! I destroyed
him. I had everything in my hands, and I let Finn persuade
me to leave it. And what happens? He Escapes and I don’t.’
His disgust was real; Attia didn’t bother to remind him that
she had tripped his opponent at the critical moment and won
the fight for him. Instead she said, ‘Stop moping. We’ve got
the Glove. At least let’s take a look at it.’
He was still a moment, then brought out the silk pouch
from his pocket. He dangled it from one finger. ‘What a
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pretty little thing. I won’t ask how you found out where he
kept it.’
She shuffled closer. If her guess had been wrong..
Carefully, Keiro opened the drawstring, tipped out a small
dark crumpled object. He spread the thing out on his palm,
and they stared at it in fascination.
It was extremely old. And very different from the gloves
Rix had worn in his act.
For a start it was not made of fabric, but of some glistening,
scaly skin, very soft and supple. Its colour was difficult to
define; it seemed to shimmer and change between dark
green and black and metallic grey. But it was certainly a
glove.
The fingers were worn, and stiff, and the thumb had been
repaired with a patch, sewn by ragged stitches. On the
gauntlet were pinned a few metal objects, tiny images of a
beetle and a wolf, and two swans linked by a fine chain. But
most unexpected of all, the fingers of the Glove were tipped
with ancient, ivory-yellow claws.
Keiro said wonderingly, ‘Is it really dragonskin?’
‘Could be snake.’ But she had never seen scales so fine and
tough.
Slowly, Keiro took his own glove off. His hand was
muscular and dirt’
‘Don’t,’ she said.
Sapphique’s Glove looked too small for him. It seemed to
be made for a fine, delicate hand.
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‘I’ve been waiting a lifetime.’
She knew he thought it would somehow change things,
that wearing it might negate the components that were part
of him, that if Finn came back through the Portal to fetch him
he could follow, by wearing this. But Rix’s warning haunted
her.
‘Keiro...’
‘Shut up, Attia.’ He opened the Glove. It crackled slightly
and she smelt its fusty, ancient smell. But before he could
slide his fingers in the horse raised its head and gave a sharp
snort. Keiro froze.
Beyond the rigid waterfall the Ice Wing seemed dark and
silent, deserted in its black night. As they listened they heard
the low moan of the wind that gusted out there, a cold echo
in the meltholes and glaciers of the abandoned landscape.
And then something else.
A chink of metal.
Keiro stamped on the fire; Attia dived behind a rock. There
was no way of hiding the horse, but it stood quietly, as if it
too sensed the danger.
With the flames gone the Prison’s night was blue and
silver; the seamed currents of the waterfall twisted like
grotesque marble.
‘See anything?’ Keiro squeezed in beside her, shoving the
Glove into his shirt.
‘I thought so. Yes. There.’
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A glint, out on the tundra. Aurora reflecting on steel. A
flicker of torchlight.
Keiro swore. ‘Is it Rix?’
‘I don’t see how it can be Rix could never have caught up
with them, not with the clumsy waggons. She narrowed her
eyes and stared.
There was something out there. It lurched in the shadows.
As the light it carried flared up she glimpsed a grotesque
creature, lumpy, as if it had many heads. It clanked, as if its
body was made of chains. A thread of dread touched her
spine. ‘What is that?’
Keiro was very still. ‘Something I hoped never to run into.’
His voice was drained of all bravado; glancing at him she
saw only a flicker of his eyes.
It was making straight for them. Perhaps it could smell the
horse, or sense the frozen water. The chinking became
regular, as if the thing marched with military precision. As if
its centipede legs were a legion.
Keiro said, ‘Get on the horse. Leave everything.’
The fear in his voice made her move without question. But
the horse sensed it too, and it whinnied, loud in the silence.
The creature stopped. It whispered. It had many voices,
and its heads turned, hydra-like, to each other. Then it began
to lope raggedly, awkwardly, parts of it falling, being
dragged, staggering up. It yelled and swore at itself, bunched
in a dark bristling mass. Sword blades and flames
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gleamed in its hands. Green aurora flickered over it.
It was a Chain-gang.
Claudia stared at the boy. He straightened, saw her, and
smiled, warmly. ‘Claudia! You’ve grown up so much. You
look wonderful!’ He stepped towards her and before she
could move or the guards could stop him he had taken her
hand and kissed it, formally.
Astonished, she said, ‘Giles?’
Instantly there was uproar. The crowd buzzed with
excitement, the soldiers looked to the Queen. Sia was
standing absolutely still, as if thunderstruck; with an elegant
movement she recovered, lifted her hand and waited for
silence.
It came slowly. A guard banged his halberd on the floor.
The crowd hushed, but there were still whispers. The
Sapienti glanced at each other; Claudia saw Finn stride
forward and stare at the newcomer angrily. ‘What do you
mean, “the real Giles”? I’m Giles.’
The stranger turned and looked at him as if he was dirt.
‘You, sir, are an escaped Prisoner and an imposter. I don’t
know what malice lies behind your claims, but I can tell you
they are certainly not true. I am the rightful Heir.’ He turned
to the crowd. ‘And I’ve come to claim my inheritance.’
Before anyone else could speak the Queen said, ‘Enough!
Whoever you are, sir, you are certainly far too
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bold. I will hear this matter in private. My lords, please join
us.’ Her pale eyes glanced at Finn. ’You, too, are entitled to
hear.’
She turned, regally, and the Ambassadors and courtiers
bowed low. Claudia grabbed Finn as he came past. He shook
her off.
‘It can’t be him,’ she hissed. ‘Keep calm.’
‘Then why did you say that name? Why did you say that,
Claudia!’ He sounded furious. She had no real answer.
‘I was … it was just the shock. He has to be a pretender.’
‘Does he?’ Finn’s glare was hard. Then he had turned and
was striding swiftly through the crowd, one hand on his
sword.
The room was in uproar. Claudia felt Jared grab her sleeve.
‘Come on,’ he hissed.
They hurried to the door of the Privy Chamber, pushing
through the perfumed and bewigged mass of bodies,
Claudia gasping breathlessly, ‘Who is he? Has the Queen set
this up?’
‘If so she’s an excellent actress.’
‘Caspar hasn’t got the brains’
‘Certain metal animals then?’
She stared at him for a second, wide-eyed. Then the spears
of the door-guards clashed in front of her.
Astonished, she said, ‘Let me through.’
A flustered footman murmured, ‘I’m sorry, my lady.
Sapienti and Privy Council only.’ He glanced at Jared. ‘You
can enter, Master.’
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Claudia drew herself up. For a moment Jared almost felt
sorry for the man.
‘I am the Warden of Incarceron’s daughter: she said, in a
voice that dripped ice. ‘You will stand aside now, before I
ensure your transfer to the most rat-ridden keep in this
Realm.’
The footman was young. He swallowed. ‘Madam …’
‘Not a word.’ She stared at him, impassive. ‘Just move.’
For a moment Jared wondered if it would work. And then
an amused murmur came from behind them. ‘Oh let her in.
What harm can it do? I wouldn’t want you to miss all the
fun, Claudia.’
Faced with a grinning Caspar the footman shrank. The
guards stood back.
Instantly Claudia swept past them and through the door.
Jared waited, and bowed, and the Prince hurried after her,
his bodyguard close as a shadow. Walking behind, the
Sapient felt the door click shut at his back.
The Privy Chamber was small, and smelt musty. The seats
were of ancient red leather, arranged in a horseshoe, the
Queen’s in the centre with her coat of arms suspended over
it. The Councillors sat, the Sapienti gathered behind them.
Not knowing where to go, Finn stood near the Queen, trying
to ignore Caspar’s grin, the way he leant over and said
something in his mother’s ear, the way she tinkled a laugh.
Claudia came and stood next to him, her arms folded. They
said nothing to each other.
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‘Well?’ The Queen leant forward graciously. ‘You may
approach.’
The boy in the yellow coat came and stood within the
horseshoe. Every eye was on him, but he seemed completely
at his ease. Finn looked him over with instinctive dislike. The
same height as himself. Brown, wavy hair. Brown eyes.
Smiling. Confident.
He scowled.
The stranger said, ‘Your Majesty. My lords. I have made a
serious claim, and I understand the gravity of it. But I intend
to prove to you that what I say is true. I am indeed Giles
Alexander Ferdinand of the Havaarna, Lord of the Southern
Isles, Count of Marly, Crown Prince of this Realm.’
He was talking to all of them, but his eyes were on the
Queen. And just for a bright second, on Claudia.
‘Liar,’ Finn hissed.
The Queen said, ’I will have silence.’
The Pretender smiled. ‘I was brought up among you until
my fifteenth year. Many of you will remember me. You, Lord
Burgogne. You will remember the times I borrowed your
fine horses, the time I lost your goshawk in the Great Forest.’
The Councillor, an elderly man in a black furred robe,
looked startled.
‘My lady Amelia will remember the day when her son and
I fell out of a tree dressed as pirates and nearly landed
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on top of her.’ His smile was warm. One of the Queen’s
ladies of the Chamber nodded. Her face was white. ‘It was
so,’ she whispered. ‘How we laughed!’
‘Indeed we did. I have many such memories.’ He folded his
arms. ‘My lords, I know all of you. I can tell you where you
live, the names of your ladies. I have played with your
children. I can answer any question you ask me about my
tutors, my dear bodyservant, Bartlett, my father, the late
King, and my mother, Queen Argente.’ For a moment then, a
shadow crossed his face. But he smiled, and shook his head.
‘Which is more than this Prisoner, with his oh-so- convenient
memory loss, can do.’
Beside her, Claudia felt Finn’s stillness like a threat.
‘So where have I been all this time, you will be asking. Why
was my death faked? Or perhaps you will already have
heard from my gracious stepmother the Queen, how my
supposed fall from my horse at the age of fifteen was …
arranged, as a protection for my own safety.’
Claudia bit her lip. He was using the truth and twisting it.
He was very clever. Or had been well taught.
‘It was a time of great danger. There is a secret and sinister
organization, gentlemen, of which you may have heard. It is
known as the Clan of the Steel Wolves. Their plans have only
recently been foiled, with the failure of their attempt on
Queen Sia’s life, and the exposure of their leader, the
disgraced Warden of Incarceron.’
Now he was not looking at Claudia. He was playing the
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audience like an expert, his voice clear and steady. ‘Our spies
have been aware of them for years, and it was known that
they planned my death. My death, and the revoking of the
Edict. The end of Protocol. They would return us to the
terrors and chaos of the Years of Rage. And so I disappeared.
Not even the Queen knew of my plans. I realized that the
only way to be safe was to make them think I was already
dead. And to await my time He smiled. ‘Now, my lords, that
time has come.’
He beckoned, his gesture regal, and natural, and a footman
brought a package of paper to him.
Claudia chewed her lip anxiously.
‘I have here documentary evidence of what I say. My royal
line, my birth deeds, many letters I have received, invitations
— many of you wrote them. You will recognize them. I have
the portrait of my fiancée as a child, given by her to me at
our engagement.’
Claudia drew in a sharp breath. She glanced up at him, and
he looked steadily back.
‘Above all, Lords and Masters, I have the evidence of my
own flesh.’
He held up his hand, drew back the lacy ruffle of his
sleeve, turned slowly so that the whole room could see.
On his wrist, tatooed deep into the skin, was the crowned
Eagle of the Havaarnas.
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10
Hand to hand, skin to skin,
Twin in a mirror, Incarceron.
Fear to fear, desire to desire,
Eye to eye. Prison to prison.
SONGS OF SAPPHIQUE
It had heard them.
‘Move!’ Keiro yelled.
Attia grabbed the reins and saddle, but the horse was
terrified; it circled and whickered, and before she could
scramble up Keiro had jumped back, swearing. She turned.
The Chain-gang waited. It was male, twelve-headed,
helmeted, the bodies fused at hand and wrist and hip, linked
with umbilical skin-chains from shoulder to shoulder or
waist to waist. Beams of light shone from some of its hands;
in others were weapons; blades, cleavers, a rusted firelock.
Keiro had his own firelock out. He levelled it at the centre
of the huddled thing. ‘No nearer. Keep well away.’
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Torch-beams focused on him. Attia clung to the horse, its
sweaty flank hot and trembling under her hand.
The Chain-gang opened and its bodies moved apart; it
became a line of shadows, the movement making her think
stupidly of paper chains she had made as a child, cutting a
man and then pulling wide a line of them.
‘I said keep back!’ Keiro swivelled the weapon along the
line. His hand was steady, but he could only fire at one part
of it, and then surely the rest would attack. Or would they?’
The Chain-gang spoke.
‘We want food.’
Its voice was a ripple of repetitions, one over another.
‘We’ve nothing to give you.’
‘Liar. We smell bread. We smell flesh.’
Was it one, or many? Did it have one brain, controlling its
bodies like limbs, or was each of them a man, eternally and
horribly joined? Attia stared at it, fascinated.
Keiro swore. Then he said, ‘Throw it the bag.’
Carefully, Attia took the food-bag back off the horse and
threw it on to the ice. It skittered over the ground. A long
arm reached down and gathered it up. It disappeared into
the creature’s misshapen darkness.
‘Not enough.’
‘There’s no more,’ she said.
‘We smell the beast. Its hot blood. Its sweet meat.’
She glanced at Keiro in alarm. Without the horse
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they were trapped here. She stood beside him. ‘No. Not the
horse.’
Faint crackles of static lit the sky. She prayed the lights
would come on. But this was the Ice Wing, eternally dark.
‘Leave,’ Keiro said savagely. ‘Or I blow you away. I mean
it!’
‘Which of us? The Prison has joined us. You cannot divide
us.’
It was moving in. Out of the corner of her eye Attia saw
movement; she gasped, ‘It’s all round.’ She backed off,
terrified, suddenly sure that if one of its hands touched her,
the fingers would grow into hers.
Clinking with steel the Chain-gang had almost surrounded
them. Only the frozen falls behind offered some protection;
Keiro backed up against the seamed ice and snapped, ‘Get on
the horse, Attia.’
‘What about you?’
‘Get on the horse!’
She hauled herself up. The linked men lurched forward.
Instantly the horse reared.
Keiro fired.
A blue bolt of flame drilled the central torso; the man
vaporized instantly, and the Chain—gang screamed in
unison; eleven voices in a howl of rage.
Attia forced the horse round; leaning down to grab Keiro
she saw the thing reunite, its hands joining, the skin- chains
slithering, regrowing tight.
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Keiro turned to leap up behind her but it was on him.
He yelled and kicked out, but the hands were greedy; they
had him round the neck and the waist; they tugged him from
the horse. He struggled, swearing viciously, but there were
too many of them, they were all over him, and their knives
flashed in the blue ice-light. Attia fought the panicking horse,
leant down, snatched the flrelock from him and aimed it.
If she fired she’d kill him.
Skin-chains were wrapping him like tentacles. It was
absorbing him; he would take the place of the dead man.
‘Attia!’ His yell was muffled. The horse reared; she
struggled to keep it from bolting.
‘Attia!’ For a moment his face was clear; he saw her. ‘Fire!’
he screamed.
She couldn’t.
‘Fire! Shoot me!’
For a moment she was frozen in terror.
Then she brought the weapon up and fired.
‘How can this have happened?’ Finn stormed across the
room and flung himself into the metal chair. He stared round
at the humming grey mystery that was the Portal. ‘And why
meet here?’
‘Because it’s the only place in the entire Court that I’m
certain isn’t bugged.’ Jared closed the door carefully, feeling
the strange effect the room had, the way it straightened
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out, as if adapting to their presence. As it must do, if, as he
suspected, it was some halfway stage to the Prison.
Feathers still littered the floor. Finn kicked at them.
‘Where is she?’
‘She’ll be here.’
Jared watched the boy; Finn stared back. Quieter, he said,
‘Master, do you doubt me too?’
‘Too?’
‘You saw him. And Claudia...’
‘Claudia believes you are Giles. She always has, from the
moment she first heard your voice.’
‘She hadn’t seen him then. She said his name.’ Finn got up,
walked restlessly to the screen. ‘Did you see how polished he
was? How he smiled and bowed and held himself like a
prince? I can’t do that, Master. If I ever knew how I’ve
forgotten. The Prison has scoured it out of me.’
‘A skilled actor …’
Finn spun round. ‘Do you believe him? Tell me the truth.’
Jared linked his delicate fingers together. He shrugged
slightly. ‘I am a scholar, Finn. I am not so easily convinced.
These so-called proofs will be examined. There will certainly
be a process of questioning, for both him and you, before the
Council. Now that there are two claimants to the throne,
everything has changed.’ He glanced sidelong at Finn. ‘I
thought you weren’t eager to take up your inheritance.’
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‘I am now.’ Finn’s voice was a growl. ‘Keiro always says
what you fought for, you should keep. I only ever talked him
out of anything once’
‘When you left the gang?’ Jared watched him. ‘These things
you’ve told us about the Prison, Finn. I need to know they
are true. About the Maestra. About the Key:
‘I told you. She gave me the Key, and then she was killed.
She fell into the Abyss. Someone betrayed us. It wasn’t my
fault.’ He was resentful. But Jared’s voice was pitiless.
‘She died because of you. And this memory of the Forest, of
falling from the horse. I need to be sure that it’s real, Finn.
Not just what you think Claudia needs to hear.’
Finn’s head jerked up. ‘A lie, you mean.’
‘Indeed.’
Jared knew he was taking a risk. He kept his gaze level.
‘The Council will want to hear it too, in every detail. They
will question you over and over. It will be them you have to
convince, not Claudia.’
‘If anyone else said this, Master, I’d …’
‘Is that why your hand is on your sword?’
Finn clenched his fingers. Slowly, he wrapped both arms
around himself and went and slumped in the metal chair.
They were silent a while, and Jared could hear the faint hum
of the tilted room, a sound he had never succeeded in
isolating. Finally Finn said, ‘Violence was our way of life in
the Prison.’
‘I know. I know how hard it must be …’
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‘Because I’m not sure.’ He turned. ‘I’m not sure, Master,
who I am! How can I convince the Court when I’m not even
convinced myself!’
‘You have to. Everything depends on you.’ Jared’s green
eyes were fixed on him. ‘Because if you are supplanted, if
Claudia loses her inheritance, and I am …’ He stopped. Finn
saw his pale fingers fold together. ‘Well, there will be no one
to care about the injustices of Incarceron. And you will never
see Keiro again.’
The door opened, and Claudia swept in. She looked hot
and flustered; there was dust on her silk dress. She said,’
He’s staying in Court. Would you believe it! She’s given him
a suite of rooms in the Ivory Tower.’
Neither of them answered. Feeling the tension in the room,
she glanced at Jared, then took the blue velvet pouch out of
her pocket and crossed the room with it. ‘Remember this,
Master?’
Undoing the drawstring, she tipped it up and a miniature
painting slid out, a masterly work in its frame of gold and
pearls, the back engraved with the crowned eagle. She gave
it to Finn, and he held it in both hands.
It showed a boy smiling, his eyes dark in the sunlight. His
gaze was shy, but direct and open.
‘Is it me?’
‘Don’t you recognize yourself?’
When he answered the pain in his voice shocked her. ‘No.
Not any more. That boy had never seen men killed for
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scraps of food, had never tormented an old woman to show
where her few coins were hidden. He’d never wept in a cell
with his mind torn away, never lain awake at night hearing
the screams of children. He’s not me. He’s never been
taunted by the Prison.’
He thrust the image back at her and rolled up his sleeve.
‘Look at me, Claudia.’
His arms were pocked with old scars and burns. She had
no idea how he had got them. The mark of the Havaarna
Eagle was faded and indistinct.
She made her voice strong. ‘Well he’s never seen the stars,
then, not like you’ve seen them. This was you.’ She held it
alongside him, and Jared came to see.
The resemblance was unquestionable. And yet she knew
that the boy down there in the hail looked like this too, and
without the haunted pallor Finn still had, without the
thinness of face and that lost something in the eyes.
Not wanting him to sense her doubt she said, ‘Jared and I
found this in the cottage of a man called Bartlett. He looked
after you when you were small. He left a document, about
how much he loved you, how he thought of you as his son.’
Hopelessly, Finn shook his head.
She went on, fiercely. ‘I have paintings too, but this is better
than all of them. I think you must have given it to him. He
was the one who knew after the accident that the body
wasn’t yours, that you were still alive.’
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‘Where is he? Can we get him here?’
She caught Jared’s eye, and he said quietly, ‘Bartlett is
dead, Finn.’
‘Because of me?’
‘He knew They got to him.’
Finn shrugged. ‘Then I’m sorry. But the only old man I
loved was called Gildas. And he’s dead too.’
Something crackled.
The screen on the desk spat light. It flickered.
Jared ran straight to it, Claudia close behind. ‘What was
that? What happened?’
‘Some connection. Maybe...’
He turned. Something had changed in the hum of the
room. It seemed to draw back, to ratchet up the scale. With a
screech Claudia ran and hauled Fim out of the chair with
such a jerk that they both almost fell over. ‘It’s working! The
Portal! But how!’
‘From Inside.’ White with tension Jared watched the chair.
They all stared at it, not knowing what to expect, who might
come. Finn snatched out his sword.
Light flashed, the blinding brilliance Jared remembered.
And on the chair was a feather.
It was as big as a man.
The firelock spat flame. It sliced through the ice under the
feet of the Chain-gang and the creature howled, toppling and
sliding down the collapsed floe. Its bodies tangled,
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grabbing at each other. Attia fired again, targeting the
smashed plates of ice, yelling, ‘Come on!’
Keiro struggled to get clear. He fought and bit and kicked
with furious energy, but his feet too were slipping into the
slush, and there was still a hand gripping his long coat. Then
the fabric tore and for a moment he was free. He reached up
and she leant and grabbed him; he was heavy, but the terror
of being pulled back and smothered made him scramble over
the horse’s back behind her.
Attia shoved the weapon under her arm, struggling with
the reins. The horse was panicking; as it reared a great crack
split the night. Glancing down Attia saw that all the ice was
breaking up; from the crater she had made black crevasses
were zigzagging out. Icicles snapped off the waterfall,
smashing in jagged heaps.
The firelock was snatched from her. Keiro yelled, ‘Keep it
still!’ but the horse tossed its head in fear, its hooves
clattering and sliding down the frozen slabs.
The Chain-gang was struggling, half in meltwater. Some of
its bodies lay under the others, its chains of sinew and skin
iced with frost.
Keiro raised the weapon.
‘NO!’Attia breathed. ‘We can get away.’ And then, when he
didn’t lower it, ‘They were men once!’
‘If they remember they’ll thank me.’ Keiro’s voice was
grim.
The blast scorched them. He fired three, four, five times,
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coldly and efficiently, until the weapon sputtered and
coughed and was useless. Then he threw it down into the
charred crater.
Attia’s hands were sore on the leather reins.
She fought the horse to a standstill.
In the eerie silence the faintest whisper of wind crusted the
snow. She could not look down at the dead men; instead she
gazed up at the distant roof and felt a shiver of wonder,
because for a moment she thought she saw thousands of tiny
points of shimmering light in that black firmament, as if the
stars that Finn had told her of were there.
Keiro said, ‘Let’s get out of this hell-hole.’
‘How?’ she muttered.
The tundra was a web of crevasses. Under the broken ice
water was rising, an ocean of metallic grey. And the
glistening specks were not stars, they were the outlying
skeins of a silver fog, slowly circling down from Incarceron’s
heights.
The fog came down into their faces. It said, You should not
have killed my creatures, halfman.
Claudia stared at the huge central stalk of the feather, the
great blue barbs linked stiffly with each other. Carefully she
reached out and touched the fluffy plumes at the end. The
feather was identical with the tiny one Jared had picked up
from the lawn. But gross, swollen. Wholly wrong.
Amazed, she whispered, ‘What does it mean?’
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An amused voice answered her. ‘It means, my dear, that I
am returning your little gift.’
For a moment she couldn’t move. Then she said, ‘Father?’
Finn took her arm and turned her. She saw, appearing on
the screen very slowly, pixel by pixel, the image of a man. As
the picture completed itself she recognized him, the severity
of his dark coat, the brushed perfection of his hair, tied
elegantly back. The Warden of Incarceron, the man she still
thought of as her father, was looking down at her.
‘Can you see me?’ she gasped.
There it was. His old, cold smile.
‘Of course I can see you, Claudia. I think you would be
surprised what I can see His grey eyes turned to Jared.
‘Master Sapient, I congratulate you. I had thought the
damage I had done to the Portal would be enough. It seems,
as ever, that I underestimated you.’
Claudia linked her hands in front of her. She straightened
up, the way she always stood rigidly upright before him, as
if she was a small child again, as if his clear gaze diminished
her.
‘I return the materials of your experiment: the Warden said
drily. ‘As you can see, the problems of scale remain. I would
advise you strongly, Jared, not to send anything living
through the Portal. The results might be fatal to all of us.’
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Jared frowned. ‘But the feathers arrived there?’
The Warden smiled and did not answer.
Claudia couldn’t wait any longer. The words burst out of
her. ‘Are you really in Incarceron?’
‘Where else?’
‘But where is it? You never told us!’
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. He leant back, and she
saw he was in some dark place, because a glimmer like
flamelight reflected briefly in his eyes. A soft pulsing sound
came from somewhere in the darkness. ‘Didn’t I? Well I’m
afraid, Claudia, that you must ask your precious tutor about
that.’
She glanced at Jared. He seemed embarrassed, not meeting
her eyes.
‘Can you really not have told her, Master?’The mockery in
her father’s voice was clear. ‘And I thought you had no
secrets in your little partnership. Well, it seems you should
be careful, Claudia. Power corrupts all men. Even Sapienti.’
‘Power?’ she snapped.
His hands opened elegantly but before she could demand
more Finn elbowed her aside.
‘Where’s Keiro? What’s happening to him?’
The Warden said coldly, ‘How should I know?’
‘When you were Blaize you had a tower full of books! The
Prison’s records of everyone.You could find him. .
‘Do you really care?’ The Warden leant forward. ‘Well,
then I’ll tell you. At this moment he is fighting for his life
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with a monstrous creature of many heads’
Catching Finn’s shocked stillness he laughed. ‘And you’re
not there to watch his back. That must hurt. But this is where
he belongs. This is Keiro’s world, without friendship,
without love. And you, Prisoner, belong here too.’
The screen flickered and spat.
‘Father. . .‘ Claudia said quickly.
‘So you still call me that?’
‘What else can I call you?’ She stepped forward. ‘You’re
the only father I know.’
For a moment he gazed at her, and she noticed in the
disintegrating image that his hair was a little greyer than it
had been, his face more lined. Then he said quietly, ‘I am a
Prisoner too now, Claudia.’
‘You can Escape. You have the Keys...’
‘Had.’ He shrugged. ‘Incarceron has taken them
The image was rippling. Desperately she said, ‘But why?’
‘The Prison is consumed with desire. Sapphique began it,
because when he wore the Glove he and the Prison became
one mind. He infected it.’
‘With a disease?’
‘A desire. And desire can be a disease, Claudia: He was
watching her, his face shivering and dissolving and
reforming. ‘You are to blame too, for describing it all so well.
And so Incarceron burns with longing. For all its thousand
eyes there is one thing it has never seen, and it will do
anything to see.
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‘What?’ she breathed, already knowing.
‘Outside,’ he whispered.
For a moment no one spoke. Then Finn leant forward.
‘What about me? Am I Giles? Did you put me in the Prison?
Tell me!’
The Warden smiled at him.
Then the screen went blank.
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11
There is a growing terror in speaking with the Prison. My secrets
seem small and pitiful. My dreams seem foolish. I begin to fear it
can see even into my mind.
LORD CALLISTON’s DIARY
The fog slid between them. It was icy A mist of millions of
droplets. Attia felt it chill her skin, condense on her lips.
Remember me, Attia? it whispered.
She scowled. ‘I remember.’
‘Ride,’ Keiro muttered.
She urged the horse on, gently. But it slithered and the
ground tilted, and she knew Incarceron had them trapped
here, because the temperature was rising fast and the whole
Wing was melting around them.
Keiro must have felt it too. He snapped, ‘Leave us alone.
Go and torture some other Inmates.’
I know you, hafman. The voice was close, in their ears,
against their cheeks. You are part of me, my atoms beat in your
heart, itch in your skin. I should kill you now. I should
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melt the ice and let you drown here.
Suddenly Attia slid down from the horse. She stared up
into the grey night. ‘But you won’t. You’ve been watching
me all the time. You wrote that message on the wall!’
That I would see the stars? Yes, I used the fool’s hand. Because I
will see them, Attia, and you will help me.
Light was gathering. It showed her that through the fog
two great red Eyes were being lowered on cables. They
gleamed like rubies, one so close to Keiro its hot glare
scorched him. He slid down hastily, close behind her.
I have spent centuries longing to Escape, but who can escape
themselves? The Warden tries to tell me it won’t work, but my
plan had only one flaw and you have solved that.
‘What do you mean, the Warden?’ Keiro snapped. ‘He’s
out there with his precious daughter and her Prince.’
The Prison laughed. Its amusement was a rumble that split
the ice; floes splashed into the rising sea of meltwater. The
berg they were standing on tipped; lumps fell from its edge.
The fog opened a cavernous mouth. I see you don’t know.
The Warden is Inside now, and for ever, because both the Keys are
mine. I have used their energy to build my body.
The ice was unsteady. Attia grabbed the horse. ‘Your
body?’ she whispered.
In which I will Escape.
Keiro said, ‘That’s not possible .’
They both knew somehow that they had to keep it
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talking, that one whim of the Prison’s fickle cruelty could tip
them into the icy water, that it could open ducts that would
sweep them away, deep into the endless drains and tunnels
of its metaffic heart.
You would say that. Incarceron’s voice was rich with
contempt. You who cannot leave here because of your
imperfections. But Sapphique’s dream of the stars is mine now, and
there is a way. A secret way, a way no one expects. I am building
myself a body. Like a man c but greater, a winged creature. It will
be tall and beautiful and perfect. Its eyes will be of emerald and it
will walk and run and fly and in it I will put all my personality
and power and leave the Prison an empty shell. You have the final
piece that I need to complete it.
‘Do we?’
You know you do. I have sought my son’s lost Glove for
centuries; it has been kept secret, even from me. It laughed,
amused. But now that fool Rix has found it. And you have it here.
Keiro gave Attia a stare of alarm. The ice platform was
floating now, and on each side the fog swirled so thickly they
could see nothing of the tundra. She felt that the Prison had
indeed swallowed them, that they were travelling deep
inside its vast belly, like the man in the whale in Rix’s
patchbook.
Rix. His words flared in her memory The Art Magicke is
the art of illusion.
Waves lifted under the thinning ice. Far off in the fog she
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saw the links of a vast chain, hanging down. They were
being washed towards it. Rapidly she said, ‘You want it?’
It will be my right hand.
Keiro’s eyes were blue and bright. She saw at once what he
was planning. He said, ‘You’ll never get it.’
My son, I could kill you now and take it.
The Glove was in Keiro’s hands. ‘Not before I put it on. Not
before I know everything about you.’
No.
‘Watch me.’
NO! Lightning flickered. The fog poured in, over the horse,
hiding them from each other. Attia gripped Keiro’s elbow,
felt his heat through the coat.
‘Perhaps it’s time we made a few conditions then.’ Keiro
was invisible but his voice was steely. ‘I have the Glove. I
could wear it. I could tear it apart in seconds. But if you want
it, I could bring it to you.’
The Prison was silent.
She felt Keiro shrug. ‘It’s up to you. It seems to me this is
the only thing in this Hell you can’t control. The Glove was
Sapphique’s. It has strange power. Spare our lives and show
us the way, and it’s yours. Otherwise I put it on. And what
will that make me?’
She could see him now. The fog retreated, drew back. In a
moment of horror she realized that they were alone on a berg
of ice in a wide sea of water, a greasy metallic ocean. It
stretched as far as she could see in every direction, and
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the two Eyes of the Prison slid into it and stared up at her
thoughtfully through its slow, turgid ripples.
Your arrogance is surprising
‘I’ve had a lot of practice,’ Keiro said.
You cannot know what the Glove does.
‘You don’t know what I know.’ He stared down, defiant.
‘There are no little red Eyes in my brain, tyrant.’
Lights came on. High in the roof Attia glimpsed walkways
and suspended roads, a whole Wing miles above them,
where tiny dots that must be people clustered and looked
down.
Ah but what if there are, halfman? What f I see even there?
Keiro laughed. It was hollow, but if the Prison had just
named his own darkest dread he covered it well. ‘You don’t
scare me. Men made you, men can unmake you.’
Indeed. The voice was dry and angry. Then very well, we will
make a deal. Bring me the Glove and I will reward you with
Escape. But should you ever attempt to put it on I will burn you
and it to a cinder. I will have no rivals.
The chain hung before them. It was huge and heavy and it
fell into the sea with a splash, the molten water sending up a
thick spray that Attia could taste on her lips. As the metal
rattled down they saw that a transitway was hauled behind
it, a track that unrolled on the sea’s heaving surface,
vanishing into the remnants of mist.
Keiro hauled himself back on to the horse, but before he
could ride Attia said, ‘Don’t even think about leaving me here.’
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‘I don’t need you. I’ve got the Glove now’
‘You need an oathbrother.’
‘I’ve got one of those, too.’
‘Yes,’ she said sourly. ‘But he’s busy.’
Keiro stared down at her. His hair was long and damp; it
gleamed in the light. His eyes were cold and calculating; for
a moment she knew he would ride away. And then he leant
down and hauled her up.
‘Only till I find someone better.’ he said.
The Queen held a State dinner that evening in the Claimants’
honour.
As Claudia sat at the long table licking the last traces of
lemon syllabub from her spoon she thought of her father.
Seeing him had shaken her. He had looked thinner, his
contempt less assured. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking
about what he’d said. But surely Incarceron, the very
intelligence the Sapienti had created, could never leave the
Prison, because if it did all that would be left would be a
dark shell of metal. Millions of Prisoners would die, without
light, air, food. It had to be impossible.
Trying not to think of it she watched Finn anxiously
through the candles and wax fruit and hothouse
arrangements. He had been placed next to the Countess of
Amaby, one of the teasing, mincing women of the Court who
were fascinated by his moodiness, and who would gossip
maliciously about him afterwards. He seemed to be
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barely answering her endless chat, staring into his winecup,
and drinking too much, Claudia thought.
‘Poor Finn. He looks so unhappy,’ the Pretender
murmured.
Claudia frowned. Queen Sia had placed the two Prince
Giles opposite each other, halfway down the table, and now
from her throne was watching them both.
‘Yes. Well, that’s your fault.’ Claudia put the spoon into her
dish and looked straight at him. ‘Who are you? Who’s put
you up to this?’
The boy who called himself Giles smiled sadly. ‘You know
who I am, Claudia. You just won’t admit it to yourself.’
‘Finn is Giles.’
‘No, he isn’t. It was convenient for you to believe that once.
I don’t at all blame you. If I’d had to face marrying Caspar
I’d have done something as drastic, and I’m sorry for leaving
you to such a fate... But you know you’d already started to
doubt Finn even before I came back from the dead. Hadn’t
you?’
She watched him in the candlelight and he leant back and
smiled. Close to, his resemblance to Finn was astonishing,
but it was as if they were strange twins — one bright, the
other dark, one easy, the other tormented. Giles
— she didn’t know what else to call him — wore a silk coat
of peach satin, his dark hair perfectly groomed and tied in a
black ribbon. His fingernails, she noticed, were
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manicured, the hands of someone who had never worked.
He smelt of lemon and sandalwood. His table manners were
exquisite.
‘You’re so sure of yourself,’ she murmured. ‘But you have
no idea what I think.’
‘Don’t I?’ He leant forward as the footmen cleared the
dishes and set small gilt-edged plates. ‘We were always
alike, Claudia. I used to say to Bartlett …’
‘Bartlett?’ She stared at him, startled.
‘A dear old man who was my chamberlain. He was the one
I talked to most, after Father died, about us, about our
marriage. He said you were a haughty little thing, but he
liked you.’
She sipped her wine, barely tasting it. The things he said,
his casual memories, disturbed her. A haughty little thing. The
old man had written something almost identical in the secret
testament she and Jared had found. And surely only they
knew of its existence.
As small dishes of strawberries were served she said, ‘If
Giles was locked in Incarceron the Queen was part of the
plot. So she must know Finn is the real Princes
He smiled, shaking his head, eating the fruit.
‘She doesn’t want Finn to be King Claudia went on,
stubborn. ‘But if he died, it would be far too suspicious. So
she decides to discredit him. First she needs to find someone
who’s the same age, and who looks like him.’
Giles said, ‘These strawberries are really wonderful.’
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‘Did she send out messengers through the Realm?’ Claudia
dipped a finger in the bowl of rosewater. ‘They must have
been delighted when they found you. A real lookalike.’
‘You really should try them.’ His smile was warm.
‘A bit too sweet for me.’
‘Then let me.’ He swapped his dish for hers, politely. ‘You
were saying?’
‘Only two months to train you. Not enough, but you’re
clever. You’d learn fast. First they’d use a skinwand, get the
likeness exact. Then they’d drill you in etiquette, family
history, what Giles ate, rode, liked, who he played with,
what he studied. They’d teach you to ride and dance. They’d
make you memorize his whole childhood.’ She glanced at
him. ‘They must have a few Sapienti in their pay. And they
must have promised you a fortune.’
‘Or be holding my poor dear mother in a dungeon, maybe.’
‘Or that.’
‘But I’m to be King, remember?’
‘They’ll never let you be King.’ Claudia glanced down at
Sia. ‘They’ll kill you, when you’ve served your purpose.’
For a moment he was silent, dabbing his mouth with a
linen napkin, and she thought she’d scared him. Then she
saw he was gazing at Finn through the haze of candle smoke,
and when he answered his light humour had vanished.
‘I came back to save the Realm from being ruled by a
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thief and a murderer He turned. ‘And to save you from him
too.’
Startled, she glanced down. His fingers touched hers on the
white tablecloth.
Carefully, she drew her hand away. ‘I don’t need saving.’
‘I think you do. From that barbarian, and from my evil
stepmother. We should stand together, Claudia. We should
watch each other’s back, and think of the future.’ He turned
the crystal glass carefully. ‘Because I will be King. And I will
need a Queen I can trust.’
Before she could answer a loud rapping came from the
high end of the table. The majordomo was beating the floor
with his staff. ‘Your excellencies. Lords, Ladies, Masters. The
Queen will speak.’
The babel of chatter hushed. Claudia caught Finn’s dark
glare, fixed on her; she ignored it and looked at Sia. The
Queen was standing, a white figure, her pale neck glistening
with a diamond necklace that caught the flamelight in its
rainbow brilliants. She said, ‘Dear friends. Let me give you a
toast.’
Hands went to glasses. Down the table Claudia saw the
peacock-bright coats of the men and the women’s satins
shimmer. Behind, in the shadows, rows of silent footmen
waited.
‘To our two Claimants. To dear Giles She raised her glass
archly to the Pretender, then turned to Finn. ‘And dear
Giles.’
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Finn glowered. Someone tittered a nervous laugh. In the
moment of tension no one seemed to breathe.
‘Our two Princes. Tomorrow the investigation will begin
into their stories.’ Sia’s voice was light; she smiled coyly.
‘This . . . rather unfortunate … situation will be resolved.
The true Prince will be discovered, I do assure you. As for
the other, the Impostor, I’m afraid he will pay dearly for the
inconvenience and anxiety he has caused our Realm.’ Her
smile was icy now. ‘He will be shamed and tortured. And
then he will be executed.’
Utter silence.
Into it she said lightly, ‘But with a sword, not an axe. As
befits royalty.’ She raised her glass. ‘To Prince Giles of the
Havaarna.’
Everyone stood, in a rattle of chairs. ‘Prince Giles,’ they
murmured.
As she drank Claudia tried to hide her shock, tried to catch
Finn’s eye, but it was too late. He stood slowly, as if the long
tension of the meal had broken, glaring across at the
Pretender. His stillness made the buzz and chatter subside
into quiet curiosity.
‘I am Giles,’ he said,’ and Queen Sia knows it. She knows
my memory was lost in Incarceron. She knows I have no
hope of answering any of the Council’s questions.’ The
bitterness of his voice made Claudia’s heart thump. She put
down her glass hurriedly and said, ’Finn,’ but he stormed on
as if he hadn’t heard her, his gaze hard on the courtiers.
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‘What should I do, ladies and gentlemen? Do you want me
to take a DNA test? I’ll do it. But then, that wouldn’t be
Protocol, would it? That would be forbidden! The technology
for that is hidden and only the Queen knows where. And
she’s not saying.’
The guards at the door edged forwards. One drew his
sword.
If Finn saw he didn’t care. ‘There’s only one way to solve
this, the way of honour, the way we’d do it in Incarceron.’
He pulled a glove from his pocket, a studded gauntlet, and
before Claudia realized what it meant he had shoved the
dishes aside and flung it between the candles and flowers. It
struck the Pretender full in the face; a shocked murmur
rippled down the table.
‘Fight me.’ Finn’s voice was thick with anger. ‘I challenge
you. Any weapons. Your choice. Fight me for the Realm.’
Giles’s face was white, his control icy. He said, ‘I would be
most happy to kill you, sir, at any hour and with any weapon
I can find.’
‘Absolutely not.’ The Queen’s voice was sharp. ‘There will
be no duelling. I totally forbid it.’
The two Claimants glared at each other, like reflections in a
smoky mirror. From down the table Caspar’s drawl rose. ‘Oh
let them, Mama. It would save so much bother.’
Sia ignored him. ‘There will be no duel, gentlemen. And
the investigation will begin tomorrow’ She held Finn with
her ice-pale eyes. ‘I will not be disobeyed.’
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He bowed, stiffly, and then thrust back his chair and
stalked out, the guards moving hastily aside. Claudia stood
but Giles said softly, ‘Don’t go, Claudia. He’s nothing, and he
knows it.’
For a moment she paused. Then she sat. She told herself it
was because Protocol forbade anyone leaving before the
Queen, but Giles smiled at her, as if he knew something else.
Furious, she fidgeted for twenty minutes, her fingers tapping
her empty glass, and when finally the Queen rose and she
could slip away, she raced up to his room and knocked on
the door.
‘Finn. Finn, it’s me.’
If he was there he would not answer.
Finally, she walked down the panelled corridor to the
casement at its end and gazed out at the lawns, leaning her
forehead on the cool glass. She wanted to storm and yell at
him. What was he thinking of? How would fighting help! It
was just the sort of stupid, arrogant thing Keiro would have
done.
But he wasn’t Keiro.
And biting her nail, she recognized, deep inside herself, the
sickening doubt that had been growing in her mind for two
months. That perhaps she had made a terrible mistake. That
perhaps he wasn’t Giles either.
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12
He opened the window and looked out at the night. ‘The world is
an endless loop,’ he said. ‘A Möbius strip, a wheel in which we run.
As you have discovered, who have travelled so far just to find
yourself where you started from.’
Sapphique went on stroking the blue cat. So you can’t help me?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t say that.’
SAPPHIQUE AND THE DARK ENCHANTER
The trackway undulated over the leaden sea.
At first Keiro let the horse gallop, and whooped at the
speed and the freedom, but that was dangerous, because the
metal trackway was slippery, slushy water washing right
over it. The mist hung close, so that Attia felt they were
riding through cloud with only glimpses now and then of
distant dark shapes, which might have been islands, or hills.
Once, a jagged chasm gaped to one side.
Finally the horse was so weary it could barely run. After
nearly three hours Attia came back from drowsiness
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to realize that the sea was gone. Around them the mist was
shredding, to reveal a jungle of spiny cacti and aloes, head
high, the great leaves blade-sharp. A path ran straight into it,
the plants at each side curled and crisp, smoking blackly, as
if Incarceron had drilled this road only minutes ago.
‘It’s not going to let us get lost, is it?’ Keiro muttered.
They dismounted and made an uncomfortable camp in the
fringe of the forest. Gazing in, Attia smelt the scorched soil,
saw the skeletons of leaves like cobwebs of fine metal.
Though neither of them said anything, she saw Keiro eyeing
the undergrowth uneasily, and as if the Prison mocked their
fear it put the lights out, abruptly.
There was little left to eat — some dried meat and a cheese
that Attia sliced the mould from, and two apples stolen from
Rix’s stores for the horse. As she chewed, she said, ‘You’re
crazier than Rix
He looked at her. ‘Am I?’
‘Keiro, you can’t make deals with Incarceron! It will never
let you Escape, and if we bring it the Glove . . .‘
‘Not your problem.’ He threw the apple core away, lay
down and wrapped a blanket around him.
‘Of course it is.’ She glared at his back, furiously. ‘Keiro!’
But he didn’t answer, and she had to sit, nursing her anger,
until the change in his light breathing told her he was asleep.
They should have taken turns to keep watch. But
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she was too tired to care, and so they both slept at once,
curled in musty blankets while the tethered horse snuffled
hungrily.
Attia dreamt of Sapphique. Some time in the night he came
out of the forest and sat down next to her, stirring up the
glowing ashes of the fire with a long stick, and she rolled
over and stared at him. His long dark hair shadowed his
face. The high collar of his robe was worn and frayed. He
said, ‘The light is going.’
‘What?’
‘Can’t you feel it being used up? Fading away?’ He glanced
at her sideways. ‘The light is slipping through our hands.’
She glanced at the hand holding the charred stick. The right
forefinger was missing, its stump seamed white with scars.
She whispered, ‘Where is it going, Master?’
‘Into the Prison’s dreams.’ He stirred the fire, and his face
was narrow and strained. ‘This is all my fault, Attia. I
showed Incarceron that there is a way Out.’
‘Tell me how.’ Her voice was urgent; she shuffled up close
to him. ‘How you did it. How you Escaped.’
‘Every Prison has a crack.’
‘What crack?’
He smiled. ‘The tiniest, most secret way. So small the
Prison does not even know it exists.’
‘But where is it? And does the Key open it, the Key the
Warden has?’
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‘The Key unlocks only the Portal.’
She suddenly felt cold with fear, because he replicated
before her, a whole line of him like images in a mirror, like
the Chain-gang in its manacles of flesh.
She shook her head, bewildered. ‘We have your Glove. Keiro
says—’
‘Don’t put your hand into that of a beast.’ His words
whispered through the spiny undergrowth. ‘Or you will be
made to do its work. Keep my Glove safe for me, Attia.’
The fire crackled. Ashes shifted. He became his own
shadow, and was gone.
She must have slept again because it seemed hours later
when the clink of metal woke her, and she sat up and saw
Keiro saddling the horse. She wanted to tell him about the
dream, but it was already hard to remember. Instead she
yawned, and stared up at the Prison’s distant ceiling.
After a while she said, ‘Do the lights seem different to
you?’
Keiro tugged the girth straps. ‘Different how?’
‘Weaker.’
He glanced at her, then up. For a minute he was still. Then he
went on loading the horse. ‘Maybe.’
‘I’m sure they are.’ Incarceron’s lights were always
powerful, but now there seemed a faint flicker to them. She
said,’lf the Prison is really building a body for itself it must
be using enormous reserves of power to do it. Draining
energy from its systems. Maybe the Ice Wing isn’t the only
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wing shut down. We haven’t seen anyone since that creature
back there. Where are they all?’
Keiro stood back. ‘Can’t say I care.’
‘You should.’
He shrugged. ‘Rule of the Scum. Care for no one but your
brother.’
‘Sister
‘I told you, you’re temporary.’
Later, climbing up behind him on to the horse she said,
‘What happens when we get to wherever Incarceron is
taking us? Are you just going to hand over the Glove?’
She felt Keiro’s snort of laughter through his gaudy scarlet
jerkin. ‘Watch and learn, Iitt1e dog—slave.’
‘You haven’t got a clue. Keiro, listen to me! We can’t help it
do this!’
‘Not even for a way Out?’
‘For you, maybe. But what about the others? What about
everyone else?’
Keiro urged the horse to a run. ‘No one in this hell-hole has
ever cared for me,’ he said quietly.
‘Finn...’
‘Not even Finn. So why should I care for them? They’re not
me, Attia. They don’t exist for me.’
It was useless arguing with him. But as they rode into the
dim undergrowth she let herself think of the terror of it, of
the Prison shutting down, the lights going off and never
coming back on, the cold spreading. Systems would seize
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up, foodslots shut down. Ice would form quickly and
unstoppably, through whole wings, down corridors, over
bridges. Chains would become masses of rust. Towns would
freeze, the houses cold and deserted, the market stalls
collapsed under howling snowdrifts. The air would turn to
poison. And the people! There was no way to imagine them,
the panic, the fear and loneliness, the trampling savagery
such a collapse would unleash, the bloody struggle for
survival. It would be the destruction of a world.
The Prison would withdraw its mind, and leave its children
to their fate.
Around them, light faded to a green gloom. The path was
cindery and silent, the horse’s hooves muffled in the
incinerated dust. Attia whispered, ‘Do you believe that the
Warden is in here?’
‘If so, things are not going smoothly for my princely
brother.’ He sounded preoccupied.
‘If he’s still alive.’
‘I told you, Finn can bluff his way out of anything. Forget
him.’ Keiro peered into the gloom. ‘We’ve got our own
troubles.’
She scowled. The way he talked about Finn annoyed her,
his pretence of not caring, of not being hurt. Sometimes she
wanted to scream her anxiety at him but that would be
useless, would only draw the grin, the cool shrug. There was
an armour round Keiro. He wore it flamboyantly and
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invisibly. It was as part of him as his dirty yellow hair, his
hard blue eyes. Only once, when the Prison had cruelly
shown them his imperfection, had she ever glimpsed
through it. And she knew he would never forgive Incarceron
for that, or for what he felt he was.
The horse stopped.
It whickered. Its ears flattened.
Alert, Keiro said, ‘See anything?’
Great briars wreathed round them, barbed with spines.
‘No,’ she said.
But she could hear something. A small sound, very far off,
like a whisper from a nightmare.
Keiro had heard it too. He turned, listening. ‘A voice? What’s
it saying?’
Faint, repeated over and over, a tiny breath of triple
syllables.
She kept very still. It seemed crazy, impossible. But.
‘I think it’s calling my name,’ she said.
‘Attia! Attia, can you hear me?’
Jared adjusted the output and tried again. He was hungry
but the bread roll on the platter was hard and dry. Still, it
was better than feasting upstairs with the Queen.
Would she notice he wasn’t there? He prayed not, and the
anxiety made his fingers tremble on the controls.
Over his head the screen was a stripped—down mass of
wires and circuitry, cables rigged into and out of its
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connectors. The Portal was silent, apart from its usual hum.
Jared had grown to like its silence. It soothed him, so that
even the pain that pushed its jagged edge into his chest
seemed blunted down here. Somewhere high above, the
labyrinth of the Court teemed with intrigue, tower on tower,
chamber within chamber, and beyond the stables and
gardens lay the countryside of the Realm, wide and perfect
in its beauty under the stars.
He was a dark flaw in the heart of that beauty He felt the
guilt of it, and it made him work with agitated concentration.
Since the Queen’s silken blackmail, her offer of the
Academy’s bidden lore, he had barely been able to sleep,
lying awake in his narrow bed, or pacing the gardens so
deep in hope and fear that it had taken hours for him to
notice how closely she was having him followed.
So, just before the banquet, he had sent her a brief note.
I accept your offer. I leave for the Academy tomorrow at dawn.
Jared Sapiens
Every word had been a wound, a betrayal. That was why he
was here now.
Two men had followed him to the Sapients’ Tower, he had
made sure of that, but Protocol meant that they had not been
able to enter. The Tower here at Court was a great stone keep
full of the apartments of the Queen’s Sapienti, and unlike his
own at home at the Wardenry this was a
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model of Era, a maze of orreries and alchemical alembics and
leatherbound books, a mockery of learning. But it was a true
labyrinth, and in his first days here he had discovered
passageways and covered vaults that led discreetly out to the
stables, the kitchens, the laundry rooms, the stills. Losing the
Queen’s men had been almost too easy.
But he had made sure. For weeks now the staircase down
to the Portal had been guarded by his own devices. Half of
the spiders that hung on plastic webs in the dirty cellars
were his observers.
‘Attia. Attia. Can you hear me? This is Jared. Please
answer.’
This was his last chance. The Warden’s appearance had
shown him that the screen still worked. That artful flickering
out had not fooled Jared — Claudia’s father had switched off
rather than answer Finn’s question.
At first he had thought of searching for Keiro, but Attia
was safer. He had sampled the recordings of her voice, the
images of her he and Claudia had seen through the Key;
using the finding mechanism he had once seen the Warden
use he had experimented for hours with the complicated
imputs. Suddenly, when he had been almost ready to give
up, the Portal had sparked and crackled into life. He hoped it
was searching, pinpointing the girl in the vastness of the
Prison, but it had been humming all night now and in his
weariness he could no longer keep out the feeling that it
wasn’t really achieving anything at all.
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He drank the last of the water, then reached into his pocket
and brought out the Warden’s watch and put it on the desk.
The tiny cube clicked on the metal surface.
The Warden had told him that this cube was Incarceron.
He spun it gently, with his little finger.
So small.
So mysterious.
A prison you could hang on your watchchain.
He had subjected it to every analysis he knew, and there
were no readings. It had no density, no magnetic field, no
whisper of power. No instrument he possessed had been
able to penetrate its silvery silence. It was a cube of unknown
composition, and inside it was another world.
Or so the Warden had told him.
It struck Jared now that they had only John Arlex’s word
for that. What if it had just been his last taunting legacy to his
daughter? What if it had been a lie?
Was that why he, Jared, hadn’t told her yet?
He had to do it now. She should know.The thought that
she should also know about his arrangement with the Queen
rose up at once and tormented him.
He said, ‘Attia, Attia. Answer me. Please.’
But all that answered was a sharp beep in his pocket. He
whipped out the scanner and swore softly. Maybe the
watchers had got tired of snoring on the Tower doorstep and
come looking for him.
Someone was creeping through the cellars.
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* * *
‘We should stay on the path,’ Keiro snapped down at her;
she was staring intently into the undergrowth.
‘I tell you I heard it. My name.’
Keiro scowled and slid down from the horse. ‘We can’t ride
in there.’
‘Then we crawl’ She had crouched, was on hands and
knees. In the green gloom a tangle of roots sprawled under
the high leaves. ‘Underneath. It has to be fairly close!’
Keiro hesitated. ‘If we turn aside the Prison will think
we’re double-crossing it.’
‘Since when were you scared of Incarceron?’ She looked up
at him and he stared back hard, because she always seemed
to know just how to needle him. Then she said, ‘Wait here.
I’ll go on my own,’ and crawled in.
With a hiss of irritation Keiro tethered the horse tight and
crawled in after her. The leaf litter was a mass of tiny brittle
foliage; he felt it crunch under his knees, stab through his
gloves. The roots were vast, a snaky smooth mesh of metal.
After a while he realized they were great cables, snaking out
into the Prison’s soil, supporting the foliage like a canopy.
There was hardly room to raise his head, and over his bent
back briars and thorns and brambles of steel tore and
snagged his hair.
‘Keep lower,’ Attia muttered. ‘Lie flat.’
Keiro swore long and viciously as his scarlet coat ripped at
the shoulder. ‘For god’s sake, there’s nothing—’
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‘Listen.’ She stopped, her foot in his face. ‘Hear it?’
A voice.
A voice of static and crackle, as if the spiny branches
themselves had picked up its repeated syllables.
Keiro rubbed his face with a dirty hand. ‘Go on,’ he
said quietly.
They crawled under the razor-sharp tangle. Attia dug
her fingers in the litter and pulled herself along. Pollen
made her sneeze; the air was thick with micro—dust. A
Beetle scurried, clicking, through her hair.
She wriggled past a thick trunk and saw, as if it was
wreathed in the forest of thorn and razorwire, the wall of a
dark building.
‘It’s like Rix’s book,’ she gasped.
‘Another one?’
‘A beautiful princess sleeps for a hundred years in a
ruined castle.’
Keiro grunted, dragging his hair from thorns. ‘So.’
‘A thief breaks in and steals a cup from her treasure. She
turns into a dragon and they fight.’
Keiro wriggled up next to her. He was breathless, his
hair lank with dirt and sweat. ‘I must be thick even to listen
to you. Who wins?’
‘The dragon. She eats him, and then . . .‘
Static crackled.
Keiro hauled himself into a dusty space. Bines sprawled
up a wall of dark glossy brick. In its base a very tiny
172
wooden door was smothered with ivy.
Behind it, the voice sparked and crackled.
‘Who’s there?’ it whispered.
173
13
I fooled the Prison
I fooled my father.
I asked a question
It could not answer.
SONGS OF SAPPHIQUE
‘It’s me! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’
Jared closed his eyes in relief. Then he opened the door and
let Claudia dart in. Her evening dress was covered with a
dark cloak. She said, ‘Is Finn here?’
‘Finn? No …’
‘He’s challenged the Pretender to a duel. Can you believe
that?’
Jared went back to the screen. ‘I’m afraid I can, Claudia.’
She stared beyond him at the mess. ‘Why are you here in
the middle of the night?’ Coming closer, she looked at him
closely. ‘Master, you look so drained. You should sleep.’
‘I can sleep at the Academy.’ There was a bitter note in his
voice that she didn’t recognize.
174
Worried, she crouched on the workbench, pushing the fine
tools aside. ‘But I thought …’
‘I leave tomorrow, Claudia.’
‘So soon?’ It shook her. She said, ‘But . . . you’re getting so
close to success. Why not take a few more days. .
‘I can’t.’
He was never so short with her. She wondered if it was the
pain, driving him on. And then he sat, folding his long thin
fingers together on the desk, and said sadly, ‘Oh Claudia,
how I wish we were safely at home at the Wardenry. I
wonder how my foxcub is doing, and the birds. And I miss
my observatory, Claudia. I miss looking out at the stars.’
Gently she said, ‘You’re homesick, Master.’
‘A little.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sick of the Court. Of its stifling
Protocol. Of its exquisite meals and endlessly sumptuous
rooms where each door hides a watcher. I should like a little
peace.’
It silenced her. Jared was rarely gloomy; his grave calm
was always there, a safe presence at her back. She fought
down her alarm. ‘We’ll go home then, Master, as soon as
Finn is safely on the throne. We’ll go home. Just you and me.’
He smiled, nodding, and she thought he looked wistful.
‘That may be a long time. And a challenge won’t help.’
‘The Queen’s forbidden them to fight.’
‘Good.’ His fingers tapped together on the desk. She
realized that the systems were all live, the Portal humming
with distorted energy.
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He said, ‘I have something to tell you, Claudia. Something
important.’ Leaning forward, he didn’t look at her.
‘Something I should have told you before, that I shouldn’t
have kept from you. This journey to the Academy. There is a
reason that . . . the Queen has allowed me to go …’
‘To search the Esoterica, I know,’ she said impatiently,
pacing up and down. ‘I know! I just wish I could come. Why
let you and not me? What’s she up to?’
Jared raised his head and watched her. His heart was
hammering; he felt almost too ashamed to speak. ‘Claudia
…’
‘But then perhaps it’s just as well I’m staying. A duel! He’s
got no idea how to behave! It’s as if he’s forgotten all he ever
was …’
Catching her tutor’s eye she stopped and laughed an
awkward laugh. ‘Sorry What were you going to say?’
There was an ache in him that was not caused by his
illness. Dimly he recognized it as anger, anger and a deep,
bitter pride. He had not known he was proud. You are her
tutor, her brother, and more her father than I have ever been. The
Warden’s scorching words of jealousy came back to him; for
a moment he savoured them, gazing at Claudia as she
waited, so unsuspecting. How could he destroy the trust
between them?
‘This,’ he said. He tapped the watch that lay on the desk.
‘I think you ought to have it.’
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Claudia looked relieved, then surprised. ‘My father’s
watch?’
‘Not the watch. This.’
She came closer. He was touching the silver cube that hung
on the chain. It had been so familiar in her father’s hands that
she barely noticed it, but now a sudden wonder swept her
that her father — so austere a man — should have worn a
charm.
‘Is it for good luck?’
Jared did not smile. ‘It’s Incarceron,’ he said.
Finn lay in the long grass looking up at the stars.
Through the dark blades the distant brilliance of their light
brought him a sort of comfort. He had come here with the
hot jealousy of the banquet still burning in him, but the
silence of the night and the beauty of the stars were easing it
away.
He shuffled his arm behind his head, feeling the prickle of
grass down his neck.
They were so far away. In Incarceron he had dreamt of
them, his symbol of Escape; now he realized they were still
that, that he was still imprisoned. Perhaps he always would
be. Perhaps it would be best just to disappear, to ride away
into the Forest and not come back. It would mean
abandoning Keiro, and Attia.
Claudia wouldn’t care. He moved uncomfortably as he
thought it, but the thought stayed. She wouldn’t. She’d end
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up marrying this Pretender and being Queen, as she’d
always meant to be.
Why not?
Why not just go?
Where, though? And how would he feel riding through the
endless Protocol of this stifled world and dreaming every
night of Keiro in the metallic, livid hell of Incarceron, not
knowing if he was alive or dead, maimed or insane, killing or
already dead?
He rolled over, curling up. Princes were supposed to sleep
in golden beds with damask canopies, but the Palace was a
nest of enemies, he couldn’t breathe there. The familiar
prickle behind his eyes had gone, but the dryness in his
throat warned him that the fit had been near. He had to be
careful. He had to have more control.
And yet the angry moment of the challenge was dear to
him. He relished it, over and again, seeing the Pretender
jerking aside, the slap of redness on his face. He’d lost his
cool then, and Finn smiled in the dark, his cheek resting on
the damp grass.
He rolled swiftly and sat up. The wide lawns were grey in
the starlight. Beyond the lake the woods of the estate raised
black heads against the sky. The gardens smelt of roses and
honeysuckle, sweet in the warm summer air.
He lay back again, staring up.
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The moon, a ruined hollow, hung like a ghost in the east.
Jared had told him that it had been attacked in the Years of
Rage, that now the ocean tides were altered, that the fixed
orbit had changed the world.
And after that they had stopped all change altogether.
When he was King, he would change things. People would
be free to do or say what they wanted. The poor wouldn’t
have to slave on great estates for the rich. And he would find
Incarceron, he would release them all.. . But then, he was
going to run away.
He stared up at the white stars.
Finn Starseer doesn’t run. He could almost hear Keiro’s
sarcasm.
He turned his head, sighed, stretched out.
And touched something cold.
With a shiver of steel his sword was in his hand; he had
leapt up, was alert, his heart thudding, a prickle of sweat on
his neck.
Far off in the lighted palace a drift of music echoed.
The lawns were still empty. But there was something small
and bright stuck in the grass just above where his head had
been.
After a moment, listening intently, he bent down and
picked it up. And as he stared at it, a shiver of fear made his
hand shake.
It was a small steel knife, wickedly sharp, and its handle
was a wolf, stretched thin, jaws open and savage.
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Finn drew himself up and looked all around, his hand tight
on the swordhilt.
But the night was silent.
The door gave at the third kick. Keiro dragged a cable of
bramble away and ducked his head inside. His voice came
back, muffled. ‘Corridor. Have you got the torch?’
She handed it to him.
He scraped in, and she waited, hearing only muffled
movement. Then he said, ‘Come on.’
Attia crawled through, and stood up beside him. The
interior was dark, and filthy. It had obviously been
abandoned years ago, maybe centuries. A lumber of junk lay
in heaps under cobwebs and grime.
Keiro shoved something aside and manoeuvred himself
between a heaped desk and a broken cupboard. He wiped
the dust off with his gloved hand and stared down at the
litter of broken crockery ‘Just what we need:
Attia listened. The corridor led into darkness, and nothing
moved down there, but the voices. There were two of them
now, and they faded oddly in and out of hearing.
Keiro had his sword ready. ‘Any trouble, we’re out of here.
One Chain-gang is enough for any lifetime.’
She nodded, and made to move past him, but he grabbed
her and shoved her behind him. ‘Watch my back. That’s your
job.’
Attia smiled sweetly. ‘And I love you too,’ she whispered.
180
They walked warily down the dim space. At the end a
great door stood ajar, fixed immovably half open, and when
she slipped through behind Keiro Attia saw why; furniture
had been piled and heaped against it, as if in some last
desperate attempt to keep it closed.
‘Something went on here. Look there.’ Keiro flashed the
handlight at the floor. Dark stains marred the paving. Attia
guessed it might once have been blood. She looked closer at
the junk, then around, at the galleried hall. ‘It’s all toys,’ she
whispered.
They stood in the wreckage of a sumptuous nursery. But
the scale was all wrong. The doll’s house that she stared at
was enormous, so that she could almost have crawled in, her
head squashed against the ceiling of the kitchen, where
plaster hams hung and a joint had fallen from its spit. The
upstairs windows were too high to see into. Hoops and tops
and balls and skittles were littered across the room’s centre;
walking over to them she felt an amazing softness under her
feet, and when she knelt and felt it it was carpet, black with
grime.
Light grew. Keiro had found candles; he lit a few and stuck
them around.
‘Look at this. A giant, or dwarves?’
The toys were bewildering. Most were too big, like the
huge sword and ogre-sized helmet that hung from a hook.
Others were tiny; a scatter of building blocks no bigger than
salt grains, books on a shelf that started as vast folios at
181
one end and went down to minuscule locked volumes at the
other. Keiro heaved open a wooden chest and swore to find
it overflowing with dressing-up clothes of all sizes. Still, he
rummaged in there and found a leather belt with gilt
trappings. There was a pirate’ coat too, of scarlet leather.
Immediately he tugged off his own and put the new one on,
strapping the belt tight around it. ‘Suit me?’
‘We’re wasting time.’ The voices had faded. Attia turned,
trying to identify where the sound came from, edging
between the vast rocking-horse and a row of dangling
puppets that hung, broken-necked and tangle-limbed, on the
wall, their small eyes watching her, red as Incarceron’s.
Beyond them were dolls. They lay tumbled, princesses with
golden hair, whole armies of soldiers, dragons of felt and
cambric with long, forked tails.Teddies and pandas and
stuffed animals Attia had never seen lay in a heap as high as
the ceiling.
She waded in and heaved them aside.
‘What are you doing?’ Keiro snapped.
‘Can’t you hear them?’
Two voices. Small and crackling. As if the bears spoke, the
dolls conversed. Arms and legs and heads and blue glass
eyes tumbled apart.
Under them was a small box, the lid inlaid with an ivory
eagle.
The voices were coming from inside it.
182
* * *
For a long moment Claudia said nothing. Then she came
close, picked up the watch and let the cube hang on its chain
and turn so that it glittered in the light.
Finally she whispered, ‘How do you know?’
‘Your father told me.’
She nodded, and he saw the fascination in her eyes. ‘You
hold a world in your hands. That’s what he said to me.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I wanted to try some tests on it. None of them worked. I
suppose I wanted to make sure he was telling the truth.’
The screen crackled. Jared looked at it absently. Claudia
watched the cube turn. Was this really the hellish world she
had entered, the Prison of a million prisoners? Was this
where her father was?
‘Why would he lie? Jared?’
He wasn’t listening. He was at the controls, adjusting
something, so that the hum in the room modulated. She felt a
sudden nausea, as if the world had shifted, and she put the
watch down hurriedly.
‘The frequency’s changed!’ Jared said. ‘Maybe . . . Attia’
Attia! Can you hear me?’
Only silence crackled. Then, to their astonishment, faint
and far away, they heard music.
‘What is that?’ Claudia breathed.
183
But she knew what it was. It was the high, silly tinkle of a
musical box.
Keiro held the box open. The tune seemed too loud; it filled
the cluttered hail with an eerie, menacing jollity. But there
was no mechanism, nothing to produce it. The box was
wooden and completely empty but for a mirror inside its lid.
He turned it upside down and examined the underside.
‘Doesn’t seem possible.’
‘Give it to me.’
He glanced at her, then handed it over.
She held it tight, because she knew the voices lay here,
behind the music. ‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘It’s Attia.’
‘There was something Jared ran his delicate fingers over
the controls, jabbing quickly. ‘There. There! Hear it?’
A crackle of words. So loud that Claudia winced, and he
reduced the volume instantly.
‘It’s me. ItsAttia.’
‘We’ve got her!’ Jared sounded hoarse with joy. ‘Attia, this
is Jared! Jared Sapiens. Tell me if you can hear me.’
A minute of static. Then her voice, distorted, but
intelligible. ‘Is it really you?’
Jared glanced at Claudia, but her face made his triumph
die. She looked oddly stricken, as if the girl’s voice had
brought back dark memories of the Prison.
184
Quietly he said, ‘Claudia and I are both here. Are you well,
Attia? Are you safe?’
Crackle. Then another voice, sharp as acid. ‘Where’s Finn?’
Claudia breathed out, slowly. ‘Keiro?’
‘Who bloody else. Where is he, Claudia? Where’s the
Prince? Are you there, oathbrother? Are you listening to me,
because I’m going to break your filthy neck.’
‘He’s not here.’ Claudia moved closer to the screen. It was
rippling frantically. Jared made a few adjustments. ‘There,’
he said quietly.
She saw Keiro.
He looked just the same. His hair was long and he’d tied it
back; he wore some flashy coat with knives in his belt. There
was a fierce anger in his eyes. He must be able to see her too,
because instant scorn broke over his face. ‘Still in the silks
and satins then.’
Behind him, she saw Attia, in the shadows of some
cluttered room. Their eyes met. Claudia said, ‘Listen, have
you seen my father?’
Keiro let his breath out in a silent whistle. Glancing at Attia
he said, ‘So it’s true? He’s Inside?’
Her voice sounded small. ‘Yes. He took both Keys but the
Prison has them now. It’s got this fanatical plan. . . It wants
to build . .
‘A body. We know’ Keiro enjoyed the brief silence of their
astonishment, but Attia snatched the box back and said, ‘Is
Finn all right? What’s happening there?’
185
‘The Warden sabotaged the Portal.’ Jared looked strained,
as if time was short. ‘I’ve made some repairs but . . . We can’t
get you Out yet.’
‘Then …’
‘Listen to me. The Warden is the only one who can help
you. Try and find him. How are you seeing us?’
‘Through a musical box.’
‘Keep it with you. I might ...’
‘Yes, but Finn!’ Attia was pale with anxiety. ‘Where’s
Finn?’
Around her the nursery suddenly rippled. Keiro yelled in
alarm. ‘What was that?’
Attia stared. The whole fabric of the world had thinned.
She had a sudden terror that she might somehow fall
through it, down, like Sapphique, into the eternal
blackness. And then the grimy carpet was firm under her
feet and Keiro was saying, ‘The Prison must be furious. We
have to go.’
‘Claudia!’ Attia shook the box, seeing only herself in the
mirror. ‘Are you still there?’
Voices, arguing. Noise, movement, a door opening. And
then a voice said, ‘Attia. This is Finn.’ The screen lit, and
she saw him.
She couldn’t speak.
Words eluded her; there were so many of them to say.
She managed his name. ‘Finn...?’
‘Are you both all right? Keiro, are you there?’
186
She felt Keiro standing close behind her. His voice, when it
came, was dark and mocking.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Look at you.’
187
14
None of us know who we are any more.
THE STEEL WOLVES
Finn and Keiro stared at each other.
Years of reading his oathbrother’s moods told Finn this one
was savage. Knowing Claudia and Jared were watching he
rubbed his flushed face. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Oh I’m just as you’d expect. My oathbrother’s Escaped. I
have no gang, no Comitatus, no food, no home, no followers.
I’m an outcast in every Wing, a thief who steals from thieves.
I’m the lowest of the low, Finn. But then, what else do you
expect from a halfman?’
Finn closed his eyes. The dagger of the Steel Wolves was in
his belt; he felt its edge against his ribs.
‘It’s not all Paradise out here.’
‘Oh really?’ Arms folded, Keiro surveyed hini. ‘You look
well set up to me, brother. Hungry, are you?’
‘No, but …’
188
‘Sore? Dead-beat? Bleeding from fighting off a chain of
monsters?’
‘No’
‘Well I am, Prince Finn!’ Keiro exploded into rage. ‘Don’t
stand there in your golden palace asking for my sympathy.
What happened to your plans to get us Out!’
Finn’s heart was beating too loud; his skin prickled. He felt
Claudia close up behind him; as if she knew he couldn’t
answer she said firmly, ‘Jared is doing everything he can. It’s
not easy, Keiro. My father saw to that. You’ll have to be
patient.’
There was a snort of scorn from the screen.
Finn sat on the metal chair. He leant forward, both hands
on the desk, towards them. ‘I haven’t forgotten you. I haven’t
abandoned you. I think about you all the time. You must
believe me.’
But it was Attia who answered. ‘We do. We’re all right,
Finn. Please don’t worry about us. Do you still get the
visions?’
The concern in her eyes warmed him a little. ‘Some.
They’re trying medicines, but nothing helps.’
‘Attia.’ It was Jared who interrupted, his voice intrigued.
‘Tell me, are you near any object that might be emitting
power? Any part of the Prison’s systems?’
‘I don’t know.. . We’re in some sort of. . . nursery’
‘Did she say nursery?’ Claudia whispered.
Finn shrugged. All he was, watching was Keiro’s silence.
189
‘It’s just …’ Jared was puzzled. ‘There are some peculiar
readings coming in.As if some potent source of energy was
very close to you.’
Attia said, ‘It must be the Glove. The Prison wants—’ Her
voice stopped, abruptly. There was a scuffle and a mutter,
and the screen tilted and flickered and went black.
Jared said, ‘Attia! Are you all right?’
Muffled and angry; Keiro’s voice hissed, ‘Shut up!’Then,
louder, ‘The Prison’s unstable. We’re getting out of here.’
A muffled yelp. A whiplash of steel.
‘Keiro?’ Finn leapt up. ‘He’s drawn his sword. Keiro!
What’s going on there?’
A clatter. Distinctly they heard Attia’s hiss of fear. ‘The
puppets,’ she breathed.
Then nothing but static.
She’d bitten Keiro’s hand; now he jerked it away from her
mouth and she gasped. ‘Look. Look!’
He turned, and saw. The puppet on the end of the row was
moving. The strings that worked it were taut from the roof’s
darkness, and its head was lifting, turning smoothly to look
at them.
One lank hand rose and pointed. The jaw clacked.
I told you not to betray me, it said.
Attia backed, holding the musical box tight, but it gave a
broken clank in her hands and the mirror cracked into pieces.
She threw it down.
190
The puppet jerked upright, knock.-kneed, rickety as a
skeleton. Its face was some ancient harlequin, the nose
hooked and hideous. It wore a striped jester’s cap and bells.
Its eyes were red.
‘We haven’t,’ Keiro said rapidly. ‘We heard a voice and
came to find out what it was. We’ve got the Glove safe and
we’re still bringing it to you. I didn’t let her tell them about
it. You saw that.’
Attia scowled at him. Her mouth was sore where he had
clamped his hand over it.
I saw. The wooden jaw opened and closed, but its voice,
with its faint echo, came from nowhere. You interest me,
Prisoner. I could destroy you and yet you defy me.
‘What’s new?’ Keiro’s drawl was sarcastic. ‘You could
destroy us all, any time.’ He stepped up to the puppet, his
handsome face to its ugliness. ‘Or is there some twisted
remnant of your programming left? He says, the Sapient out
there, that you were made to be a Paradise. We should have
had everything. So what went wrong? What did you do,
Prison? What turned you into a monster?’
Attia stared at him, appalled.
The puppet raised its hands and feet and danced, a slow,
macabre caper.
Men went wrong. Men like you, who seem so bold and are in fact
riddled with fears. Crawl back to your horse and ride on my road,
Prisoner.
‘I’m not afraid of you.’
191
No? Shall I tell you then, Keiro, the answer to u’hat torments
you? It would end the pain for ever, because you’d know. The
puppet’s face bobbed mockingly before him. You’d know how
far the circuitry and plastic reaches into your body, how much of
you is flesh and blood, how much of you belongs to me.
‘I already know.’
Attia was shocked at the whisper his voice had become.
No you don’t. None of you know. To find out you must open
up your heart, and die. Unless I tell you. Shall I tell you, Keiro?
‘No.’
Let me tell you now. Let me end the uncertainty.
Keiro looked up. His eyes were blue and blazing with
anger. ‘We’ll go back to your stinking road. But I swear one
day it’ll be me doing the tormenting.’
I can see you want to know. Very well. In fact, you are—
The sword slashed. With a yell of fury Keiro sliced
through the strings and the puppet collapsed, a heap of
splinters and a mask.
Keiro stamped on them; the face cracked under his boot.
He raised his face, eyes blazing. ‘Do you see that! Having a
body will make you vulnerable, Prison-puppet. If you have a
body you can die!’
The dark nursery was silent.
Breathing hard, he whirled round and saw Attia’s face.
He scowled. ‘I suppose that stupid grin is because Finn is
alive.’
‘Not entirely,’ she said.
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* * *
Claudia ran down the stairs next morning, slipping past the
retainers carrying the Queen’s breakfast. Probably the
Pretender’s too, she thought. She glanced up at the Ivory
Tower, wondering how he was enjoying his splendour. If he
was some farm-boy, it would all be new to him. And yet his
manner had been so assured. His hands so smooth!
Quickly, before the doubts came back, she turned into the
stables, past the rows of cybersteeds to the real horses at the
end.
Jared was adjusting his saddle.
‘You haven’t got much baggage,’ she muttered.
‘The Sapient carries all he needs in his heart. Which is from
where, Claudia?’
‘Martor Sapiens. The Illuminatus. Book One.’ She watched
Finn lead out his horse, surprised. ‘Are you coming too?’
‘You suggested it.’
She had forgotten that. It rather annoyed her now; she
wanted to see Jared on his way by herself, to say goodbye to
him privately. He might be away for days, and the Court
would be even more hateful in his absence.
If Finn noticed he said nothing, turning and swinging
himself up into the saddle expertly. Riding had come
naturally to him, though he had no memory of doing it
before the Prison. He waited, while Claudia’s horse was
saddled and the groom held her foot while she mounted
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‘Is that outfit in Era?’ he asked quietly.
‘You know very well it isn’t.’
She wore a boy’s riding coat and trousers under her skirt.
Watching Jared turn his horse she said suddenly, ‘Change
your plans, Master, don’t go. After what happened last night
…‘
‘I have to go, Claudia.’ His voice was strained and low; he
rubbed the horse’s neck gently. ‘Please don’t make me feel
worse than I do about it.’
She didn’t see why. It would mean work on the Portal
would pause, just when they were having success. But he
was her tutor, and though he rarely exercised it, his authority
was real. Besides, she sensed he had his own reasons for
going. The Sapienti returned yearly to the Academy; perhaps
his superiors had summoned him.
‘I’ll miss you.’
He looked up, and for a moment she thought there was a
desolation in his green eyes. Then he smiled and it was gone.
‘And I you, Claudia.’
They rode slowly through the courtyards and quadrangles
of the vast palace. Servants drawing water and hauling in
waggonloads of kindling stared, their eyes on Finn. It made
him ride proudly, trying to look like a prince. Housemaids
shaking sheets outside the laundry stopped to watch. At the
corner of the scrivener’s offices Claudia saw Medlicote come
out of the door. As she rode past he bowed, elaborately.
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Jared raised an eyebrow. ‘That looks meaningful.’
‘Leave him to me.’
‘I don’t like leaving you with that problem, Claudia.’
‘They won’t try anything, Master. Not if the Pretender is
their candidate.’
Jared nodded, the breeze lifting his dark hair. Then he said,
‘Finn, what did Attia mean by the Glove?’
Finn shrugged. ‘Sapphique made a wager with the Prison
once. Some say they played dice, but Gildas had a version
where they told riddles. Anyway, the Prison lost.’
‘So what happened?’ Claudia asked.
‘If you were a Prisoner you’d have guessed. Incarceron
never loses. It shed the skin from its claw and vanished. But
Sapphique took the skin and made a glove and used it to
cover his maimed hand. The story says when he put it on he
knew all the Prison’s secrets.’
‘Including the way Out?’
‘Presumably.’
‘So why did Attia mention it?’
‘Why did Keiro try to stop her mentioning it, rather?’
Jared’s voice was thoughtful. He glanced at Finn. ‘Keiro’s
anger troubles you.’
‘I hate him like that.’
‘It will pass.’
‘I’m more worried about what happened to cut them off.’
Claudia glanced at Jared, who nodded.
As they reached the cobbled entrance the noise of
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the clattering hooves drowned talk. They rode under three
gateways and through the vast Barbican with its murder—
holes and portcullis. The vaguely medieval arrowslits were
not Era, of course, but the Queen thought them picturesque.
They had always made the Warden tut with displeasure.
Beyond, the green fields of the Realm stretched out in their
morning beauty. Claudia breathed a sigh of relief. She
grinned at Finn. ‘Let’s gallop.’
He nodded. ‘Race you up the hill.’
It was a joy to be riding, and free of the Court. She urged
the horse on, and the breeze lifted her hair, and the sky was
blue and sunlit. On all sides in the golden fields birds sang
among the corn; as the lanes divided and narrowed vast
hedges rose on each side, the deep tracks hollowed with
apparent age. She had no idea how much of this landscape
was real — certainly some of the birds, and the hosts of
butterflies . . . surely they were real. In truth, if they weren’t,
she didn’t want to know. Why not accept the illusion, just for
one day?
The three of them slowed on the top of a small hill and
gazed back at the Court. Its towers and pinnacles earned in
the sun. Bells were ringing, and the glass roof shone like
diamond.
Jared sighed. ‘It’s strange how beguiling illusion can be.’
‘You always told me to beware of it,’ Claudia said.
‘So you should. As a society we have lost the ability to
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tell the real from the fake. Most of the Court, at least, don’t
even care which is which. It concerns the Sapienti greatly.’
‘Maybe they should enter the Prison,’ Finn muttered. ‘We
never had any trouble.’
Jared glanced at Claudia, and they both thought of the
watch, which she wore now, safe in her deepest pocket.
It was two leagues to the fringes of the Forest, and almost
midday when they approached it.
The road to this point had been broad and well-used —
traffic between the Court and the western villages was
steady, and the ruts of wheels had cut deep in the baked
mud.
But once under the green canopy the trees gradually closed
in, and vast deer-nibbled boughs of mighty oaks gave way to
the tangled undergrowth of the wildwood. Branches hung
heavily overhead, the sky barely seen through their meshed
leaves.
Finally they came to the crossroads and the track that
branched off to the Academy. It ran downhill through a
green clearing, crossed a stream on a clapperbridge and
wound its way up the other side into the wood again.
Jared stopped. ‘I’ll go on from here alone, Claudia.’
‘Master . . .‘
‘You need to get back. Finn must be there for the
investigation.’
‘I don’t see the point,’ Finn growled.
‘It’s vital. You have no memories, so you must impress
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them by your personality. By the strength you have, Finn.’
Finn gazed at him. ‘I don’t know I have any, Master.’
‘I believe you do.’ Jared smiled, calmly. ‘Now, I ask you to
look after Claudia, while I’m gone.’
Finn raised an eyebrow and Claudia snapped, ‘I can look
after myself.’
‘And you must look after him. I depend on both of you.’
‘Don’t worry about us, Master.’ Claudia leant over and
kissed him. He smiled, and turned the horse, but she saw
how under his calm there was a tension as if this separation
meant more than she knew.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Sorry?’
‘For going.’
She shook her head. ‘You’ll only be a few days.’
‘I did what I could.’ His eyes were dark in the forest
shadows. ‘Remember me kindly, Claudia.’
She suddenly had nothing to say. A chill struck her; she
wanted to stop him, to call after him, but he had urged the
horse and it was already striding away down the lane.
Only when he had reached the bridge did she stand in the
stirrups and yell, ‘Write to me!’
‘He’s too far Firm muttered, but Jared turned and waved
his hand.
‘His hearing is excellent,’ she said, foolishly proud.
They watched until the dark horse and its slim rider
disappeared under the eaves of the wood. Then Finn sighed.
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‘Come on. We should get back.’
They rode slowly and silent. Claudia was moody; Finn
barely spoke. Neither of them wanted to think about the
Pretender, or what decision the Council would come to.
Finally Finn looked up. ‘It’s darker. Isn’t it?’
The slants of sunlight that had lit the Forest earlier had
gone. Instead clouds had gathered, and the breeze had
become a wind, threshing high branches.
‘There’s no storm ordered. Wednesday’s the Queen’s
archery day.’
‘Well, it looks like a storm to me. Maybe it’s real weather.’
‘There is no real weather, Finn. This is the Realm.’
But in ten minutes rain began. It came as a pattering and
was suddenly a torrent, lashing with tremendous noise
through the leaves. Claudia thought of Jared and said, ‘He’ll
be soaked?
‘So will we!’ Finn glanced around. ‘Come on. Hurry!’
They galloped. The ground was already soft; the hooves
splashed into puddles that spilled over the track. Branches
whipped at Claudia’s face; her hair flew out across her eyes
and plastered itself to her cheek. She shivered, unused to the
cold and the wet.
‘This is all wrong. What’s going on?’
Lightning spat; from overhead the low, heavy grumble of
thunder rolled down the sky. For a moment Finn knew it
was the voice of Incarceron he heard, its terrible, cruel
mockery, knew he had never Escaped at all. He turned and
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yelled, ‘We shouldn’t be under the trees. Hurry!’
They whipped the horses up and raced. Claudia felt the
rain like blows in her chest; as Finn pulled ahead she
shouted at him to wait, to slow down.
Only his horse replied. With a high whinny it reared,
hooves kicking the air, and then to her horror it fell,
crashing on one side, and he rolled from it, slamming into
the ground.
‘Finn!’ she screamed.
Something slashed past her, whipping into the wood,
thudding into a tree.
And then she knew it wasn’t rain, or lightning.
It was a hail of arrows.
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Ruined,
Like the Moon
201
202
15
Each man and woman will have their place and be content with it.
Because f there is no change, what will disturb our peaceful lives?
KING ENDOR’S DECREE
‘Claudia!’
Finn rolled over as a firelock blazed; the tree next to him
was scorched with diagonal fire. ‘Get down!’
Did she have no idea how to act in an ambush? Her
horse was panicking; he took a deep breath and ran from
cover, grabbing it by the bridle. ‘Get down!’
She jumped, and they both fell. Then they were
squirming into the bushes, lying fiat, breathless. Around
them the forest roared with rain.
‘Hurt?’
‘No. You?’
‘Bruised. Nothing serious.’
Claudia dragged soaked hair from her eyes. ‘I can’t believe
this. Sia would never order it. Where are they?’
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Finn was watching the trees intently. ‘Over there, behind
that thicket, maybe. Or high in the branches.’
That alarmed her. She twisted to see but rain blinded her
She wriggled further back, her hands deep in leaf- flitter, the
stink of decaying foliage rich in her face.
‘Now what?’
‘We regroup,’ Finn’s voice was steady. ‘Weapons? I’ve got
a sword and knife.’
‘There’s a pistol in my saddlebag.’ But the horse had
already bolted. She glanced sidelong at Finn. ‘Are you
enjoying this?’
He laughed, a rare event. ‘It livens things up. But back in
Incarceron we used to be the ones doing the ambushing.’
Lightning blinked. Its brilliance lit the wood and the rain
came down harder, hissing through the bracken.
‘I could try and crawl to that oak: Finn muttered in her ear.
‘And get round …’
‘There might be an army out there:
‘One man. Maybe two, no more: He squirmed back, the
bushes rustling. Instantly two arrows thwacked into the bole
of the tree above them. Claudia gasped.
Finn froze. ‘Well, maybe not.’
‘This is the Steel Wolves,’ she hissed.
Finn was silent a moment. Then he said, ‘Can’t be. They
could have killed me last night:
She stared at him through the downpour. ‘What?’
‘They left this next to my head.’ He held up the dagger;
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the snarling wolfshead dripping in his fingers.
Then as one, they turned. Voices were approaching
through the hissing forest.
‘See them?’
‘Not yet.’ She eased forward.
‘I think our enemy has.’ Finn watched the small
movements of branches. ‘I think they’re puffing out.’
‘Look.’ A waggon was rumbling along the track,
precariously laden with mown hay, the loose cover flapping
in the wind. A brawny man walked beside it and another
drove, sackcloth hoods covering their faces, their boots thick
with mud.
‘Peasants.’ Claudia said. ‘Our only chance.’
‘The archers might still be—’
‘Come on.’ Before he could stop her she scrambled out.
‘Wait! Please, stop!’
The men stared. The big one swung a heavy cudgel up as
he saw Finn behind her, sword in hand. ‘What’s this?’ he
said sourly.
‘Our horses were frightened and ran off. By the lightning.’
Claudia shivered in the rain, puffing her coat around her.
The big serf grinned. ‘Bet you had to hold each other tight
then?’
She drew herself upright, aware that she was soaked and
her hair dripped in a tangled mess, made her voice cold and
imperious. ‘Look, we need someone to go and find our
horses, and we need...’
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‘The rich always need.’ The cudgel tapped against the raw
red hands. ‘And we all have to jump but it won’t always be
like that. One day soon…’
‘Enough, Rafe.’ The voice came from the waggon, and
Claudia saw that the driver had pushed back his hood. His
face was wrinkled, his body bent. He seemed old, but his
voice was strong enough. ‘Follow us, missy. We’ll get you to
the cottages, and then we’ll find your horses.’
With a low hup! he whipped up the ox, and the heavy beast
lumbered past. Claudia and Finn kept close under the shelter
of the towering load of hay, wisps slipping off and drifting
down on them. Above the trees the sky had begun to clear;
the rain ended quite suddenly, and a shaft of sunlight broke
through, lighting the distant aisles of the forest. The storm
was passing as quickly as it had come.
Finn glanced back. The muddy track was empty. A
blackbird began to sing in its stillness.
‘They’ve gone,’ Claudia muttered.
‘Or they’re following.’ Finn turned. ‘How far are these
cottages?’
‘Just here, lad, just here. Don’t you fret. I won’t let Rafe rob
you, even if you are Court folk. The Queen’s people, are
you?’
Claudia opened her mouth indignantly but Finn said, ‘My
girl works for the Countess of Harken. She’s a lady’ maid.’
She fixed him with a stare of astonishment, but
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the wizened driver nodded. ‘And you?’
He shrugged. ‘A groom in the stables. We borrowed the
horses, it was such a fine day. . . We’ll get into terrible
trouble now. Beaten, probably.’
Claudia watched him. His face was as doleful as if he
believed the story himself; something about him had
changed in a moment to an apprehensive servant, his best
livery ruined by the mud and rain.
‘Ah well. We were all young once.’ The old man winked at
Claudia. ‘Wish I was young again.’
Rafe guffawed with mirth.
Claudia set her lips tight, but tried to look miserable. She
was cold and wet enough for it.
When the waggon clattered through a broken gateway she
muttered quietly to Finn, ‘What are you up to?’
‘Keeping them on our side. If they knew who we were …’
‘They’d jump to help! We could pay …’
He was watching her strangely. ‘Sometimes, Claudia, I
think you don’t understand anything at all.’
‘Such as what?’ she snapped.
He nodded ahead. ‘Their lives. Look at this.’
Cottages was hardly a word for them. Two lopsided,
squalid buildings squatted at the edge of the track. Their
thatch was in holes, wattle and daub walls patched with
hurdles. A few ragged children ran out and stared, silent,
and as Claudia came closer she saw how thin they were,
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how the youngest coughed and the oldest was bow-legged
with rickets.
The waggon rumbled into the lee of the buildings. Rafe
yelled at the children to find the horses and they scattered,
and then he ducked under one of the low doorways. Claudia
and Finn waited for the older man to climb down. His
hunched back was even more evident when he stood, no
taller than Finn’s shoulder.
‘This way, lord’s groom and lady’s maid. We don’t have
much, but we do have a fire.’
Claudia frowned. She followed him down the steps under
the wooden lintel.
At first she saw nothing but the fire. The interior was black.
Then the stink rose up and hit her with its full force, and it
was so bad she gasped and stopped dead, and only Finn’s
shove in her back made her stumble on. The Court had its
share of bad smells but there was nothing like this; a stench
of animal dung and urine and sour milk and the fly-buzzed
remnants of bones that cracked in the straw under her feet.
And above all, the sweet smell of damp, as if the whole hovel
was settling deep into the earth, tilting and softening, its
wooden posts rotten and beetle-bored.
As her eyes became used to the gloom she saw sparse
furnishings — a table, joint-stools, a box-bed built into the
wall. There were two windows, small and wood-slatted, a
branch of ivy growing in through one.
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The old man dragged up a stool for her. ‘Sit, missy, and dry
yourself. You too, lad. They call me Tom. Old Tom.’
She didn’t want to sit. There were certainly fleas in the
straw The miserable poverty of the place sickened her. But
she sat, holding out her hands to the paltry fire.
‘Put some kindling on.’ Tom shuffled to the table.
‘You live here alone?’ Finn asked, tossing on dry sticks.
‘My wife died these five years. But some of Rafe’s young
ones sleep here. He has six, and his sick mother to care for
…’
Claudia noticed something in a dim doorway; she realized
after a moment that it was a pig, snuffling the straw of the
adjoining room. That would be the byre.
She shivered. ‘You should glass the windows. The draught is
terrible.’
The old man laughed, pouring out thin ale. ‘But that
wouldn’t be Protocol, would it? And we must abide by the
Protocol, even as it kills us.’
‘There are ways round it,’ Finn said softly.
‘Not for us.’ He pushed the pottery cups towards them.
‘For the Queen maybe, because them that make the rules can
break them, but not for the poor. Era is no pretence for us, no
playing at the past with all its edges softened. It’s real. We
have no skinwands, lad, none of the precious electricity or
plastiglas. The picturesque squalor the Queen likes to ride
past is where we live. You play at history. We endure it.’
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Claudia sipped the sour beer. She realized she had always
known this. Jared had taught her, and she had visited the
poor of the Wardenry, ruled over by her father’s strict
regime. Once, in a snowy January; seeing beggars from the
coach, she had asked him if more couldn’t be done for them.
He had smiled his remote smile, smoothed his dark gloves.
‘They are the price we pay, Claudia, for peace. For the
tranquillity of our time.’
A small cold flame of anger burned in her now,
remembering. But she said nothing. It was Finn who asked,
‘Is there resentment?’
‘There is.’ The old man drank, and rapped his pipe on the
table. ‘Now, I have little food but...’
‘We’re not hungry.’ Finn hadn’t missed the evasion, but
Claudia’s voice interrupted him.
‘May I ask you, sir. What is that?’
She was staring at a small image in the darkest corner of
the room. A slant of sunlight caught it; showed a crude
carving of a man, his face shadowy; his hair dark.
Tom was still. He seemed dismayed; for a moment Finn
was sure he would yell for the brawny neighbour. Then he
went on knocking dust from his pipe. ‘That is the Nine-
Fingered One, missy.’
Claudia put down her cup. ‘He has another name.’
‘A name to be spoken in whispers.’
She met his eye. ‘Sapphique.’
The old man looked at her, then Finn. ‘His name
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is known in the Court then. You surprise me, Miss lady’s
maid.’
‘Only among the servants: Finn said quickly. ‘And we
know very little of him. Except that he Escaped from
Encarceron.’ His hand shook on the cup. He wondered what
the old man would say if he knew that he, Finn, had spoken
to Sapphique in visions.
‘Escaped?’The old man shook his head. ‘I know nothing
about that. Sapphique appeared from nowhere in a flash of
blinding light. He possessed great powers of magic
— they say he turned stones into cakes, that he danced with
the children. He promised to renew the moon and free the
Prisoners.’
Claudia glanced at Finn. She was desperate to know more,
but if they asked too much the old man would stop. ‘Where
exactly did he appear?’
‘Some say the Forest. Others a cave, far to the north, where
a charred circle is still burnt on the mountainside. But how
can you pin down such a happening?’
‘Where is he now?’ Finn asked.
The old man stared. ‘You don’t know? They tried to silence
him, of course. But he turned himself into a swan. He sang
his final song and flew away to the stars. One day he will
return and end the Era for ever.’
The fetid room was silent. Only the fire crackled. Claudia
didn’t look at Finn. When he spoke again his question
shocked her.
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‘So what do you know of the Steel Wolves, old man?’
Tom paled. ‘I know nothing of them.’
‘No?’
‘I don’t talk of them.’
‘Because they plan revolution, like your loose-tongued
neighbour? Because they want to murder the Queen and the
Prince, and destroy Protocol?’ Finn nodded. ‘Wise to keep
silent then. I suppose they tell you when that happens the
Prison will be opened and there will be no more hunger. Do
you believe them?’
The hunchback stared back evenly at him across the table.
‘Do you?’ he whispered.
A tense silence. It was broken by the stamp and rattle of
hooves, a child’s shout.
Tom rose slowly. ‘Rafe’s boys have found your horses:
He looked at Claudia, then back at Finn and said, ‘I think
perhaps too much has been said here. You’re no groom, lad.
Are you a prince?’
Finn smiled ruefully. ‘I’m a Prisoner, old man. Just like
you.’
They mounted and rode back as quickly as they could.
Claudia had given all the coins she had to the children.
Neither spoke. Finn was alert for another ambush, Claudia
still brooding over the injustice of Era, her own unthinking
acceptance of riches. Why should she be rich? She had been
born in Incarceron. If it hadn’t been for the Warden’s
ambitions she would be there still.
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‘Claudia, look,’ Finn said.
He was staring through the trees, and glancing up at the
alarm in his voice she saw a tall plume of smoke rising
ahead.
‘It looks like a fire.’
Anxious, she urged her horse on. As they emerged from
the forest and clattered under the barbican the acrid smell
grew. Smoke filled the inner courtyards of the Palace and as
they galloped in the wind was crackling. A frenzied army of
ostlers and grooms and servants were running, dragging out
horses and squawking hawks, hauling pumps, buckets of
water.
‘Where is it?’ Claudia swung down.
But she could already see where it was. The whole ground
floor of the East Wing was ablaze, furniture and hangings
being tossed out of windows, the great bell ringing, flocks of
disturbed doves flapping in the hot air.
Someone came up beside her and Caspar’s voice said,
‘Such a pity, Claudia. After all dear Jared’s hard work:
The cellars. The Portal. She gasped, and raced after Finn. He
was already at one of the doorways, black smoke billowing
out into his face, flames flickering deep in the building. She
grabbed him and he shook her away. Then she grabbed him
again and hauled him back and he turned, his face white
with shock. ‘Keiro! It’s our only way to him!’
‘It’s finished; she said. ‘Don’t you see? The ambush was to
keep us away. They’ve done this.’
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Following her gaze, he looked behind.
Queen Sia stood on the balcony, a white lace
handkerchief to her face. Behind her, calm and
unconcerned, his eyes on the collapsing crash of stone and
flame, was the Pretender.
‘They’ve sealed the Portal,’ Claudia said bleakly. ‘And it’s
not only Keiro. They’ve trapped my father Inside.’
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16
A great Fimbulwinter will close down on the world.
Darkness and cold will spread from Wing to Wing. There will come
one called the Unsapient, from far away,
from Outside.
He wiIl plot and scheme with Incarceron.
They will make the Winged Man …
SAPPHIQUE’S PROPHESY OF THE WORLD’S END
Attia, holding tight to Keiro on the horse, stared past
his shoulder.
They had finally reached what seemed the end of the
spiny jungle, because the road led out and downhill. The
horse stood wearily, snorting frosty breath.
Framing the road was a black archway. It bristled with
spikes, and on its top perched a long-necked bird.
Keiro frowned. ‘I hate this. Incarceron is leading us by
the nose.’
She said, ‘Maybe it’ll lead us to some food then. We’ve
eaten nearly everything.’
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Keiro kicked the horse on.
As they neared it, the black arch seemed to grow, its
massive shadow stretching out towards them until they
entered its darkness. Here the road glittered with frost; the
horse’s hooves rang with metallic clarity on the iron paving.
Attia stared up. The bird on the summit was enormous, dark
wings spread wide, and just as she rode under it she realized
it was a statue, and not of a bird but a man with great wings,
as if he was ready to leap, and fly.
‘Sapphique,’ she whispered.
‘What?’
‘The statue . . . it’s Sapphique.’
Keiro snorted. ‘What a surprise.’ His voice doubled,
echoing. They were well under the vault; it smelt of urine
and damp, and green slime ran down its walls. She was so
stiff she wanted to stop, to climb down and walk, but Keiro
was in no mood to linger. Since they had spoken to Finn he
had been silent and moody, his answers viciously sharp. Or
he had ignored her altogether.
But then she hadn’t wanted to talk much either. Hearing
Finn’s voice had been a sudden joy, but almost at once it had
soured, because he had sounded so different, so full of
anxiety.
I haven’t abandoned you. I think about you all the time.
Was that true? Was his new life really not the Paradise he’d
expected?
In the darkness of the vault she said angrily, ‘You should
216
have let me tell them about the Glove. The Sapient knew
there was something. It might have helped...’
‘The Glove is mine. Don’t forget it.’
‘Ours.’
‘Don’t push me too far, Attia.’ He was silent a moment,
then muttered, ‘Find the Warden, Jared said. Well, that’s just
what we’re doing. If Finn’s failed us we have to look out for
ourselves.’
‘So it wasn’t that you were scared to tell them,’ she said
acidly.
His shoulders tightened. ‘No. It wasn’t. The Glove is none
of Finn’s business.’
‘I thought oathbrothers shared everything.’
‘Finn has freedom. He isn’t sharing that.’
Suddenly they rode out from the archway, and the horse
stopped, as if in astonishment.
In this Wing the light was a dull red. Below them was a hall
larger than any Attia had ever seen, its distant floor
crisscrossed by transitways and tracks. They were high in its
roof, and from their feet a great curving viaduct carried the
road across, so that Attia could see its arches and tapering
columns disappearing into the mirk. Fires burned like tiny
Eyes on the floor of the hail.
‘I’m stiff.’
‘Get down then.’
She slid from the horse and the road felt unsteady under
her feet. She crossed to the rusty railing and looked over.
217
There were people down there, thousands of them. Great
migrations of people, pushing trucks and waggons, carrying
children. She saw flocks of sheep, a few goats, some precious
cattle, the herders’ armour gleaming in the coppery light.
‘Look at this. Where are they all going?’
‘The opposite way to us.’ Keiro didn’t dismount. He sat
tall, gazing down. ‘People are always moving in the Prison.
They always think there’s somewhere better. The next Wing,
the next level. They’re fools.’
He was right. Unlike the Realm, Incarceron was always in a
state of change; Wings were reabsorbed, doors and gates
sealed themselves, steel bars sprang up in tunnels. But she
wondered what cataclysm had caused such numbers to
travel, what force drove them on. Was this the result of the
dying light? The growing cold?
‘ Come on,’ Keiro said. ‘We have to cross this thing, so let’s
get on with it.’
She didn’t like the idea. The viaduct was barely wide
enough for a waggon. It had no parapets, just a surface
potholed with rust and a gulf of air on each side. It was so
high faint wisps of cloud hung unmoving across it.
‘We should lead the horse. If it panics …’
Keiro shrugged and dismounted. ‘Fine. I’ll lead, you come
behind. Stay alert.’
‘No one’s going to attack us up here!’
‘That remark shows why you were a dog-slave and I
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was . . . almost . . . Winglord. This is a track, right?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘Then someone owns it. Someone always does. If we’re
lucky there’ll be a toll to pay at the far end.’
‘And if we’re unlucky?’
He laughed, as if the danger had cheered him. ‘We make e
quick descent. Though maybe not, because the Prison’s on
our side now. It has reasons to keep us safe.’
Attia watched him lead the horse on to the viaduct before
she said quietly, ‘Incarceron wants the Glove. I don’t
suppose it cares who brings it.’
He heard her, she was sure. But he didn’t look back.
Crossing the rusting structure was precarious. The horse
was nervous; it whickered and once sidestepped, and Keiro
soothed it continuously in a low irritated mutter,
swearwords merging seamlessly with comfort. Atha tried
not to look to either side. There was a strong wind that
nudged slyly against her; she braced her body, aware that
with one gust Incarceron could topple her over the edge.
There was nothing to hold on to. She paced in terror, foot
before foot.
The surface was corroded. Debris lay on it, scraps of
metal, abandoned filth, snags of cloth caught from the wind
and fluttering like ragged flags. Her feet crunched the frail
bones of a bird.
She concentrated on walking, barely lifting her
head. Gradually she became aware of empty space, a
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giddiness of air. Small dark tendrils began to sprawl across
the track.
‘What’s that?’
‘Ivy.’ Keiro’s mutter was tight with tension. ‘Growing up
from below.’
How could it grow this far? She glanced briefly to the right
and giddiness swept her like sweat. Tiny people moved
beneath, the sound of wheels and voices faint on the wind.
Her coat flapped against her.
The ivy thickened. It became a treacherous tangle of glossy
leaves. In places it was impassable; Keiro had to coax the
terrified horse along the very edge of the viaduct, its hooves
clanging on metal. His voice was a low mutter.
‘Come on, you scrawny nag. Come on, you useless beggar.’
Then he stopped.
His voice was snatched by the wind. ‘There’s a big hole
here. Be careful.’
When she came to it she saw its charred edge first,
crumbling with rust. Wind howled up through it. Below,
iron girders corroded, old bird’s-nests in their joists. A heavy
chain looped into emptiness.
Soon there were other holes. The track became a yielding
nightmare, creaking ominously wherever the horse trod.
After a few minutes, she realized Keiro had stopped.
‘Is it blocked?’
‘As good as.’ His voice was tight, oddly breathless. His
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breath frosted as he looked back at her, ‘We should go back.
We’ll never cross this.’
‘We’ve come too far!’
‘The horse is on the edge of panic.’
Was he scared? His voice was low, his face set. For a
moment she sensed weakness, but then his hissed anger
reassured her. ‘Back up, Attia!’
She turned.
And saw the impossible.
Masked figures were swarming up over the sides of the
viaduct, through holes, up chains and bines of ivy. The horse
gave a whinny of fear and reared. Keiro dropped the reins
and leapt back.
She knew it was over. The horse plunged in terror; it would
fall, and far below the starving people would butcher its
body.
Then one of the masked people grabbed it, flung a cloak
over its eyes and expertly led it away into the dark.
There were about ten of them. They were small and shin,
and wore feathered helms, all black, except for a
tagged lightning flash across the right eye. They held Keiro
in a ring of aimed firelocks. But none of them came near
Attia.
She stood, poised, the knife ready.
Keiro drew himself up, his blue eyes fierce. His hand
dropped to his sword.
‘Don’t touch that.’ The tallest raider took the weapon,
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then turned to Attia. ‘Is he your slave?’
The voice was a girl’s. The eyes in the mask were
mismatched — one alive and grey, the other with a pupil of
gold, an unseeing stone.
At once Attia said, ‘Yes. Don’t kill him. He belongs to me.’
Keiro snorted but didn’t move. She hoped he’d have the
sense to stay silent.
The masked girls — for Attia was sure they were all girls
— glanced at each other. Then the leader made a sign. The
firelocks were lowered.
Keiro looked at Attia. She knew what that look meant. The
Glove was in the inner pocket of his coat and they’d find it if
they searched him.
He folded his arms and grinned. ‘Surrounded by women.
Things are looking up.’
Attia glared. ‘Shut up. Slave.’
The golden-eyed girl circled him. ‘He doesn’t have the
bearing of a slave. He is arrogant, and a man, and he thinks
himself stronger than us.’ She gave a curt nod. ‘Throw him
over.’
‘No!’ Attia stepped forward. ‘No. He belongs to me. Believe
me, I’ll fight anyone who tries to kill him.’
The masked girl stared at Keiro. Her golden eye glittered
and Attia realized that it was not blind, that she saw through
it in some way. A halfwoman.
‘Search him then for weapons.’
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Two of the girls searched him; he pretended to enjoy it, but
when they took the Glove from his pocket Attia knew it took
all his self-control not to lash out.
‘What is this?’The leader held up the Glove. It lay in her
hands, the dragonskin iridescent in the gloom, the claws split
and heavy.
‘That’s mine,’ Keiro and Attia said together.
‘I carry it for her,’ Keiro said. He smiled his most charming
smile. ‘I am the Slave of the Glove.’
The girl gazed at the dragonclaws with her mismatched
eyes. Then she looked up. ‘Both of you will come with us. In
all my years taking toll on the Skywalk I’ve never seen an
object of such power. It ripples in purple and gold. It sings in
amber.’
Attia moved forward cautiously. ‘You can see that?’
‘I hear it with my eyes.’ She turned away Attia flicked a
fierce glance at Keiro. He had to shut up, and play along.
Two of the masked girls pushed him. ‘Walk; one said. The
leader fell in beside Attia. ‘Your name?’
‘Attia. You?’
‘Rho Cygni. We give up our birth names.’
At the large hole in the floor the girls were sliding expertly
through.
‘Down there?’ Attia tried not to let the fear into her voice,
but she sensed Rho’s smile behind the mask.
‘It doesn’t lead to the ground. Go on. You’ll see.’
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Attia sat, her legs dangling over the edge. Someone caught
her feet and steadied her; she slithered through and grabbed
the rusty chain. There was a rickety walkway built close
under the viaduct, half hidden by ivy It was as dark as a
tunnel and it creaked underfoot, but at its end it divided into
a maze of smaller passageways and rope stairs, hanging
rooms and cages.
Rho walked behind her, noiseless as a shadow. At the end
she guided Attia to the right into a chamber that moved
slightly as if beneath it was nothing but sky. Attia
swallowed. The walls were of interwoven wattle and the
floor was hidden in a deep coating of feathers. But it was the
ceiling that made her stare. It was painted a deep, amazing
blue and gleaming in it were patterns of golden stones, like
the one in Rho’s eye.
‘The stars!’
‘As Sapphique wrote of them.’ The girl stood beside her
and looked up. ‘Outside they sing as they cross the sky. The
Bull, and the Hunter and the Chained Princess. And the
Swan, of whose Constellation we are.’ She pulled off her
feathered helm and her hair was dark and short, her face
pale. ‘Welcome to the Swan’s Nest, Attia.’
It was stiflingly warm, and lit by tiny lamps. She saw the
shadowy figures remove armour and masks and become
girls and women of all ages, some stout, some young and
lithe. The smell of food rose from cooking pots. Deep divans
filled with downy feathers littered the room.
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Rho pushed her towards one. ‘Sit down. You look
exhausted:
Anxious, she said, ‘Where’s . . . my servant?’
‘Caged. He won’t starve. But this place is not for men.’
Attia sat. She was suddenly unbearably weary, but she had
to stay alert. The thought of Keiro’s certain fury cheered her.
‘Please eat. We have plenty.’
A bowl of hot soup was put in front of her. She sipped at it
hurriedly, while Rho sat, elbows on knees, watching.
‘You were hungry,’ she said after a while.
‘We’ve been travelling for days:
‘Well, your journey’s over now. You’re safe here.’
Attia savoured the thin soup, wondering what she meant.
These people seemed friendly, but she must be on her guard.
They had Keiro, and they had the Glove.
‘We’ve been expecting you,’ Rho said quietly.
She almost choked. ‘Me?’
‘Someone like you. Something like this.’ Rho drew the
Clove from her coat, laid it reverently in her lap. ‘Strange
things are happening, Attia. Wonderful things. You saw the
tribes migrating. For weeks we’ve watched them down there,
always searching, for food, for warmth, always fleeing from
the commotion at the Prison’s heart:
‘What commotion is that, Rho?’
‘I’ve heard it.’ The girl’s strange gaze turned to Attia. ‘We
all have. Late at night, deep in dreams. Suspended between
225
ceiling and floor, we’ve felt its vibrations, in the chains and
walls, in our bodies. The beating of Incarceron’s heart. It
grows stronger, daily. We’re its providers, and we know.’
Attia put down the spoon and tore off some black bread.
‘The Prison is shutting down. Is that it?’
‘Concentrating. Focusing. Whole Wings are dark and
silent. The Fimbulwinter has begun, and that was
prophesied. And still the Unsapient sends out his demands.’
‘Unsapient?’
‘So we call him. They say the Prison summoned him
from Outside. . . From his chamber in the Prison’s heart
he is creating something terrible. They say he is making a
man, out of rags and dreams and flowers and metal. A man
who’ll lead us all to the stars. It will happen soon, Attia
Gazing at the girl’s lit face Attia felt only weariness. She
pushed the plate aside and said sadly, ‘What about you? Tell
me about you.’
Rho smiled. ‘I think that can wait till tomorrow. You
need to sleep.’ She dragged a thick cover over to Attia. It
was soft and warm and irresistible. Attia snuggled into it.
‘You won’t lose the Glove,’ she said sleepily.
‘No. Sleep well. You’re with us now, Attia Cygni.’
She closed her eyes. From somewhere far off she heard
Rho say, ‘Was the slave given food?’
‘Yes. But he spent most of the time trying to seduce me,’
a girl’s voice laughed.
Attia rolled over and grinned.
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Hours later, deep in sleep, between breaths, in her teeth
and eyelashes and nerves, she felt the heartbeat. Her
heartbeat. Keiro’s. Finn’s. The Prison’s.
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17
The world is a chessboard, Madam, on which we play out our ploys
and follies. You are the Queen, of course. Your moves are the
strongest. For myself I claim only to be a knight, advancing in a
crooked progress. Do we move ourselves, do you think, or does a
great gloved hand place us on our squares?
PRIVATE LETTER; THE WARDEN OF
INCARCERON TO QUEEN SIA
‘Were you responsible?’ Claudia stepped out of the shadow
of the hedge and enjoyed the way Medlicote spun round,
alarmed.
He bowed, the half-moons of his glasses flashing in the
morning sunlight. ‘For the storm, my lady? Or the fire?’
‘Don’t be flippant.’ She let herself sound imperious. ‘We
were attacked in the Forest — Prince Giles and myself. Was
it your doing?’
‘Please: His inkstained fingers lifted. ‘Please, Lady Claudia.
Be discreet.’
Fuming, she kept silent.
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He gazed across the wide lawns. Only peacocks strutted
and squawked. There was a group of courtiers in the
orangery; faint giggles drifted from the scented gardens.
‘We made no attack,’ he said quietly. ‘Believe me, madam,
if we had, Prince Giles — if he is Giles — would be dead. The
Steel Wolves deserve their reputation.’
‘You failed to kill the Queen on several occasions.’ She was
scathing. ‘And you placed a dagger next to Finn …’
‘To ensure he remembers us. But the Forest, no. If I may
say so you were unwise to ride out without an escort. The
Realm is frill of discontents. The poor suffer their injustices,
but they don’t forgive them. It was probably a simple
attempt at robbery.’
She thought it was the Queen’s plot, though she had no
intention of letting him know that. Instead she snapped a
bud from the rosebush and said, ‘And the fire?’
He looked stricken. ‘That is a disaster. You know who was
responsible for that, madam. The Queen has never wanted
the Portal reopened.’
And now she thinks she’s won.’ Claudia jumped as a
peacock rustled its magnificent tail into a fan. The hundred
eyes watched her. ‘She thinks that my father is cut off:
‘Without the Portal, he is.’
‘You knew my father well, Master Medlicote?’
Medlicote frowned. ‘I was his secretary for ten years. But
lit, was not an easy man to know’
‘He kept his secrets?’
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‘Always.’
‘About Incarceron?’
‘I knew nothing about the Prison.’
She nodded, and took her hand out of her pocket. ‘Do you
recognize this?’
He looked at it, wondering. ‘It’s the Warden’s pocketwatch.
He always wore it.’
She was watching him closely, alert for any glimmer of
hidden recognition, of knowledge. In the glasses she saw the
reflection of the open watchcase, the silver cube turning on
the chain.
‘He left it for me. You have no idea then, where the Prison
is?’
‘None. I wrote his correspondence. I ordered his affairs. But
I never went there with him.’
She clicked the case shut. He seemed puzzled, had given
no sign of knowing what he was looking at.
‘How did he travel there?’ she asked quietly.
‘I never discovered that. He would disappear, for a day, or
a week. We . . . the Wolves . . . believe the Prison to be some
sort of underground labyrinth, below the Court. Obviously
the Portal gave access: He looked at her curiously. ‘You
know more about this than I do. There may be information in
his study, at your house in the Wardenry. I was never
allowed in there.’
His study.
She tried not to reveal by even a blink the shock
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his words sparked. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
Hardly knowing what she said she turned on her heel but
his voice stopped her.
‘Lady Claudia. Something else. We have learned that when
the false prince is executed you will share his fate:
‘What!’
He was standing with his glasses in his hands, his dusty
shoulders stooped. In the sunlight he seemed suddenly a
half—blind, agitated man.
‘But she can’t …’
‘She will. I warned you, lady. You are an escaped Prisoner.
She would not be breaking any laws.’
Claudia was cold. She could hardly believe this. ‘Are you
sure?’
‘One of the Privy Council has a mistress. The woman is one
of our operatives. He told her that the Queen was adamant.’
‘Did she hear anything else? Whether the Queen had
brought in this Pretender?’
He stared at her. ‘That interests you more than your own
death?’
‘Tell me!’
‘Unfortunately, no. The Queen professes ignorance as to
which of the boys is her true stepson. She’s told the Council
nothing.’
Claudia paced, shredding the rosebud. ‘Well, I don’t intend
to be executed, by her or your Wolves or anyone else.
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Thank you.’ She had ducked under the rose arch when he
took a step after her and said softly, ‘Master Jared was bribed
to stop work on the Portal. Did you know that?’
She stopped still as death, without turning. The roses were
white, perfectly scented. Fat bees fumbled in their petals.
There was a thorn in the bud she held; it hurt her fingers and
she dropped it.
He came no nearer. His voice was quiet. ‘The Queen
offered him...’
‘There’s nothing’ — she turned, almost spitting the words
— ‘nothing, that she could offer that he would take. Nothing!’
A bell chimed, then another from the Ivory Tower. It was
the signal for the Inquisition of the Candidates. Medlicote
kept his eyes on her. Then he put his spectacles back on and
bowed, clumsily. ‘My mistake, my lad,’ he said.
She watched him walk away. She was trembling. She
didn’t know how much with anger, how much with fear.
Jared looked down with a rueful smile at the book in his
hand. It had been a favourite of his when he had been a
student here, a small red book of mysterious and cryptic
poems that languished unread on the shelves. Now, opening
the pages, he found the oak leaf he had once placed in it, on
page forty-seven, at the sonnet about the dove that would
cure the devastation of the Years of Rage, a flowering rose in
its beak. Reading the lines now he let
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his memories slip back to that time. It had not been so long
ago. He had been the youngest graduate of the Academy
since Protocol began, considered brilliant, assured of a great
career.
The oak leaf was as frail as cobweb, a skeleton of veins.
His fingers trembling slightly, he closed the book and slid it
back. He was certainly above such self—pity.
The library of the Academy was a vast and hushed
collection of rooms. Great oak cabinets of books, some of
them chained, stood in ranks down the galleried halls.
Sapienti sat huddled over manuscripts and illuminated
volumes, quill nibs scraping, each stall lit by a small lamp
that looked like a candle but was in fact a high intensity
personal diode powered by the hidden underground
generators. Jared estimated that at least a third of the
precious remaining power of the Realm was consumed here.
Not just in the library, of course. The apparent quills were
linked to a central computer that also ran the lunar
observatory and the extensive medical wing. The Queen,
though he hated her, had been right. If there had once been a
cure for him, this was the only place it might still be found.
‘Master?’ The librarian had returned, the Queen’s letter in
his hand. ‘This is all in order. Please follow me.’
The Esoterica was the heart of the library. It was rumoured
to be a secret chamber, entered only by the First High
Sapient and the Warden. Jared certainly had never
233
been there. His heart fluttered a little with excitement.
They walked through three rooms, through a hall of maps
and up a winding stair into a small gallery that ran round
above the reading room, under the dusty cornice. In the far
corner was a shadowy alcove, containing a desk and a chair,
the arms carved with winding snakes.
The librarian bowed. ‘If you need anything, please ask one
of my assistants.’
Jared nodded and sat. He tried not to show his surprise,
and disappointment; he had expected something more
secret, more impressive, but perhaps that had been foolish.
He glanced round.
There were no obvious watching devices, but they were
here, he sensed that. He put his hand into his coat and slid
out the disc he had prepared. He slipped the disc under the
desk and it clasped itself on tight.
The desk, despite appearances, was metal. He touched it,
and a portion of the wainscoting became a screen that lit
discreetly. It said YOU HAVE ENTERED THE ESOTERICA.
He worked quickly. Soon diagrams of the lymphatic and
nervous systems rippled over the screen. He studied them
intently, cross-referencing with the fragments of medical
research that the system still held. The room below was
silent, formal busts of ancient Sapienti staring in stiff rigour
from their marble pedestals. Outside the distant casement a
few doves cooed.
234
A librarian padded by, carrying a heap of parchment. Jared
smiled gently.
They were keeping a good watch on him.
By three, the time for the brief afternoon rain shower, he
was ready. As the light dimmed and the room grew
gloomier, he slid his hand under the desk and touched the
disc.
At once, under the diagrams of the nervous system, writing
appeared. It had taken a long time to find the encrypted files
on Incarceron, and his eyes were tired, his thirst a torment.
But as the first thunder rumbled, here they were.
Reading one script below another was a skill he had
perfected long ago. It needed concentration, and always gave
him a headache, but that would be bearable. After ten
minutes he had worked out one symbol that unlocked
others, then recognized an old variant o the Sapient tongue
he had once studied.
As he translated, the words began to form out of the
mass of strange glyphs.
Rota of the original Prisoners.
Sentences and Judicial reports.
Criminal Records; Photoimages.
Duties of the Warden.
He touched the last line. The screen rearranged, and under
its web of nerves informed him curtly:
This material is classified. Speak the password.
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He swore, quietly.
Incorrect, the screen said. You have two more attempts before
an alarm wilt be sounded.
Jared closed his eyes and tried not to groan. He glanced
round; saw the rain slashing against the windows, the small
lights on the desks below brighten imperceptibly.
He made himself breathe slowly, felt sweat prickle his
back. Then he whispered, ‘Incarceron.’
Incorrect. You have one more attempt before an alarm will be
sounded.
He should withdraw and think about it. If they found out
he’d never get this far again. And yet time was against hint.
Time, that the Realm had been denied, was taking its
revenge.
Pages turned below. He leant closer, seeing in the screen
his own pale face, the dark hollows of his eyes. There was a
word in his mind and he had no idea if it was the right one.
But the face was both his and another’s, and it was narrow
and its hair was dark and he opened his mouth and
whispered its name.
‘Sapphique?’
Lists. Rotas. Data.
It spread like a virus over the page, over the diagrams, over
everything. The strength and speed of the information
astounded him; he tapped the disc to record it as it rapidly
came and went.
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‘Master?’
Jared almost jumped.
One of the Academy porters stood there, a big man, his
dark coat shiny with age, his staff tipped with a white pearl.
‘Sorry to disturb you at work, Master, but this came. From
the Court.’
It was a parchment letter, sealed with Claudia’s black swan
insignia.
‘Thank you.’ Jared took it, gave the man a coin and smiled
calmly. Behind him the screen showed endless medical
diagrams. Used to the austere ways of the Sapienti, the
porter bowed and withdrew.
The red seal snapped as Jared opened it. And yet he knew
it would have been read by the Queen’s spies.
My dearest Master Jared,
The most dreadful thing has happened! A fire broke out in the
cellars of the East Court, and most of the ground and upperfloors
have collapsed. No one was hurt but the entrance to the Portal is
buried under tons of rubble. The Queen’s Majesty assures me
everything possible will be done but I am so dismayed! My father
is lost to us, and Giles bemoans the fate of his friends. Today he
faces the trial of the Inquisitors. Pray search hard, dear friend, for
our only alternative lies in silence and secrecy.
Your most loving and obedient pupil,
Claudia Arlexa.
He smiled ruefully at the Protocol. She could do much
237
better. But then, the note was not just for him, it was for the
Queen. A fire! Sia was taking no chances — first removing
him and then sealing the entrance to the Prison. But what the
Queen presumably didn’t know and only he and Claudia
did, was that there was another entrance to the Portal,
through the Warden’s study at home in the sleepy manor
house of the Wardenry. Our only alternative lies in silence and
secrecy. She had known he would understand.
The porter, fidgeting at a respectful distance, said, ‘The
messenger returns to Court in an hour. Will there be any
answer, Master?’
‘Yes. Please bring some ink and paper.’
As the man went, Jared took out a tiny scanner and ran it
across the vellum. Scrawled in red across the neatly written
lines was IF FINN LOSES THEY INTEND TO KILL US
BOTH.YOU KNOW WHERE WE’LL BE. I TRUST YOU.
He drew in a sharp breath. The porter, anxious, placed the
inkwell on the desk. ‘Master, are you in pain?’
He sat, white. ‘Yes,’ he said, crumpling the paper.
He had never guessed they would kill her. And what had
she meant by I trust you?
The Queen rose and all the diners stood hurriedly, even
those still eating. The summer meal of cold meats and
venison pasties, of lavender cream and syllabub lay scattered
on the white-clothed tables.
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‘Now’ She dabbed her lips with a kerchief. ‘You will all
retire, except the Claimants.’
Claudia curtsied. ‘I ask permission to attend the trial,
Majesty’
The Queen’s lips made a perfect red pout. ‘I’m sorry
Claudia. Not this time.’
‘Nor me?’ Caspar said, drinking.
‘Or you either, my sweet. Run away and shoot things.’ But
she was still looking at Claudia, and suddenly, almost
rnischeviously, she took her by the arm. ‘Oh Claudia! It’s
such a shame about the Portal! And you know I’m so sorry to
have to appoint a new Warden. Your dear father was so. . .
astute.’
Claudia kept the smile plastered to her face. ‘As Your
Majesty wishes.’ She wouldn’t beg. That was what Sia
wanted.
‘If only you’d married Caspar! In fact, even now. . .‘
She couldn’t stand this. She couldn’t pull away either, so
she stood rigid and said, ‘That choice is over, Majesty.’
‘Too right,’ Caspar muttered. ‘You had your chance,
Claudia. I wouldn’t touch you now...’
‘Even for twice the dowry?’ his mother said.
He stared. ‘Are you serious?’
Sia’s lips twitched. ‘You are so easy to tease, Caspar,
darling.’
The doors at the end of the room opened. Beyond them
Claudia saw the Court of Inquisition.
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The Queen’s throne was a vast eagle, its spread wings
forming the back, its raised beak open in a harsh cry. The
crown of the Havaarna encircled its neck.
The Privy Council sat in a circle around it, but on either
side of the throne were two empty seats, one white and one
black. As the Council filed in, Claudia watched a small door
in the wall open and two figures emerge. She had expected
Finn and Giles. Instead she saw the Inquisitors of Sun and
Shadow.
The Shadow Lord wore black velvet lined with sable, and
his hair and beard were as jet as his clothes. His face was
harsh and unreadable. The other, in white, was graceful and
smiling, his robe satin, edged with pearls.
She had never seen either of them before.
‘My Lord of Shadow.’ The Queen went to her throne and
turned, formally. ‘And my Lord Sun. Your duty here is to
question and draw out the truth, so that we and our Council
may come to our verdict. Do you swear to deal faithfully in
this enquiry?’
Both men knelt and kissed her hand. Then they walked,
one to the black chair, one to the white, and sat. The Queen
smoothed her dress, pulling a small lace fan out of her
sleeve.
‘Excellent. Then let’s begin. Close the doors.’
A gong rang.
Finn and the Pretender were ushered in.
Claudia frowned. Finn wore his usual dark colours,
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without ornament. He looked defiant, and anxious. The
Pretender wore a coat of purest yellow silk, as expensive as
could be made. The two stood and faced each other on the
tiled floor.
‘Your name?’ the Lord Shadow snapped.
As the doors slammed in her face Claudia heard their joint
response.
‘Giles Ferdinand Alexander Havaarna.’
She stared at the carved wood, then turned and walked
quickly away through the crowd. And like a whisper in her
ear her father’s voice came to her, coldly amused. ‘Do you
see them, Claudia? Pieces on the chessboard. How sad that
only one can win the game.’
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18
What makes a prince?
A sunny sky, an open door.
What makes a prisoner?
A question with no answer.
SONGS OF SAPPHIQUE
‘Get me out, Attia.’
‘I can’t yet.’ She crouched by the wooden bars of the cage.
‘You’ll have to be patient.’
‘Having too nice a time with your pretty new friends?’ Keiro
sat lounged against the far wall, arms folded, legs stretched
out. He looked cool and scornful but she knew him well
enough to see that, inside, he was blazing.
‘I need to keep in with them.You can see that.’
‘So who are they?’
‘All women. Most of them seem to hate men — they’ve
probably suffered at their hands. They call themselves the
Cygni. They each have a sort of number for a name. The
number of a star.’
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‘How poetic.’ Keiro tipped his head. ‘Now tell me when
they’re going to kill me.’
‘They’re considering. I’ve begged them not to.’
‘And the Glove?’
‘Rho’s got it.’
‘Get it back.’
‘I’m working on it.’ She glanced at the door of the room
warily. ‘This nest is a sort of hanging structure. Rooms and
passages, all woven together. I think there’s some way down
to the floor of the hail but I haven’t found it yet.’
Keiro was silent a moment. ‘The horse?’
‘No idea.’
‘Great. All our stuff.’
‘All your stuff.’ She pushed her tangled hair back. ‘There’s
something else. They work for the Warden. They call him the
Unsapient.’
His blue eyes stared at her. ‘They want to take him the
Glove!’
He was always so quick, she thought. ‘Yes, but—’
‘Attia, you have to get it back!’ He was up on his feet now,
gripping the bars. ‘The Glove is our only way to Incarceron.’
‘How, exactly? We’re outnumbered.’
He kicked the bars, furious. ‘Get me out, Attia. Lie to them.
Tell them to throw me over the viaduct. Just get me out.’
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As she turned he reached out and grabbed her. ‘They’re all
halfmen, aren’t they?’
‘Some of them. Rho. Zeta. A woman called Omega has
pincers instead of hands.’ She looked at him. ’Does that help
you hate them more?’
Keiro laughed coldly, and tapped his fingernail on the bars.
It rang, metal against metal. ‘What hypocrisy that would be.’
She stepped away. ‘Listen. I think we’re wrong.’ Before he
could explode she hurried on. ‘If we give the Prison this
Glove it will carry out its crazy plan of Escape. Everyone
here will die. I don’t think I can do that, Keiro. I just don’t
think I can.’
He was staring at her, with that cold, intent look that
always scared her.
She backed off. ‘Maybe I should just take the Glove and go.
Leave you here.’
She got to the door before his whisper came, icy with
threat. ‘That would make you just the same as Finn. A liar. A
traitor. You wouldn’t do that to me, Attia.’
She didn’t look back.
‘Tell us once more about the day you remember. The day of
the hunt.’ The Shadow Lord loomed over him, eyes hard.
Finn stood in the empty centre of the room. He wanted to
pace about. Instead he said, ‘I was riding. . .‘
‘Alone?’
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‘No . . . there must have been others. At first.’
‘Which others?’
He rubbed his face. ‘I don’t know. I’ve tried to think, over
and over, but …’
‘You were fifteen.’
‘Sixteen. I was sixteen.’ They were trying to trick him.
‘The horse was chestnut?’
‘Grey: He stared, angry, towards the Queen. She sat, eyes
half closed, a small dog on her lap. Her fingers stroked it
rhythmically.
‘The horse jumped he said. ‘I told you, I felt a sort of sting
in my leg. I fell off.’
‘With your courtiers around you.’
‘No I was alone.’
‘You just said . . .’
‘I know! Perhaps I got lost!’ He shook his head. The
warning prickle moved behind his eyes. ‘Perhaps I took the
wrong path. I don’t remember!’
He had to stay calm. To be alert. The Pretender lounged on
the bench, listening with bored impatience.
The Shadow Lord came closer. His eyes were black and
level. ‘The truth is that you invented this. There was no
ambush. You are not Giles. You are the Scum of Incarceron.’
‘I am Prince Giles.’ But his voice sounded weak. He heard
his own doubt.
‘You are a Prisoner. You have stolen. Haven’t you?’
‘Yes. But you don’t understand. In the Prison. . .’
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‘You have killed.’
‘No. Never killed.’
‘Indeed?’ The Inquisitor drew back like a snake. ‘Not even
the woman called the Maestra?’
Finn’s head shot up. ‘How do you know about the
Maestra?’
There was a movement of unease round the room. Some of
the Council murmured to each other. The Pretender sat up.
‘How we know is not important. She fell, didn’t she, inside
the Prison, down a great abyss, because the bridge on which
she stood had been sabotaged. You were responsible.’
‘No!’ He was shouting now, eye to eye with the man. The
Inquisitor did not back off.
‘Yes. You stole a device for Escape from her. Your words
are a mass of lies. You claim visions. You claim to have
spoken with ghosts.’
‘I didn’t kill her!’ He grabbed for his sword but it wasn’t
there. ‘I was a Prisoner, yes, because the Warden drugged
me and put me in that hell. He took away my memory. I am
Giles!’
‘Incarceron is not a hell. It is a great experiment.’
‘It’s hell. I should know’
‘Liar.’
‘No...’
‘You are a liar. You have always been a liar! Haven’t you?
Haven’t you?’
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‘No. I don’t know!’ He couldn’t bear it. His throat was ashes,
the blurring of the impending seizure tormenting him. If it
happened here he was finished.
He became aware of movement, dragged his head up. The
Sun Lord was standing, beckoning for a chair to be brought,
and the Shadow Lord had gone back to his seat.
‘Please, sire. Be seated. Be calm.’ The man’s hair was silver,
his words sweet with concern. ‘Bring water, here.’
A footman brought a tray. A cool goblet was pressed into
Finn’s hand and he drank, trying not to spill it. He was
shaking, his sight blurred by spots and itches. Then he sat,
gripping the padded arms of the chair. Sweat was soaking
his back. The eyes of the Council were fixed on him; he dared
not look at their disbelief. The Queen’s fingers fondled the
silky fur of her dog. She was watching calmly.
‘So,’ the Sun Lord mused. ‘You say the Warden imprisoned
you?’
‘It must have been him.’
The man smiled kindly. Finn tensed. The kind ones were
always the most deadly.
‘But. . . if the Warden was responsible, he could not have
acted alone. Not with the abduction of a royal prince. Do you
claim that the Privy Council were involved?’
‘No.’
‘The Sapienti?’
He shrugged, wearily. ‘Someone with knowledge of drugs
must have been.’
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‘So you accuse the Sapienti?’
‘I don’t accuse. . .’
‘And the Queen?’
The room was silent. Sullen, Finn clenched his fists. He was
staring right into disaster and he knew it. But he didn’t care.
‘She must have known.’
No one moved. The Queen’s hand was still. The Sun Lord
shook his head sadly. ‘We need to be absolutely clear, sire.
Do you accuse the Queen of your abduction? Of your
imprisonment?’
Finn didn’t look up. His voice was dark with miser because
they had trapped him into this, and Claudia would despise
him for his stupidity.
But he still said it.
‘Yes. I accuse the Queen.’
‘Look over there.’ Rho stood on the viaduct and pointed.
Narrowing her eyes, Attia strained to see across the dimness
of the hail. Birds were flying towards her, dark flocks of
them. Their wings creaked; in a second they were all around
her and she ducked with a gasp under the cloud of
plummage and beaks. Then they were streaming far into the
east.
‘Birds, bats, people.’ Rho turned, her eye of gold shining. ‘We
have to live, Attia, like everyone else, but we don’t steal, or
kill. We work for a higher purpose. When the Unsapient asks
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for things he needs, we get them. In the last three months
we’ve sent him—’
‘How?’
‘What?’
Attia caught the girl by the wrist. ‘How? How does this. . .
Unsapient tell you what he wants?’
Rho pulled away and stared. ‘He speaks to us.’
A shiver of the world interrupted her. Far below a scream
arose; cries of terror. Instantly Attia fell flat, grabbing the
rusted girders; another ripple of movement went right
through her body, her very fingernails. Next to her a rivet
snapped; ivy slithered over the edge.
They waited until the Prisonquake ended, Rho on hands
and knees beside her, both of them breathless with fear. As
soon as she could speak Attia said, ‘Let’s get back down.
Please.’
Through the hole the complex of the Nest hung apparently
undisturbed.
‘The quakes are getting worse.’ Rho scrambled in the ivy
tunnel.
‘How does he speak to you? Please, Rho, I really need to
know.’
‘Down here. I’ll show you.’
They hurried through the room of feathers. Three of the
other women were there, cooking stew in a great cauldron,
one mopping spills that had slopped out in the shiver. The
smell of meat made Attia swallow in appreciation. Then Rho
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ducked under a doorway into a small rounded place, a
bubble of a room. It contained nothing but an Eye.
Attia stopped dead.
The small red glimmer swivelled to look at her. For a
moment she stood there, remembering Finn’s tale of how he
had woken in a cell containing nothing but this, the silent,
curious gaze of Incarceron.
Then slowly, she came and stood below it. ‘I thought you
said the Unsapient.’
‘That’s what he calls himself. He is the heart of the Prison’s
plan.’
‘Is he now?’ Attia took a breath and folded her arms. Then,
so loud that Rho started, she snapped, ‘Warden. Can you
hear me?’
Claudia paced up and down the panelled corridor.
When the door opened and the footman slipped out, an
empty goblet on his tray, she grabbed him. ‘What’s
happening?’
‘The Prince Giles is . . .‘ He glanced past her, bowed and
scurried away.
‘Don’t scare the servants, Claudia,’ Caspar muttered from
the doorway to the garden.
Furious, she turned and saw his bodyguard, Fax, carrying
archery targets under his brawny arms. Caspar wore a bright
green coat and a tricorn hat with a white curling feather.
‘They’ll be talking for hours. Come and shoot some crows.’
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‘I’ll wait!’ She sat on a chair against the wall, kicking the
wooden leg with her foot.
An hour later, she was still there.
‘And you planned all this yourself?’
‘The Queen had no idea, if that’s what you mean.’ The
Pretender sat back in the chair, arms loose. His voice was
calm and conversational. ‘The plan was mine — to disappear
absolutely. I would not have burdened Her Majesty with
such a conspiracy.’
‘I see.’ The Sun Lord nodded sagely. ‘But there was a dead
body, was there not? A boy who everyone believed was
Giles, laid in state here in the Great Hall for three days. You
arranged even that?’
Giles shrugged. ‘Yes. One of the peasants in the Forest died
from a bear’s attack. It was convenient, I admit. It covered
my tracks.’
Finn, listening, scowled. It might even be true. Suddenly he
thought of the old man, Tom. Hadn’t he said something
about his son? But the Sun Lord was asking mildly.’
‘So you are indeed Prince Giles?’
‘Of course I am, man.’
‘If I were to suggest you are an imposter, that you. . .’
‘I hope’ — the Pretender sat up slowly — ‘I hope, sir, that
you are not implying that Her Majesty somehow had me
trained or indoctrinated in any way to play this — role?’ His
clear brown eyes met the inquisitor’s in a direct stare. ‘You
would not dare suggest such a crime.’
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Finn cursed silently. He watched the Queen’s mouth twitch
into a small secret smile.
‘Indeed, not,’ the Sun Lord said, bowing. ‘Indeed not, sire.’
He had them. If they accused him of that, they accused the
Queen, and Finn knew that would never happen. He cursed
the boy’s cleverness, his plausibility, his easy elegance. He
cursed his own rough awkwardness.
The Pretender watched the Sun Lord sit and the Shadow
Lord stand. If he was apprehensive there was no sign of it.
He leant back, almost negligent, and beckoned for water.
The dark man watched him drink it. As soon as the cup
was back on the tray, he said, ‘At the age of eleven you left
the Academy.’
‘I was nine, as you well know. My father felt it more fitting
that the Crown Prince should study privately:
‘You had several tutors, all eminent Sapienti.’
‘Yes. All, unfortunately, now dead.’
‘Your chamberlain, Bartley. . .’
‘Bartlett.’
‘Ah yes, Bartlett. He is also dead.’
‘I have heard. He was murdered by the Steel Wolves, as I
would have been, if I had stayed here.’ His face softened.
‘Dear Bartlett. I loved him greatly.’
Finn ground his teeth. A few of the Council glanced at each
other.
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‘You are fluent in seven languages?’
‘I am.’
The next question was in some foreign tongue that Finn
couldn’t even identify and the Pretender’s answer was quiet
and sneering.
Could he have forgotten whole languages? Was it possible?
He rubbed his face, wishing the prickle behind his eyes
would die away.
‘You are also an accomplished musician?’
‘Bring me a viol, a harpsichord.’ The Pretender sounded
bored. ‘Or I could sing. Shall I sing, lords?’ He smiled and
burst suddenly into an aria, his tenor voice soaring.
The Privy Council stirred. The Queen giggled.
‘Stop it!’ Finn leapt to his feet.
The Pretender stopped. He met Finn’s eyes and said softly,
‘Then let you sing, sire. Play for us. Speak in foreign tongues.
Recite us the poems of Alicene and Castra. I’m sure they will
sound most alluring in your gutter accent.’
Finn didn’t move. ‘Those things don’t make a prince.’
he whispered.
‘We might debate that.’ The Pretender stood. ‘But you have
no cultured arguments, have you? All you have is anger, and
violence, Prisoner.’
‘Sire,’ the Shadow Lord said. ‘Please sit.’
Finn glanced round. The Councillors watched him. They
were the jury. Their verdict would condemn him to torture
and death or give him the throne. Their faces were hard to
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read, but he recognized hostility, bewilderment. If only
Claudia was here! Or Jared. He longed most of all for Keiro’s
harsh, arrogant humour.
He said, ‘My challenge still stands.’
The Pretender glanced at the Queen. In a low voice he said,
‘And my acceptance.’
Finn went and sat by the wall, simmering.
The Shadow Lord turned to Giles. ‘We have witnesses.
Boys who were at the Academy with you. Grooms, maids,
the ladies of the Court:
‘Excellent. I want to see them all.’ The Pretender settled
back comfortably. ‘Let them be brought in. Let them look at
him and look at me. Let them tell you which is the Prince
and which the Prisoner.’
The Shadow Lord looked hard at him. Then he raised a
hand. ‘Bring in the witnesses,’ he snapped.
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19
The Esoterica are the broken fragments of our knowledge. The
Sapienti will spend generations restoring the gaps. Much of it will
never be recovered.
PROJECT REPORT; MARTOR SAPIENS
‘I should punish you. You were the one who told Claudia
she was not my daughter.’
It was not the Prison’s metallic sneer. Attia stared up at the
red accusing Eye.
‘I did tell her. She needed to know.’
‘It was cruel.’ The Warden’s voice sounded grave, and
weary. Quite suddenly the wall of the room rippled, and he
was there.
Rho almost screamed. Attia stared, astonished.
A man stood before her in three-dimensional image, his
edges frail and rippling. In places she could see right
through him. His grey eyes were cold, and she had to make
an effort not to flinch, or kneel, like Rho had hastily done.
She had only ever seen him as Blaize. Now he was the
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Warden. He wore a black silk coat and black knee—
breeches; his boots were finest leather, his silvered hair
caught back in a velvet ribbon. At first she thought that
despite his austerity she had never seen anyone so fine, and
yet as he stepped closer she caught the wear on his sleeve,
the stained coat, the slightly untrimmed beard.
He nodded sourly. ‘Yes. The conditions of the Prison begin
to affect even me.’
‘Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?’
‘The dog-slave grows a little bold, it seems. So where is
Sapphique’s Glove?’
Attia almost smiled. ‘Ask my captors.’
‘We’re not your captors,’ Rhos stammered. ‘You cui go,
anytime.’ The girl was gazing furtively up at the Warden
with her grey and gold eyes. She seemed both fascinated and
appalled.
‘The Glove!’ the Warden snapped.
Rho bowed, scrambled up and ran out.
At once Attia said, ‘They’ve got Keiro. I want him
released.’
‘Why?’ The Warden’s smile was acid. He looked around
the Nest with interest. ‘I doubt very much whether he would
do the same for you.’
‘You don’t know him.’
‘On the contrary. I have studied his record, and yours.
Keiro is ambitious and ruthless. He will act for himself,
without a qualm.’ He smiled. ‘I will use that against him.’
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He adjusted an invisible control; the image wavered, and
then became clearer. He was so close she could have touched
him. He turned and gazed at her sideways. ‘Of course you
could always bring the Glove yourself and leave him
behind.’
For a moment she thought he had read her thoughts. Then
she said, ‘If you want it, tell them to release him.’
Before he answered Rho was back, breathless, the doorway
behind her crowded with inquisitive girls. She laid the Glove
down carefully before the Warden’s image.
He crouched. He reached out for the Glove and his hand
passed right through it. The dragonskin scales glittered. ‘So!
It still exists! What a marvel that is.’
For a moment he was fascinated. Behind him Attia
glimpsed a vast, shadowy place, dimly red. And there was a
sound, a pulsing beat that she recognized from her dream.
She said, ’If you went Outside, you could tell them about
Finn. You could be a witness for him. Don’t you see, you
could tell them that you took his memory, that you put him
here.’
He stood slowly, and dusted what looked like rust from his
gloves.
‘Prisoner, you assume too much.’ He looked at her, a steelcold
gaze. ‘I care nothing for Finn, or the Queen, or any of
the Havaarna.’
‘You care about Claudia. She could be in danger too
His grey eyes flickered. For a moment she thought she
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had stung him, but he was hard to read. He said, ‘Claudia is
my concern. And I fully intend to be the next ruler of the
Realm myself. Now bring me the Glove.’
‘Not without Keiro.’
John Arlex did not move. ‘Don’t bargain with me, Attia.’
‘I won’t let him be killed.’ Her breath came short and it
almost hurt to speak. She prepared herself for some great
anger.
But to her surprise he glanced aside as if consulting
something and then shrugged. ‘Very well. Release the thief.
But hurry. The Prison grows impatient for its freedom.
And—’
There was a crack, a spitting of sparks.
Where he had been, only an echo blinded her eyes, a faint
smell of burning hung.
Attia was startled, but she moved quickly, stooping and
picking up the Glove, feeling again its heaviness, the warm,
slightly oily texture of its skin. She turned to Rho.
‘Send someone to get Keiro. And show me the way down.’
It happened so quickly Claudia almost thought she imagined
it. One minute she was huddled miserably in the chair
outside the guarded door gazing down the gilded corridor,
and in the next moment the corridor was a ruin.
She blinked.
The blue vase was cracked. Its marble pedestal was
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painted wood. The walls were a mess of wires and faded
paint. Great damp patches soaked the ceiling; in one corner
the plaster had fallen and drips cascaded in.
She stood up, astonished.
Then with a ripple so subtle she felt it only in her nerves
the splendour came back.
Claudia turned her head and stared at the two soldiers
guarding the door. If they had noticed anything strange they
weren’t showing it, their faces carefully blank.
‘Did you see that!’
‘I’m sorry, madam.’ The left-hand one’s eyes kept straight
ahead. ‘See what?’
She swivelled to the other. ‘You?’
He seemed pale. His hand was sweaty on the halberd. ‘I
thought.. . but no. Nothing’
She turned her back on them and walked up the corridor.
Her shoes clattered on the marble floor; she touched the vase
and it was perfect. The walls were gilt panelling, beautifully
ornamented with cupid masks and wooden swags. Of course
she had known that much of the Era here was illusion, but
she felt that for a moment she had been granted a vision, a
glimmer of the world as it really was. It was hard to breathe.
As if, for that instant, even the air had been sucked away.
The power had flickered.
With a crack that made her jump the double doors opened
behind her and the Privy Councillors surged out,
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a grave, chattering straggle. Claudia grabbed the nearest.
‘Lord Arto. What’s happened?’
He disengaged her hand gently. ’It’s all over, my dear. We
are retiring to consider our verdict; it must be presented
tomorrow I must say I myself have no doubts as to ...‘ Then,
as if remembering her fate was involved, he smiled and
fluttered a bow and was gone.
Claudia saw the Queen. Sia chatted with her ladies, and a
foppish youth in a gold coat who was rumoured to be her
latest lover. He looked hardly older than Caspar. The dog
had been dumped in his arms; Sia clapped her hands and
everyone turned.
‘Friends! We have such a tiresome wait for the verdict, and
I hate waiting! So tonight there will be a masked ball in the
Shell Grotto, and everyone is to attend. Everyone, mind!’ Her
colourless eyes met Claudia’s and she smiled her sweetest
smile. ‘Or I will be very, very displeased.’
The men bowed, the women dropped curtsies. As the
entourage swept past Claudia breathed out in dismay, seeing
the Pretender follow, surrounded by a group of the most
fashionable young men. He was already gaining supporters,
it seemed.
He bowed graciously. ‘I’m afraid there’s no doubt about
the verdict, Claudia.’
‘You were convincing?’
‘You should have seen me!’
‘You don’t convince me.’
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He smiled, a little sadly. Then he took her aside. ’My offer
still stands. Marry me, Claudia. We were betrothed a long
time ago, so let’s do what our fathers wanted. Together we
can give the people the justice they deserve.’
She looked at his earnest face, his perfect confidence, his
concerned eyes, remembering how just for a second the
world had flickered around her. Now she had no idea again
how much was false.
She removed her arm from his and bowed. ‘Let’s wait for
the verdict.’
He seemed to draw back, and then he bowed too, coldly. ‘I
would be a bitter enemy, Claudia,’ he said.
She didn’t doubt it. Whoever he was, wherever the
Queen had found him, his confidence was real enough.
She watched him rejoin the courtiers, their silk clothes
brilliant in the flashes of sunshine through the casements.
Then she turned and went into the empty Council Room.
Finn was sitting on the chair in the centre.
He glanced up, and she saw at once what a struggle it had
all been. He looked drained and bitter.
She sat on the bench.
‘It’s over,’ he said.
‘You don’t know that.’
‘He had witnesses. A whole line of people — servants,
courtiers, friends. They all looked at us both and said he was
Giles. He had answers to every question. He even had this.’
He rolled up his sleeve and stared at the eagle on his
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wrist. ‘And I had nothing, Claudia.’
She didn’t know what to say. She hated this powerlessness.
‘But do you know what?’ He rubbed the faded tattoo with
his finger, gently. ‘Now, when no one else believes me
— maybe not even you — now is the first time since I came
here that I really know I’m Giles.’
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
‘This mark. It used to keep me going, in the Prison. I used
to lie awake at night and dream of how things would be
Outside, of who I really was. I imagined my mother and
father, a warm house, having enough to eat, Keiro in all the
splendid clothes he wanted. I used to look at this and know
it must mean something. A crowned eagle with its wings
spread wide. Like it was about to fly away.’
She had to snap him out of this. ‘We needn’t wait for their
stupid verdict. I’ve made plans. Two horses will be ready for
us, secretly saddled, at the edge of the Forest, at midnight.
We can ride for the Wardenry, and use the Portal there to
contact my father.’
He wasn’t listening. ‘The old man in the Forest said that
Sapphique flew, in the end. Flew away to the stars.’
‘And the Queen has ordered a masked ball. What better
cover.’
His eyes lifted to her and she saw the signs Jared had
warned her of; the whitening of the lips, the strangely
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unfocused gaze. She hurried across to him. ’Stay calm, Finn.
Nothing is over. Keiro will find my father and—’
The room vanished.
It became a chamber of grime, of cobwebs, of cables. For a
second Finn knew he was back in the grey world of
Incarceron.
Then the Privy Council chamber gleamed around him.
He stared at her. ‘What was that?’
Claudia pulled him roughly to his feet. ‘I think that was
reality, Finn.’
Keiro spat the last wet rag out of his mouth and gasped in
air. Breathing was a great relief he allowed himself a few
vicious swearwords too. They had gagged him to keep him
from talking to them. Obviously, they knew he was
irresistible. Quickly, he pulled his chained wrists under him,
dragged his feet through them, the muscles in his arms
straining. He stifled a groan as his bruises ached. But at least
his hands were in front now.
The cell swayed under his feet. If the place really was
wicker he should be able to hack a way through. He had no
tools, though, and there was always the chance that there
was nothing below but empty air.
He shook the chain and tested it.
The links were finest steel and it had been elaborately tied.
The knots would take hours to undo, and they were bound
to hear the chink.
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Keiro scowled. He had to get out of here now because Attia
had not been joking. The girl was crazy and he should dump
her here, with this nest of star-blind devotees. Another oathbetrayer.
He certainly knew how to pick them.
He chose the weakest-looking link and twisted his hands so
that the fingernail of his right forefinger could slide into the
thin gap. Then he prised.
Metal against metal, the fine links strained. He felt no pain,
and that terrified him, because where did the metal end and
the nerves begin? In his hand? In his heart?
The thought made him lever the link open with a swift
anger; at once he bent it far enough to slip the next link out.
The chain fell from around his wrists.
But before he could get up he heard footsteps, and the
swaying of the cage told him one of the girls was coming, so
instantly he looped the chain loosely over his hands and sat
back.
When Omega came through the door with two others
pointing firelocks at him, Keiro just grinned at her. ‘Hello,
gorgeous,’ he said. ‘I knew you couldn’t keep away.’
Jared had been given a room at the top of the Seventh Tower.
The climb made him breathless but it was worth it for the
view of the Forest, dark miles of trees over the twilit hills. He
leant out of the casement, both hands on the gritty sill, and
breathed in the warm dusk.
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There were the stars, brilliant and unreachable.
For a moment he thought a ripple passed over them, that
their brightness dimmed. For a moment the nearest trees
were dead and white and ghostly. Then the dizziness passed.
He rubbed his eyes with both hands. Was this the illness?
Moths danced around the lantern.
The room behind him was stark. It had a bed, a chair and
table and a mirror that he had taken down and turned to the
wall. Still, the less there was in the room the less chance of it
being bugged.
Leaning out, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocked,
unwrapped the disc, placed it on the sill, and activated it.
The screen was minute, but as yet there was nothing wrong
with his eyesight.
Duties of the Warden.The words unravelled quickly. There
were dozens of subtitles. Food provision, educational
facilities, healthcare — his hand hovered over that but he
moved on quickly — social care, structural maintenance. So
much information — it would take weeks to read it all. How
many Wardens had ever done so? Probably only Martor
Sapiens, the first. The designer.
Martor.
He searched for design, narrowed it down to structure,
found a doubly encrypted entry in the last file. He couldn’t
decipher it, but he opened it.
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The screen showed an image that made him smile, leaning
there under the stars. It showed the crystal Key.
‘Join us,’ Rho begged. ‘Let him take the Glove and you stay
with us.’
Up on the viaduct Attia waited with the Glove in her hand
and a pack of food on her back and watched three armed
women push Keiro up through the hole.
His coat was filthy and his bright hair dull with grease.
For a moment she was tempted. Meeting his enquiring
stare she dreamt for a moment of sidestepping this crazy
obsession of his, of finding her own place of warmth and
safety. Maybe she could even try to find her brothers and
sisters, somewhere far off in the Wing she had lived in before
the Comitatus had dragged her away to be their dog-slave.
But then Keiro snapped, ‘Are you going to stand there all
day! Get these chains off me,’ and something rippled in her
that might have been a cold shiver of reality. It made her feel
hard and determined. If Incarceron had the Glove its
ambition would be complete. It would break free of itself and
leave the Prison a dark and lifeless shell. Keiro might Escape,
but no one else would.
She took the Glove and held it out.
‘I’m sorry, Keiro,’ she said. ‘I can’t let you do it.’
His hands gripped the chains. ‘Attia!’
But she flung the Glove out into the empty air.
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* * *
After an hour’s work, the moths flitting round the lamp on
the sill, the code gave way with a sigh of rippling letters and
the word EXITS came up on the screen. Jared’s weariness
vanished. He sat up and read avidly.
1 There will be only one Key and this will remain in the possession
of the Warden at all times
2 The Key is not needed for the Portal but is the only way of return
from Incarceron, except for
3 The Emergency exit
Jared drew in a breath. He glanced quickly round the room.
It was dim and silent, the only movement his own vast
shadow on the wall, and the dark moths, fluttering in the
light and over the tiny screen.
Should you lose the Key, there is a secret door. In the Heart of
Incarceron a chamber has been constructed to withstand any
catastrophic spacial collapse or environmental catastrophe. Do not
use this channel unless absolutely necessary. Its stability cannot be
guaranteed. To use the exit a mobile neural net has been
constructed, to be worn on the hand. It is activated by extremes of
emotion, and thus will not work until a time of great danger. We
have given the door a codename, known only to you. That name is
SAPPHIQUE
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Jared read the final sentence. Then he read it again. He sat
back, his breath frosting in the night air, ignoring the moth
that landed on the screen, the heavy footsteps up the stair.
Outside, the stars shimmered in the eternal sky.
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20
When he was born, silent and alone, his mind was empty. He had
no past, no being. He found himself in the deepest place of darkness
and loneliness.
‘Give me a name,’ he begged.
The Prison said, ‘I lay this fate on you, Prisoner. You shall
have no name unless I give it to you. And I will never give it.’
He groaned. He reached out his fingers and found raised letters
on the door. Great iron letters, riveted through.
After hours, he had grasped their shape.
‘Sapphique,’ he said, ‘will be my name.’
LEGENDS OF SAPPHIQUE
Keiro leapt.
With a gasp Attia saw him jump high, the chain flung
away. He caught the Glove.
And then he was gone.
Attia dived for him; Rho grabbed her. As he fell his hand
shot out; grabbing the ivy he swung and crashed into the
side of the viaduct, a concussion that should have stunned
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him but somehow he held tight, twisted round, scrabbling in
the glossy leaves.
‘You fool!’Attia stormed.
Keiro grabbed the ivy. He glanced up at her and she saw
the bruised triumph in his eyes. ‘Now what, dog-slave?’ he
yelled. ‘Do you pull me up, or do I fall?’
Before she could answer movement shook them all. Under
her feet the viaduct was humming. A high, faint vibration
trembled in its girders and meshes. ‘What is it?’ she
breathed.
Rho turned, her mismatched eyes gazing into the darkness.
She drew in a breath; her face was white. ‘They’re coming.’
‘What? Another migration? Up here?’
‘There!’ Keiro yelled.
Attia stared into the darkness, but whatever had terrified
them both was invisible to her. The bridge was shivering, as
if a great host had set foot on it, as if their massed tramp had
set the whole thing moving on a frequency that would make
it shudder and rupture into impossible waves.
Then she saw them.
Fist-sized shapes, dark and rounded, they crawled, on the
meshes and wires, in the ivy leaves. For a second she had no
idea what they were; then with a creeping of her skin she
realized they were Beetles, millions of them, the Prison’s alldevouring
carnivores. Already the viaduct was glistening
with them; there was a terrible new sound, the
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acidic crack and dissolving of metal, the rustle of carapaces
and small pincers cutting steel and wire.
Attia snatched a firelock from the nearest girl. ‘Get your
people! Get them down!’ But the Cygni were already
moving, she could see them unravelling ladders that flipped
out far below, the rungs lashing to and fro.
‘Come with us,’ Rho said.
‘I can’t leave him.’
‘You have to!’
Firelocks were slashing; looking down she saw that Keiro
had hauled himself up and was kicking savagely at
one of the Beetles that had reached him. It fell with a sudden
high whine.
Two of the things came out of the ivy at her feet; she leapt
back, staring, and saw the metal under them begin to smoke
and corrode rapidly, its surface dulling to black. Then it
crumbled to dust.
Rho fired at them, and jumped the gap. ‘Attia! Come on!’
She could have gone. But if she did she would never see
Finn again. Never see the stars.
She said, ‘Goodbye, Rho. Thank the others for me.’ Smoke
rose between them, blurring the world. Rho said, ‘I see both
dark and gold for you, Attia. I see Sapphique opening the
secret door to you.’ She stepped luck. ‘Good luck.’
Attia wanted to say more but the words seemed to choke
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in her throat. Instead she raised the weapon and fired a
vicious sweep at the Beetles swarming towards her. They
burst into blue and purple flame, a sizzling explosion of
circuits.
‘That’s what I like to see!’ Keiro had climbed up the ivy,
now he was hauling himself over the side of the viaduct, the
Glove tucked in his belt. He grabbed for the weapon.
Attia jerked back. ‘Not this time.’
‘What are you going to do? Kill me?’
‘I don’t need to. They’ll do it for me.’
He watched the relentless glistening insects devour the
viaduct, and his face was bright and hard. Already the
bridge was severed; chunks of it fell away into the
unguessable distances below. The gap to Rho’s empty
ladders was too far to jump now.
He turned.
Mesh shuddered; a vibration sent a great crack splitting
through girders. With a sound like gunshot, bolts and rivets
snapped.
‘No way out.’
‘Only down.’ Attia glanced over. ‘Do you think ... If we
climbed. . .?‘
‘It would collapse before we were halfway.’ He bit his lip,
then yelled out at the sky. ‘Prison! Do you hear me?’
If it did it did not answer. Under Attia’s feet the metal
began to separate.
‘Do you see this?’ Keiro pulled out the dragonglove.
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‘If you want it, you have to save it. You have to catch it. And
us!’
The road broke open. Attia slid, bracing her feet wide.
Frost fell in showers from girders; a great creaking, straining
howl rang through the structure. Metal struts sprang out.
Keiro grabbed her by the arm. ‘Time to take a chance,’ he
hissed in her ear.
And before she could yell in terror he had leapt with her
off the bridge.
Claudia pondered the selection of masks. One was a
columbine’s upper face with glittering blue sapphires,
topped with a blue feather. Another was white silk, a cat
with elegant slanting eyes and whiskers of silver wire. Fur
trimmed its edge. She picked a red devil from the bed, but it
had to be held on a stick, so that was no use. Tonight, she
needed to be as secret as she could.
The cat, then.
Sitting cross-legged on the bolster she said to Alys, ‘You’ve
packed what I need?’
Her nurse, folding clothes, frowned. ‘Claudia, are you ire
this is wise?’
‘Wise or not, we’re going.’
‘But if the Council find that Finn is the Prince …’
She looked up. ‘They won’t. You know that.’
Far below, in the halls and chambers of the palace,
musicians were tuning up. Faint scrapes and screeches and
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ripples of notes rang through the corridors.
Alys sighed. ‘Poor dear Finn. I’ve grown fond of him,
Claudia. Even though he’s as moody as you can be.’
‘I’m not moody, I’m practical. Finn’s still trapped in his
past.’
‘He misses this boy Keiro. He told me one day all about
their adventures. The Prison sounded such a terrible place,
and yet ... well, he seemed almost sad, looking back. Wistful.
As if he was...’
‘Happier there?’
‘No. No I wouldn’t say that. As if his life was more real
there.’
Claudia snorted. ‘He probably told you a pack of lies. His
stories are never the same twice. Jared says he learnt that in
order to survive.’
The mention of Jared silenced them both. Finally Alys said
cautiously, ‘Have you heard from Master Jared?’
‘He’s probably far too busy to answer my letter.’ It
sounded defensive, even to her.
Alys did the straps up on the leather bag and pushed a
stray hair back. ‘I hope he’s taking care of himself. I’m sure
that Academy is a draughty great barn of a place.’
‘You fuss over him,’ Claudia snapped.
‘Of course I do.We all should.’
Claudia stood. She didn’t want the worry of this now,
didn’t want to have to face Jared’s loss. And the words
Medlicote had spoken burnt in her. Jared could
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never be bought. She would never believe that. ‘We’ll leave
the ball at midnight. Make sure Simon is waiting with the
horses. Behind the folly near the stream, out beyond the
High Meadow’
‘I know. And if he’s seen?’
‘He’s just exercising them.’
‘At midnight! Claudia...’
She scowled. ‘Well, if he has to he’ll just have to hide in the
Forest.’ Seeing Alys’s alarm she raised a hand. ‘And that’s
the end of it!’
Wearing the cat mask would mean the white silk dress,
which was annoyingly cumbersome, but under it she would
wear dark breeches and if she was hot, she’d have to put up
with it. Boots and jacket were in the pack. As Alys fussed
about the fastenings of the dress Claudia thought about her
father. His mask would have been very simple, of black
velvet, and he would have worn it with a faint air of scorn in
his grey eyes. He never danced, but he would have stood
elegantly at the fireplace and talked, and bowed, and
watched her in the minuet and the gavotte. She scowled.
Was she missing him? That would be ridiculous.
But there was something that was pulling him into her
mind, and as Alys hitched the last lace tight Claudia realized
that it was his portrait, there on the wall, looking at her.
His portrait?
‘There.’ Alys stepped back, hot. ‘That’s the best I can do.
Oh you do look well, Claudia. White suits you...’
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There was a tap on the door.
‘Come in she said, and Finn came in, and they both stared.
For a moment she wasn’t even sure it was him. His
clothes were black velvet, slashed with silver, and his mask
was black, and his hair was caught back in a dark ribbon. But
for a moment it could have been the Pretender, until he
spoke.
‘I look ridiculous.’
‘You look fine.’
He propped himself on a chair. ‘Keiro would love this
place. He would be so flamboyant here, so popular. He
always said he’d make a great prince:
‘He’d have us at war within a year.’ Claudia glanced at her
nurse. ‘Leave us now please, Alys.’
Alys went to the door. ‘Good luck, both of you,’ she said
softly. ‘I’ll see you at the Wardenry’
When she was gone they listened to the tuning fiddles.
Finally Finn said, ‘Is she going now?’
‘Leaving at once, with the carriage. A decoy.’
‘Claudia . . .‘
‘Wait.’
Surprised, he saw she had crossed to a small portrait on
the wall, of a man in a dark doublet.
‘Isn’t that your father?’
‘Yes. And it wasn’t here yesterday.’
Finn stood up and crossed to stand behind her. ‘Are you
sure?’
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‘Certain.’
The Warden gazed out at them. His eyes had that cold calm
certainty that Finn remembered, the slightly scornful air that
Claudia often had.
‘You’re like him,’ he said.
‘How can I be like him!’ Her venom startled him. ‘He’s not
really my father, remember.’
‘I didn’t mean like that. . .‘ But it was best not to say any
more about it, he thought. ‘How did it get here?’
‘I don’t know.’ She reached up and took the painting down.
It looked like oil on canvas, and the frame seemed wormeaten,
but when she turned it over they saw it was plastiglas,
and the painting a clever reproduction.
And tucked into the back of the frame was a note.
The door of Jared’s room opened noiselessly and the big man
stepped inside. He was breathless from the climb and the
sword he held was sharp and heavy, but he was fairly certain
he wouldn’t need it.
The Sapient hadn’t even noticed him yet. For a moment the
assassin almost felt sorry for him. So young for a Sapient, so
gentle. But he had turned his head now and was standing,
quickly, as if he knew his danger.
‘Yes? Did you knock?’
‘Death doesn’t knock, Master. Death just walks in, where
he wants to.’
Jared nodded, slowly. He slipped a disc into his pocket.
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‘I see. You, then, are my executioner?’
‘I am.’
‘Don’t I know you?’
‘Yes, Master. This afternoon I had the pleasure of bringing
your letter to the library.’
‘Of course. The porter.’ Jared moved away from the
window, so that the old desk was between them. ‘So that
wasn’t the only message from Court.’
‘You’re quick, Master, like all these scholars.’ The porter
leant companionably on the sword. ‘My instructions came
direct from the Queen herself. She employs me, in a . . .
private capacity.’ He glanced around. ‘You see, she seems to
think you’ve been prying into things you shouldn’t. She
sends you this.’
He held out a sliver of paper.
Jared reached out and took it, over the desk. There was no
way past the man to the door, and the drop from the
window was suicidal. He unfolded the note.
I am very disappointed in you, Master Jared. I offered you the
chance of a cure but that’s not what you’ve been researching, is it?
Did you really think you could fool me? I do feel just a little
betrayed. And oh, how very sad Claudia will be.
It was unsigned, but he knew the Queen’s hand by now. He
crumpled it.
‘I’ll have it back if I may, Master. Not to leave
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any evidence, you see.’
Jared dropped the paper on the desk.
‘And that clever little gadget, sir, if you please.’
He took the disc out and looked at it ruefully, his delicate
fingers adjusting it. ‘Ah, I understand. The moths! I thought
they were a little too curious. I believe they are to my
designs, too.’
‘Insult to injury, sir, I’m sure.’ The man hefted the sword,
regretfully. ‘I hope you know this is not personal at all,
Master. I thought you a very kind gentleman.’
‘So I’m already in the past tense.’
‘I don’t know about tenses and such learning, sir.’ The man
spoke quietly, but there was an edge to his voice now. ‘Such
learning was never for the son of an ostler.’
‘My father was a falconer,’ Jared said mildly.
‘Then maybe they saw your cleverness early.’
‘I suppose they did.’ Jared touched the table with his
finger. ‘I suppose also it’s no use to offer money? To ask you
to reconsider? To join the cause of Prince Giles. . .‘
‘Not till I know which Giles is the true one, sir,’ the man
said firmly. ‘But, as I said, nothing personal.’
Jared smiled, surprising himself. ‘I see.’ He felt calm and
light. ‘Surely a sword is a little . . . obvious?’
‘Oh bless you, sir, I won’t need this. Not unless you make
me. You see, in view of your illness, the Queen thought a
little jump from the tower would look about right. All the
learned Sapienti running out into the quad to find your
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body. Poor Master Jared. Took the quick way out. So
understandable.’
Jared nodded. He put the disc down in front of him on the
desk and heard a tiny metallic click. He glanced up, and his
eyes were green and sad. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to put
you to the trouble of a fight. I don’t intend to jump.’
‘Ah the porter sighed. ‘Well, as you wish. A man has his
pride.’
‘Yes. He does.’ As he said it he moved, jerking to one side.
The big man laughed. ‘You’ll not get past me, sir.’
Jared came round in front of the desk and stood face to face
with him. ‘Then get it over with.’
Two-fisted, the man raised the sword and struck. Jared
leapt to one side with all his agility as it clanged down,
feeling the point whistle past his face, the blade smash across
the desk. But he barely heard the scream, the sizzle of blue
electrified flesh, because the charge seemed to suck the air
out of the room and fling him back against the wall.
Then there was nothing but a singed smell and an echoing
that rang in his ears as if he was deafened.
Gripping the stone work, he pulled himself upright.
The man lay in a heap on the floor; he was still, but
breathing.
Jared gazed down at him. He felt a dull regret, a shame.
And under that a fierce and surprising energy He laughed a
shaky laugh. So this was how it felt to nearly kill a man.
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But of course, there was nothing personal in it.
Carefully he detached the disc from the metal desk,
switched its field off and dropped it in his pocket. Bending
over the porter, he felt his pulse, and laid him gently on his
side. The man was badly shocked and his hands were burnt
but he would almost certainly live. Jared kicked the sword
under the bed, then grabbed his pack and raced down the
stairs. In the dark portico where the sunlight slanted through
the stained-glass windows a tire-woman was hauling a
basket of laundry from the Senior Sapient’s study. Jared
paused. ‘Excuse me. I’m sorry. I’ve left a bit of a mess in my
room, number fifty-six at the top. Do you think someone
could clear it up?’
She looked at him, then nodded. ‘I’ll get someone. Master.’
The basket was obviously heavy and he wanted to tell her
not to hurry, but the man needed help so he said, ‘Thank
you,’ and turned away. He had to be careful. Who knows
what other private arrangements the Queen had here?
In the stable the horses were sleepy, snuffling nosebags. He
saddled his quickly, and then before mounting took the
narrow syringe from its case and injected the medication into
his arm, concentrating on breathing, on the ebbing of the
pain in his chest.
He closed the case and leant a moment, giddy, on the
animal’s warm flank; its long nose came round and nuzzled
him.
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One thing was sure. There would be no cure now He had
had his only chance, and it was gone.
‘Read it Finn,’ said.
She read, her voice shaky.
‘My dear Claudia,
Just a brief word. . .‘
As she said it her voice faltered and stopped because, as if
she had activated it, the portrait came to life. Her father’s
face turned to her and he spoke, his gaze as clear as if he
really saw her.
It will be my last chance to contact you, I’m afraid.
Incarceron has become rather demanding in its ambition. It has
drained almost all the power of the Keys, and awaits only
Sapphique’s Glove.
‘The Glove,’ Finn muttered, and she said, ‘Father. . .‘ but
the voice went on, calm and amused and recorded...
Your friend Keiro holds that. It will certainly be the final piece
of the puzzle. I begin to feel that I have served my purpose, and
that Incarceron has begun to realize it does not need a Warden any
more. It’s really very ironic. Like the Sapienti of old, I have created
a monster, and it has no loyalty.
He paused, and then the smile went, and he looked
drawn. He said Guard the Portal, Claudia. The terrible cruelty
of the Prison must not infect the Realm. If anything tries to come
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through, any person, any being, whoever it seems to be, you must
destroy it. Incarceron is crafty, and I no longer know its plans.
He laughed a wintry laugh.
It seems you will be my successor after all.
His face froze.
She looked up at Finn. Far below, the viols and flutes and
fiddles struck up the first merry dance of the Ball.
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21
‘The fault is yours,’ the Enchanter said. ‘How could a Prison know
of Escape but through your dreams? It would be best to give up the
Glove.’
Sapphique shook his head. ‘Too late. It has grown into me now.
How could I sing my songs without it?’
SAPPHIQUE AND THE DARK ENCHANTER
As they walked arm in arm along the terrace the crowding
courtiers bowed and murmured. Fans fluttered. Eyes
watched through the faces of demons, wolves, mermaids,
storks.
‘Sapphique’s Glove,’ Finn muttered. ‘Keiro has
Sapphique’s Glove.’
She could feel the charge of excitement through his arm. As
if he had been shocked into some new hope.
Down the steps the flowerbeds were curves of twiit
flowers. Beyond the formal gardens she could already see lit
trails of lanterns over the lawns leading to the elaborate
pinnacles of the Shell Grotto. Quickly she tugged him
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behind a vast urn noisily overflowing with water.
‘How could he have it?’
‘Who cares? If it’s real, it might do anything! Unless it’s
some scam he’s playing.’
‘No.’ She watched the crowd, thronging under the lanterns.
‘Attia mentioned a glove. And then she stopped, very
suddenly. As if Keiro wouldn’t let her say any more.’
‘Because it’s real!’ Finn paced the path, brushing phlox that
released its sweet, clinging scent. ‘It really exists!’
Claudia said, ‘People are looking.’
‘I don’t care! Gildas would have been so horrified. He
never trusted Keiro.’
‘But you do.’
‘I’ve told you. Always. How did he get hold of it? How is
he going to use it?’
She gazed at the hundreds of courtiers, a mass of peacock
dresses, gleaming satin coats, elaborate wigs of piled flaxen
hair, They streamed into the pavilions and the
grotto, their chatter loud and endless.
‘Perhaps this Glove was the power source Jared noticed.’
‘Yes!’ He leant against the urn, getting moss on his coat.
Behind the mask his eyes were bright with hope. Claudia felt
only unease.
‘Finn. My father seems to think this Glove will complete
Incarceron’s plan to Escape. That would be a disaster. Surely
Keiro wouldn’t...’
‘You never know what Keiro will do.’
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‘But would he do that? Would he give the Prison the means
of destroying everyone in there, just so that he might Escape
too?’ She had moved to stand right in front of him; he had to
look at her.
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure His voice was low and furious. ‘I know
Keiro.’
‘You just said …’
‘Well … he wouldn’t do that.’
She shook her head, suddenly losing patience with his
stupid, blind loyalty. ‘I don’t believe you. I think you’re
afraid he will do it. I’m certain that Attia’s terrified of it. And
you heard what my father said. Nothing — no one — must
come through the Portal.’
‘Your father! He’s no more your father than I am.’
‘Shut up!’
‘And since when did you do what he says?’
Hot with anger, they faced each other, darkmask to catface.
‘I do what I want!’
‘But you’d believe him before Keiro?’
‘Yes,’ she spat. ‘I would. And before you, too:.’
For a second there was a hurt shock in his eyes; then they
were cold. ‘You’d kill Keiro?’
‘If the Prison was using him. If I had to.’
He was very still. Then he hissed, ‘I thought you were
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different, Claudia. But you’re just as false and cruel and
stupid as the rest of them.’ He walked into the crowd,
shoved two men aside and, ignoring their protests, barged
into the grotto.
Claudia stared after him, every muscle scorched with
wrath. How dare he talk to her like that! If he wasn’t Giles he
was just some Scum of the Prison, and she, despite facts, was
the Warden’s daughter.
She gripped her hands, controlling the rage. It took a deep
breath to get her heartbeat down; she wanted to yell and
smash things, but instead she had to plaster on the smile and
wait here till midnight.
And what then?
After this, would Finn even come with her?
A ripple passed through the crowd, a flurry of elaborate
courtesies, and she saw Sia pass, in a diaphanous gown of
flimsy white, her wig a towering construction of woven hair
in which an armada of tiny gilt ships tossed and drowned.
‘Claudia?’
The Pretender was beside her. ‘I see your brutish escort just
stormed off.’
She took the fan from her sleeve and flicked it open. ‘We
had a slight disagreement, that’s all.’
Giles’s mask was an eagle’s face, beautifully made with
real feathers, its beak hooked and proud. As with everything
he did, it was designed to reinforce his image as
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Prince-in-waiting. It gave him a strangeness, as masks
always do. But his eyes were smiling.
‘A lovers’ tiff?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Then allow me to escort you in.’ He offered her his arm,
and after a moment she took it. ‘And don’t worry about Finn,
Claudia. Finn is history.’
Together, they walked across the lawns to the ball.
Attia fell.
She fell like Sapphique had fallen. A terrible, flapping,
tumbling fall, arms splayed out, with no breath, no sight, no
hearing. She fell through a roaring vortex, into a mouth,
down a throat that swallowed her. Her clothes and hair, her
very skin, rippled and seemed to be torn away so that she
was nothing but a screaming soul plunging headlong into
the abyss.
But then Attia knew that the world was impossible, that it
was a creature that mocked her. Because the air thickened
and nets of cloud formed under her — dense springy clouds
that tumbled her from one to another — and somewhere
there was laughter that might have been Keiro’s and might
have been the Prison’s, as if she couldn’t tell them apart now.
In a flicker between gasps she saw the world re-form; the
hall floor convulsed, split, rolled away. A river erupted
under the viaduct, a black torrent that rose up to meet
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her so fast that she had hardly snatched a breath before she
had plunged into it, deep, deep into a darkness of frothing
bubbles.
A membrane of water webbed her wide mouth. And then
her head burst out, gasping, and the torrent was slowing,
drifting her under dark girders, into caves, into a dim
underworld. Dead Beetles were washed along beside her; the
stream was a conduit of rust, red as blood, channelled
between steep metal sides, its surface greasy and bobbing
with debris, stinking, the outfall of a world. As if it was the
aorta of some great being, sick with bacteria, never to be
healed.
The conduit tipped her over a weir and left her, sprawled,
on a gritty shore, where Keiro was crouched on hands and
knees, retching into the black sand.
Wet, cold, unbelievably battered, she tried to sit up, but
couldn’t. And yet his choked voice was a rasp of triumph.
‘It needs us, Attia! We’ve won. We’ve beaten it’
She didn’t answer.
She was watching the Eye.
The Shell grotto was well named.
A vast cavern, its walls and pendulous roof gleamed with
mother-of-pearl and crystal; each shell arranged in patterns
that whorled and spiralled. False stalactites, hand-adorned
with a million minute crystals, hung from the ceiling.
It was a glassy, dazzling spectacle.
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Claudia danced with Giles, with men with foxfaces and
knights’ helms, with highwaymen and harlequins. She felt
icily calm, and had no idea where Finn was, but perhaps he
could see her. She hoped he could. She chatted, fluttered the
fan, made eyes at everyone through the slanted holes of the
mask, and told herself she was enjoying it. When the chimes
of the clock formed of a million tiny periwinkles struck
eleven, she sipped iced tea from rosy glasses and nibbled on
the cakes and cool sorbets handed out by serving-girls
dressed as nymphs.
And then she saw them.
They wore masks, but she knew they were the Privy
Council. A sudden influx of loud, brilliantly dressed men,
some in long robes, their voices dry and parched from
debate, harsh with relief.
She edged to the nearest, safe behind her mask. ‘Sire. Have
the Council come to a verdict?’
The man winked behind his owlface, and toasted her with
a glass. ‘We certainly have, my pretty kitten He came close,
his breath foul. ‘Meet me behind the pavilion and I might
even tell you what it was.’
She bowed, flicked the fan, and backed away.
Stupid, simpering fools. But this changed everything! The
Queen wouldn’t wait for tomorrow; suddenly Claudia
realized they had been tricked, that the announcement
would be made here, tonight, and the loser arrested on the
spot.
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***
Outside, on the dark lawns beside the lake, Finn stood with
his back to the distant Grotto and ignored the silky voice.
Hut it spoke again, and he felt it like a knife between his
shoulder blades.
‘They’ve reached the verdict. We both know what it will
be.’
The eagleface was reflected, hideously swollen, in the glass
he held. He said, ‘Then let’s finish it now. Right here.’
The lawns were deserted, the lake a ripple of boats and
torches.
Giles laughed, a low amusement. ‘You know I accept.’
Finn nodded. A great relief surged up in him. He threw
down the wineglass, turned and drew his sword.
But Giles was beckoning to a servant who came from the
shadows with a small leather case.
‘Oh no Giles said softly. ‘After all, you were the one who
challenged me. That means by all the rules of honour I get to
choose the weapons.’
He flipped the lid open.
Starlight gleamed on two long, ivory-handled pistols.
Forcing her way through the crowd Claudia searched the
glittering room, was snatched into the dance and squirmed
out of it, ducked under curtains into kissing couples, dodged
troupes of strolling minstrels. The ball became a nightmare
of grotesque faces, but where was Finn?
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Suddenly, near the arched entrance a jester in cap and bells
sprang out in front of her. ‘Oh Claudia, is that you? I insist
you dance with me. Most of these women are complete
clod—hoppers.’
‘Caspar! Have you seen Finn?’
The jester’s painted lips curled in a smile. They came close
to her ear and whispered, ‘Yes. But I’ll only tell you where he
is if you dance with me.’
‘Caspar, don’t be an idiot …’
‘It’s the only way you’ll find him.’
‘I haven’t got time …’ But he had caught her hands and
dragged her into the gavotte, a great stately square of
couples pacing and joining hands to the music, their masks
forming crazy partnerships of devil and cockerel, goddess
and hawk.
‘Caspar!’ She hauled him out and pinned him against the
glittering wall. ‘Tell me where he is now or you get my knee
where it hurts. I mean it!’
He scowled, waving the bells crossly. ‘You’re a total bore
about him. Forget him.’ His eyes went sly. ‘Because my dear
mama’s explained it all to me. You see, when the Pretender is
chosen then Finn is dead and after a few weeks we expose
the other one as a fake too and so I get the throne.’
‘So he is a fake?’
‘Of course he is.’
She stared at him so hard he said, ‘You look really strange.
Don’t tell me you didn’t know.’
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‘Did you know that when Finn dies I do?’
He was silent. Then, ‘My mother wouldn’t do that. I
wouldn’t let her.’
‘She’ll eat you alive, Caspar. Now where is Finn?’
The jester’s face had lost its mirth. ‘He’s with the other one.
They’ve gone out by the lake.’
For a second she stared at him and felt nothing but cold
fear.
Then she ran.
Finn stood in the darkness and watched the muzzle of the
pistol as it rose. Giles held it at arm’s length, ten paces away
across the dark lawn. He held it steady, and the hole that the
bullet would fire from was a perfect circle of blackness, the
dark eye of death.
Finn stared into it.
He would not flinch.
He wouldn’t move.
Every muscle was so tense he felt he would break, that he
had become wooden, that the shot would fracture him into
pieces.
But he would not move.
He felt calm, as if this was the moment of decision. If he
died here he could never have been Giles. If he was meant to
live he would live. Stupid, Keiro would say.
But it made him feel strong.
And as the Pretender’s finger clicked back on the trigger
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he felt its answer deep in his mind, as if a cascade of images
was shifting and unlocking.
‘Giles! No!’
He didn’t know which of them Claudia’s scream was for.
But neither of them were looking at her when Giles fired.
It was a huge Eye and it was brilliantly red.
For a moment Attia thought it was the dragon of the old
story, its head low, staring at her, and then she saw that it
was the opening of a cave, that outside it a fiery light burnt.
She picked herself up, and stared at Keiro.
He looked terrible, just as she must; wet, ragged, bruised.
But the water had made his hair yellow again; he slicked it
back and said, ‘1 must have been crazy bringing you.’
She limped past him, too weary to even care any more.
The cave was a red velvet chamber, perfectly circular, with
seven tunnels leading out of it. In the centre of the room,
cooking something over a small bright fire, a man sat with
his back to them. He had long hair, and wore a dark robe,
and he didn’t turn.
The meat crackled, its smell fabulous.
Keiro glanced at the hastily-rigged tent, the gaudy stripes,
the small wheeled cart where a cyber-ox chewed something
green and soggy. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Impossible’
He stepped forward, but the man said, ‘Still with your
handsome pal then, Attia?’
Her eyes widened with shock.
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She said, ’Rix?’
‘Who else? And how did I get here? By the Art Magicke,
sweetie He turned, and gave his sly gap-tooth grin. ‘Did you
really think I was just some backstreet conjuror?’ He winked,
and leant forward, sprinkling some dark dust on the flames.
Keiro sat. ‘I don’t believe this.’
‘Believe it.’ Rix stood. ‘Because I am the Dark
Enchanter, and now I enchant you both into magic sleep.’
Smoke was billowing from the fire, sweet and cloying.
Keiro jumped up and stumbled, and fell. Darkness entered
Attia’s nose, her throat, her eyes.
It took her hand, and led her into silence.
Finn felt the bullet pass his chest like a crack of lightning.
Instantly he raised his pistol, and pointed it straight at
Giles’s head. The eagle mask tilted.
From the clock tower the chimes of midnight began;
Claudia, gasping for breath, couldn’t move, even though she
knew the Queen would be announcing the verdict right now.
‘Finn. please,’ she whispered.
‘You never believed me.’
‘I believe you now. Don’t shoot him.’
He smiled, his eyes dark under the black mask. His finger
clicked the trigger steadily back.
Giles stumbled away.
‘Keep still,’ Finn growled.
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‘Look.’ The Pretender spread his hands. ‘We can make a
deal.’
‘Sia chose well. But you’re no prince.’
‘Let me go. I’ll tell them. Explain everything.’
‘Oh I don’t think so.’ The trigger trembled.
‘I swear . . .’
‘Too late,’ Finn said, and fired.
Giles crashed back on to the grass with a speed that made
Claudia screech; she ran to him and knelt over him. Finn
came up and stood gazing down. ‘I should have killed him,’
he said.
The bullet had struck the Pretender’s arm; it hung broken,
and the impact had knocked him senseless. Claudia turned.
A great hubbub was rising from the lit grotto; dancers were
running out tearing off their masks, unsheathing swords.
‘His coat,’ she hissed.
Finn hauled him up and they stripped the silk coat from
him; Finn shrugged his own off and struggled into the other.
As he fitted the eagle mask over his face Claudia tugged the
dark coat and mask on to the Pretender. ‘Keep the pistol,’ she
hissed as the soldiers came racing up.
Finn grabbed her and held the pistol to her back as she
swore and struggled.
The guard dropped to one knee. ‘Sire, the verdict has been
given.’
‘What was it?’ Claudia gasped.
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The guard ignored her. ‘You indeed are Prince Giles.’
Finn gave a harsh laugh that made Claudia stare at him. I
know who I am.’ His breath came harsh from inside the
eagle’s beak. ‘This Scum from the Prison is wounded. Take
him and throw him in some cell. Where is the Queen?’
‘In the ballroom …’
‘Stand aside.’ Leading Claudia like a prisoner he stalked off
towards the lights. Once out of earshot he muttered, ‘Where
are the horses?’
‘At Shear’s Folly.’
He dropped her arm, threw the pistol into the grass, and
took one look back at his lost, enchanted palace. Then he
said, ‘Let’s go.’
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298
What Key
Unlocks the Heart
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300
22
… deep forests and dark lanes. A Realm of magic and beauty. A
land like those in legends.
KING ENDOR’S DECREE
Lightning flickered.
It blinked silently across the sky, lighting the underside of
the ominous clouds, and Jared pulled the nervous horse to a
halt.
He waited, counting the seconds. Finally, when the weight
of tension seemed almost too heavy to bear, the rumble
broke; it thundered across the sky above the Forest, as if a
being of enormous anger raged over the treetops.
The night was close, sticky with humidity. The reins in
his hands creaked, the soft leather greasy with sweat. He
leant forward over the horse’s neck, breathing painfully,
every bone in his body aching.
At first he had ridden recklessly, afraid of pursuit, turning
off the road on to obscure forest tracks, anything that led
west, towards the Wardenry. But now, after hours, the track
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had dwindled to this narrow foxtrail, the undergrowth so
matted it brushed his knees and the horse’s flank, raising a
rank smell of trampled weeds and the decay of centuries of
leaves.
He was deep in the Forest, there was no way of seeing the
stars, and though he wasn’t really lost — he always carried a
small way-finder — there was no way on from here. The
ground was broken with streams and slopes, the darkness
intense. And the storm was coming.
Jared rubbed the horse’s mane. He would have to
backtrack to the streatn. But he was so tired, and the pain
that lived inside him had somehow come out and was
wrapping itself around him; he couldn’t help thinking he
was riding deeper into it, that its thorns were the Forest’s. He
was thirsty and hot. He would go back to the stream, and
drink.
The horse whickered as he coaxed it; its ears flickered as
the thunder rumbled again. Jared let it find the way; he only
realized that his eyes were closed when the reins slid from
his fingers and the horse’s long neck dipped; there was a
quiet slurp of water.
‘Good boy,’ he whispered.
Carefully, he slid down, holding on to the saddlebow. As
soon as his feet met the ground he crumpled, as if he had no
strength even to stand. Only clinging on kept him upright.
Ghostly umbels of hemlock rose all around, higher than
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his head, their perfume sickly. Jared breathed deeply; then
he slid to his knees and felt in the darkness until his fingers
touched water.
Icy cold, it flowed among stems and stones.
He cupped it and drank, and its cold made him cough, but
it was better than wine. He drank more, splashing his face
and hair and the back of his neck with its freezing shock.
Then he unrolled the syringe from his pack and injected the
usual dose.
He had to sleep. There was fog in his mind, a numbness
that scared him. He wound the Sapient coat around him and
curled up in the scratchy, rustling nettles. But now he could
not close his eyes.
It wasn’t the Forest he feared. It was the thought that he
might die here, and never wake again. That the horse would
wander away and the leaves of autumn cover him, that he
would decay to bones and never be found. That Claudia
would...
He told himself to stop. But the pain laughed at him. The
pain was his dark twin now, sleeping with its arms tight
about him.
With a shudder he sat up, pushing back wet hair. This was
hysteria. He was quite certainly not about to die here. For
one thing, he had information Finn and Claudia needed,
about the door in the Prison’s heart, about the Glove. He
intended to get it to them.
For another, his death was unlikely to be this easy.
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Then he saw the star.
It was red, and small. It was watching him. He tried to stop
shivering, and focus, but the glimmer was hard to see. Either
his fever was causing him to hallucinate, or this was some
marsh-gas, flickering above the ground. Grasping a branch,
he scrambled to his knees.
The red Eye winked.
Jared reached up, caught the reins and dragged the horse
from its grazing, towards the light.
He was burning, the darkness tugging him back, each step
a clutch of pain, a shiver of sweat. Nettles stung him; he
pushed through low branches, a cloud of metallic moths, a
sky where a thousand stars slid and slithered. Under a vast
oak he stopped, breathless. Before him was a clearing, with a
fire burning there, and feeding it with kindling a thin, darkhaired
man, flamelight playing over his face.
The man turned.
‘Come, Master Jared he said quietly. ‘Come to the fire.’
Jared crumpled, holding the oak bough, its ridged bark
powdery under his nails.
Then the man’s arms were around him. ’I’ve got you,’ the
voice said. ‘I’ve got you now.’
When Attia wanted to wake she found she couldn’t. Sleep
lay heavy on her eyelids like stones. Her arms were behind
her and for a moment she was back in the tiny box-bed in
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the cell her family had once called home, a cramped corridor
where six families camped in ramshackle shelters of stolen
wire and mesh.
She smelt the damp and tried to turn and something held
her still.
She realized she was sitting upright, and a serpent was
coiled round her wrists.
Instantly, her eyes snapped open.
Rix was squatting by the fire. He was folding a small wad
of ket, and he blurred before her as he slipped it into his
cheek and chewed.
She tugged. There was no snake; her hands were tied
behind her and she leant against something warm and
slumped. She realized it was Keiro. Rix had trussed them
back to back.
‘Well, Attia.’ Rix’s voice was cold. ‘You look a little
uncomfortable.’
The ropes were cutting her hands and ankles. Keiro’s
weight was heavy on her shoulder. But she just smiled. ‘How
did you get here, Rix? However did you find us?’
He spread his magician’s fingers. ‘For the Dark Enchanter
nothing is impossible. The magic of the Glove drew me,
through the miles of corridors and
echoing galleries.’
He chewed the ket with red-stained teeth.
Attia nodded. He looked thinner and lankier, his face
pocked and scabbed and unwashed, his lank hair greasy.
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The crazy look was back in his eyes.
He must already have the Glove.
Keiro was stirring behind her, as if their voices had
wakened him. As he moved she glanced quickly round, saw
the dark tunnels that led out of the cave, each as narrow as a
slot. The waggon would never get through them. Rix
grinned his gappy grin. ‘Don’t worry, Attia. I have plans. It’s
all arranged.’
His voice hardened and he leant over and kicked Keiro.
‘So, highwayman. Thieving isn’t so good for you now, is it?’
Keiro swore under his breath. Attia felt him wriggle and
jerk, pulling her painfully as he squirmed round to get a
better look at Rix. Reflected grotesquely in a copper pan on
the waggon she saw his blue eyes, a smear of blood on his
forehead. But being Keiro, his voice was icily cool.
‘Didn’t think you’d bear such a grudge, Rix.’
‘Nothing so paltry as a grudge.’ Rix stared back, his eyes
glinting. ‘This is revenge. Served cold. I swore it, I’ll do it.’
Keiro’s hand felt warm and sweaty. It groped for Attia’s
fingers while he said, ‘I’m sure we can come to some
arrangement.’
‘About what?’ Rix leant forward, drawing something dark
and shining from his coat. ‘This?’
She felt Keiro’s stillness. His dismay.
Rix spread out the dragonskin fingers, smoothed the
cracked and ancient claws. ‘It drew me. It called me.
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Through the transitways, through the humming air, I could
hear it. See how its static shivers on my skin.’
The hairs on his arm were lifting.
He nuzzled his cheek against the gauntlet and its fine
scales rippled. ‘This is mine. My touch, my senses. My
magician’s art.’ He watched them, slyly, over the dragonskin.
‘No artist can lose his touch. It called me, and I found it
again.’
Attia clutched Keiro’s fingers, slid along the rope to the
knots. He’s crazy, she wanted to tell him. Unstable. Be careful.
But Keiro’s answer was quiet and mocking.
‘I’m happy for you. But Incarceron and I have a deal and
you wouldn’t dare...’
‘Long ago,’ Rix said, ‘the Prison and I also had a deal. A
wager. A game of riddles.’
‘I thought that was Sapphique’
Rix grinned. ‘And I won. But Incarceron cheats, you know?
It gave me its Glove and promised Escape, but what Escape
is there for those of us trapped in the mazes of our minds,
highwayman? What secret trapdoors are there, what tunnels
to the Outside? Because I have seen the Outside, seen it, and
it’s vaster than you could dream.’
Attia felt icy with fear.
Rix grinned at her. ‘Attia thinks I’m insane.’
‘No . . .‘ she lied.
‘Oh yes, sweetkin. And you may be right.’ He straightened
his lanky body and sighed. ‘And here you both
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are at my mercy, like the babes in the wood in a patchbook
I once read.’
Attia laughed. Anything to keep him talking. ‘Not another
one.’
‘Their wicked stepmother left them in the dark forest. But
they found a house all made of gingerbread and the witch
that lived there turned them into swans. They flew away
linked by a golden chain.’ He was gazing at the tiny swans
pinned to the Glove.
‘Right,’ Keiro said acidly. ‘And then?’
‘They came to a great tower where a sorcerer lived.’ Rix put
the Glove away tidily and went and rummaged in the
waggon.
Attia felt the ropes burn her wrists as Keiro tugged at them
furiously. ‘And he released them?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Rix turned. He had the long sword that he
used in his act, and its blade was sharp. ‘I’m afraid it’s not a
happy ending, Attia.You see, they had betrayed him, and
stolen from him. He was very angry about it. So he had to
kill them.’
Three leagues from the Court Claudia dragged the winded
horse to a halt and gazed back. The great complex of towers
was brilliantly lit; the Glass Palace a shining splendour.
Finn’s horse thudded to stillness beside her, its harness
clinking. He stared silently.
‘Will Jared know we’ve gone?’
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‘I sent him a message.’
Her voice was taut; he glanced at her. ‘What’s wrong then?’
It took a while for her to answer. ’Medlicote told me the
Queen had bribed Jared.’
‘No chance. There’s no way he would …’
‘There’s his illness. She’d use that against him.’
Finn frowned. Under the perfect stars the Court glittered,
as cold and cruel as scattered diamonds. ‘Will he really die
from it?’
‘I think so. He makes light of it. But I think so.’ The
desolation in her voice chilled him, but she sat upright and
as the wind whipped her hair back he saw there were no
tears in her eyes.
Thunder rumbled, far off.
He wanted to say something comforting, but the horse was
restless, stamping its impatience, and in the Prison death had
been too familiar to feel strange now. Controlling the horse,
he brought it back round to her. ‘Jared is brilliant,
Claudia. He’s far too clever to be controlled by the Queen, or
anyone else. Don’t worry. Trust him’
‘I told him I did.’
Still she didn’t move. He reached out and caught her arm.
‘Come on. We need to hurry’
She turned and looked at him. ‘You could have killed
Giles.’
‘I should have. Keiro would despair. But that boy is not
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Giles. I am.’ He met her eyes. ‘Standing there with that pistol
pointed at me, I knew. I remembered, Claudia. I remembered.’
She stared at him, astonished.
Then the horse whinnied, and they saw the lights of the
Court, all its hundreds of candles and lanterns and windows
flicker and go out. For a whole minute the Palace was a
blackness under the stars. Claudia held her breath. If they
didn’t come back on . . . If this was the end.
Then the Palace was blazing again.
Finn held out his hand. ‘I think you should give me
Incarceron.’
She hesitated. Then she drew out her father’s watch and
handed it to him, and he held up the silver cube, so that it
spun on its chain. ‘Keep it safe, sire.’
‘The Prison is drawing power from its own systems.’ He
glanced down at the Palace, where a clamour of bells and
shouts had begun to ring out.
‘And from ours,’ Claudia whispered.
‘You can’t. Rix, you can’t.’Attia’s voice was earnest and low,
anything to keep him calm. ‘It’s ridiculous. I worked for you
— we went against that gang of bandits together, that mob in
the plague village. You liked me. We got on. You can’t hurt
me:
‘You know a few too many secrets, Attia.’
‘Cheap tricks! Cons. Everybody knows them’ It was the
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real sword, not the collapsible one. She licked sweat from her
lip.
‘Well maybe.’ He pretended to consider, and then grinned.
‘But you see, it’s the Glove. Stealing that was unforgivable.
The Glove is telling me to do it. So I’ve decided you’ll go
first, and then your friend there can watch. It’ll be quick,
Attia. I’m a merciful man.’
Keiro was silent, as if he was leaving this to her. He had
given up on the knots. Nothing would undo those in time.
Attia said, ‘You’re tired, Rix. You’re mad. You know it.’
‘I’ve walked a few wild Wings.’ He swept the sword
experimentally through the air. ‘I’ve crawled a few crazy
corridors.’
‘Talking of which,’ Keiro said suddenly, ‘where’s that pack
of freaks you usually travel with?’
‘Resting.’ Rix was working himself up. ‘I needed to move
fast.’ He swung the sword again. There was a sly light in his
eye that terrified Attia. His voice was slurred with ket.
‘Behold!’ he muttered. ‘You search for a Sapient who will
show you the way Out. I am that man!’
It was the patter of his act. She struggled, kicking, jerking
against Keiro. ‘He’ll do it. He’s off his skull!’
Rix swung to an imaginary crowd. ‘The way that
Sapphique took lies through the Door of Death. I will take
this girl there and I will bring her back!’
The fire crackled. He bowed to its applause, to the ranks of
roaring people, held up the sword in his hand. ‘Death.
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We fear it. We would do anything to avoid it. Before your
eyes, you will see the dead live.’
‘No.’ Attia gasped. ‘Keiro …’
Keiro sat still. ‘No chance. He’s got us.’
Rix’s face was flushed in the red light; his eyes bright as if
with fever. ‘I will release her! I will bring her back!’
With a whipping slash that made her gasp the sword was
raised, and at the same time Keiro’s voice, acid with scorn
and deliberately conversational, came from the darkness
behind her.
‘So tell me, Rix, since you seem to think you’re Sapphique.
What was the answer to the riddle you asked the dragon?
What is the Key that unlocks the heart?’
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23
He worked night and day. He made a coat that would transform
him; he would be more than a man; a winged creature, beautiful as
light. All the birds brought him feathers. Even the eagle. Even the
swan.
LEGENDS OF SAPPHIQUE
Jared was sure he was still delirious. Because he lay in a
ruined stable and there was a fire, crackling loudly in the
silent night.
The rafters were a mesh of holes above his head, and in one
place a barn owl stared down with wide astonished eyes.
From somewhere water dripped. The splashes landed
rhythmically just beside his face, as if after some great
rainstorm. A small pool had formed, soaking into the straw.
Someone’s hand lay half out of the blankets; he tried absently
to make it move, and the long fingers cramped and
stretched. It was his, then.
He felt disconnected, only vaguely interested, as if he had
been out of his body on some long and tiring journey.
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As if he had come home to find the house cold and
comfortless.
His throat, when he remembered it, was dry His eyes
itched. His body, when he moved it, ached.
And he must be delirious because there were no stars.
Instead, through the broken roof of the building a single red
Eye hung huge in the sky, like the moon in some livid
eclipse.
Jared studied it. It stared back, but it wasn’t watching him.
It was watching the man.
The man was busy. Over his knees he had some old coat
— a Sapient robe, perhaps — and on each side of him rose a
great stack of feathers. Some were blue, like the one Jared
had sent through the Portal. Others were long and black, like
a swan’s, and brown, an eagle’s plumage.
‘The blue ones are very useful: the man said, without
turning. ‘Thank you for them.’
‘My pleasure,’ Jared murmured. Each word was a croak.
The stable was hung with small golden lanterns, like the
ones used at Court. Or perhaps these were the stars, taken
down and propped here and there, hung on wires. The
man’s hands moved swiftly. He was sewing the feathers into
the bare patches of the coat, fixing them first with dabs of
pitchy resin that smelt of pine cones when it dripped on the
straw. Blue, black, brown. A coat of feathers, wide as wings.
Jared made an effort to sit up, and managed it, propping
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himself dizzily against the wall. He felt weak and shaky.
The man put the coat aside and came over. ‘Take your
time. There’s water here.’
He brought a jug and cup, and poured. As he held it out
Jared saw that the right forefinger of his hand was missing; a
smooth scar seamed the knuckle.
‘Only a little, Master. It’s very cold.’
Jared barely felt the shock to his throat. As he drank he
watched the dark-haired man and the man stared back, a
rueful, sad smile.
‘Thank you.’
‘There’s a well just near here. The best water in the Realm.’
‘How long have I been here?’
‘There’s no time here, remember. Time seems to be
forbidden in the Realm.’ He sat back, and there were feathers
stuck to him, and his eyes were steady and obsessive as a
hawk’s.
‘You are Sapphique,’ Jared said quietly.
‘I took that name in the Prison.’
‘Is that where we are?’
Sapphique pulled plumage from his hair. ‘This is a prison,
Master. Whether it’s Inside or Out, I’ve learnt, is not really
important. I fear they both may be the same.’
Jared struggled to think. He had been riding in the Forest.
There were many outlaws in the Forest, many woodwoses
and madmen. Those who couldn’t bear the
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stagnation of Era, who wandered as beggars. Was this one of
them?
Sapphique sat back, his legs stretched out. In the firelight
he was young and pale, his hair lank with the forest—damp.
‘But you Escaped,’ Jared said. ‘Finn has told me some of the
tales they tell about you in there, in Incarceron.’ He rubbed at
his face and found it rough, faintly stubbled. How long had
he been here?
‘There are always stories.’
‘They’re not true?’
Sapphique smiled. ‘You’re a scholar, Jared. You know that
the word truth is a crystal, like the Key. It seems transparent,
but it has many facets. Different lights, red and gold and
blue, flicker in its depths. Yet it unlocks the door.’
‘The door. . . You found a secret door, they say.’
Sapphique poured more water. ‘How I searched for it. I
spent whole lifetimes searching. I forgot my family, my
home; I gave blood, tears, a finger. I made myself wings and
I flew so high the sky struck me down. I fell so far into the
dark that there seemed no ending to the -abyss. And yet in
the end, there it was, a tiny plain door in the Prison’s heart.
The emergency exit. Right there all the time.’
Jared sipped the cold water. This must be a vision, like Finn
had in his seizures. He himself was probably lying delirious
now in the dark rainy woodland. And yet could it be so real?
‘Sapphique .. . I must ask you...’
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‘Ask, my friend.’
‘The door. Can all the Prisoners leave by it? Is that
possible?’
But Sapphique had gathered the feathered coat and was
examining its holes. ‘Each man has to find it himself, as I
did.’
Jared lay back. He tugged the blanket around him,
shivering and tired. In the Sapient tongue he said softly, ‘Tell
me, Master, did you know Incarceron was tiny?’
‘Is it?’ Sapphique replied in the same language, his green
eyes as he looked up lit by deep points of flame. ‘To you,
perhaps. Not to its Prisoners. Every prison is a universe for
its inmates. And think, Jared Sapiens. Might not the Realm
also be tiny, swinging from the watchchain of some being in
a world even vaster? Escape is not enough; it does not
answer the questions. It is not Freedom. And so I will repair
my wings and fly away to the stars. Do you see them?’
He pointed, and Jared drew in a breath of awe, because there
they were, all around him, the galaxies and nebulae, the
thousands of constellations he had so often watched through
the powerful telescope in his tower, the glittering brilliance
of the universe.
‘Do you hear their song?’ Sapphique murmured.
But only the silence of the Forest came to them, and
Sapphique sighed. ‘Too far away. But they do sing, and I will
hear that music.’
Jared shook his head. Weariness was creeping over him,
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and the old fear. ‘Perhaps Death is our escape
‘Death is a door, certainly.’ Sapphique stopped threading
a blue feather and looked at him. ‘You fear death, Jared?’
‘I fear the way to it.’
The narrow face seemed all angles in the firelight. It said,
‘Don’t let the Prison wear my Glove, use my hands, speak
with my face. Whatever you have to do, do not allow that.’
There were so many questions Jared wanted to ask. But
they scuttled away from him like rats into holes and he
closed his eyes and lay back. Like his own shadow,
Sapphique leant beside him.
‘Incarceron never sleeps. It dreams, and its dreams are
terrible. But it never sleeps.’
He barely heard. He was falling down the telescope,
through its convex lenses, into a universe of galaxies.
Rix blinked.
He paused, barely for a second.
Then he slashed the sword down. Attia flinched arid
screamed but it whistled behind her and sliced the ropes that
held her to Keiro, nicking her wrist so that it bled. ‘What the
hell are you doing?’ she gasped, scrambling away.
The magician didn’t even look at her. He pointed the
trembling blade at Keiro. ‘What did you say?’
If Keiro was amazed he didn’t show it. He stared straight
back, and his voice was cool and careful. ‘I said, what’s the
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Key that unlocks the heart. What’s the matter, Rix? Can’t
answer your own riddle?’
Rix was white. He turned and walked in a rapid circle and
came back. ‘That’s it. It’s you. It’s you!’
‘What’s me?’
‘How can it be you? I don’t want it to be you! For a while I
thought it might be her: He jabbed the blade at Attia. ‘But
she never said it, never came near saying it!’
He paced another frantic circle.
Keiro had drawn his knife. Hacking at the ropes on his
ankles he muttered, ‘He’s barking.’
No. Wait.’ Attia watched Rix, her eyes wide. ‘You mean
the Question, don’t you? The Question you once told me
only your Apprentice would ever ask you. That was it? Keiro
asked it?’
‘He did.’ Rix couldn’t seem to keep still. He was shivering,
his long fingers gripping and loosening on the swordhilt. ‘It’s
him. It’s you.’ He tossed the sword down and hugged
himself. ‘A Scum thief is my Apprentice:
‘We’re all scum,’ Keiro said. ‘if you think...’
Attia silenced him with a glare. They had to be so t careful
here.
He undid the ropes and stretched his feet out with a
grimace. Then he leant back and she saw he understood. lie
smiled his most charming smile. ‘Rix. Please sit down.’
The lanky magician collapsed and huddled up like a
spider. His utter dismay almost made Attia want to laugh
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aloud, and yet she felt sorry for him. Some dream that had
kept him going for years had come true, and he was
devastated in his disappointment.
‘This changes everything.’
‘I should think so.’ Keiro tossed the knife to Attia. ‘So I’m
the sorcerer’s apprentice, am I? Well, it might come in
useful.’
She scowled at him. Joking was stupid. They had to use
this.
‘What does it mean?’ Keiro leant forward, his shadow huge
on the cave wall.
‘It means revenge is forgotten.’ Rix stared blankly into the
flames. ‘The Art Magicke has rules. It means I have to teach
you all my tricks. All the substitutions, the replications, the
illusions. How to read minds and palms and leaves. How to
disappear and reappear.’
‘How to saw people in half?’
‘That too.’
‘Nice.’
‘And the secret writings, the hidden craft, the alchemies,
the names of the Great Powers. How to raise the dead, how
to live for ever. How to make gold pour from a donkey’s
ear.’
They stared at his rapt, gloomy face. Keiro raised an
eyebrow at Attia. They both knew how precarious this was.
Rix was unstable enough to kill; their lives depended on his
whims. And he had the Glove.
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Gently she said, ‘So we’re all friends again now?’
‘You!’ He glared at her. ‘Not you!’
‘Now now, Rix.’ Keiro faced him. ‘Attia’s my slave. She
does what I say.’
She swallowed her fury and glanced away. He was
enjoying this. He would tease Rix within inches of Insanity;
then grin and charm the danger away. She was trapped here
between them, and she had to stay, because of the Glove.
Because she had to get it before Keiro did.
Rix seemed sunk in torpor. And yet after a moment he
nodded, muttered to himself and went to the waggon,
tugging things out.
‘Food?’ Keiro said hopefully.
Attia whispered, ‘Don’t push your luck.’
‘At least I have luck. I’m the Apprentice, I can twist him
round my finger like flexiwire.’
But when Rix came back with bread and cheese Keiro ate it
as gratefully as Attia, while Rix watched and chewed ket and
seemed to recover his gap—toothed humour. ‘Thieving not
paying well these days then?’
Keiro shrugged.
‘All the jewels you carry; Sacks of loot.’ Rix sniggered. Fine
clothes.’
Keiro fixed him with a cold eye. ‘So which is the tunnel we
leave by?’
Rix looked at the seven slots. ‘There they are. Seven narrow
arches. Seven openings into the darkness. One leads
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to the heart of the Prison. But we sleep now. At Lightson, I
take you into the unknown.’
Keiro sucked his fingers. ‘Anything you say, boss.’
Finn and Claudia rode all night. They galloped down the
dark lanes of the Realm, clattering over bridges and through
fords where sleepy ducks flapped from the rushes, quacking.
They clopped through muddy villages where dogs barked
and only a child’s eye at the edge of a lifted shutter watched
them go by.
They had become ghosts, Claudia thought, or shadows.
Cloaked in black like outlaws, they fled the Court, and
behind them there would be uproar, the Queen furious, the
Pretender vengeful, the servants panicked, the army being
ordered out.
This was rebellion, and nothing would be the same now.
They had rejected Protocol. Claudia wore the dark breeches
and coat and Finn had flung the Pretender’s finery into the
hedge. As the dawn began to break they topped a rise and
found themselves high above the golden countryside, the
cocks crowing in its pretty farmyards, its picturesque hovels
glowing in the new light.
‘Another perfect day: Finn muttered.
‘Not for long maybe. Not if Incarceron has its way.’
Grimly, she led the way down the track.
By midday they were too exhausted to go on, the horses
stumbling with weariness. At an isolated byre shadowed by
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elms they found straw heaped in a dim sun-slanted loft,
where dull flies buzzed and doves cooed in the rafters.
There was nothing to eat.
Claudia curled up and slept. If they spoke, she didn’t
remember it.
When she woke it was from a dream of someone knocking
insistently at her door, of Alys saying, ‘Claudia, your father’s
here. Get dressed, Claudia”
And then soft in her ear, Jared’s whisper: ‘Do you trust me,
Claudia?’
With a gasp she sat upright.
The light was fading. The doves had gone and the barn was
silent, with only a rustle in the far corner that might have
been mice.
She leant back, slowly, on one elbow.
Finn had his back to her; he slept with his body curled up
in the straw, the sword by his hand.
She watched him for a while until his breathing altered,
and although he didn’t move, she knew he was awake. She
said, ‘How much do you remember?’
‘Everything.’
‘Such as?’
‘My father. How he died. Bartlett. My engagement with you.
My whole life at Court before the Prison. In snatches
… foggy, but there. The only thing I don’t know is what
happened between the ambush in the Forest and the day I
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woke in the Prison cell. Perhaps I never will.’
Claudia drew her knees up and picked straw from them.
Was this the truth? Or had it become so necessary for him to
know that he had convinced himself?
Maybe her silence revealed her doubts. He rolled over.
‘Your dress that day was silver. You were so small — you
wore a little necklace of pearls and they gave me white roses
to present to you. You gave me your portrait in a silver
frame.’
Had it been like silver? She had thought gold.
‘I was scared of you.’
‘Why?’
‘They said I had to marry you. But you were so perfect, and
shining, your voice was so bright. I just wanted to go and
play with my new dog’
She stared at him. Then she said, ‘Come on. They’re
probably only hours behind.’
Usually it took three days to travel between the Court and
the Wardenry; but that was with inn stops, and carriages.
Like this it was a relentless gallop, sore and weary and
stopping only to buy hard bread and ale from a girl who
came running out from a decaying cottage. They rode past
watermills and churches, over wide downs where sheep
scattered before them, through wool-snagged hedges, over
ditches and the wide grassgrown scars of the ancient wars.
Finn let Claudia lead. He no longer knew where they were,
and every bone in his body ached with
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the strain of the unaccustomed riding. But his mind was
clear, clearer and happier than he ever remembered. He saw
the land sharp and bright; the smells of the trampled grass,
the birdsong, the soft mists that rose from the earth seemed
new things to him. He dared not hope that the fits were over.
But perhaps his memory had brought back some old
strength, some certainties.
The landscape changed slowly. It became hilly, the fields
smaller, the hedges thick, untrimmed masses of oak and
birch and holly. All night they rode through them, down
lanes and bridlepaths and secret ways as Claudia became
more and more certain of where she was.
And then, when Finn was almost asleep in the saddle, his
horse slowed to a halt, and he opened his eyes and looked
down on an ancient manor house, pale in the glimmer of the
broken moon, its moat a silver sheen, its windows lit with
candles, the perfume of its ghostly roses sweet in the night.
Claudia smiled in relief. ‘Welcome to the Wardenry.’ Then
she laughed ruefully. ‘I left in a carriage full of finery to go to
my wedding. What a way to come back
Finn nodded. ‘But you still brought the Prince,’ he said.
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24
People will love you f you tell them of your fears.
THE MIRROR OF DREAMS TO SAPPHIQUE
‘Well?’
Rix grinned. With a showman’s flourish he pointed to the
third tunnel from the left.
Keiro walked over to it and peered in. It seemed as dark
and smelly as the rest. ‘How do you know?’
‘I hear the heartbeat of the Prison.’
There was a small red Eye just inside each of the tunnels.
They all watched Keiro.
‘If you say so.’
‘Don’t you believe me?’
Keiro turned. ’Like I said, you’re the boss. Which reminds
me, when do I start my training?’
‘Right now.’ Rix seemed to have got over his
disappointment. He had a self-important air this morning; he
took a coin out of the air before Keiro’s eyes, spun it, and
held it out to him. ‘You practise moving it between
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your fingers like this. And so. You see?’
The coin rippled between his bony knuckles.
Keiro took it. ‘I’m sure I can manage that:
‘You’ve picked enough pockets to be deft, you mean.’
Keiro smiled. He palmed the coin, then made it reappear.
Then he ran it pleasantly through his fingers, not as
smoothly as Rix but far better than Attia could have done.
‘Room for improvements’ Rix said loftily. ‘But my
Apprentice is a natural.’
He turned away, ignoring Attia completely, and strode into
the tunnel.
She followed, feeling gloomy and a little jealous. Behind
her the coin tinkled as Keiro dropped it, and swore.
The tunnel was high, its smooth walls perfectly circular. It
was lit only by the Eyes, which were placed at regular
intervals in the roof, so that the red glow of one was distant
before the next made their shadows loom on the floor.
‘Are you watching us so closely?’ Attia wanted to ask. She
could feel Incarceron here, its curiosity; its need, breathing in
her ear, like a fourth walker in the shadows.
Rix was far in front, with a bag on his back and the sword,
and somewhere, hidden on his person, the Glove. Attia had
no weapons, nothing to carry. She felt light, because
everything she knew or owned had been left behind, in some
past that was slipping from her mind. Except Finn. She still
carried Finn’s words like treasure in
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her hands. I haven’t abandoned you.
Keiro came last. His dark red coat was torn and ragged but
he wore a belt with two knives from the waggon stuck in it
and he had scrubbed his hands and face and tied up his hair.
As he walked he tipped the coin between his fingers, tossed
it and caught it, but all the time his blue eyes were fixed on
Rix’s back. Attia knew why. He was still smarting at the loss
of the Glove. Rix might no longer want revenge, but she was
sure Keiro did.
After hours she realized the tunnel was narrowing. The
walls were appreciably closer, and the colour of them was
changing to a deep red. Once she slipped, and looking down,
saw that the metal floor was wet with some rusty liquid,
running from the gloom ahead.
It was just after that that they found the first body.
It had been a man. He lay sprawled against the tunnel wall,
as if washed there by some sudden flood, his crumpled torso
barely more a rag-hung skeleton.
Rix stood over it and sighed. ‘Poor human flotsam. He came
farther than most.’
Attia said, ‘Why is it still here? Not recycled?’
‘Because the Prison is preoccupied with its Great Work.
Systems are breaking down.’ He seemed to have forgotten he
wasn’t speaking to her any more.
As soon as he had walked on, Keiro muttered, ‘Are you
with me or not?’
She scowled. ‘You know what I think about the Glove.’
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‘That’s a no then.’
She shrugged.
‘Suit yourself. Looks like you’re back being the dog- slave.
That’s the difference between us.’
He walked past her and she glared at his back.
‘The difference between us; she said, ‘is that you’re
arrogant Scum and I’m not.’
He laughed, and tossed the coin.
Soon there was debris everywhere. Bones, carcasses of
animals, wrecked Sweepers, tangled masses of crumpled
wires and components. The rusty water flowed over them,
deeper now, and Incarceron’s Eyes saw everything. The
travellers picked their way through, the water knee-high,
and flowing fast.
‘Don’t you care?’ Rix snapped suddenly, as if his thoughts
had burst out of him. He was gazing down at what might
have been a halfman, its metallic face grinning up through
the water.
‘Don’t you feel for the creatures that crawl in your veins?’
Keiro’s hand was at his sword but the words were not for
him. The answer came as laughter; a deep rumble that made
the floor shake and the lights flicker.
Rix paled. ‘I didn’t mean it! No offence
Keiro came up and grabbed him. ‘Fool! Do you want it to
flood this and sweep us all away!’
‘It won’t do that.’ Rix’s voice was shaky but defiant. ‘I have
its greatest desire
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‘Yes and if you’re dead when you deliver it what does
Incarceron care? Keep your mouth shut!’
Rix stared at him. ‘I’m the master. Not you.’
Keiro pushed past him and waded on. ‘Not for long.’
Rix looked at Attia. But before she could speak, he hurried
on.
All day the tunnel narrowed. After about three hours the
roof was so low that Rix could stretch up and touch it. The
flow of the water was a river now; objects were washed
down in it, small Beetles and tangles of metal. Keiro
suggested a torch, and Rix lit one reluctantly; in its acrid
smoke they saw that the walls of the tunnel were covered
with scum, a milky froth obliterating graffiti that seemed to
have been there for centuries — names, dates, curses,
prayers. And there was a sound too, thudding softly for
hours before Attia was aware she could hear it, a deep,
pounding shudder, the vibration that she had felt in her
dream in the Swan’s Nest.
She came up to Keiro as he stood listening. In front of them
the tunnel shrank into the dark.
‘The heartbeat of the Prison,’ she said.
‘Shush...’
‘Surely you can hear it?’
‘Not that. Something else.’
She kept silent, hearing only the wading sloshes of Rix
behind them, weighed down by his pack. And then Keiro
swore, and she heard it too. With an unearthly screech a
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flock of tiny blood-red birds shot out of the tunnel, splitting
in panic, so that Rix ducked.
Behind the birds, something vast was coming. They
couldn’t see it yet, but they could hear it; it scraped and
sheared against the sides, as if it was metal, a great tangle of
sharpness, a mass forced down by the current. Keiro swung
the torch, scattering sparks; he scanned the roof and the
walls. ‘Back! It’ll flatten us!’
Rix looked sick. ‘Back where?’
Attia said, ‘There’s nowhere. We have to go ahead.’
it was a hard choice. And yet Keiro didn’t hesitate. I Ic raced
into the dark, stumbling in the deep water, the torch
shedding burning pitch like stars into the torrent. I’he roar of
the approaching object filled the tunnel; ahead in the
darkness Attia could see it now, an enormous ball of tangled
wires, red light faceted from its angles as it rolled towards
them.
She grabbed Rix and hustled him on, straight into the path
of the thing, knowing it was death, huge, a pressure wave
building in her ears and throat.
Keiro yelled.
And then he disappeared.
It was so sudden, like a magic trick, that Rix howled in
anger and she almost stumbled, but then she was
floundering towards the spot, and the rumble of the great
mesh ball was on her, over her, above her.
A hand shot out.
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She was hauled sideways and she fell, deep in the water,
Rix crashing over her. Then arms went round her waist and
hefted her aside, and the three of them felt the scorching heat
as the object sheared past them, its blades scraping sparks
from the walls. And she saw there were drowned faces in it;
rivets and helmets and coils of wire and candlesticks. It was
a compacted sphere of ore and girders, impaling a thousand
coloured rags, a million scraps of steel flaking off in its wake.
As it passed she felt the friction, the condensed air
imploding in her eardrums. It filled the tunnel fully; it
scraped itself by with a million screeches and the darkness
stank of scorching.
And then it was wedged tight in the dark, filling the world,
and her knee was aching, and Keiro was picking himself up
and swearing furiously at the state of his coat.
Attia stood, slowly.
She was deafened and stunned; Rix looked dazed.
The torch was out, floating in the thigh-high water, and
there was no Eye here, but gradually she made out the dim
shape of this fork in the tunnel that had saved them.
Ahead was a red glow.
Keiro slicked back his hair.
He looked up at the crushed and tangled surface of the
sphere; it shuddered, the force of the water juddering it
against the constricting walls.
There was no way back now. Over the noise he yelled
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something, and though Attia couldn’t hear it, she knew what
it was. He pointed ahead, and waded on.
She turned, and saw Rix reaching out to touch something
that glared out from the metal, and she saw it was a mouth;
the open snarling maw of a great wolf, as if some statue had
been swept away in there, and was struggling to get out.
She pulled at his arm. Reluctantly, he turned away.
I want the drawbridge up.’ Claudia marched along the
corridor shedding her coat and gloves. ‘Archers in the
gatehouse, on every roof, on the Sapient’s tower.’
‘ Master Jared’s experiments . . .’ the old man muttered.
‘Pack the delicate things and get them down in the cellars.
Ralph, this is F— Prince Giles. This is my steward, Ralph...’
The old man bowed deeply, his arms full of Claudia’s
scattered clothes. ‘Sire. I am so honoured to welcome you to
the Wardenry. I only wish...’
‘We haven’t got time.’ Claudia turned. ‘Where’s Alys?’
‘Upstairs, madam. She arrived yesterday, with your
messages. Everything has been done. The Warden’s levies
have been raised. We have two hundred men billeted in the
stable-block and more are arriving hourly.’
Claudia nodded. She flung open the doors of a large,
wood-panelled chamber. Finn smelt the sweetness of roses
outside its open casements as he strode in after her. ‘Good.
Weapons?’
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‘You’ll need to consult with Captain Soames, my lady. I
believe he’s in the kitchens.’
‘Find him. And Ralph.’ She turned. ‘I want all the servants
assembled in the lower hail in twenty minutes.’
He nodded, his wig slightly askew. ‘I’ll see to it.’
At the door, just before he bowed himself out, he said,
‘Welcome back, my lady. We’ve missed you.’
She smiled, surprised. ‘Thank you.’
When the doors were closed Finn went straight to the cold
meats and fruit laid out on the table. ‘He won’t be so pleased
when the Queen’s army comes over the horizon.’
She nodded, and sat wearily in the chair. ‘Pass me some of
that chicken.’
For a while they ate silently. Finn gazed round at the room,
its white plaster ceiling pargeted with scrolls and lozenges,
the great fireplace with the emblems of the black swan. The
house was calm, the stillness drowsy with bees and the
sweetness of roses.
‘So this is the Wardenry.’
‘Yes.’ She poured out some wine. ‘Mine, and staying mine.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ He put down his plate. ‘But there’s no way
we can defend it.’
She scowled. ‘It has a moat and a drawbridge. It commands
the land around. We have two hundred men.’
‘The Queen has cannon.’ He stood and walked to the
window, pushing it open. ‘My grandfather chose the wrong
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Era for us. Something a bit more primitive would have kept
us equal.’ He turned, quickly. ‘They will use the weapons of
the time, won’t they? Do you think they might have things
we don’t know about . . . relics of the War?’
The thought turned her cold. The Years of Rage had been a
cataclysm that had destroyed a civilization; its energies had
stilled the tides and hollowed the moon. ‘Let’s hope we’re
too small a target.’
For a moment she crumbled cheese on her plate. Then she
said, ‘Come on.’
The servants’ hall was a buzz of anxiety. As he walked in
beside Claudia, Finn felt the noise subside, but a fraction too
slowly. Grooms and maidservants turned; powdered
footmen waited in elaborate livery.
There was a long wooden table in the centre; Claudia
stepped up on to a bench and then on to the tabletop.
‘Friends.’
They were silent now, except for the doves cooing outside.
‘I’m very glad to be back home.’ She smiled, but he knew
she was tense. ‘But things have changed. You’ll have had all
the news from Court — you know about the two candidates
for the throne. Well, things have come to such a point that
we . . . I . . . have had to make a decision about which one I
support.’ She stretched out her hand, and Finn stepped up
beside her.
‘This is Prince Giles. Our future king. My betrothed.’
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The last phrase astonished him but he tried not to show it.
He nodded at them gravely and they all stared up at him,
their eyes taking in every travel-worn detail of his clothing,
his face. He found himself standing tall, steeling himself not
to flinch from that examination.
He should say something. He managed, ‘I thank you all for
your support,’ but it produced not even a ripple. Alys was by
the door, her hands gripped tight together. Ralph, near the
table, said boldly, ‘God bless you, sire!’
Claudia didn’t wait for any response. ‘The Queen has
declared the Pretender as her candidate. Essentially, this
means civil war. I’m sorry to put it so bluntly, but it’s
important you all understand what is happening here. Many
of you have lived at the Wardenry for generations. You were
my father’s servants. The Warden is no longer here, but I
have spoken to him...’
That did produce a murmur.
‘Is he in favour of this prince?’ someone asked.
‘He is. But he would wish me to treat you with respect.
Therefore I say this.’ She folded her arms and gazed out at
them. ‘The young women and all the children will leave
immediately. I’ll give you an armed escort to the village,
though it won’t be needed. As for the men and the senior
staff, the choice is yours. No one who wants to go will be
prevented. There’s no Protocol here any more.’
— I’m saying this to you as equals. You must make up your
own minds.’ She paused, but there was silence, so into it
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she said, ‘Assemble in the courtyard at the midday bell,
and Captain Soames’s men will take care of you. I wish you
well.’
‘But my lady,’ someone said. ‘What will you do?’
It was a boy, near the back.
Claudia grinned at him. ‘Hello, Job. We’ll stay. Finn and I
will use the . . . machinery in my father’s study to try and
contact him in Incarceron. It will take time but . . .’
‘And Master Jared, ma’am.’ One of the maids’ voices,
anxious. ‘Where is he? He would know what to do.’
There was a ripple of agreement. Claudia’s eyes slid to
Finn. She said sharply, ‘Jared’s on his way. But we already
know what to do. The true king has been found, and those
who once tried to destroy him must not succeed again
She was in control, but she had not won them over. Finn
could sense that. There was a silent discontent, an unspoken
doubt. They knew her too well, from a child. And though she
was an imperious mistress they had probably never loved
her. She wasn’t speaking to their hearts.
So he held his hand out, and took hers. ‘Friends, Claudia is
right to give you a choice. I owe everything to her. Without
her I would be dead now, or worse, thrown back into the hell
of Incarceron. I wish I could tell you what her support
means. But to do that I would have to explain the Prison to
you, and I won’t do that, because I dare not speak about it, it
hurts me even to think of it.’
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They were intent; the word Incarceron was like a charm.
Finn allowed his voice to tremble.
‘I was a child. I was snatched from a world of beauty and
peace to a torment of pain and hunger, a hell where men
murder each other without a care, where women and
children sell themselves to stay alive. I know about death.
I’ve suffered the miseries of the poor. I know about
loneliness, how wretched it is to be alone and terrified in a
maze of echoing halls and dark dread. This is the knowledge
Incarceron gave me. And when I am King, this is the
knowledge I will use. There will be no more Protocol, no
more fear. No more being locked in. I will do my best — I
swear this to you my best to make this Realm a true paradise,
and a free world for all its people. And Incarceron too. That’s
all I can say to you. All I can promise you. Except that if we
lose I will kill myself rather than go back there
The silence was different. It was caught in their throats.
And when a soldier growled, ‘I’m with you, my lord:
another answered at once, and then another, and suddenly
the room was a hubbub of voices until Ralph’s reedy ‘God
save Prince Giles’ had them roaring their approval.
Finn smiled, wan.
Claudia watched him, and when their eyes met she saw
there was a triumph in him, quiet but proud.
Keiro had been right, she thought. Finn could talk his way
to a crown.
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She turned. A footman was pushing his way through to
her, white and wide-eyed. She crouched, and his voice, thin
and terrified, silenced the hubbub.
‘They’re here, my lady. The Queen’s army is here.’
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25
Some say a vast pendulum swings in the heart of the Prison, or
that there is a chamber there white-hot with energy, like the core of
a star. For mys4f I think that if lncarceron has a heart it is icy, and
nothing could survive there.
LORD CALLISTON’S DIARY
The tunnel narrowed rapidly. Soon Keiro was on hands and
knees in the shallow water, struggling to keep the new torch
alight. Behind her Attia heard Rix gasp as he crawled, the
pack slung under his belly, the roof bruising his back. And
was it her imagination, or was the air warmer?
She said, ‘What if it gets too small?’
‘Stupid question,’ Keiro muttered. ‘We die. There’s no way
back.’
It was hotter. And choked with dust. She left it on her lips
and skin. Crawling was painful; her knees and palms sore
and cut. The tunnel had shrunk to a tube now, a red pulsing
heat that they had to force their way through.
Suddenly Rix stopped dead. ‘Volcano.’
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Keiro twisted round. ‘What!’
‘Imagine. If the heart of the Prison is in fact a great magma
chamber, sealed by terrible compression in the very centre of
its being.’
‘Oh for god’s sake...’
‘And if we reach it, if it is pierced by even so much as a
needle-point . . .’
‘Rix!’ Attia said fiercely. ‘This isn’t helping.’
She heard him breathing hard. ‘But it may be true. What do
we know? And yet we could know. We could understand all
things at once.’
She squirmed to look back. He was lying full length in the
water. He had the Glove in his hand.
‘No!’ she hissed.
He looked up and his face was lit with that sly delight she
had come to dread. And then he was shouting, his voice
deafening in the confined space.
‘I WILL PUT ON THE GLOVE. I WILL BECOME ALLKNOWING.’
Keiro was beside her, knife in hand. ‘I’ll finish him this
time. I swear I will.’
‘LIKE THE MAN IN THE GARDEN...’
‘What garden, Rix?’ she asked quietly. “What garden?’
‘The one in the Prison, somewhere. You know.’
‘I don’t.’ She had her hand round Keiro’s wrist, forcing him
still. ‘Tell me.’
Rix stroked the Glove. ‘There was a garden and a tree
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grew there with golden apples and if you ate one of them
you knew everything. And then Sapphique climbed over the
fence and killed the many-headed monster and picked the
apple, because he wanted to know, you see, Attia. He
wanted to know how to Escape.’
‘Right.’ She had wriggled back. She was close to his pocked
face.
‘And a snake came out of the grass and it said, “Oh go on,
eat the apple. I dare you.” And he stopped then with it to his
mouth because he knew the snake was Incarceron.’
Keiro groaned. ‘Let me...’
‘Put the Glove away, Rix. Or give it to me.’
His fingers caressed its dark scales. ‘And because if he ate it
he would know how small he was. How much of a nothing
he was. He would see himself as a speck in the vastness of
the Prison.’
‘So he didn’t eat it, right?’
Rix stared at her. ‘What?’
‘In the patchbook. He didn’t eat it.’
There was silence. Something seemed to pass over Rix’s
face; then he frowned crossly at her and tucked the Glove
away inside his coat. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking
about, Attia. What patchbook? Why aren’t we getting on?’
She watched him a moment, then shoved Keiro on with her
foot. Muttering, he shuffled back. The moment was over, but
it had been too close. Somehow, quickly, she had
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to get the Glove from Rix before he went too far.
But as she gripped the slimy filth and pulled herself after
Keiro she felt his boots ahead and he wasn’t moving.
She looked up and saw the torchlight glowing on the end
of the tunnel.
It was a rounded vault of corbelled stone, and a single
gargoyle leered down at them with its tongue impudently
out. The water was pouring from its mouth, a green slime
down the walls.
‘That’s it? The end?’ She almost dropped her forehead
down into the water. ‘We can’t even turn!’
‘End of the tunnel. Not quite the end of the line.’ Keiro had
wriggled over on his back and was looking up, his hair
dripping. ‘Look.’
In the roof immediately above him was a shaft. It was
circular and around it were letters, strange sigils in some
language Attia didn’t know.
‘Sapient letters.’ Keiro flinched as the sparks from the torch
fell towards his face. ‘Gildas used to use them all the time.
And look at that.’
An eagle. Her heart leapt as she saw the sign that Finn
wore on his wrist, its wings wide, a crown around its neck.
Down through the centre of the hole, its final links just
drifting above Keiro’s hand, hung a chain ladder. As they
watched, it shuddered gently, in the vibrations from above.
Rix’s voice was calm in the darkness behind her. ‘Well
climb it, Apprentice.’
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* * *
There was no stable.
Jared stood in the centre of the clearing and looked blearily
around.
No stable, no feathers. Only, on the floor of the clearing, a
scorched circle, that might once have been the blackened scar
of a fire. He walked round it. The bracken was deep and
curled in the dawn light; spiderwebs, looking like cradles of
wool meshed with dew, filled every crack between stem and
stalk.
He sucked his dry lips, then ran his hand over his forehead,
behind his neck.
He must have been here one, perhaps two days, rolled in
that blanket, delirious, the horse snuffling and cropping
leaves and wandering aimlessly nearby.
His clothes were sodden with damp and sweat, his hair
lank, his hands bitten by insects, and he still couldn’t stop
shivering. But he felt as if some door had opened inside him,
some bridge had been crossed.
Walking back to the horse, he took out his medication
pouch and crouched, considering the dose. Then he injected
the fine needle into his vein, feeling the sharp prick that
always set his teeth on edge. He withdrew it, cleaned it and
put it away. Then he took his own pulse, wiped a
handkerchief in the dew and washed his face and smiled at a
sudden memory of one of the maids at home asking him if
dew was really good for her complexion.
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It was certainly fresh and cold.
He took the horse’s reins in hand, and climbed up on to its
back.
He could not have survived such a fever without warmth.
Without water. He should be parched with thirst, and he
wasn’t. And yet no one had been here.
As he urged the horse to a gallop he thought about the
power of vision; whether Sapphique had been an aspect of
his own mind, or a real being. None of it was that simple.
There were whole shelves of texts back in the Library
discussing the powers of the visionary imagination, of
memory and dreams.
Jared smiled wanly to the trees of the wood.
For him it had happened. That was what mattered.
He rode hard. By midday he was in the lands of the
Wardenry, tired, but surprising himself by his endurance. At
a farm he climbed down a little stiffly and was given milk
and cheese by the farmer, a stout, perspiring man who
seemed on edge, his glance always wandering to the horizon.
When Jared offered money the man pressed it back at him.
‘No, Master. A Sapient once treated my wife for free and I’ve
never forgotten that. But a word of advice. Flurry on now,
wherever you’re bound. There’s trouble brewing here
‘Trouble?’ Jared looked at him.
‘I’ve heard the Lady Claudia is condemned. And that lad
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with her, the one who claims to be the Prince.’
‘He is the Prince.’
The farmer pulled a face. ‘Whatever you say, Master.
High politics are not for me. But this I do know; the
Queen has an army on the march, and they’re maybe at the
Wardenry itself by now. I had three outlying barns fired by
them yesterday, and sheep snatched. Thieving scum.’
Jared stared at him in cold terror. Grabbing the horse he
said, ‘I would be grateful, sir, if you hadn’t seen me. You
understand?’
The farmer nodded. ‘In these hard times, Master, only the
silent are wise.’
He was afraid now He rode more carefully, taking field
paths and bridleways, keeping to deep lanes between high
hedges. In one place, crossing a road, he saw the tracks of
hooves and waggons; deep ruts of wheels dragging some
heavy ironware. He rubbed the horse’s coarse inane.
Where was Claudia? What had happened at Court?
By late afternoon he came up a track into a small copse of
beeches on a hilltop. The trees were quiet, their leaves
brushed only by a faint breeze, full of the tiny whistlings of
invisible birds.
Jared climbed down, and stood for a moment letting the
ache ease in his back and legs. Then he tied up the horse and
walked cautiously through the bronze leaf-litter, ankle—
deep in its rustling crispness.
Under the beeches nothing grew; he moved from tree to
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tree, awkwardly, but only a fox confronted him.
‘Master Fox,’ Jared muttered.
The fox paused a second. Then it turned and trotted away.
Reassured, he moved to the edge of the trees and crouched
behind a broad trunk. Carefully, he peered round it.
An army was encamped on the broad hillside. All around
the ancient house of the Wardenry there were tents and
waggons and the glint of armour. Squadrons of cavalry rode
in arrogant display; a mass of soldiers were digging a great
trench in the wide lawns.
Jared drew in a breath of dismay.
He could see more men arriving down the lanes; pikemen
led by drummers and a fife-player, the reedy whistle audible
even up here. Flags fluttered everywhere, and to the left,
tinder a brilliant standard of the white rose, a great pavilion
was being raised by sweating men.
The Queen’s tent.
He looked at the house. The windows were shuttered, the
drawbridge tightly raised. On the roof of the gatehouse
metal glinted; he thought there were men up there, and
perhaps the light cannon that were kept there had been
prepared and moved up to the battlements. His own tower
had someone on its parapet.
He breathed out and turned, sitting knees up in the dead
leaves.
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This was a disaster. There was no way the Wardenry could
withstand any sort of sustained attack. Its walls were thick
but it was a fortified manor and not a castle.
Claudia must simply be playing for time. She must be
planning to use the Portal.
The thought made him agitated; he stood and paced. She
had no idea of the dangers of that device! He had to get
inside before she tried anything so foolish.
The horse whickered.
He froze, hearing the tread behind him, the footsteps
through the rustling leaves.
And then the voice, lightly mocking. ‘Well, Master Jared.
Aren’t you supposed to be dead?’
‘How many?’ Finn asked.
Claudia had a visor that magnified things. She was staring
through it now, counting. ‘Seven. Eight. I’m not sure what’s
on that contraption to the left of the Queen’s tent
‘It barely matters.’ Captain Soames, a grey, stocky man,
sounded gloomy. ‘Eight pieces of ordnance could shell us all
to pieces.’
‘What do we have?’ Finn asked quietly.
‘Two cannon, my lord. One authentic Era, the other a
mishmash of base metal — it will likely explode if we try to
fire it. Crossbows, arquebuses, pikemen, archers. Ten men
with muskets. About eighty cavalry’
‘I’ve known worse odds,’ Finn said, thinking of a
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few ambushes the Comitatus had tried.
‘I’m sure,’ Claudia said acidly. ‘And what were the
casualties like?’
He shrugged. ‘In the Prison, no one counted.’
Below them, a trumpet rang out, once, twice, three times.
With a great grinding of gears, the drawbridge began to
creak down.
Captain Soames went to the circular stair. ‘Steady there.
And be prepared to pull it up if I give the order.’
Claudia lowered the visor. ‘They’re looking. No one’s
making any moves.’
‘The Queen hasn’t arrived. A man who came in last night
says she and the Council are making a royal progress to
show off the Pretender; they’re in Mayfleld, and will be here
in hours.’
With a thud, the drawbridge was down. The flock of black
swans on the moat skidded noisily down to the weedy end
and flapped.
Claudia leant over the battlements.
The women walked out slowly, with bundles on their
backs. Some carried children. Older girls walked hand in
hand with their brothers and sisters. They turned, waving at
the windows. Behind, on a great wain pulled by the biggest
carthorse, the older servants that were leaving sat stoically,
rocking with the bumps on the wooden bridge.
Finn counted twenty-two. ‘Is Ralph going?’
Claudia laughed. ‘I ordered him to. He said, ‘Yes, my
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lady. And what will you be requiring for dinner tonight?”
He thinks this place would fall down without him.’
‘He, like all of us, serves the Warden,’ Captain Soames said.
‘No disrespect to you, my lady, but the Warden is our
master. If he’s not here, we guard his house.’
Claudia frowned. ‘My father doesn’t deserve any of you.’
But she said it so quietly only Finn heard her.
When Soames had gone to supervise the drawbridge being
raised Finn stood beside her, watching the girls trudge down
into the Queen’s camp.
‘They’ll be questioned. Who’s here, our plans.’
‘I know. But I won’t be responsible for their deaths.’
‘You think it will come to that?’
She glanced at him. ‘We have to set up talks. Play for time.
Work on the Portal’
Finn nodded. She walked past him to the stairs and said
over her shoulder, ‘Come on. You shouldn’t stand up here.
One arrow from that camp and it would be all over.’
He looked at her, and just as she got to the stairs he said,
‘You do believe me, Claudia, don’t you? I need you to
believe that I remember.’
‘Of course I believe you,’ she said. ‘Now come on.’
But she had her back to him, and she didn’t turn around.
‘It’s dark. Hold that torch higher.’
Keiro’s voice came impatiently down the shaft; the echoes
made it hollow and strange. Attia stretched up as
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high as she could, but the torchlight showed her nothing of
him. Below her Rix shouted, ‘What can you see?’
‘I can’t see anything. I’m going on.’
Scrapes and clangs. Muttered swearing that the shaft took
and whispered to itself. Worried, Attia called, ‘Be careful.’
He didn’t bother to answer. The ladder twisted and jerked
as she struggled to hold it still; Rix came and hauled on it
with all his weight, and it was easier. She said, ‘Listen, Rix.
While we’re alone. You have to listen to me. Keiro will steal
the Glove from you. Why not pull a stunt on him?’
He smiled, sly. ‘You mean give it to you, and carry a fake
one? Oh my poor Attia. Is this the limit of your cunning? A
child could do better.’
She glared at him. ‘At least I won’t give it to the Prison. At
least I won’t kill us all.’
He winked. ‘Incarceron is my father, Attia. I am born of its
cells. It will not betray me.’
Disgusted, she gripped the ladder.
And realized it was still.
‘Keiro?’
They waited, hearing the thud-thud, thud-thud, of the
Prison’s heart.
‘Keiro? Answer me.’
The ladder swung easily now. No one was on it.
‘Keiro!’
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There was a sound but it was muffled and far away.
Hastily she shoved the torch into Rix’s hands. ‘He’s found
something. I’m going up.’
As she hauled herself up the first slippery rungs he said, ‘If
it’s trouble, say the word “problem”. I’ll understand.’
She stared at his pock-marked face, his gap-toothed grin.
Then she swung down and put her face close to his. ‘Just
how crazy are you, Rix? A lot, or not at all? Because I’m
beginning to be very unsure.’
He arched one eyebrow. ’I am the Dark Enchanter, Attia.
I am unknowable.’
The ladder wriggled and slid under her as if it was alive.
She turned and climbed quickly, soon breathless, hauling her
weight up. Her hands slid on the mud Keiro’s boots had left;
the heat grew as she went up, a murky sulphurous stench
that reminded her uneasily of Rix’s idea of the magma
chamber.
Her arms ached. Each step now was an effort and the torch,
far below, was no more than a spark in the darkness. She
hauled herself up one more rung and hung, giddily.
And then she realized there was no shaft wall in front of
her, but a faintly lit space.
And a pair of boots.
They were black, rather battered, with a silver buckle on
one and broken stitching on the other. And whoever wore
them was bending down, because his shadow was
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over her and he was saying, ’How very pleasant to meet you
again, Attia.’
And he reached down and grabbed her chin and jerked her
face up and she saw his cold smile.
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26
Watch, be silent, act only when the moment is right.
THE STEEL WOLVES
The study door looked exactly the same; black as ebony, the
black swan spitting defiance down at them, its eye bright as
diamond.
‘This opened it once before.’ Claudia waited impatiently as
the disc hummed. Behind her, Finn stood in the long
corridor, gazing down at the vases and suits of armour.
‘A bit better than the Court cellars,’ he said. ‘But are you
sure it will be the same Portal? How can it be?’
The disc clicked. ‘Don’t ask me.’ She reached up and
snapped it off. ‘Jared had a theory it was some halfway point
between here and the Prison
‘Meaning we lose size in there?’
‘I don’t know.’ The door lock chuntered, she turned the
handle, and it opened.
When he followed her in through the dizzying threshold
Finn stared around. Then he nodded. ‘Amazing.’
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The Portal was the room he had grown to know in the
Palace. All Jared’s contraptions and wires still trailed from
the controls; the huge feather lay curled in a corner, drifting
as the breeze took it. The room hummed in its tilted silence,
its solitary desk and chair enigmatic as ever.
Claudia crossed the floor and said, ‘Incarceron.’
A small drawer rolled open. Inside he saw a black cushion
with an empty key-shape in it. ‘This is where I stole the Key.
It seems so long ago. I was so scared that day! So. Where do
we start?’
He shrugged. ‘You’re the one who had Jared for a tutor.’
‘He worked too fast to explain everything to me.’
‘Well, there must be notes. Diagrams. .
‘There are.’ Piled on the desk were pages of writing in
Jared’s spidery script; a book of drawings, lists of equations.
Claudia picked one up and sighed. ‘We’d better start. This
could take all night.’
He didn’t answer so she looked up and saw his face. She
stood quickly. ‘Finn.’
He was pale; there was a tinge of blue around his lips. She
grabbed him and made him sit on the floor, kicking circuits
aside. ‘Be calm. Breathe slowly. Have you got any of those
pills Jared made up?’
He shook his head, feeling the prickling agony invade and
darken his sight, feeling the shame and sheer anger flood
him. ‘I’ll be fine he heard himself mumble. ‘I’ll be fine.’
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He preferred darkness. He put his hands over his eyes and
sat there, against the grey wall, numb, breathing, counting.
After a while Claudia went; there was shouting, running
feet. A cup was pressed into his hand. ‘Water: she said. Then,
‘Ralph will stay with you. I have to go. The Queen has come.’
He wanted to stand but couldn’t. He wanted her to stay but
she was gone.
Ralph’s hand was on his shoulder; the quavery voice in his
ear. ‘I’m with you, sire.’
This shouldn’t happen. If he remembered, he was cured.
He should be cured.
Attia climbed over the top of the ladder and stood upright.
The Warden dropped her hand. ‘Welcome to the heart of
Incarceron.’
They eyed each other. He wore a dark suit still, but his skin
was grained now with the dirt of the Prison, his hair
unkempt and greying. A firelock was thrust into his belt.
Behind him, in the red room Keiro stood, looking as if his
temper was under tight control. Three men held weapons on
him.
‘Our thief friend here does not seem to have the Glove. So
you must.’
Attia shrugged. ’Wrong again.’ She took her coat off and
flung it down. ‘See for yourself’
The Warden raised an eyebrow. He kicked the coat
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to one of the Prisoners, who searched it rapidly. ‘Nothing,
sire .’
‘Then I must search you, Attia.’
He was rough and thorough and she scorched with anger
but when the muffled cry came up the shaft he stopped
abruptly. ‘Is that the mountebank Rix?’
She was surprised he didn’t know. ‘Yes.’
‘Get him up here. Now.’
She walked to the edge of the shaft and crouched down.
‘Rix! Come up. It’s safe. No problems.’
The Warden pulled her back, and made a sign to one of his
men. As Rix made his may noisily up the swinging ladder
the man knelt, aiming his firelock directly at the hole. When
Rix’s head came up, he stared straight into the muzzle of the
gun.
‘Slowly, magician.’ The Warden crouched, his eyes grey
and ashen. ‘Very slowly, if you want to keep your head.’
Attia glanced at Keiro. He raised his eyebrows and she shook
her head, the tiniest movement. They watched Rix.
He climbed out of the shaft and held his hands wide of his
body.
‘The Glove?’ the Warden said.
‘Hidden. In a secret place which I will divulge only to
Incarceron itself.’
The Warden sighed, took out a handkerchief that was still
almost white, and wiped his hands. Wearily he said, ‘Search
him.’
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They were even harder on Rix. A few blows to keep him
quiet, his pack ripped apart, his body scoured.
They found hidden coins, coloured handkerchiefs, two
mice, a collapsible dove cage. They found hidden pockets,
false sleeves, reversible linings. But no Glove.
The Warden sat watching, and Keiro lazed defiantly on the
tiled floor. Attia took the chance to stare round.
They were in a vast hail of black and white tiles. It
stretched into the distance, the walls hung with red satin,
sagging in great swathes. At the far end, so distant it could
barely be seen, was a long table flanked by standing
candlesticks, branches lit with tiny flames.
Finally the prisoners stood back. ‘There’s nothing else on
him, sire. He’s clean.’
Behind her, Attia felt Keiro sit up slowly.
‘I see.’ The Warden’s smile was wintry ‘Well, Rix, you
disappoint me. But if you wish to speak to Incarceron, then
speak. The Prison hears you.’
Rix bowed. He buttoned his ragged coat and summoned
his dignity. ‘Then the Prison’s majesty will hear my request.
I ask to speak to Incarceron face to face. As Sapphique did.’
There was a soft laughter.
It came out of the walls and the floor and the roof, and the
armed men looked round in terror.
‘What do you say to that?’ the Warden asked.
I say the Prisoner is over-bold, and that I could devour him now
and scour the very circuits of his brain for this knowledge.
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Rix knelt, humbly. ‘All my life I have dreamt of you. I have
guarded your Glove, and I have longed to bring it to you.
Allow your servant this privilege.’
Keiro snorted with scorn.
Rix glanced at Attia.
His eyes flickered to the shaft, then back. it was such a
swift movement she almost missed it, but she looked, and
saw the string.
It was barely visible, very thin and transparent, the stuff he
used in his act for levitating objects. It was looped round a
rung of the ladder, and it trailed down into the shaft.
Of course. There had been no Eyes in the shaft.
She made a small step towards it.
The Prison’s voice was cool and metallic. I am so moved, Rix.
The Warden will bring you to me, and yes, you will see me face to
face. You will tell me where the Glove is and then for your reward I
will very slowly and very carefully destroy you, atom by atom, for
centuries. You will scream like the prisoners in your patchbooks,
like Prometheus eaten daily by the eagle, like Loki as poison drips
on his face. When I have Escaped and everyone else is dead your
struggles will still convulse the Prison.
Rix bowed, white-faced.
John Arlex.
The Warden said drily, ‘What now?’
Bring them all.
Attia moved. With a yell to Keiro she jumped for the shaft,
was racing down it. The string swung; she grabbed at
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it, hauled it up, snatched the dry scaly thing it held, thrust it
down her shirt.
Then arms grabbed her; she kicked and bit but the
Warden’s men hauled her up and she saw Keiro sprawled
and the Warden standing over him, weapon in hand.
Claudia’s father stared at her in mock dismay. ‘Escape,
Attia? There is no Escape. For any of us.’
Morose, he met her eyes and his gaze was bleak. Then he
stalked away, down the long hail. ‘Bring them.’
Keiro wiped blood from his nose. He gave her one look.
Rix too.
This time she nodded.
Jared turned slowly.
‘My Lord of Steen,’ he said.
Caspar leant against a tree-trunk. He wore a breastplate of
such dazzling steel it hurt to look at it, and his breeches and
boots were of finest leather.
‘I see my lord is dressed for war,’ Jared murmured.
‘You didn’t used to be so sarcastic, Master.’
‘I’m sorry. I have had a trying time.’
Caspar grinned. ‘My mother will be amazed you survived.
She’s been waiting for a message from the Academy for
days, but none has come: He stepped forward. ‘Did you kill
him, Master, with some Sapient potion? Or do you have
secret fighting skills?’
Jared looked down at his delicate hands. ‘Let’s say I
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surprised even myself, sire. But is the Queen here?’
Caspar pointed. ‘Oh yes. She wouldn’t miss this for the
world.’
A white horse. It was saddled with the finest white leather
fittings, and on it Sia rode sidesaddle, in an austere gown of
dark grey. She too wore a breastplate, and a hat with a
feather, and around her and before her pikemen marched,
their weapons slanted in perfect array.
Jared came to stand by the Earl. ‘What’s happening?’
‘It’s a parlay. They’ll talk each other to death. Look, there’s
Claudia.’
Jared’s breath tightened as he saw her. She was standing on
the gatehouse roof, and Soames and Alys were with her.
‘Where’s Finn?’ He murmured it to himself, but Caspar
heard and snorted.
‘Tired out maybe.’ He grinned sidelong at Jared. ‘Ah,
Master Sapient, she’s cast both of us off now. I admit I
always had something of an eye for Claudia, but marrying
her — that was my mother’s plan. She would have turned
out far too fierce and bossy, so I don’t care. But it must be
hard for you. You and she were always so close. Everyone
says so. Until he came along.’
Jared smiled. ‘You have a poisonous tongue, Caspar.’
‘Yes. And it stings you, doesn’t it?’ He turned, with
negligent ease. ‘Perhaps we’ll go down and hear what
they’re saying. My mother will be rather proud when I drag
you through the ranks and throw you down before her.
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And I’d love to see Claudia’s face!’
Jared stepped back. ‘You don’t seemed to be armed, my
lord.’
‘No. I’m not.’ Caspar smiled, sweetly. ‘But Fax is.’
A rustle. It came from the left, and Jared turned very
slowly to face it, knowing his freedom was over.
Sitting on a tree-trunk, an axe slung between his knees, the
huge bulk of his body rippling with chainmail, the Prince’s
bodyguard nodded, unsmiling.
‘Not until my father returns.’
Claudia’s voice rang out clearly, so that everyone could
hear it.
The Queen sighed daintily. She had dismounted and was
sitting in a wicker chair before the gatehouse, so close that
even a child could have shot her. Claudia had to admire her
complete arrogance.
‘And what do you hope to gain, Claudia? I have enough
men and arms to batter the Wardenry to pieces. And we both
know your father — a man who led a plot to try and kill me
— will never return. He is where he belongs — in the Prison.
Now, do be sensible. Hand over the prisoner Finn, and then
you and I can talk. Perhaps I was hasty, in my decisions.
Perhaps the Wardenry can remain in your possession.
Perhaps.’
Claudia folded her arms. ‘I’ll have to think about it
‘We could have been such friends, Claudia.’ Sia waved a
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bee away. ‘When I told you once we were alike I meant it.
You would have been the next Queen. Perhaps you still
could be.’
Claudia drew herself up. ‘I will be the next Queen. Because
Finn is the rightful Prince, the real Giles. Not that liar beside
you.’
The Pretender smiled, took off his hat and bowed. His right
arm was strapped into a black sling, and he wore a pistol in
his sash, but otherwise he seemed as poised and pleasantly
arrogant as ever. He called out, ‘You don’t believe that,
Claudia. Not really.’
‘You think so?’
‘I know you won’t put your servants’ lives at risk on the
word of some jailbird. I know you, Claudia. Now come out
and let’s talk. We can sort this out.’
Claudia stared at him. She shivered in the cool wind. A few
drops of rain struck her face. She said, ‘He spared your life.’
‘Because he knows I’m his Prince. So do you.’
For a desperate moment she had no idea what to say. And
with her instinct for weakness, Sia said, ’I do hope you aren’t
waiting for Master Jared, Claudia.’
Claudia’s head shot up. ‘Why? Where is he?’
Sia rose and shrugged her small shoulders. ‘At the
Academy, I believe. But I have heard rumours that he is in
poor health.’ She smiled icily. ‘Very poor.’
Claudia came forward till she was gripping the cold
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stones of the battlement. ‘If anything happens to Jared she
hissed, ‘if you touch a hair of his head I swear I’ll kill you
myself before the Steel Wolves even get close
A commotion behind her. Soames was pulling her back.
Finn was at the top of the stair, pale but alert, Ralph puffing
behind him.
‘If I needed more proof of your treachery those words
would be enough.’ The Queen signalled hastily for her horse,
as if the mention of the Steel Wolves had alarmed her. ‘You
would be wise to remember that Jared’s life is at stake, as
well as that of every other person in that house. And if I have
to burn it to the ground to end this matter I will.’ Stepping
on to the bent back of a soldier she swung daintily into the
saddle. ‘You have until exactly seven o’clock tomorrow
morning to hand over the Escaped prisoner. If he is not in
my hands by then, the bombardment begins’
Claudia watched her go.
The Pretender glared up scornfully at Finn. ‘If you’re really
not Prison Scum you’d come out,’ he said. ‘And not hide
behind a girl.’
Jared said quietly, ‘It seems a shame to have escaped one
assassin to be faced with another.’
Caspar nodded. ‘I know. But that’s war.’
Fax lumbered to his feet. ‘Boss?’
‘I think we’ll tie him up: Caspar said, ‘and then I can lead
him down. In fact, Fax, once we get to the camp
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you can keep out of the way: He smiled at Jared. ‘My mother
adores me but she’s never had much confidence in me. This
will be a chance to show her what I can do. Hold out your
hands.’
Jared sighed. He lifted his hands and then a paleness came
over him; he staggered, almost fell.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
Caspar grinned at Fax. ‘Nice try, Master...’
‘No. Really. My medication. It’s just in my saddlebag. . He
crumpled and sat in the leaves, shakily.
Caspar pulled a face, then waved impatiently and Fax
turned to the horse. As soon as the man moved Jared leapt
up and ran, haring between the trees, jumping the sprawling
roots, but even as his breath grew to an ache he heard the
footfalls behind him, heavy and close, and then the growling
laugh as he tripped and rolled and slammed up against a
tree-trunk.
He scrambled round. Fax stood over him, swinging the axe.
Behind, Caspar grinned with triumph. ‘Oh go on, then, Fax.
One good blow’
The giant raised the blade.
Jared gripped the tree; he felt its smooth trunk under his
hands.
Fax moved. He jerked, and his smile became glassy, a fixed
rictus that seemed to go through his body, and his arm, and
the axe, so that it fell, thudding blade down in the soft earth.
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After a frozen pause, eyes wide, he crashed after it.
Jared breathed out, astonished.
An arrow, buried up to its plume, jutted from the man’s
back.
Caspar let out a howl of rage and fear. He grabbed at the
axe, but a voice from the left said quietly, ‘Drop the weapon,
Lord Earl. Now.’
‘Who are you? How dare you …!’
The voice sounded grim. ‘We’re the Steel Wolves, Lord. As
you already know.’
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27
Once he had crossed the sword-bridge he came to a room with a
banquet of fine food spread on a table. He sat down and picked up
a piece of bread but the power of the Glove turned it to ashes. He
picked up water but the glass shattered. So he travelled on, because
he knew now that he was close to the door.
WANDERINGS OF SAPPHIQUE
‘This is my kingdom now.’ The Warden waved at the table.
‘My seat of judgement. And here, my private suite.’ He flung
the doors open and walked through. The three Prisoners
shoved Rix, Attia and Keiro after him.
Inside, Attia stared.
They were in a small room hung with tapestries. There
were windows in the walls, high stained-glass images
impossible to see in the dimness, a few hands and faces lit by
flamelight from the vast fire in the hearth.
The heat was fierce and welcome. The Warden turned.
‘Please sit.’
There were chairs of carved ebony, their backs formed
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by pairs of black swans with entwined necks. Heavy beams
spread in intricate patterns in the roof; chandeliers splatted
wax on the tiled floor. From somewhere nearby the throb of
the vibrations echoed.
‘You must be tired after your terrible journey: the Warden
said. ‘Bring them food.’
Attia sat. She felt weary and filthy; her hair was matted
with the slime of the tunnel. And the Glove! Its claws
scratched against her bare skin, but she dared not move it, in
case the Warden noticed. His grey eyes were sharp and
watchful.
The food, when it came, was a tray of bread and water,
dropped down on the ground. Keiro ignored it, but Rix had
no scruples; he ate as if he was famished, kneeling and
cramming the bread into his mouth. Atria reached down and
picked up a crust; she chewed it slowly, but it was dry and
hard.
‘Prison fare,’ she said.
‘That is where we are.’ The warden sat, flicking out the tails
of his coat.
‘So what happened to your tower?’ Keiro asked.
‘I have many boltholes in the Prison. I use the tower as my
library This is my laboratory.’
‘I don’t see any test tubes.’
John Arlex smiled. ‘You will, all too soon. That is if you
want to be part of this wretch’s crazy plan.’
Keiro shrugged. ‘I’ve come this far.’
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‘So you have.’ The Warden put the tips of his fingers
together. ‘The halfman, the dog—slave, and the lunatic:
Keiro didn’t show his feelings by a flicker.
‘And do you think you will Escape?’The Warden picked LI
the jug and poured himself a goblet of water.
‘No’ Keiro gazed round.
‘Then you’re wise. As you know, you personally cannot
leave. Your body contains elements of Incarceron.’
‘Yes. But then, this body the Prison has made itself is
completely formed of such elements.’ Keiro leant back,
mocking the Warden’s pose, steepling his own fingers. ‘And
it fully intends to leave. Once it has the Glove. So I have to
assume that there is a power in the Glove itself which makes
this possible. And might even make it possible for me.’
The Warden stared at him and he stared back.
Behind them, Rix coughed as he tried to eat and drink at the
same time.
‘You’re wasted as a sorcerer’s apprentice: the Warden said
quietly. ‘Perhaps you would do better working for me.’
Keiro laughed.
‘Oh, don’t dismiss it so easily. You have the temperament
for cruelty, Keiro. The Prison is your environment. Outside
will disappoint you.’
Into the silence of their mutual gaze Attia snapped, ‘You
must miss your daughter.’
The Warden’s grey eyes slid to her. She had expected
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some anger, but all he said was, ‘Yes. I do.’
Seeing her surprise he smiled. ‘How little you Inmates
understand of me. I needed an heir and yes, I stole Claudia
as a baby from this place. Now she and I can never Escape
each other. I do miss her. I’m sure she misses me.’ He drank
from the goblet, a fastidious sip. ‘We have a twisted Love. A
love that is part hate and part admiration and part fear. But
love all the same.’
Rix belched. He wiped his mouth with his hand and said,
‘I’m ready now.’
‘Ready?’
‘To face it. Incarceron.’
The Warden laughed. ‘You fool! You have no idea! Don’t
you see that you’ve been facing Incarceron every day of your
miserable, scavenging, trick-playing life? You breathe
Incarceron, you eat and dream and wear Incarceron. It’s the
scorn in every eye here, the word in every mouth. There is
nowhere you can go to Escape from it.’
‘Unless I die,’ Rix said.
‘Unless you die. And that is easily arranged. But if you
have any crazy plan about the Prison taking you with it …’
He shook his head.
‘But you’ll go with it,’ Keiro murmured.
The Warden’s smile was wintry. ‘My daughter needs me.’
‘I don’t understand why you haven’t gone before. You
have both the Keys …’
The smile went. John Arlex stood, and he was tall and
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imposing. ‘Had. You’ll see. When the Prison is ready it will
call for us. Until then you stay here. My men will be outside.’
He walked to the door, kicking aside the empty plate. Keiro
did not move or look up but his voice carried a cool
insolence.
‘You’re just as much a Prisoner here as we are. No
difference.’
The Warden stopped, just for a moment. Then he opened
the door and let himself out. His back was rigid.
Keiro laughed, softly.
Rix nodded, approving. ‘You tell him, Apprentice.’
‘You’ve killed him.’ Jared straightened from the body and
stared at Medlicote. ‘There was no need …’
‘Every need, Master. You would not have survived a blow
from that axe. And you have the knowledge we all want.’
The secretary looked strange holding the firelock. His coat
was as dusty as ever, his half-moon glasses catching the
setting sun. Now he glanced round at the men blindfolding
Caspar. ‘I’m sorry, but the Prince too must die. He has seen
us.’
‘Yes I have Caspar sounded terrified and furious all at
once. ‘You, Medlicote, and you, Grahame, and you, Hal
Keane. All of you are traitors and once the Queen knows...’
‘Exactly.’ Medlicote’s voice was heavy. ‘Best if you stand
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aside, Master. You need have no part of this.’
Jared didn’t move. He eyed Medlicote through the dusk.
‘You would really kill an unarmed boy?’
‘They killed Prince Giles.’
‘Finn is Giles.’
Medlicote sighed. ‘Master, the Wolves know that Giles is
truly dead. The Warden of Incarceron was our leader. He
would have told us if the Prince was placed in the Prison:
The shock rocked Jared. He tried to recover. ‘The Warden is
a man of great depth. He has his own plans. He may have
misled you.’
The secretary nodded. ‘I know him better than you, Master.
But that doesn’t concern us now. Please stand aside.’
‘Don’t, Jared!’ Caspar’s voice was a sharp cry. ‘Don’t leave
me! Do something! I would never have killed you, Master! I
swear!’
Jared rubbed his face. He was tired and sore and cold. He
was worried sick about Claudia. But he said, ‘Listen to me,
Medlicote. The boy is no use to anyone dead. But as a
hostage he is immensely valuable. As soon as the moon sets
and the night is dark enough I intend to use a secret way I
know to get into the Wardenry ...’
‘What way?’
Jared jerked his head at the listening gentlemen. ‘I can’t
say. You may have spies even in your Clan. But there is a
way. Let me take Caspar with me. If the Queen sees her
precious son paraded on the battlements she’ll
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stop the bombardment instantly. You must see that this will
work.’
Medlicote gazed at him through the glasses. Then he said,
‘I will talk to my brothers.’
They walked aside and made a small group under he
beeches.
Blindfolded and tied, Caspar whispered, ‘Where are you,
Master Sapient?’
‘Still here.’
‘Save me. Untie me. My mother will load treasure on you.
Anything you want. Don’t leave me to these monsters,
Jared.’
Jared sat wearily in the beech leaves and watched the
monsters. He saw grave, bitter men. Some he recognized — a
gentleman of the King’s Chamber, a member of the Privy
Council. Was his life any safer than Caspar’s now that he
knew who they were? And why was he so tangled in this
web of murder and intrigue when all he had ever wanted
was to study the ancient writings and the stars?
‘They’re coming back. Untie me, Jared. Don’t let them
shoot me like Fax.’
He stood. ‘Sire, I’m doing my best.’
The men approached in the twilight. The sun had gone,
and from the Queen’s camp a trumpet rang out. Laughter
and the ripple of viols came from the royal tent. Caspar
groaned.
‘We’ve made up our minds: Medlicote put the firelock
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down and gazed at Jared through the mothy evening. ‘We
agree to your plan.’
Caspar gasped, and slumped a little. Jared nodded.
‘But. There are conditions. We know what you were
researching in the Academy. We know you decoded files,
and we assume you learnt secrets there, about the Prison.
Can you find a way Out for the Warden?’
‘I believe it’s possible,’ Jared said cautiously.
‘Then you must swear to us, Master, that you will do
everything you can to restore him to us. He must be held
against his will, if the Prison is not the Paradise we thought,
he would never have abandoned us. The Warden is faithful
to the Clan.’
They really were deluded,Jared thought. But he nodded.
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘To make certain, I will enter the Wardenry with you.’
‘No!’ Caspar turned his head, blindly. ‘He’ll kill me, even
in there!’
Jared gazed at Medlicote. ‘Don’t fear, sire. Claudia would
never let that happen.’
‘Claudia.’ Caspar nodded in relief. ‘Yes you’re right.
Claudia and I were always friends. My fiancée once. Could
be again.’
The Steel Wolves looked down at him in bitter silence. One
of them muttered, ‘The heir of the Havaarnas. What a future
we face.’
‘We will overthrow all of them, and Protocol too.’
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Medlicote turned. ‘The moon sets in a few hours. We’ll wait
till then.’
‘Good.’ Jared sat, pushing damp hair from his face. ‘In that
case, my lords, if you have anything a poor Sapient could
eat, he would be grateful. And then I’ll sleep, and you can
wake me.’ He glanced up, through the branches of the trees.
‘Here. Under the stars.’
Claudia and Finn sat opposite each other at the table.
Servants poured wine; Ralph ushered in three footmen
carrying tureens and then supervised the dishes, removing
covers and placing utensils next to Claudia.
She sat, brooding over the melon on her plate. Beyond the
candles and piled centrepiece of fruit Finn drank silently.
‘Will there be anything else, madam?’
She looked up. ‘No, Ralph, thank you. It looks wonderful.
Please thank the staff.’
He bowed, but she caught his surprised glance and almost
smiled. Maybe she had changed. Maybe she was not quite
the same haughty little girl any more.
When he had gone and they were alone neither of them
spoke. Finn piled some food on his plate and then poked at it
listlessly. Claudia couldn’t face anything.
‘It’s strange. For months I’ve wanted to be here, at home,
with Ralph fussing.’ She looked round at the familiar dark—
panelled room. ‘But it’s not the same
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‘Maybe that’s because of the army outside.’
She glared at him. Then she said, ‘It got to you. What he
said.’
‘About hiding behind a girl?’ He snorted. ‘I’ve heard
worse. In the Prison Jormanric hurled insults that would
freeze that idiot’s blood.’
She picked at a grape. ‘He did get to you.’
Finn threw down his spoon with a clatter and jumped up.
He strode angrily around the room.
‘All right, Claudia, yes, he did. I should have killed him
when I had the chance. No Pretender, no problem. And he’s
right in one thing. If we haven’t cracked the Portal by seven
then I will walk out, alone, because there’s no way I’m
having any of your people die for me. A women died once
before because I could only think about my own Escape. I
saw her fall screaming down a black abyss and it was my
fault. It won’t happen again.’
Claudia pushed a pip round her plate. ’Finn, that’s exactly
what he wants you to do. Be noble, give yourself up. Be
killed.’ She turned. ‘Think! The Queen doesn’t know about
the Portal here — if she did this place would be rubble by
now. And now that you remember who you are . . . that
you’re really Giles, you can’t just sacrifice yourself. You’re
the King.’
He stopped and looked at her. ‘I don’t like the way you
said that.’
‘Said what?’
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‘Remembered. Remembered. You don’t believe me, Claudia.’
‘Of course I do …’
‘You think I’m lying. Maybe to myself.’
‘Finn . . .‘ She stood but he waved her away.
‘And the fit. . . it didn’t happen, but it was coming. And it
shouldn’t be. Not any more.’
‘They’ll take time to go. Jared told you that.’ Exasperated,
she stared at him. ‘Stop thinking about yourself for a minute,
Finn! Jared is missing — god knows where he is. Keiro …’
‘Don’t talk to me about Keiro!’
He had turned and his face was so white it scared her. She
was silent, knowing she had touched a raw nerve, letting her
anger simmer.
Finn stared at her. Then, quieter, he said, ‘I never stop
thinking about Keiro. I never stop wishing I’d never come
here.’
She laughed, acid. ‘You prefer the Prison?’
‘I betrayed him. And Attia. If I could go back...’ She turned,
snatched up her glass and drank, her fingers trembling on
the delicate stem. Behind her the fire crackled over its logs
and plasticoals.
‘Be careful what you wish for, Finn. You might get it.’
He leant on the fireplace, looking down. Beside him the
carved figures watched; the black swan’s eye glittered like a
diamond.
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In the heated room nothing moved but the flames. They
made the heavy furniture shimmer, the facets of the crystals
glint like watchful stars.
Outside, voices murmured in the corridor. The rumble of
cannonballs being stacked came from the roof. If Claudia
listened very hard she could hear the revelry from the
Queen’s camp.
Suddenly needing fresh air, she went to the window, and
opened the casement.
It was dark, the moon hung low, close to the horizon.
Beyond the lawns the hills were crowned with trees, and she
wondered how many artillery pieces the Queen had brought
up behind them. Sick with sudden fear she said, ‘You miss
Keiro and I miss my father.’ Sensing his head turn she
nodded. ‘No, I didn’t think I would, but I do. . . Maybe
there’s more of him in me than I thought.’
He said nothing.
Claudia pulled the window shut and went to the door. ‘Try
and eat something. Ralph will be disappointed otherwise.
I’m going back up.’
He didn’t move. They had left the study a mess of papers
and diagrams and still nothing made sense. It was hopeless,
because neither of them had any idea what they were
looking for. But he couldn’t tell her that.
At the door she paused. ’Listen, Finn. If we don’t succeed
and you walk out like some hero the Queen will destroy this
house anyway She won’t be content now without a
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show of force. There’s a secret way out — a tunnel under the
stables. It’s a trapdoor, under the fourth stall. The stable boy,
Job, found it one day and showed Jared and myself It’s old,
pre-Era, and it comes up beyond the moat. If they break in,
remember it, because I want to be sure you’ll use it. You’re
the King. You’re the one who understands Incarceron.
You’re too valuable to lose. The rest of us are not.’
For a while he couldn’t answer her, and when he turned he
saw she’d gone.
The door clicked slowly shut.
He stared at its wooden boards.
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28
How will we know when the great Destruction is near? Because
there will be weeping and anguish and strange cries in the night.
The Swan will sing and the Moth will savage the Tiger. Chains
will spring open. The lights will go out, one by one like dreams at
daybreak.
Amongst this chaos, one thing is sure.
The Prison will close its eyes against the sufferings of its
children.
LORD CALLISTON’S DIARY
The stars.
Jared slept beneath them, uneasy in the rustling leaves.
From the battlements Finn gazed up at them, seeing the
impossible distances between galaxies and nebulae, and
thinking they were not as wide as the distances between
people.
In the study Claudia sensed them, in the sparks and crackles
on the screen.
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* * *
In the Prison, Attia dreamt of them. She sat curled on the
hard chair, Rix repacking his hidden pockets obsessively
with coins and glass discs and hidden handkerchiefs.
A single spark flickered deep in the coin Keiro spun and
taught, spun and caught.
And all over Incarceron, through its tunnels and corridors,
its cells and seas, the Eyes began to close. One by one they
rippled off down galleries where people came out of their
huts to stare; in cities where priests of obscure cults cried out
to Sapphique; in remote halls where nomads had wandered
for centuries; above a crazed Prisoner digging his life-long
tunnel with a rusty spade. The Eyes went out in ceilings, in
the cobwebbed corner of a cell, in the den of a Winglord, in
the thatched eaves of a cottage. Incarceron withdrew its gaze,
and for the first time since its waking the Prison ignored its
Inmates, drew in on itself, closed down empty sections,
gathered its great strength.
In her sleep Attia turned, and woke. Something had
changed, had disturbed her, but she didn’t know what it
was. The hall was dark, the fire almost out. Keiro was a
huddle in the chair, one leg dangling over its wooden
armrest, sleeping his light sleep. Rix was brooding. His eyes
were fixed on her.
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Alarmed, she felt for the Glove and touched its reassuring
crackle.
‘It was a pity you weren’t the one to say the riddle, Attia.’
Rix’s voice was a whisper.’! would have preferred to work
with you.’
He didn’t ask if she had the Glove safe, but she knew why.
The Prison would hear.
She rubbed her cricked neck and answered, equally quietly.
‘What are you up to, Rix?’
‘Up to?’ He grinned. ‘I’m up to the greatest illusion anyone
has ever performed. What a sensation it will be, Attia! People
will talk about it for generations.’
‘If there are people.’ Keiro had opened his eyes. He was
listening, and not to Rix. ‘Hear that?’
The heartbeat had changed.
It was faster, the double-thump louder. As Attia listened
the crystals in the chandelier above her tinkled with it; she
felt the faintest reverberation in the chair she sat on.
Then, so loud it made her jump, a bell rang.
High and clear it pierced the darkness; she jammed her
hands to her ears in a grimace of shock. Once, twice, three
times it rang. Four. Five. Six.
As the last chime ended, its silvery clarity almost painful,.
the door opened and the Warden came in. His dark frockcoat
was strapped with a belt and two firelocks. He wore a
sword, and his eyes were grey points of winter.
‘Stand up,’ he said.
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Keiro lounged to his feet. ‘No minions?’
‘Not now. No one enters the Heart of Incarceron but
myself. You will be the first — and last — of its creatures to
see Incarceron’s own face.’
Attia felt Rix squeeze her hand. ‘The honour is beyond
expression: the magician muttered, bowing.
She knew he wanted the Glove from her, right now. She
stepped away, towards the Warden, because this decision
would be no one’s but hers.
Keiro saw. His smile was cool, and it annoyed her.
If the Warden noticed anything he made no sign. Instead
he crossed to the corner of the room and tugged aside a
tapestry of forest trees and stags.
Behind it rose a portcullis, ancient and rusted. John Arlex
bent and with both hands turned an ancient winch. Once,
twice, he heaved it round, and creaking and flaking rust, the
portcullis rose, and beyond it they saw a small, worm-eaten
wooden door. The Warden shoved it open. A draught of
warm air swept out over them. Beyond, they saw darkness,
pounding with steam and heat.
John Arlex drew his sword. ‘This is it, Rix. This is what
you’ve dreamt of.’
As Finn came into the study Claudia glanced up.
Her eyes were red-rimmed. He wondered if she had been
crying. Certainly she was furious with frustration.
‘Look at it!’ she snapped. ‘Hours of work and it’s still a
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mystery A total, incomprehensible mess!’
Jared’s papers were in chaos. Finn set down the tray of wine
Ralph had insisted he bring and stared round. ‘You should
take a rest. You must be making some progress.’
She laughed, harshly. Then she stood so quickly the great
blue feather propped in the corner lifted into the air. ‘I don’t
know! The Portal flickers, it crackles, sounds come out of it.’
‘What sounds?’
‘Cries. Voices. Nothing clear.’ She snapped a switch and he
heard them, the distant, faintest echoes of distress.
‘Sounds like frightened people. In some big space.’ He
looked at her. ‘Terrified, even.’
‘Is it familiar?’
He laughed, bitter. ‘Claudia the Prison is full of frightened
people.’
‘Then there’s no way of knowing which part of the Prison
that is, or …’
‘What’s that?’ He stepped closer.
‘What?’
‘That other sound. Behind...’
She stared at him, then went to the controls and began to
adjust them. Gradually, out of the chaos of hissing and static,
emerged a deeper bass, a repeated, double-pounding motif.
Finn kept still, listening.
Claudia said, ‘It’s the same sound we heard before,
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when my father spoke to us.’
‘It’s louder now’
‘Have you any idea …’
He shook his head. ‘In all my time Inside I never heard
anything like that.’
For a moment only the heartbeat filled the room. Then
from Finn’s pocket came a sudden pinging that startled them
both. He pulled out her father’s watch.
Startled, Claudia said, ‘It’s never done that before.’
Finn flicked open the gold lid. The clock hands showed six
o’clock; the chimes rang out like tiny urgent bells. As if in
response the Portal chuntered and went silent.
She came closer. ‘I didn’t know it had an alarm. Who set it?
Why now?’
Finn didn’t answer. He was staring gloomily at the time.
Then he said, ‘Perhaps to tell us there’s only an hour left till
the deadline.’
The silver cube that was Incarceron spun slowly on its
chain.
‘Take care here, both of you.’ Jared climbed over the rooffall.
He turned and held up the lantern so that Caspar could
manage. ‘Perhaps we should untie his hands?’
‘I wouldn’t advise it.’ Medlicote prodded the Earl with the
firelock. ‘Quickly, sire.’
‘I could break my neck!’ Caspar sounded more irritable
than worried. As Jared helped him over the pile of stones
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he slid and swore. ‘My mother will have both of you
beheaded for this. You do know that?’
‘Only too well.’ Jared peered ahead. He had forgotten the
state of the tunnel; even when he and Claudia had first
explored it it had been in a state of collapse, and that had
been years ago. She had always meant to have it repaired,
but had never got round to it. There was nothing false about
its age or the frequent crumbling of its walls. A brick vault
loomed over him, green with dripping slime and infested
with mosquitoes that whined around the lantern.
‘How much further?’ Medicote asked. He looked worried.
‘I think we’re under the moat.’
Somewhere ahead an ominous plopping noise told them of
a leak.
‘If this roof comes down … Medlicote muttered. He didn’t
finish. Then he said, ‘Perhaps we should go back.’
‘You may go back any time you wish, sir: Jared ducked
through hanging webs into the dark. ‘But I intend to find
Claudia. And we would do well to be out of here before the
cannon start firing.’
But as he pushed on into the stinking darkness he
wondered whether they had started already, or whether the
pounding in his ears was just his own heartbeat.
Attia walked through the small door and staggered, because
the world was tilted. It straightened itself under
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her feet, so that she almost fell, and had to grab Rix to keep
her balance.
He, staring upwards, did not even notice.
‘My god!’ he said. ‘We’re Outside!’
The space had no roof, no walls. It was so vast it had no
ending, nothing but steamy mist through which they
couldn’t see.
In that instant she knew she was tiny in the face of the
universe; it terrified her. She edged close to Rix and he
grasped her hand, as if he, too, was moved by that sudden
giddiness.
Swirls of steam curled miles above them like clouds. The
floor was made of sonic hard mineral, the squares of it
enormous. As the Warden led them forward their footsteps
were loud across the shining black surface. She counted. It
took thirteen steps to reach the next white square.
‘Pieces on a chessboard: Keiro voiced her thoughts.
‘As Outside, so within,’ the Warden murmured, amused.
And there was silence. That was what scared her most. The
heartbeat had stopped as soon as they passed the door, as if
they had somehow entered its very chambers, and here, so
deep within itself, no sound lived.
A shadow flickered on the clouds.
Keiro turned, quickly. ‘What was that?’
A hand. Enormous. And then, a beam of light moving over
feathers, vast feathers each taller than a man.
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Rix stared up, bewildered. ‘Sapphique,’ he gasped. ‘Are
you here?’
It was a mirage, a vision. It hung in the clouds and rose like
a colossus into the sky, a great being of white shimmers and
drifts of steam; a nose, an eye, the plumage of wings so wide
they could enfold the world.
Even Keiro was awed. Attia couldn’t move. Rix muttered
under his breath.
But the Warden’s voice, behind them, was calm.
‘Impressed? But that too is an illusion, Rix, and you don’t
even spot it?’ His scorn was rich and deep. ‘Why should
mere size impress you so much? It’s all relative. What would
you say if I told you that the whole of Incarceron is actually
tinier than a cube of sugar in a universe of giants?’
Rix tore his eyes from the apparition. ‘I’d say you were the
madman, Warden.’
‘Perhaps I am. Come and see what causes your mirage.’
Keiro pulled Attia on. At first she was unable to stop
staring back, because the shadow on the clouds grew as they
moved away from it, rippling and fading and reappearing.
Rix, though, hurried, after the Warden, as if he had already
forgotten his wonder. ‘How tiny?’
‘Tinier than you could imagine.’ John Arlex glanced at him.
‘But in my imagination, I am immense1 I am the universe.
There’s nothing else but me.’
Keiro said, ‘Just like the Prison, then.’
388
Ahead of them the steam cleared. Alone in the centre of the
marble floor, pinpointed by a ring of spotlights, they saw a
man.
He was standing on a platform reached by five steps, and
at first they thought he was winged, the plumage black as a
swan’s. Then they saw he wore a Sapient’s robe of darkest
iridescence and it was threaded with feathers. His face was
narrow and beautiful, shining with radiance. Each eye was
perfect, the lips held in a smile of compassion, his hair dark.
One hand was lifted, the other hung at his side. He did not
move, or speak, or breathe.
Rix stepped up on to the lowest step, staring up. Sapphique
he murmured. ‘The Prison’s face is Sapphique’s
‘It’s just a statue,’ Keiro snapped.
All around them, as close as a caress against their cheeks,
Incarceron whispered, No, it isn’t. It’s my body.
The Portal said something.
Finn turned and stared at it. Wisps of grey, like curls of
cloud, were moving over its surface. The hum in the room
modulated and changed. All the lights flickered off and on.
‘Get back.’ Claudia was already at the controls.
‘Something’s happening inside.’
‘Your father, he warned us ... about what might come
through.’
‘I know what he said!’ She didn’t turn, her fingers playing
on the controls. ‘Are you armed?’
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He drew his sword, slowly.
The room dimmed.
‘What if it’s Keiro? I can’t kill Keiro!’
‘Incarceron is cunning enough to look like anyone.’
‘I can’t, Claudia!’ He moved closer.
Suddenly, without warning, the room tipped. It spoke. It
said, My body …
Finn staggered, slamming against the desk. The sword
clattered out of his hand as he grabbed at Claudia but she
slid back with a gasp, missing her footing, crashing into the
chair, falling back into its seat.
And before she could stand up, she was gone.
Rix moved. He snatched the sword from the Warden’s belt
and swung it to Attia’s neck. He said, ‘It’s time to give me
my Glove back.’
‘Rix ...‘ Beside her was the right hand of the statue. Small
red circuits rippled at its fingers ends.
Do what you have to, my son, the Prison said eagerly.
Rix nodded. ‘I hear you, Master.’ He pulled Attia’s coat
open and snatched out the Glove. He held it up in triumph
and from all sides the beams of light swivelled and focused
on it, throwing swollen replicated shadows not only of the
statue now but of all of them, great cloudy Keiros and Attias
on the clouds.
‘Behold,’ Rix murmured. ‘The greatest illusion the Prison
has ever seen.’
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The sword tip whipped away from Attia’s neck. She moved,
but Keiro was quicker. Diving forward he batted the blade
aside and punched Rix hard in the chest.
But it was Keiro who cried out. He was flung hack jerking
with shock, and Rix laughed, his gap-tooth grin wide.
‘Magic! How powerful it is, my Apprentice! How it guards
its master!’
He turned to the image, lifted the Glove towards its
sparking fingers.
‘No!’ Attia cried. ‘You can’t do this!’ She turned to the
Warden. ‘Stop him!’
The Warden said quietly, ‘There is nothing I can do. There
never has been.’
She grabbed at Rix but even as she touched him the shock
burnt into her nerves, an electric spark of recoil that
screamed in her own voice. Then she was on the floor and
Keiro was standing over her. ‘Are you all right?’
She crouched over her burnt fingers. ‘He’s wired up. He’s
beaten us.’
Rix. Incarceron’s order was urgent. Give me my Glove. Give
me my freedom. Do it NOW.
Rix turned, and Attia rolled. She shot out her foot and the
magician tripped and fell, crashing on the white floor, the
Glove falling from his hand and skidding over the shiny
marble, Keiro diving after it and grabbing it with a whoop of
joy.
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He scrambled back, out of reach. ‘Now, Prison, you get
your freedom. But from me. And only if you do what you
promised. Tell me I’m the one who gets to Escape with you.’
The Prison laughed, ominous. Do you really think I keep such
promises?
Keiro circled, gazing up ignoring Rix’s howls of anger. He
showed no disappointment. ‘Take me or I wear the Glove
You would not dare.
‘Watch me.’
The Glove will kill you.
‘Better than living in this hell.’
Their stubborness made them equal, Attia thought. Keiro
turned, a slow circle. He slid his metal fingernail towards the
Glove’s opening.
I will torment you. Incarceron’s voice was a high metallic
whine. I will make you pray for death.
‘Keiro, don’t,’ Attia whispered.
For a second he hesitated. And then from behind her the
Warden’s cool voice cut the air. ‘Wear it. Put it on.’
‘What?’
‘Put it on. The Prison won’t risk destroying its only way
Out. I think the result will surprise you.’
Keiro stared at him in surprise, and the Warden stared
back. Then Keiro slipped his fingers deeper.
Wait. Incarceron’s voice thundered. The cloud flickered
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with invisible lightnings. I will not allow that. No. Stop. Please.
‘You stop me Keiro breathed. A spark leapt between his
metal nail and the Glove. He gasped with the pain. And then
he was gone.
There was no light, no blinding brilliant flash. Instead, as
Finn stared at Claudia he saw she was no longer there. She
had become a vacuum of herself, a shadow, a negative
image. And as he watched she re-emerged from the
darkness, pixel by pixel, atom by atom, the reassembly of a
fragmented being, all its thoughts and limbs and dreams and
features, and it wasn’t Claudia, it was someone else.
He groped for the sword, his eyes blinded by what might
be tears, the blade whipping up to the face that stared at his,
the amazed blue eyes, the dirty blond hair.
For a long moment Finn was still, both of them were, face
to face, and then Keiro reached forward and took the sword
from him and turned the point to the ground.
The door burst open. Jared took one look around the Portal
and stood stock-still. His heart was hammering so hard he
was breathless, and he leant back against the wall.
Behind him Medlicote pushed Caspar in, and they stared.
They saw, facing Finn, a stranger in a filthy red coat, his
eyes blue with triumph, his muscled hand tight around the
hilt of a sharp sword. There was no one else in the room.
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‘Who are you?’ Caspar demanded.
Keiro turned and gazed at the shining breastplate and
splendid clothes.
He levelled the blade an inch from Caspar’s eyes.
‘Your worst nightmare,’ he said.
394
The
Winged Man
395
396
29
Did he Escape? For there is a rumour that is whispered in the dark,
a rumour that he remains, trapped deep in the Prison’s heart, his
body turned to stone; that the cries we hear are his cries, that his
struggles shake the world.
But we know what we know.
THE STEEL WOLVES
Jared stepped forward and grabbed the Glove from Keiro’s
hand, flinging it down on the floor as if it was alive. ‘Did you
hear its dreams?’ he said. ‘Did it control you?’
Keiro laughed. ‘Does it look like it?’
‘But you wore it!’
‘No. I didn’t.’ Keiro was too amazed to think about the
Glove. He flicked Caspar’s coat—collar with the sword tip.
‘Nice material. And just my size.’
He was glowing with delight. If he felt sick or dazzled by
the room’s white light he didn’t show it. He took in
everything — the four of them, the cluttered Portal, the huge
feather — with one avid sweep of his eyes. ’So this is
Outside.’
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Finn swallowed. His mouth felt dry. He glanced at Jared
and almost felt the Sapient’s dismay.
Keiro tapped Caspar’s breastplate with the sword. ‘I want
that too.’
Finn said, ‘It’s different here. There are wardrobes full of
clothes.’
‘I want his.’
Caspar looked terrified. ‘Do you know who I am?’ he
stammered.
Keiro grinned. ‘No.’
‘Where’s Claudia?’ Jared’s agonized question cut the tension.
Keiro shrugged. ‘How should I know?’
‘They changed places Finn kept his eyes on his oathbrother.
‘She was sitting in the chair and she just dissolved. Keiro
appeared. Is that what the Glove does? Is that the power it
has? Can I put it on now, and...’
‘No one puts it on until I say.’ Jared moved past him. He
went to the chair and gripped it, leaning on its back. His face
was pale with weariness and he looked more anxious than
Finn had ever seen him. Quickly, Finn said, ‘Master
Medlicote, pour some wine please.’
The fragrant smell filled the air. Keiro sniffed it. ‘What is
that?’
‘Better than the Prison muck.’ Finn watched him. ‘Try
some. And you, Master.’
As the drink was poured he watched his oathbrother
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prowl round the room, exploring everything. It was all
wrong. He should be happy. He should be so elated to have
Keiro here. And yet there was a deep dread inside him, a
shivery, sickening terror, because this wasn’t how it should
have happened. And because Claudia was gone, and
suddenly there was a hole in the world.
He said, ‘Who was with you?’
Keiro sipped the red liquid and his eyebrows rose. ‘Attia.
The Warden. And Rix.’
‘Who’s Rix?’ Finn said, but Jared turned from the screen
instantly. ‘The Warden was with you?’
‘He told me to do it. He said, “Put the Glove on.” Maybe he
knew . . .‘ Keiro stopped, instantly. ‘That’s it! Of course he
knew. It was his way of getting the Glove out of the Prison’s
reach.’
Jared turned back to the screen. Placing his fingers on it he
stared sadly into its darkness. ‘At least she’s with her father’
‘If they’re still alive.’ Keiro glanced at Caspar’s tied wrists.
‘What’s going on here, anyway? I thought this was where
people were free.’ Turning he saw them all staring at him.
Medicote whispered, ‘What do you mean, if they’re still
alive?’
‘Use your brain’ Keiro sheathed the sword and went to the
door. ‘The Prison is going to be very, very angry about this.
It may have killed them all already.’
Jared stared at him. ‘You knew that might happen, and you
still...’
399
‘That’s how it is in Incarceron,’ Keiro said. ‘Every man for
himself. As my brother will tell you.’ He turned and faced
Finn. ‘So. Are you going to show me our kingdom? Or are
you ashamed of your jaibird brother? That is, if we’re still
brothers.’
Finn said quietly, ‘We’re still brothers.’
‘You don’t seem so pleased to see me.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s the shock. And Claudia ... she’s in there.
..‘
Keiro raised an eyebrow. ‘So that’s how it is. Well, I
suppose she’s rich, and enough of a bitch to make a good
Queen.’
‘That’s what I’ve missed about you. Your tact and
courtesy.’
‘Not to mention my quicksilver wit and devastating looks.’
They stood face to face. Finn said, ‘Keiro. . .‘
A sudden explosion rumbled over their heads. The room
shook, a plate sliding to the floor and smashing.
Finn swung to Jared. ‘They’ve opened fire!’
‘Then I suggest you get the Queen’s beloved son up to the
battlements,’ Jared said quietly. ‘I have work to do here.’
He exchanged one swift look with Finn, and Finn saw the
discarded Glove was in his hand. ‘Be careful, Master.’
‘Just stop them firing. And Finn.’ Jared came over and
gripped his wrist. ‘Do not, on any account, leave this house. I
need you here. Do you understand me?’
After a moment Finn said, ‘I understand.’
400
Another rumble. Keiro said, ‘Tell me that’s not cannonfire.’
‘A whole regiment of it,’ Caspar said, smug.
Finn pushed him away and turned to Keiro. ‘Look. We’re
beseiged. There’s an army out there and we’re outgunned
and outmanned. Things are not good. I’m afraid you haven’t
come into some paradise. You’ve come into a battle.’
Keiro had always been an expert at taking things in his
stride. Now he looked curiously up the sumptuous corridor.
‘In that case, brother, I’m exactly what you need.’
Claudia felt as if she had been broken apart and reassembled,
badly, piece by piece. As if she had been forced through
some barrier of mesh, a matrix of collapsing dimensions.
She was standing on a great bare floor of black and white
tiles.
Facing her father.
He seemed utterly dismayed. ‘No!’ he breathed. And then,
almost like a cry of pain. ‘No!’
The floor rippled. She steadied herself, arms out, and then
breathed in, and the stink of the Prison overwhelmed her, the
stench of endlessly recycled air and human fear. She gasped,
and put both hands over her face.
The Warden came towards her. For a moment she thought
he would take her hands in his cold fingers, print her cheek
with his icy kiss. Instead he said, ‘This shouldn’t have
happened. How could this happen!’
401
‘You tell me.’ She glanced round, saw Attia staring at her,
and a tall ragged man who seemed utterly astounded, his
hands knotted and his eyes deep hollows of awe.
‘Magic,’ he breathed. ‘The true Art.’
It was Attia who said, ‘Keiro’s vanished. He vanished and
you appeared. Does that mean he’s Outside?’
‘How am I supposed to know?’
‘You have to know!’ Attia yelled. ‘He has the Glove!’
The floor rippled, a wave of cracking tiles.
‘No time now for this.’ The Warden pulled out a firelock
and gave it to Claudia. ‘Take this. Protect yourself against
whatever the Prison sends.’
She held the weapon limply, but then she saw that behind
them the whole vast space was flooding with clouds that
swirled and blackened and sparked lightning. One flash
cracked into the floor beside the Warden. He swung round,
staring up. ‘Listen to me, Incarceron’ This is not our fault!’
Then whose fault is it? The voice of the Prison seethed with
fury. Its words were crackled and raw, dissolving into hisses
of static. You told him to do it. You betrayed me.
The Warden said coldly, ‘Not at all. It may look that way,
but you and—’
Why should I not burn you all into ash?
‘Because you would damage your delicately-made
creation.’ The Warden stepped close to the statue; Claudia
stared up at it in awe as he pulled her after him. ’I think you
402
are too astute to do that.’ He smiled. ‘It seems to me,
Incarceron, that things have changed now between us. For
years you have done what you wanted, ruled as you liked.
You controlled yourself. I was Warden only in name. Now
the one thing you want is beyond your grasp.’
Claudia felt Attia jump up on the step behind her. ‘Listen
to him,’ the girl whispered. ‘This is all about him and his
power.’
The Prison laughed, a sinister chuckle. You think so?
John Arlex shrugged. He looked at Claudia. ‘I know so.
The Glove has been taken Outside. It will be returned to you
only by my orders.’
Your orders? Indeed?
‘My orders, as Clanlord of the Steel Wolves.’
He was bluffing, Claudia thought. She said aloud, ‘Do you
remember me, Prison?’
I remember you. You were mine and you are mine again. But
now, unless I have my Glove, I will close down the lights and the
air and the heat. I will leave millions to suffocate in darkness.
You will not the Warden said evenly, ‘or you will never
have the Glove.’ He spoke as if to a child, with a clear
severity. ‘Instead, you show me the secret door that
Sapphique used.’
So that you and your so-called daughter can release yourselves,
and leave me trapped here? The voice was clotted with sparks.
Never.
The Prison convulsed. Claudia staggered and fell against
403
Rix. He grabbed her arm, grinning.
‘My father’s anger,’ he whispered.
I will destroy you all now.
The black squares of the floor rolled back and were holes.
Out of them rose cables with open mouths of venom. They
kinked and curled like snakes of power, cracking and
spitting.
‘Up the steps.’ The Warden climbed quickly to the feet of
the winged man, Rix shoving Claudia after him. Attia came
last, glancing round.
White vivid shocks split the darkness.
‘It won’t harm the statue: the Warden murmured.
Attia glared. ‘You can’t be sure …’
High in the roof, a great rumble silenced her. The clouds
were storm-black. Tiny hard pellets of snow were falling
from them. In seconds the temperature was below zero and
dropping fast, and Rix’s breath steamed as he breathed out.
‘It won’t have to damage it. It’ll just freeze us here to its feet:
And each of the tiny flakes whispered as it fell, in millionfold
anger.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
The first shot had just been a warning. The ball had sailed
right over the roof and crashed somewhere in the woods
404
beyond. But Finn knew the next one would smash through;
as he ran up the last stair and out on to the battlements he
saw through the acrid smoke the Queen’s artillerymen
adjusting the angles of the five great cannon they had ranged
across the lawns.
Behind him, Keiro gasped.
Finn turned. His oathbrother stood transfixed, gazing out
at the pale dawn sky slashed with gold and scarlet. The sun
was rising. It hung like a great red globe above the
beechwoods, and rooks rose in clouds to meet it from the
branches.
The long shadow of the house stretched over lawns and
gardens, and on the moat light glimmered on the ripples the
swans made as they woke.
Keiro walked to the battlements and gripped the
stonework, as if to make sure it was all real. He gazed for a
long moment on the perfection of the morning, at the scarlet
and gold pennants flapping over the Queen’s pavilions, the
lavender hedges, the roses, the bees that hummed in the
honeysuckle flowers under his hands.
‘Amazing,’ he breathed. ‘Totally amazing.’
‘You haven’t seen anything yet,’ Finn muttered. ‘When the
sun gets high, it’ll dazzle you. And at night …’ He stopped.
‘Go inside. Ralph, get him some hot water, the best clothes
…’
Keiro shook his head. ‘Tempting, brother, but not yet. First
we deal with this enemy Queen.’
405
Medlicote came up behind them, a little breathless, and
behind him the soldiers pushed Caspar, red in the face and
furious.
‘Finn, get these ropes off me. I insist!’
Finn nodded and the nearest guard sliced the knot swiftly.
Caspar made a great show of rubbing his chafed wrists,
staring haughtily around at everyone except Keiro, whose
eyes he seemed too terrified to meet.
Captain Soames stared at him in disbelief. ‘Isn’t that . . . ?‘
‘That’s a miracle.’ Finn said. ‘Now. Can we get their
attention before they blast us to pieces?’
The flag was raised; it flapped loudly. In the Queen’s camp
a few men pointed; someone ran into the large tent. No one
came out.
The guns were a row of dark muzzles.
‘If they fire …’ Medlicote said nervously.
Keiro said, ‘Someone’s coming.’
A courtier was galloping towards them on a grey horse. He
spoke to the artillerymen as he passed, then galloped
cautiously over the lawns to the edge of the moat.
‘You wish to surrender the Prisoner?’ he called up.
‘Shut up and listen to me.’ Finn leant over. ‘Tell the Queen
if she fires on us she kills her son. Understand?’
He grabbed Caspar and hauled him to the battlements. The
courtier stared up in horror, his horse prancing under him.
‘The Earl? But …’
406
Keiro stepped up to Caspar, one arm around his shoulders.
‘Here he is! With both ears, both eyes and both hands. Unless
you’d like some proof to take the Queen?’
‘No!’ the man gasped.
‘Shame Keiro had a knife carelessly against Caspar’s cheek.
‘But I suggest you tell the Queen that he’s in my hands now
and I’m not like the rest of you. I’m not playing any games.’
He tightened his grip and Caspar stifled a gasp.
Finn said, ‘No.’
Keiro smiled his most charming smile. ‘Run along now.’
The courtier turned his horse and raced for the tents. Clods
of earth were flung up by the hooves. As he passed he yelled
urgently at the men by the cannons; they backed away,
obviously puzzled.
Keiro turned. He pushed the point of the knife very slightly
into Caspar’s white skin. A small red spot swelled with
blood.
‘A little souvenir he whispered.
‘Leave him.’ Finn came and tugged Caspar away and
pushed the half-fainting Earl at Captain Soames. ‘Put him
somewhere safe and have a man stay with him. Food and
water. Anything he needs.’
As they took the boy away he turned on Keiro angrily.
‘This is not the Prison!’
‘So you keep telling me.’
‘You don’t need to be so savage.’
407
Keiro shrugged. ‘Too late. This is me, Finn. This is what the
Prison has made me. Not like all this, no: He waved at the
manor house. ‘This pretty world, those toy soldiers. I’m real.
And I’m free. Free to do whatever I want.’
He headed for the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’
‘That bath, brother. Those clothes.’
Finn nodded to Ralph. ‘Find him some.’
Seeing the consternation in the old man’s face, he turned
away.
He had forgotten. In three months he had forgotten the
wildness in Keiro, his arrogance, his utter wilfulness. How
he had always been scared of what Keiro would do.
A woman’s scream of fury jerked his head up. It cut the
morning like a knife, and it came from the Queen’s pavilion.
Well, at least that was one message that had gone home.
408
30
As the Beast I took your finger. As the Dragon I give you my
hand.
Now you have crawled and clambered into my heart.
I can’t see you any more.
Are you still here?
MIRROR OF DREAMS TO SAPPHIQUE
The very air was freezing.
Huddled at the feet of the winged Sapphique, Attia could
not stop shivering. Knees up, arms wrapped round herself,
she suffered the numbing agony of cold. Her shoulders were
white, her arms, her back. Snow made the miserable heap
that was Rix into an albino wizard, his straggly hair
glistening with half-melted slush. ‘We’ll die,’ he croaked.
‘No.’ The Warden had not stopped pacing. His footsteps
made a complete circle about the base of the statue. ‘No. This
is a bluff. The Prison is computing a solution. I know how its
mind works. It’s trying out every plot and plan
409
can devise, and in the meantime it hopes to force us to give it
the Glove.’
‘But you can’t!’ Rix groaned.
‘Do you think I can’t speak to the Outside?’
Claudia was standing right behind him. She said, ‘Can
you? Or are you bluffing too? Is this part of the game you’ve
spent your life playing?’
Her father stopped and turned to her. Pinched with cold,
his face was deathly pale against the high dark collar. ‘You
still hate me then?’
‘I don’t hate you. But I can’t forgive you.’
He smiled. ‘For rescuing you from a life in hell? For giving
you everything you could ever want — money, education,
great estates? Betrothal to a prince?’
He always did this to her. Made her feel foolish and
ungrateful. But still she said, ‘All that yes. But you never
really loved me.’
‘How do you know?’ His face was close to hers.
‘I would have known. I would have felt...’
‘Ah, but I play games, remember?’ His eyes were clear and
grey. ‘With the Queen. With the Prison. It has taught me to
be careful what I show to the world He took a slow breath,
the snow catching on his narrow beard. ‘Perhaps I loved you
more than you knew. But if we come to accusations, Claudia,
I might say this. You love only Jared.’
‘Don’t bring Jared into this! You wanted your daughter
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to be Queen. Any daughter would do. I could have been
anyone.’
The Warden stepped back, as if her anger was a wave that
pushed him away.
Rix chuckled. ‘A puppet,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘A puppet. Carved perfectly by a lonely man from wood.
And yet the puppet comes alive and torments him.’
John Arlex frowned. ‘Keep your stories for your act,
magician.’
‘This is my act, sire.’ For a moment the voice was changed; it
became the soft voice of Sapphique, so that they all stared at
him through the falling snow. But Rix just grinned his gaptoothed
grin.
The Prison howled. It gusted the snow against them in an
angry scream. Attia glanced up and saw that the statue was
crusted with icicles. Snow whitened the crevices of its hand,
clogged the plumage of its coat. Sapphique’s eyes were
glinting with ice; over his face a frost spread almost as she
looked, stars of crystal joining up like some inhuman virus.
She was too cold to bear it. She jumped up. ‘We’ll freeze
here. And god knows what’s happening elsewhere’
Claudia nodded gloomily. ‘Putting Keiro in the middle of a
seige is a recipe for disaster. If only I knew where Jared is.’
I have come to my decision. The Prison’s venomous whisper
was all around them.
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‘Excellent The Warden glared up into the snowfall. ‘I was
sure you’d come to your senses. Show me the Door. I’ll
ensure the Glove is returned to you.’
Silence.
Then, with a snigger that sent shivers down Attia’s spine,
Incarceron said, I am not such a fool,John. The Glove first.
‘We leave first.’
I don’t trust you.
‘Very wise,’ Rix muttered.
I was made by the Wise.
The Warden smiled coldly. ‘Nor do I trust you.’
Then you will not be surprised at what I do next. You think I
cannot reach the Glove. But I have spent centuries investigating
my own power and its sources. I have discovered things that
astonished me. I assure you, John, I can suck the life out of your
pretty Realm.
Claudia said, ‘What do you mean? You can’t …’
Ask your father. How pale he looks now. I will show all of you
who is the true Prince of the Realm.
The Warden seemed shaken. ‘Tell me what you mean to
do. Tell me!’
But only the snow fell, icy and relentless.
Attia said, ‘You’re scared. It’s scared you.’
They all saw his consternation. ‘I don’t understand what it
means,’ he whispered.
Dismay struck Claudia like a blow. ‘But you’re the Warden
…‘
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‘I have lost control, Claudia. I told you, we’re all Prisoners
It was Attia who said, ‘Do you hear that?’
A low thudding. It came from across the hail, and as they
stared out they realized that the snow had stopped falling.
The electric snakes slid silently into the black tiles of the
floor, which clicked across and became solid again.
‘Hammering,’ Rix said.
Attia shook her head. ‘More than that.’
Blows against the door, far off in the suddenly frosty air of
the great hail. Blows of axes and sledgehammers and fists.
‘Prisoners,’ the Warden said. And then, ‘A riot.’
When Jared walked into the Great Chamber Finn turned in
relief. ‘Any progress?’
‘The Portal is working. But the screen shows only snow.’
‘Snow!’
Jared sat, wrapping his Sapient coat around him. ’It seems
to be snowing in the Prison. The temperature is five degrees
below zero and dropping.’
Finn jumped up and paced in despair. ‘It’s taking its
revenge.’
‘So it seems. For this.’ Jared took the Glove out and placed
it carefully on the table. Finn came and touched its scaly skin.
‘Is it really Sapphique’s?’
Jared sighed. ‘I have tried every analysis I know. It just
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seems to be what it looks like. Reptile skin. Claws. Much of it
is recycled matter.’ He looked baffled and anxious. ‘I have no
idea how it works, Finn.’
They were silent. The shutters had been drawn back and
sunlight slanted in. A wasp murmured in the window panes.
It was hard to believe a besieging army was encamped
outside.
‘Have they made any move?’ Jared said.
‘None. It’s a stand-off. But they may attack and try to
rescue Caspar.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In there.’ Finn nodded at the door to the next chamber. ‘It’s
locked, and that’s the only way in.’
He leant against the empty fireplace. ‘I’m lost without
Claudia, Master. She’d know what to do.’
‘You have Keiro instead. As you wanted.’
Finn smiled, wan. ‘Not instead. As for Keiro ... I’m
beginning to wish—’
‘Don’t say that.’ Jared’s green eyes watched him. ‘He’s your
brother.’
‘Only when it suits him.’
As if the words had summoned him like a spell, a soldier
flung the door open and Keiro walked in.
He was breathless and exhilarated and looked every inch a
prince. His coat was deepest midnight blue, his blond hair
shone clean. Rings glinted on his fingers. He sprawled on the
bench, admiring his expensive leather boots. ‘This
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is fantastic he said. ‘I can’t believe it’s real.’
‘It’s not,’ Jared said quietly. ‘Keiro, tell us about the
situation Inside.’
Keiro laughed and poured some wine. ‘I can only guess
that the Prison is furious, Master Sapient. I suggest you
destroy your machines and nail up the door that leads there
and forget all about it. No one can save the Prisoners now’
Jared watched him. ‘You sound just like its builders,’ he
said.
‘Claudia’ Finn said.
‘Oh yes, well I’m sorry about the Princess. But it was me
you wanted to rescue, wasn’t it? And I’m here. So let’s win
our little war, brother, and enjoy our perfect kingdom.’
Finn stood over him. ‘Why did I ever make an oath with
you?’
‘To survive. Because without me you couldn’t’ Keiro stood
lightly, gazing at Finn. ‘But something’s changed in you,
Finn. Not just all this. Something inside.’
‘I’ve remembered.’
‘Remembered!’
‘Who I am Finn said. ‘I remembered that I am a prince and
that my name is Giles.’
Keiro said nothing for a moment. His eyes flickered to
Jared’s and back. ‘Well. So will the Prince ride into the Prison
with all his men and all his horses?’
‘No.’ Finn took the watch out and set it down on the table
beside the Glove. ‘Because this is the Prison. This is
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where you came from. This is the vast edifice that had us all
fooled He grasped Keiro’s hand and put the watch in it,
lifting the silver cube close to his eyes. ‘This is Incarceron
Jared expected awe, or astonishment. He saw neither. Keiro
burst into a fit of laughter. ‘You believe that?’ he managed to
gasp. ‘Even you, Master?’
Before Jared could answer the door opened and Ralph
came in with a guard at his back.
‘What?’ Finn barked.
‘Sire.’ Ralph was pale and breathless. ‘Sire …’
The soldier stepped out from behind him and he had a
drawn sword in one hand and a pistol in the other.
Two more men slipped round the door. One slammed it
shut and put his back to it.
Jared stood, slowly.
Keiro didn’t move, his eyes alert.
‘We’ve come for the Earl. One of you open that door and
get him. If anyone else moves I fire.’
The pistol was raised and pointed directly at Finn’s eyes.
Ralph gasped, ‘I’m sorry; sire, so sorry! They made me tell
them …’
‘It’s all right, Ralph.’ Finn stared at the Queen’s man.
‘Jared?’
Jared said, ‘I’ll fetch him. Don’t shoot. There’s no need for
violence.’
He moved to the door, out of Finn’s eyeline, and Finn was
left staring at the gun. He smiled, wan. ‘This is the
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second time this has happened to me.’
‘Oh come on, brother.’ Keiro’s voice was light and sharp. ‘It
was an odd day in the Prison when such things didn’t
happen.’
A door was unlocked behind them. Jared’s voice spoke, low
and quiet. Then there was a laugh of pure glee. That must be
Caspar.
‘How did you get in here?’ Finn said.
The soldier’s aim did not waver. But he said, ‘We captured
one of the Steel Wolves out there in the woods. He was . . .
persuaded to talk. He showed us the tunnel the Sapient
used.’
Sweating, Finn said, ‘Do you really think you’ll get out the
same way?’
‘No, Prisoner. I think we’ll go out through the front door.’
Instantly, one of the other men swivelled his weapon. ‘Keep
still!’
Keiro must have moved. Finn could only see his shadow on
the floor.
Finn licked dry lips. ‘You are overconfident.’
‘I don’t think so. Have they harmed you, sire?’
‘They wouldn’t have dared.’ Caspar stalked into the room
and stared around. ‘Well, this is better, don’t you think,
Finn? Now I’m the one in command.’ He folded his arms.
‘What if I told these men to cut off a few ears and hands?’
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Finn heard the threat in Keiro’s low laugh. ’You wouldn’t
have the guts, little boy.’
Caspar glared. ‘No? I might do it myself.’
‘Sire,’ Jared said. ‘We brought you here to stop the seige,
not to harm you. You know that.’
‘Don’t try to fool me with words, Jared. These two cutthroats
would have killed me anyway, and maybe you as
well, later on. This is a nest of rebels. And I don’t know
where Claudia is hiding but she won’t get any mercy from us
either.’
His eye fell on the Glove and he stared at it curiously. What
is that?’
‘Please don’t touch that: Jared said, his voice edged with
nerves.
Caspar took a step nearer to the table. ‘Why not?’
Keiro’s shadow had edged close. Finn tensed himself.
‘It’s a magical object of great power.’ Jared’s reluctance was
just right. ‘It may give access to the Prison.’
Greed lit Caspar’s face. ‘She’ll be thrilled if I take that back
for her.’
‘Sire.’ The guard’s eyes wavered. ‘Don’t …’
Caspar ignored him, took one step forward and in that
instant Jared grabbed him, locked his arms behind him and
held him in a tight grip.
Keiro whooped. Jared said, ‘Lower the gun. Please.’
‘You won’t hurt the Earl, Master,’ the soldier said. ‘And my
orders are clear. The Prisoner dies.’
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His finger twitched and Finn crashed as Keiro shoved him
aside. The blast detonated with an explosion that threw him
against the side of the table and stunned him, so that the
shouts and smashing cups as Ralph and Jared heaved the
table over and dragged him behind it seemed like objects
inside his own head falling and breaking, the pool of wine
like his own blood, trickling along the floor.
And then as the door was flung open, in all the stamping
and shouts, he knew the blood was not his but Keiro’s
because his brother lay still and crumpled beside him in the
uproar.
‘Finn! Finn!’ Jared’s hands raised him. ‘Can you hear me?
Finn?’
‘I’m all right,’ he said. But the words came out thick and
groggy and he dragged himself out of Jared’s grip.
‘Our men heard the shot. It’s all over.’
Finn’s hand touched Keiro’s arm. His heart was thudding;
he gripped the blue velvet sleeve.
‘Keiro?’
For a moment there was nothing, no movement, no answer,
and he felt all colour drain away from the world, his life
shrivel to a terrible fear.
And then Keiro jerked and rolled and they saw that his
hand was wounded, a slashed burnmark across the palm. He
lay on his back and his body convulsed.
‘You’re laughing?’ Finn stared. ‘Why are you laughing?’
‘Because it hurts, brother.’ Keiro pulled himself upright
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and there were tears of agony in his eyes. ‘It hurts, and that
means it’s real.’
It was his right hand, the metal thumbnail stark in the
scorched flesh.
Finn shook his head and croaked out a laugh with him.
‘You’re mad.’
‘Indeed he is,’ Jared said.
But Keiro looked up at him. ‘It’s worth knowing, Master.
Flesh and blood. It’s a start, anyway.’
As they helped him up Finn looked round and saw Caspar
under guard, the other men being hustled out.
‘Get that tunnel sealed,’ he hissed, and Soames bowed.
‘Immediately, my lord.’ But as he turned he stopped dead,
and in that second something terrible happened to the world.
The bees stopped buzzing.
The table dissolved into worm-eaten dust and collapsed.
Patches fell off the ceiling.
The sun went out.
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31
My Realm will last for ever.
KING ENDOR’S DECREE
Finn lurched to the casement and stared out.
He saw a darkening sky, clotted with clouds that built up
and blotted out the daylight. The wind had risen, and the
day was far, far colder than it should have been.
And the world was transformed.
He saw horses in the courtyard collapsing into twitching
cybernetworks of limbs, their skin and eyes shrivelling and
shredding. He saw walls crumbling into holes, a stinking
moat where nothing grew, parched acres of arid grassland.
Flowers withered as he gazed on them; the swans rose and
flapped away. All the glorious beauty of the honeysuckle
and clematis was dried into spindly crisp bines, the few
weak petals blown away by the wind.
Doors were flung open; a guardsman came running down
the steps, his fine livery a mismatched moth-eaten suite of
grey.
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Pushing in next to Finn, Keiro stared. ‘What’s happening
to it all? Are we still in the Prison? Is this one of Incarceron’s
clean-ups?’
Finn’s throat was dry. He couldn’t answer.
It was like a spell dissolving. All around him Claudia’s
paradise of the Wardenry was coming apart, the house a
slipshod ruin, its golden-stoned splendour fading even as he
watched, colour washing from the mews and the stables,
even the maze twisting to a dank thicket of brambles.
Jared murmured, ‘Perhaps the Prison is in us.’
Finn turned. The room was a shell. The fine velvet
hangings were rags, the once-white ceiling a mass of cracks.
Jared bent over the wreck of the table, searching in its dust.
The fire was out, every bust and portrait showed patches
and crude repairs. And worst of all, on every wall, their
illusory holoimages dead, hundreds of cables and wires were
revealed in all their naked, ugly uselessness.
‘So much for Era.’ Finn grasped the red curtain and it fell to
shreds in his fingers.
‘This was how it was all the time.’ Jared straightened, the
Glove in his hand. ‘We fooled ourselves with images.’
‘But how …’
‘The power is gone. Completely.’ Jared gazed around,
calm. ‘This is the true Realm, Finn. This is the kingdom
you’ve inherited.’
‘So you’re telling me this whole place is a trick” Keiro
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kicked a vase over and watched it smash. ‘Like one of Rix’s
tacky stage routines? And you knew? All along?’
‘We knew’
‘Are you all mad?’
‘Perhaps we are Jared said. ‘Reality is hard to bear, so Era
was invented to shield us from it. And yes, most of the time
it was easy to forget. After all the world is what you see and
hear. For you that is the only reality.’
‘I might just as well have stayed Inside.’ Keiro’s disgust
was complete. Then he turned, caught by the truth. ‘This
destruction is the Prison’s work!’
‘Of course it is.’ Finn rubbed his sore shoulder. ‘How else—

‘Sire.’ The guard captain burst in, breathless. ‘Sire! The
Queen!’
Finn shoved him aside and raced up the corridor, Keiro
close behind. Jared paused to slip the Glove in his robe and
then followed, quickly. He climbed the great staircase as fast
as he could, over rotten treads and mice-gnawed wainscots,
gusted at by the wind whipping through the windows where
plastiglas had vanished. He dared not think about his Tower
— but at least all the scientific equipment there was genuine.
Or was it?
Stopping with one hand on the bannister, he realized that
he had no way of knowing. That nothing he had taken for
granted could now be trusted.
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And yet this disintegration didn’t devastate him, as it had
Finn and his wayward brother. Perhaps it was because he
had always felt his own illness to be a tiny flaw in the
Realm’s perfection, a crack that could not be patched up or
disguised.
Now everything was as marred as he was.
In the unsilvered mirror he caught a slant of his own
delicate face, and smiled gently at himself. Claudia had
wanted to overthrow Protocol. Perhaps the Prison had done
it for her.
From the battlements, though, the terrible vista drained his
smile away.
The Wardenry was a wasteland. All its meadows were
scrub, all its rich woodlands mere naked branches against
the grey winter sky.
The world had turned old in an instant.
But it was the enemy camp that held everyone’s eyes. All the
gaudy pennants, the flimsy pavilions were wrecked, their
poles snapped. Horses neighed in confusion, men’s armour
rusted and fell from their bodies in the turmoil, their
muskets suddenly useless antiques, their swords so brittle
that they snapped in the hand.
‘The cannon.’ Fin’s voice was hard with joy. ‘They’ll never
dare fire the cannon now, in case they explode. They can’t
touch us.’
Keiro glanced at him. ‘Brother, this ruin doesn’t need
cannon. A good shove would knock it down.’
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A trumpet rang out. From the Queen’s pavilion a woman
came out. She was veiled, and she leant on the arm of a boy
in a gaudy coat who could only be the Pretender. Together
they walked through the camp, almost unnoticed in the
panic.
‘Is she surrendering?’ Finn muttered.
Keiro turned to a guard. ‘Get Caspar up here.’
The soldier hesitated, glancing at Finn who said, ‘Do as my
brother says.’
The man ran. Keiro grinned.
The Queen came to the edge of the moat and looked up
through her veil. Jewels glinted at her throat and ears. At
least those must be real.
‘Let us in!’ the Pretender yelled up. He looked shaken, all
his composure lost. ‘Finn1 The Queen wants to speak with
you!’
There was no ceremony, no Protocol, no heralds, no
courtiers. Just a woman and a boy, looking lost. Finn drew
back. ‘Lower the drawbridge. Take them to the Great
Chamber.’
Jared was staring down. ’It seems it’s not just me then,’ he
murmured.
‘Master?’ Finn looked at him. The Sapient was gazing
down at the veiled Queen with a great sadness in his eyes.
‘Best leave this to me, Finn,’ he said softly.
‘There must be hundreds of them out there!’ Attia
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stared across at the juddering door.
‘Stay here,’ the Warden snapped. ‘I’m the Warden. I’ll face
them.’
He stepped down on to the snowy floor and trudged
quickly towards the hammering. Claudia watched.
‘If they’re Prisoners they’re desperate,’ Attia said.
‘Conditions must be impossible.’
‘They’ll be looking for anyone to tear apart.’ Rix stared, his
eyes glinting with the crazy brilliance Attia dreaded.
Claudia shook her head with fur ‘This is all your fault.
Why did you have to bring that evil Glove here!’
‘Because your dear father ordered me to, sweetkin. I, too,
am a Wolf of Steel.’
Her father. She turned and ran down the steps, across the
floor, after him. Locked in with madmen and thieves, her
father was the only familiar presence here. Just behind her
Attia gasped, “Wait for me.’
‘Doesn’t the apprentice want to stay with the sorcerer?’
Claudia snapped.
‘I’m not his apprentice. Keiro is.’ Attia caught up with her.
Then she said, ‘Is Finn safe?’
Claudia glanced at her thin face and short, hacked hair.
‘His memory has come back.’
‘Has it?’
‘So he says.’
‘And the fits?’
Claudia shrugged.
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‘Does he . . . think about us?’ It was a whisper.
‘He thought about Keiro all the time,’ Claudia said acidly.
‘So I hope he’s happy now’ She didn’t say what else she
thought — that Finn had barely mentioned Attia’s name.
The Warden had reached the small door. Outside it, the
noise was terrible. Blades whacked into wood and metal;
with one almighty smash the corner of an axe glinted
through the ebony. The door shook to its foundations.
‘Silence out there,’ the Warden yelled.
Someone called out. A woman howled. The blows were
redoubled.
‘They can’t hear you,’ Claudia said. ‘And if they get in …’
‘They don’t want to listen to anyone.’ Attia went round and
stood before the Warden’s face. ‘Least of all you. They’ll
blame you.’
Through the tumult he smiled coldly at them. ‘We’ll see.
I’m still the Warden here. But perhaps before we start we
should take a few precautions’ He drew out a small disc of
silver. On its lid was a wolf, the snarling mouth wide. He
touched it and it lit.
‘What are you doing?’ Claudia jumped back as another
blow sent wood splinters into the snow.
‘I told you. Making sure the Prison doesn’t win.’
She held his arm. ‘What about us?’
‘We are expendable.’ His eyes were grey and clear. Then
he said into the device, ‘It’s me. ‘What’s the situation Out
there?’
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As he listened his face darkened. Attia moved away from
the door; it was buckling now, the hinges straining, rivets
cracking. ‘They’re coming through.’
But Claudia was watching her father as he said harshly,
‘Then do it now! Destroy the Glove. Before it’s too late.’
Medlicote slipped the receiver shut, dropped it into his
pocket and gazed up the ruined corridor. Voices echoed
from the Great Chamber; he walked quickly towards it,
through a crowd of scared footmen, past Ralph, who caught
his arm and asked, ‘What’s happening? Is this the end of the
world?’
The secretary shrugged. ‘The end of one world, sir, perhaps
the beginning of another. Is Master Jared in there?’
‘Yes. And the Queen! The Queen herself!’
Medlicote nodded. The half-moons of his spectacles were
empty the lenses gone. He opened the door.
In the ruined chamber someone had found a real candle;
Keiro had made a flame and lit it.
The Prison had taught survival, at least, Finn thought. They
would all need those skills now He turned. ‘Madam?’
Sia stood just inside the door. She had not spoken since
crossing the drawbridge, and her silence scared him.
‘I presume our war is at a standstill?’
‘You presume wrong,’ the Queen whispered. ‘My war is
over.’
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Her voice was broken, a faint quaver. Through her veil her
eyes, pale as ice, watched him. She seemed bent, even
bowed.
‘Over?’ He glanced at the Pretender. The boy who had
claimed to be Giles stood grimly before the empty hearth, his
right arm still bandaged, his fine armour tarnishing even as
they watched. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She means it’s finished.’ Jared came forward and stood
before the Queen and Finn was shocked at how she had
shrunk. Jared’s voice was gentle. ‘I’m sorry this has
happened to you,’ he said.
‘Are you?’ Sia whispered. ‘Maybe you are, Master Jared.
Maybe only you can know something of what I feel. I once
taunted you with your own death. You would be justified
now in doing the same to me.’
He shook his head.
‘I thought you said the Queen was young?’ Keiro muttered
in Finn’s ear.
‘She is.’
But then her fingers caught at Jared’s sleeve, and Finn
swallowed a gasp because they were the fingers of an ancient
woman, mottled and sagging with wrinkled skin, the nails
dry and splintered.
‘After all, of us both I will be the one now to die first.’ She
glanced aside, with a trace of her old coquettish manner. ‘Let
me show you death, Jared. Not these young boys. Only you,
Master, will see what Sia really is.’
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Hands trembling, she moved before him and raised her
veil. Over her shoulder, Finn saw how Jared was caught
between horror and pity; how he gazed silently on the
Queen’s ruined beauty without lowering his eyes.
The room was silent. Keiro glanced back at Medlicote,
standing humbly inside the door.
Sia dropped her veil. She said, ‘Whatever else I was, I have
been a Queen. Let me die like a Queen.’
Jared bowed. He said, ‘Ralph. Light a fire in the red
bedroom. Do the best you can.’
Uncertain, the steward nodded. He took the old woman’s
arm, and helped her out.
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32
The dove will rise above destruction
With a white rose in her beak.
Over storm
Over tempest.
Over time and the ages.
And the petals will fall to the ground like snow.
SAPPHIQUE’S PROPHECY OF THE WORLD’S END
As soon as the door closed Keiro said, ‘I don’t get it.’
‘She tried to preserve her youth.’ Jared sat, as if the
moment had weakened him. ‘They called her a witch, but
she almost certainly used skinwands and some sort of
ongoing genetic implants. Now all her stolen years have
come crashing down on her at once.’
‘It sounds like one of Rix’s fairtytales,’ Keiro said calmly.
‘So she’ll die?’
‘Very soon.’
‘Fine. That just leaves him.’ Keiro jabbed his injured hand
at the Pretender.
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Finn lifted his head and he and the Pretender gazed at each
other. ‘You don’t look so much like me now,’ Finn said.
The boy’s appearance had altered too, his lips thinner, nose
longer, hair too dark. There was still a resemblance but it had
no real substance any more. It had died with the Era.
‘Look,’ the Pretender said. ‘It wasn’t my idea. They found
me. They offered me a kingdom! You would have done it
— anyone would! They promised my family enough gold to
keep my six brothers fed for years. I had no choice.’ He drew
himself up. ‘And I was good, Finn. You have to admit
it. I had everyone fooled. Maybe I even fooled you.’ He
glanced down at his wrist, where the eagle tattoo had
vanished. ‘Another piece of Protocol,’ he murmured.
Keiro found a chair and lounged in it. ‘I think we should
put him in that tiny cube you call the Prison.’
‘No. He writes a confession and admits publicly that he
was an imposter. That the Queen and Caspar were behind a
plot to place a false Giles on the throne. And then we let him
go Finn looked at Jared. ‘He’s no threat to us now’
Jared nodded. ‘I agree.’
Keiro looked less than convinced, but Finn stood. ‘Take
him away.’
But as the Pretender reached the door Finn said softly,
‘Claudia never believed in you.’
The Pretender stopped and laughed. ‘No?’ he whispered.
He turned his head and gazed back at Finn. ‘I think she
believed in me more than she ever believed in you.’
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The words stabbed Finn; a breathtaking pain. He whipped
his sword out and advanced on the Pretender, wanting only
to run him through, to destroy this venomous infuriating
image of all he had never been. But Jared was in his way, and
the Sapient’s green gaze held him still.
Without turning, Jared said, ‘Get him out,’ and the guards
hustled the Pretender away.
Finn threw the sword down on the wrecked floor.
‘So we’ve won.’ Keiro picked it up and examined the blade.
‘A ruined kingdom, maybe, but all ours. We’re Winglords at
last, brother.’
‘There’s a greater enemy than the Queen.’ Finn stared at
Jared, still sore. ‘There always was. We have to save
ourselves and Claudia from the Prison.’
‘And Attia.’ Keiro looked up. ‘Don’t forget your little dogslave.’
‘You mean you’re concerned about her?’
Keiro shrugged. ‘She was a pain. But I got used to her.’
‘Where’s the Glove?’ Finn snapped.
Jared drew it from his coat. ‘But I told you, Finn, I don’t
understand. . .‘
Finn came and took it. ‘This hasn’t changed.’ His fingers
crumpled the soft skin. ‘Not at all, while everything around
falls into dust. It brought Keiro Out and Incarceron wants it
more than anything in the Realm. It’s our only hope now.’
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‘Sire
Finn turned. He had forgotten Medlicote was there. The
thin man had stood just inside the door all this time, his
slightly stooping posture more obvious in his faded coat.
‘Might I suggest that it is also our only danger?’
‘What do you mean?’
The secretary came forward, hesitant. ‘It’s clear the Prison
will destroy us all if it can’t have this object. And if we hand
it over then Incarceron will leave its Prison and all the
Inmates will be left to die. It is a terrible choice you face.’
Finn frowned.
Jared said, ‘But you have a suggestion?’
‘I do. A radical one, but it might work. Destroy the Glove.’
‘No.’ Finn and Keiro said it together.
‘Sirs, listen to me.’ He seemed scared, Finn thought, and
not of them. ‘Master Jared admits he is puzzled by this
device. And have you thought, that it might be the very
presence of the Glove here that is draining the Realm of its
power? You only believe that to be caused by the Prison’s
malice. You do not truly know’
Finn frowned. He turned the Glove over, then glanced at
Jared. ‘Do you think he’s right?’
‘No, I don’t. We need the Glove.’
‘But you said—’
‘Give me time.’ Jared rose and came over. ‘Give me time
and I’ll work it out.’
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‘We don’t have time.’ Finn looked at the Sapient’s frail face.
‘You don’t, and neither do those in the Prison.’
Medlicote said, ‘You are the King, sire. No one — not even
the Privy Council — will doubt that now. Destroy it. This is
what the Warden would want us to do.’
Jared said sharply, ‘You can’t know that.’
‘I know the Warden. And do you think, sir, that the Steel
Wolves will stand by and allow this new danger, now that
Protocol is gone?’
As the candle guttered Finn said, ‘Are you threatening
me?’
‘How could I, sire?’ Medlicote kept one eye on Keiro, but
his voice was meek and anxious. ‘You must decide. Destroy
it, and the Prison is trapped for ever in its self. Allow it
access to Sapphique’s power, and you will unleash its
horrors on us. Where do you think Incarceron will come,
when it is free? What sort of tyrant will it become Out here?
Will you allow it to make us all its slaves?’
Finn was silent. He glanced at Keiro, who just gazed back.
More than ever he wished that Claudia would open the door
and stalk in. She knew her father. She would know if this
was what they should do.
In the shattered room a broken casement banged in the
wind. A gale was howling around the house, and rain began
to patter hard against the cracked glass. ‘Jared?’
‘Don’t destroy it. It’s our last weapon.’
‘But if he’s right, if—’
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‘Trust me, Finn. I have an idea.’
Thunder rumbled. Medlicote shrugged. ‘I am loathe to say
this, sire, but Master Jared may not be the one to listen to.
Perhaps his reasons are not ours.’
Finn said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Master Jared is a sick man. Perhaps he feels such an object
of power could be his cure.’
They stared at him.
Jared was pale; he seemed both astonished and confused.
‘Finn...’
Finn held up a hand. ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to
me, Master.’ He advanced on Medlicote as if his anger had
found its outlet. ‘I would never, never believe that you would
put your own life before the safety of millions.’
Medlicote knew he had gone too far. He stepped back. ‘A
man’s life is everything to him.’
A great crash echoed in the house, as if some part of the
structure had fallen. ‘We should get out.’ Keiro stood,
restless. ‘This place is a deathtrap.’
Jared had not taken his gaze from Finn. ‘We need to find
Claudia. The Glove will help us. Destroy it and the Prison
has no reason to keep her alive:
‘If they are still alive.’
Jared glanced at Medlicote. ‘I would suggest that the
Warden certainly is.’
Finn took a moment to understand. Then with a speed that
made Keiro turn, he threw Medlicote back against the
436
wall, one arm jammed under his throat. ‘You’ve spoken with
him, haven’t you?’
‘Sire . . .’
‘Haven’t you!’
The secretary gasped for breath. Then he nodded.
Claudia said, ‘Who were you talking to?’
‘Medlicote.’ Her father turned to face the door. ‘One of the
Steel Wolves. A good man. He’ll deal with the Glove. Now
we’ll see who commands here.’
But the roar of the angry Prisoners almost drowned his
words. Claudia glared at him, infuriated by his pride and his
stubbornness. Then she said, ‘They’ll trample you down. But
there’s another thing we can do to stop Incarceron. We can
burn the statue.’
Her father stared. ‘It will never allow us.’
‘It’s preoccupied. You said so yourself.’ She turned to Attia.
‘Come on!’
The two of them raced across the snowy waste of the hail.
On the walls the hangings were frozen in their folds. Claudia
grabbed the nearest and tugged, dust and shards of ice
crashing around her. ‘Rix! Help us!’
The magician sat on the pedestal, all knees and elbows. He
was rippling coins through his hands, muttering to himself.
‘Heads they kill us. Tails we Escape.’
‘Forget him.’ Attia jumped up and heaved the tapestry
down. ‘He’s crazy. They both are.’
437
Together they dragged down all the hangings. Close to, the
tapestries were holed and ragged under their film of ice, and
on them Attia recognized all the old legends of Sapphique —
his crawling over the sword-bridge, offering his finger to the
Beast, stealing the children, conversing with the King of the
Swans. With a clatter of rings the woven scenes crumpled
into clouds of fibres and icy mildew, and she and Claudia
dragged them to the statue, piling them around its feet, while
its beautiful face gazed out at the howling mob behind the
door.
The Warden watched. Beyond him, blow by blow, the last
panels were shattered. A hinge smashed; the door jerked
down.
‘Rix!’ Attia yelled. ‘We need a flame!’
Claudia raced back across the floor, grabbing the Warden’s
hand. ‘Father. Come away! Quickly!’
He stared at the broken door, the arms thrusting through,
as if he would stop them with only his authority. ‘I’m the
Warden, Claudia. I’m in charge.’
‘NO!’ She hauled him back and pulled him and as she did
the door collapsed.
They saw a mass of Prisoners, those in front crushed and
trampled by others behind. They hammered with fists and
flailing chains. Their weapons were manacles and iron bars.
They howled the cries of the desperate millions of
Incarceron, the lost descendants of the first Prisoners, the
Scum and the Civicry and the Ardenti and the Magpies
438
and all the thousands of gangs and tribes, Wingtowns and
outlaws.
As they poured into the hail Claudia turned and ran, her
father at her back, both of them fleeing over the trampled
snowfield that the floor had become, and in its mockery the
Prison picked them out in intense spotlights that crossed and
recrossed from its invisible roof.
‘Here it is.’ Keiro tugged the receiver out of Medlicote’s
pocket and tossed it to Finn, who let the man go and flicked
it open.
‘How does this work?’
Medlicote crumpled on to the floor, half choked. ‘Touch the
dial. Then speak.’
Finn looked at Jared. Then he jabbed his thumb down on
the small disc at one edge.
‘Warden he said. ‘Can you hear me?’
Rix stood.
Attia grabbed a piece of wood as a weapon and tested it.
But she knew that before the sweeping anger of that mob
nothing would be strong enough.
On the steps the Warden turned.
A tiny bleep sounded inside his coat; he reached for the
disc but as he brought it out Claudia grabbed it, her eyes
widening as the Prisoners poured in, a jostling, stinking,
roaring host.
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A voice said, ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Finn?’
‘Claudia!’ The relief was clear in his voice. ‘What’s
happening?’
‘We’re in trouble. There’s a riot here. We’re going to burn
the statue, Finn, or try’ She caught, out of the corner of her
eye, the flicker of flame in Rix’s hand. ‘Then Incarceron has
no way out.’
‘Is the Glove destroyed?’ the Warden hissed.
A murmur. A blur of static. And then, in her ear, Jared’s
voice. ‘Claudia?’
She felt only a stab of joy.
‘Claudia, it’s me. Listen to me please. I want you to
promise me something.’
‘Master . . .’
‘I want you to promise me that you will not burn the
image, Claudia.’
She blinked. Attia stared.
‘But. . . we have to. Incarceron. . .’
‘I know what you think. But I’m beginning to understand
what is happening here. I have spoken to Sapphique.
Promise me, Claudia. Tell me you trust me.’
She turned. Saw the crowd reach the bottom step, the front
runners flinging themselves up.
‘I trust you, Jared,’ she whispered. ‘I always did. I love you,
Master.’
* * *
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The sound rose to a screech that made Jared jerk away; the
disc fell and rolled on the floor.
Keiro pounced on it and yelled, ‘Claudia!’ but there was
only a hissing and spitting that might have been the noise of
a multitude or the chaos of interstellar static.
Finn turned on Jared. ‘Are you crazy? She was right! Without
its body...’
‘I know.’ Jared was pale. He leant against the fireplace, the
Glove tight in his hand. ‘And I ask you what I asked her. I
have a plan, Finn. It may be foolish, it may be impossible.
But it might save us all.’
Finn stared at him. Outside the rain lashed, flinging the
casement open, snuffing the last flicker of the candle out. 1-Ic
was cold and shaken, his hands icy. The fear in Claudia’s
voice had infected him like a taste of the Prison, and for a
moment he was back in that white cell where he had been
born, and was no prince but a Prisoner with no memory and
no hope.
The house shivered around them as lightning struck. ‘What
do you need?’ Finn said.
It was Incarceron that stopped them. As the Prisoners surged
to the second step its voice rang out in power through the
vast hall.
I will kill anyone who comes closer.
The step pulsed with sudden light. Currents of power ran
along it and rippled in blue waves. The crowd
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convulsed. Some pushed on, others stopped, or squirmed
back. It became a vortex of movement, and the spotlights
circled lazily over it, stabbing down to show a terrified eye, a
flailing hand.
Attia snatched the kindling from Rix.
She moved to thrust it into the rotten fibres, but Claudia
grabbed her hand. ‘Wait.’
‘For what?’
She turned, but Claudia jerked her wrist savagely and the
tiny burning scrap fell, flaring in the air. It landed on the
tapestries but before the whoof of flame took hold Claudia
had stamped it out.
‘Are you mad? We’re finished!’ Attia was furious. ‘You’ve
finished us. . .‘
‘Jared. .
‘Jared is wrong!’
I am very pleased to have you all here for this execution. The
Prison’s sarcasm echoed through the freezing air; tiny, icy
snowflakes drifting from its heights. You will see my justice
and understand that I have no favourites. Behold, the man before
you. John Arlex, your Warden.
The Warden was grey and grim but he drew himself up,
his dark coat glistening with snow.
‘Listen to me,’ he yelled. ‘The Prison is trying to leave us!
To leave its own people to starve!’
Only the nearest heard him, and they howled him down.
As she closed up beside him Claudia knew that only the
442
Prison’s proclamation kept the mob back, and that the Prison
was playing with them.
John Arlex, who hates and detests you. See how he cowers under
this image of Sapphique. Does he think it will protect him from my
wrath?
They needn’t have bothered with the tapestries. Claudia
realized that Incarceron would burn its own body, that its
anger at the Glove’s loss, at the end of all its plans, would be
their end too. The same pyre would consume them all.
And then, beside her, a sharp voice said, ‘Oh my father.
Listen to me.’
The crowd hushed.
They stilled as if the voice was one they knew, had heard
before, so that they quietened to hear it again.
And Claudia felt in her bones and nerves how Incarceron
zigzagged closer, moved in, its reply murmured in her ear
and against her cheek, a quiet, fascinated question of secret
doubt.
Is that you, Rix?
Rix laughed. His eyes were narrowed, his breath stank of
ket. He opened his arms wide. ‘Let me show you what I can
do. The greatest magic ever performed. Let me show you,
my father, how I will bring your body to life.’
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33
He raised his hands. They saw his coat was feathered like the wings
of the Swan when it dies, when it sings its secret song.
And he opened the door that none of them had seen until now.
LEGENDS OF SAPPHIQUE
As Finn moved out into the corridor he saw that Keiro was
right. The very antiquity of the house was against them now;
all its true decay, like the Queen’s, had come upon it at once.
‘Ralph!’
Ralph came hastening up, stepping over lumps of fallen
plaster. ‘Sire.’
‘Evacuate. Everyone is to leave.’
‘But where will we go, sire?’
Finn scowled. ‘I don’t know! Certainly the Queen’s camp’s
in no better shape. Find what shelter you can in the stables,
the outlying cottages. No one must stay here but us. Where’s
Caspar?’
Ralph tugged off his decaying wig. Underneath, his own
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hair was shaved close. His chin was stubbled, and his face
unwashed. He looked weary and lost. ‘With his mother. The
poor lad is devastated. I think even he had no idea of her
reality.’
Finn glanced round. Keiro had Medlicote in an armlock.
Jared, tall in his Sapient robe, carried the Glove.
‘Do we need this scum?’ Keiro muttered.
‘No. Let him go with the rest.’
Giving the secretary’s arm one last painful jerk, Keiro
shoved him away.
‘Get outside,’ Finn said, ‘Where it’s safe. Find the rest of
your people.’
‘Nowhere is safe.’ Medlicote ducked as a suit of armour
beside him suddenly crashed into dust. ‘Not while the Glove
exists.’
Finn shrugged. He turned to Jared. ‘Let’s go.’
The three of them ran past the secretary and along the
corridors of the house. They moved through a nightmare of
dissolving beauty, of fragmented hangings and paintings lost
under grime and mould. In places chandeliers of white
candles had fallen; the crystal droplets lay like tears in the
broken wax. Keiro moved ahead, heaving wreckage aside;
Finn kept near Jared, unsure of the Sapient’s strength. They
struggled to the foot of the great stairway, but as Finn looked
up he was appalled at the destruction on the upper floors. A
silent blink of lightning showed him a vast crack running
right down the outside wall. Debris of vases and
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plastiglas crunched under their feet; potpourri and fungal
spores and the dust of centuries blurred the air like snow.
The stairs were ruined. Keiro climbed two, his back flat
against the wall, but on the third tread his foot plunged
through, and he tugged it out, swearing. ‘We’ll never get up
this.’
‘We must get to the study, and the Portal.’ Jared looked up
anxiously. He felt utterly weary, his head light and dizzy.
When had he last taken his medication? He leant against the
wall and tugged out the pouch and stared at it in despair.
The small syringe had broken into pieces, as if the glass
had brittled and aged instantly. The serum had congealed to
a yellow crust.
Finn said, ‘What will you do?’
Jared almost smiled. He replaced the pieces and tossed the
pouch out into the dark corridor, and Finn saw his eyes were
remote and dark. ‘It was only ever a stopgap, Finn. Like
everyone else, I must now live without my little comforts.’
If he dies, Finn thought, if I let him die, Claudia will never
forgive me. He glared up at his oathbrother. ‘We have to get
up there. You’re the expert, Keiro. Do something!’
Keiro frowned. Then he tugged off his velvet coat and tied
back his hair in a scrap of ribbon. He tore away some of the
hangings and bound them rapidly round his hands,
swearing as he touched his scorched palm.
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‘Rope. I need rope.’
Finn snatched down the thick tasselled ties that held the
curtains and knotted them firmly together — bizarre cables
of gold and scarlet. Keiro looped them over his shoulder.
Then he set off up the stairs.
The world had inverted, Jared thought, watching his
inching progress, because a staircase he had climbed every
day for years had became a treacherous obstacle, a deathtrap.
This was how tune transformed things, how your own body
betrayed you. This was what the Realm had tried to forget, in
its deliberate elegant amnesia.
Keiro had to ascend the stairs as a mountaineer climbs a
scree slope. The whole central section was gone, and as he
grabbed at the higher treads their edges crumbled away in
his hands.
Finn and Jared watched, anxious. Above the house thunder
rumbled; far off in the stableyard they heard the shouts of
the guards, ushering everyone out, the neighing of horses,
the screech of a hawk.
Finally, at Finn’s elbow, a breathless voice said, ‘The
drawbridge is down, sire, and everyone across.’
‘Then you go too.’ Finn didn’t turn, willing Keiro on as he
balanced precariously between a bannister and a fallen
panel.
‘The Queen, sire.’ Ralph wiped his smeared face with a
filthy rag that might once have been a handkerchief. ‘The
Queen is dead.’
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The stab of shock was so distant that Finn almost missed it.
And then the news sank in, and he saw that Jared had heard
it too. The Sapient bowed his head, sadly.
‘So you are King, sire.’
Was it that simple? he wondered. But all he said was,
‘Ralph, go now.’
The old steward didn’t move. ‘I would like to stay and
help. To rescue the Lady Claudia and my master.’
‘I’m not sure there are any masters now.’
Jared drew in his breath. Keiro had slithered to one side;
now all his weight was on the curved bannister, and it was
bending, the wood snapping out, dry and brittle. ‘Be careful!’
Keiro’s reply was inaudible. Then he heaved himself up,
leapt two steps that cracked under him and flung himself at
the landing.
He grabbed it with both hands, but as he did so the whole
staircase collapsed behind him in a thunderous crashing of
dust and worm-ridden timber, tumbling down on the hail,
choking the stairwell.
Keiro swung, dragging himself up, every muscle in his
arms straining, blinded by dust. Finally he got one knee over
and crumpled on the landing in cold relief.
He coughed until the tears made tracks down his smudged
face. Then he crawled to the edge and looked down. Below
was a black swirling vortex of dust and debris. ‘Finn?’ he
said. He stood, his legs aching. ‘Finn? Jared?’
448
***
He was either completely crazy or off his head on ket, Attia
thought.
Rix stood before his audience in perfect confidence, and the
people stared up at him, bewildered, excited, thirsting for
truth. But this time the Prison was in the audience too.
Are you mad, Prisoner? it said.
‘Almost certainly, father,’ Rix said. ‘But if I succeed, you
will take me with you?’
Incarceron spat a laugh. If you succeed you really would be the
Dark Enchanter. But you’re just a fraud, Rix. A liar, a
mountebank, a conman. Do you think to con me?
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Rix glanced at Attia. ‘I’ll need my
old assistant.’
He winked, and before she could stammer an answer he
had turned to the crowd and stepped forward to the edge of
the pedestal.
‘Friends he said. ‘Welcome to my greatest wonder! You
think you will see illusions. You think I will fool you with
mirrors, with hidden devices. But I am not like other
magicians. I am the Dark Enchanter, and I will show you the
magic of the stars!’
The crowd gasped. So did Attia.
He raised his hand, arid he was wearing a glove. It was made
of skin, dark as midnight, and flickers of light sparked from
it.
Behind Attia, Claudia said, ‘I thought . . . Don’t tell me
449
Keiro had the wrong one.’
‘Of course not. This is a prop. Just a prop.’
But the doubt had slid into Attia too, like a cold knife,
because how could you know, with Rix, what was real and
what was not?
He waved his hand in a great arc, and the snow stopped
falling. The air grew warmer, lights in every colour
rainbowing from the high roof. Was he doing this? Or was
Incarceron amusing itself at his expense?
Whatever the truth, the people were transfixed. They
stared upwards, crying out. Some fell on their knees. Some
moved back, afraid.
Rix was tall. Somehow he had brought nobility to his
craggy face, made the wildness in his eyes a holy glimmer.
‘There is much sorrow here,’ he said. ‘There is much fear.’
It was the patter of his act. And yet it was fragmented,
changed. As if in the kaleidoscope of his mind it was falling
into new patterns. Quietly he said, ’I need a volunteer. One
who is willing to have its deepest fear revealed. Willing to
bear its soul to my gaze.’
He looked upwards.
The Prison flickered white lights over its statue. Then it
said, I volunteer.
For a moment all Keiro heard was his own heart thudding
and the echoes of slithering wood. Then Finn said, ‘We’re all
right.’
450
He stepped out of an alcove in the wall, and from the
shadows behind him Ralph said in despair, ’How do we get
up now? There’s no way …’
‘Of course there is.’ Keiro’s voice was brisk. From the
darkness a red and gold tassel came down and hit Finn on
the shoulder.
‘Is it safe?’
‘I’ve tied it to the nearest column. It’s the best I can do.
Come on.’
Finn looked at Jared. They both knew that if the column
gave way or the rope fell apart the climber would fall to his
death. Jared said, ‘It has to be me. With respect, Finn, the
Portal is a mystery to you.’
It was true, but Finn shook his head. ‘You won’t manage...’
Jared drew himself up. ‘I’m not so weak.’
‘You’re not weak at all.’ Finn glanced up into the dimness.
Then he grabbed the rope and tied it fiercely around Jared’s
waist and under his arms. ‘Use it to abseil. Use all the
footholds you can find and try not to put all your weight on
it. We’ll—’
‘Finn.’ Jared put a hand on his chest. ‘Don’t worry: He
braced the rope, then turned his head. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’
‘Thunder.’ Ralph said doubtfully.
They listened a moment, hearing the terrible storm rage
across the Realm, the atmosphere loosed from its long
control.
451
Then Keiro yelled, ‘Move!’ and Jared felt the rope jerk him
up the first stairs.
The climb was a nightmare. Soon the rope was burning his
hands, and the effort of clambering and hauling himself up
left him breathless. The old pain burnt in his chest, and the
ache of his back and neck as he groped from splintered step
to panel, grabbing at cobwebbed sills and shifting timbers,
exhausted him.
Above, Keiro’s face was a pale oval in the shadows. ‘Come
on, Master! You can do it
Jared gasped. He had to stop, just for breath, but as he did
the small notch into which he had jammed his boot gave
way, and with a crash and a cry he fell, the rope bringing
him up short in a bone-cracking agony of wrenched muscles.
For a moment he saw nothing.
The world was gone and he was hanging weightless in a
black sky, and around him, silently, galaxies and nebulae
were icily turning. The stars had voices; they were calling his
name, but still he circled, slowly, until the star that was
Sapphique leant close and whispered, ‘I’m waiting for you,
Master. And Claudia is waiting.’
He opened his eyes. Pain flowed back like a wave, filling
his veins, his mouth, his nerves.
Keiro said, ‘Jared. Climb. Climb!’
He obeyed. Like a child, without thinking, he tugged
himself up, hand over hand. Climbing through the pain,
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through the dark fire of his breathing, while far below Finn
and Ralph were two glimmers in the black hall.
‘More. A bit more.’
Something grabbed above him. His sweat-soaked hands
slid on the ropes, the skin raw, his knees and ankles knots of
rubbed flesh. A warm grip caught on his. A hand hauled
under his elbow.
‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’
And then a strength that seemed miraculous to him heaved
him upward and he crouched on all fours over the pain,
coughing and retching.
‘He’s safe.’ Keiro’s yell was calm. ‘Move, Finn.’
Finn turned to Ralph. ‘Ralph, you’re not coming. Do this
for me. Get out and find the Privy Council. They have to take
charge now Tell them I.. : He paused and swallowed. ‘Tell
them the King orders it. Food and shelter for everyone:
‘But you …’
‘I’ll be back. With Claudia.’
‘But sire, do you mean to re-enter the Prison?’
Finn wound the rope round his hands and swung
upwards. ‘Not if I can help it. But if I have to, I will.’
He climbed quickly and fiercely, pulling himself up with
jerks of energy, disdaining Keiro’s hand and rolling over the
edge swiftly. The landing was dark. The whole gable-end of
the house must have gone, because down at the far end he
could see the sky against rafters and half a chimney.
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‘The Portal may be wrecked,’ Keiro muttered.
‘No. The Portal isn’t even in this house.’ Finn
turned. ‘Master?’
The landing was empty
‘Jared?’
Then they saw him. He was far down the corridor, at the
study door. ‘I’m sorry, Finn,’ he said gently. ‘This is my plan.
I have to do this on my own.’
Something clicked.
Finn ran, Keiro at his back, and when he reached the door
he flung himself at it, the black swan arched defiantly over
him.
But it was locked from the inside.
454
34
The Prison was a being of beauty once. Its programme was love.
But perhaps we were too hard to love. Perhaps we asked too much
of it. Perhaps we drove it mad.
LORD CALLISTON’S DIARY
Rix reached out with his Gloved hand, and from above a tiny
pencil-thin light beam came down to touch him. It rippled
softly over his palm, and after a while he nodded.
‘I see strange things in your mind, my father. I see how
they made you in their own image, how you woke in the
darkness. I see the people that inhabit you, I see all the
corridors and cells and dusty dungeons where they live.’
‘Rix!’ Attia’s voice was sharp. ‘Stop this.’
He smiled, but didn’t look at her. ‘I see how lonely you are,
and how crazed. You have fed on your own soul, my master.
You have devoured your own humanity You have fouled
your own Eden. And now you want to Escape.’
455
You see a beam of light in your hand, Prisoner.
‘As you say. A beam of light.’ But the smile was gone now,
and Rix raised the Glove so that the light caught a glitter of
silver dust that fell through his open fingers.
The crowd gasped.
The dust fell and fell. There was too much of it. It became a
cascade of tiny sparkles in a black sky
‘I see the stars,’ Rix said, his voice tight. ‘Beneath them lies
a ruined palace, its windows dark and broken. I peep at it
through the keyhole of a tiny doorway. A storm roars about
it. It is Outside.’
Claudia gripped Atha’s wrist. ‘Is he . . ?’
‘I think it’s a vision. He’s done this before.’
‘Outside!’ She turned to the Warden. ‘Does he mean the
Realm?’
His grey eyes were hard. ‘I fear so.’
‘But Finn . . .’
‘Hush, Claudia. I need to understand this.’
Furious, she stared at Rix. He was shivering, his eyes thin
slits of white. ‘There is a way,’ he whispered, rapt.
‘Sapphique found it.’
Sapphique? Incarceron’s voice hummed and rumbled round
the hail. And then it spoke again, and there was sudden fear
in it, and wonder. How are you doing this, Rix? How are you
doing this?
Rix blinked. For a moment he seemed shaken. The people
were silent.
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Then he moved his fingers, and the shower of silver
became gold.
‘The Art Magicke,’ he breathed.
Jared stood back from the door. If Finn was beating on it, as
he suspected, the sound did not come through.
He turned.
The Realm might be ruined but nothing in this room had
changed. As the Portal straightened itself he felt the quiet
hum of its mystery calm him, the grey walls and single desk
focus his vision. He raised a shaking hand to his mouth and
licked blood from the grazed skin.
Suddenly, fatigue rippled through him. All he wanted to do
was sleep, and he slumped in the metal chair before the
snowy screen and fought the desire to lay his head on the
desk and close his eyes and forget everything.
But the snow held his gaze. Behind its mystery Claudia was
trapped, and the Prison and the Realm were caught in that
destruction.
He made himself sit up, wiped his face with a grubby
sleeve, brushed the hair from his eyes. He took the Glove out
and laid it on the grey metal surface. Then he made a few
adjustments to the controls and spoke.
He used the Sapient tongue. He said, ‘Incarceron!’
The snow still fell, but its patterns changed, to a swirl of
wonder. It answered him, its voice amazed. How are you
doing this, Rix? How are you doing this?
457
‘I’m not Rix.’ Jared spread his fine hands on the desk and
stared at them. ‘You spoke to me once before. You know who
I am.’
I knew a voice like this, long ago. The Prison’s murmur hung
in the still air of the room.
‘Long ago,’ Jared whispered. ‘Before you were old, and
evil. When the Sapienti first created you. And many times
since, in my endless journeying.’
You are Sapphique.
He smiled, wearily. ’I am now. And you and I, Incarceron,
have the same problem. We are both trapped in our bodies.
Maybe we can help each other.’ He picked up the Glove and
fingered its fine scales. ‘Perhaps the hour has come that all
the prophesies tell of. The hour that the world ends, and
Sapphique returns.’
Claudia said, ‘They’re out of their minds with terror. They’ll
rush us and kill him.’
The crowd were increasingly disturbed. She could feel their
panic, sense the urgency in the way they pushed forward,
craning to see, their hot sweaty stench rising towards her.
They knew if Incarceron Escaped it was the end for them. If
they began to believe Rix could do this, they would have
nothing left to lose.
Attia grabbed Rix’s knife. Claudia lifted the firelock and
looked at her father. He didn’t move, his eyes fixed in
fascination on Rix.
458
She pushed past him, Attia with her, and together they
edged round to stand on the steps between Rix and the
crowd, even though it was futile, a mere gesture of defence.
I knew a voice like this, long ago, the Prison murmured. Rix
laughed harshly. The words of his act seemed charged now,
like prophecy.
‘There is a way Out. Sapphique found it. The door is tiny,
tinier than an atom. And the eagle and the swan spread their
wings to guard it.’
You are Sapphique.
‘Sapphique returns. Did you ever love me, Incarceron?’
The Prison hummed. Its voice was hoarse. I remember you.
Out of them all, you were my brother and my son. We dreamt the
same dream.
Rix swung to the statue. He gazed up at its calm face, its
dead eyes. ‘Keep very still,’ he whispered anxiously, as if for
only the Prison to hear. ‘Or the danger is extreme.’
He turned to the crowd. ‘The time has come, friends. I will
release him. I will bring him back!’
‘Again!’ Finn and Keiro threw themselves at the door but it
didn’t even shudder. There was no sound from inside.
Breathless, Keiro turned his back to the ebony swan and said,
‘We could get one of those planks and—’ He stopped.
‘Hear that?’
Voices. The clamour of men in the house, men swarming
459
up the rope in the stairwell, shadowy figures crowding the
fragmenting corridor.
Finn stepped forward. ‘Who’s there?’
But he knew who they were even before the flickering
lightning showed him. The Steel Wolves had come in a pack
of silver muzzles, their eyes bright behind the masks of
assassins and murderers.
Medlicote’s voice said, ‘I’m sorry, Finn. I can’t leave it like
this. No one will be surprised if you and your friend perish
in the ruins of the Wardenry. Then a new world will begin,
without kings, without tyrants.’
‘Jared is in there,’ Finn snapped. ‘And your Warden...’
‘The Warden has given his orders.’
Pistols were raised.
Beside him, Finn felt Keiro’s arrogant defiance, that odd
way he had of making himself taller, every muscle taut.
‘Our last stand, brother,’ Finn said bitterly.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Keiro said.
The Steel Wolves advanced, a tentative line across the
corridor.
Finn tensed, but Keiro seemed almost languid. ‘Come on,
my friends. A little closer, please.’
They stopped, as if his words made them nervous. Then,
just as Finn had known he would, he attacked.
Jared held the Glove in both hands. Its scales were curiously
supple, as if the centuries had worn them. As if only
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Time had worn the Glove.
Aren’t you afraid? Incarceron asked, curious.
‘Of course I’m afraid. I think I’ve been afraid a long time
now’ He touched the ridged and heavy claws. ‘But what
would you know about that?’
The Sapienti taught me to feel.
‘Pleasure? Cruelty?’
Loneliness. Despair.
Jared shook his head. ‘They wanted you to love too. Your
Prisoners. To care for them.’
Its voice was a wistful draught, a crack of sound. You know
you were the only one I ever loved, Sapphique. The only one I cared
for. You were the tiny crack in my armour. You were the door.
‘Was that why you let me Escape?’
Children always escape from their parents, in the end. A
murmur came through the Portal like a sigh down a long,
empty corridor. I am afraid too, it said.
‘Then we must be afraid together.’ Jared slipped his fingers
into the Glove. He pulled it on, firmly, and as he did he
heard far-off a pounding, maybe on a door, maybe in his
heart, maybe of a thousand footsteps crowding close. He
closed his eyes. As the Glove enfolded it his hand chilled,
became one with the skin. His neurons burned. The claws
curled as he clenched them. His body became icy, and vast,
and crowded with a million terrors. And then his whole
being collapsed, shrivelling inward and
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inward down an endless vortex of light. He bent his head,
and cried aloud.
I am afraid too. The Prison’s murmur rang through all its halls
and forests, over its seas. Deep in the Ice Wing its fear
snapped icicles, sent flocks of birds flapping over metal
forests no Prisoner had ever crossed.
Rix closed his eyes. His face was a rigour of ecstasy. He
flung out his arms and cried, ‘None of us need to be afraid
ever again. Behold!’
Claudia heard Attia’s gasp. The crowd gave a great roar
and surged forwards, and as she jumped back she turned her
head and saw her father staring intently at the image of
Sapphique. Its right hand was wearing the Glove.
Amazed, she tried to say, ’How. .. ?‘ but her whisper was
lost in the tumult.
The statue’s fingers were dragonskin, its nails were claws.
And they were moving.
The right hand flexed; it opened and reached out as if
groping in the dark, or searching for something to touch.
The people were silent. Some fell on their knees, others
turned and fought their way back through the packed rabble.
Claudia and Attia stood still. Attia felt as if her amazement
would burst through her, as if the wonder of what she saw,
of what it meant, would make her scream aloud with fear
and joy.
462
Only the Warden watched calmly. Claudia realized that he
knew what was happening here.
‘Explain,’ she whispered.
Her father gazed at the image of Sapphique and there was
a grim appreciation in his grey eyes.
‘Why, my dear Claudia,’ he said in his acid voice. ‘A great
miracle is happening. We are so privileged to be here: And
then, quieter, ‘And it seems I have underestimated Master
Jared yet again.’
A firelock slashed the roof. One man was already down,
crumpled and moaning. Back to back, Finn and Keiro circled.
The ruined corridor was a breathless tangle of light, slanted
with darkness. A musket fired, the ball splintering wood at
Finn’s elbow. He struck out, sweeping the gun aside,
crashing the masked man back.
Behind him, Keiro fought with a snatched foil until it was
broken, then threw it down and went in with bare hands. He
moved with accuracy, savage and fast, and for Finn, beside
him, there was no longer any Realm and no Incarceron, only
the hot violence of blows and pain, a stab at the chest
desperately fended off, a body flung against the panelling.
He yelled, sweat in his eyes, as Medlicote lunged at him,
the secretary’s foil whipping double as it struck the wall, and
instantly they were both grappling for the blade, and
463
Finn had the man in a tight hold round the chest, forcing him
down. Lightning flickered, showed Keiro’s grin, the steel
flash of a wolf muzzle. Thunder growled, a low, distant
rumble.
A burst of flame. It shot up, and by its light Finn saw the
Wolves dive, breathless and bloodied as it slashed over
them.
‘Throw your weapons down.’ Keiro’s voice was breathless
and raw. He fired again, and they all flinched as plaster
crashed in a white snow. ‘Throw them down!’
A few thuds.
‘Now lie down. Anyone still standing dies.’
Slowly they obeyed him. Finn tore off Medlicote’s mask
and flung it away. Sudden fury burnt in him. He said,’! am
King here, Master Medlicote. Do you understand?’ His voice
was a rasp of wrath. ‘The old world has ended and there will
be no more plotting and no more lies!’ He hauled the man up
like a limp rag and slammed him against the wall. ‘I am Giles.
Protocol is over!’
‘Finn.’ Keiro came and took the foil from his hand. ‘Leave
him. He’s half dead anyway.’
Slowly, Finn let the man go, and he slumped in relief. Finn
turned to his oathbrother, gradually bringing him into focus,
as if anger had been a rippling in the air.
‘Keep calm, brother.’ Keiro surveyed his captives. ‘As I
always taught you. .
‘I am calm.’
464
‘Right. Well, at least you haven’t grown as soft as the rest
of them out here.’ Keiro swung round and raised the
weapon. He blasted it, once, twice, at the study door, under
the angry swan, and the door shuddered and burst inwards.
Moving past him, Finn strode in through the smoke,
stumbling as the Portal rippled its welcome.
But the room was empty.
This was death.
It was warm and sticky and there were waves of it, washing over
Jared like pain. It had no air to breathe, no words to speak. It was a
choking in his throat.
And then it was a grey brightness and Claudia stood in it, and
her father, and Auth. He reached out to her and tried to speak her
name, but his lips were cold and numb as marble and his tongue
too stiff to move.
‘Am I dead?’ he asked the Prison, but the question murmured
through hills and corridors and down cobwebbed galleries centuries
old, and he realized that he was the Prison, that all its dreams were
his.
He was a whole world, and yet he was a tiny creature. He could
breathe, his heart was beating strongly, his eyesight was clear. He
fit as a great worry had fallen from him, a great weight from his
back, and maybe it had, maybe that was his old 4fe.And inside him
there were forests and oceans, high bridges over deep crevasses,
spiral staircases down to the empty white cells where his illness had
465
been born. He had journeyed through it, explored all its secrets,
fallen into its darkness.
Only he knew the riddle’s answer, and the door that led Out.
Claudia heard it. In the silence the statue rippled and it
spoke her name.
As she stared at it she stumbled back, but her father
gripped her elbow. ‘I’ve taught you never to be afraid,’ he
said quietly. ‘And besides, you know who this is.’
It came alive, even as she watched. His eyes opened and
were green, that intelligent, curious gaze she knew so well.
The delicate face lost its ivory and was flushed with life. The
long hair darkened and swung, the Sapient robe glimmered
in iridescent greys. He spread his arms and the feathers
shimmered like wings.
He stepped down from the pedestal and stood before her.
Claudia, he said. And then, ‘Claudia.’
Words choked in her throat.
But Rix was leaping in the roaring adulation of the crowd;
he caught Attia’s hand and made her bow with him in the
storm of applause that went on and on, the howls of joy, the
screaming cries that greeted Sapphique as he returned to
save his people.
466
35
He sang his last song. And the words of that have never been
written down. But it was sweet and of great beauty, and those that
heard it were changed utterly.
Some say it was the song that moves the stars.
SAPPHIQUE’S LAST SONG
Finn walked slowly to the screen and stared at it. It was no
longer snowy, but clear and brilliant, and he could see a girl
staring straight at him.
‘Claudia!’ he said.
She didn’t seem to hear him. Then he realized he was
looking at her through someone else’s eyes, eyes that were
very slightly blurred, as if the Prison’s gaze had tears in it.
Behind him, Keiro came close.
‘What in hell is going on in there?’
As if his words had triggered it, the sound snapped on, a
burst of roaring and applause and howls of joy that made
them wince.
* * *
467
Claudia reached out and took the Gloved hand. ‘Master,’ she
said. ‘How have you come here? What have you done?’
He smiled his calm smile. ‘I think I have undertaken a new
experiment, Claudia. My most ambitious research project
yet.’
‘Don’t tease me.’ She clenched her fist on his scaled fingers.
‘I never betrayed you he said. ‘The Queen offered me
forbidden knowledge. 1 don’t think this was what she
meant.’
‘I never once thought you would betray me.’ She stared at
the Glove. ‘These people all think you’re Sapphique. Tell
them it’s not true.’
‘I am Sapphique.’ The noise that greeted his words was
tremendous but he didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘He’s what
they want, Claudia. And Incarceron and I will give them
their safety.’ The dragon fingers curled round hers. ‘I feel so
strange, Claudia. It’s as if you are all inside me, as if I’ve shed
my skin and underneath is a new being, and I can see so
much and I hear so many sounds and touch so many minds.
I am dreaming the dreams of the Prison, and they are so sad.’
‘But can you come back? Do you have to stay here for
ever?’ Her dismay sounded weak, but she didn’t care, not
even if her selfishness stood in the way of all Incarceron’s
Prisoners. ‘I can’t do without you, Jared. I need you.’
He shook his head. ‘You will be Queen, and queens
468
don’t have tutors.’ He reached out and put his arms round
her and kissed her forehead. ‘But I’m not going anywhere.
You’ll carry me on your watchchain.’ He looked beyond her,
at the Warden. ‘And from now on there will be freedom for
us all.’
The Warden’s smile was narrow. ‘So, my old friend, you
have found yourself a body after all’
Despite all your efforts, John Arlex.
‘But you haven’t Escaped.’
Jared shrugged, an odd, slightly alien movement. ‘Ah but I
have. I’ve Escaped myself but I won’t be leaving. That is the
paradox that is Sapphique.’
He made a small movement with his hand, and all the
people gasped. Behind them, all around them, the walls lit
and they saw the grey room of the Portal, its door crowded
with watchers, and Finn and Keiro jerking back in surprise.
Jared turned. ‘Now we’re all together. Inside and Outside.’
‘Do you mean the Prisoners can Escape?’ Keiro snapped
and Claudia realized they had heard everything.
Jared smiled. ‘Escape to what? To the ruin of the Realm?
We will make this their paradise, Keiro, just as it was
supposed to be, just as the Sapienti always planned it. No
one will need to Escape; I promise you that. But the door will
be open, for those who wish to come and go.’
Claudia stepped back from him. She knew him so well, and
yet he was different. As if his personality and another had
intersected, two different voices fragmenting into one,
469
like the black and white tiles on the floor of the hail, forming
a new pattern, and that pattern was Sapphique. She glanced
around, saw Rix transfixed, edging closer, Attia still and
pale, staring up at Finn.
People murmured, echoing his words, passing them from
one to another. She heard the promise reverberate through
the Prison’s landscapes. But she felt desolate and sick,
because once she had been the Warden’s daughter, and now
she would be the Queen, and without Jared it would be
another role to play, another part of the game.
Jared edged past her and walked down to meet the crowd.
They held out their hands and touched him, grasped the
dragonglove, fell at his feet. One, a woman, sobbed, and he
touched her gently, his hands round hers.
‘Don’t worry;’ the Warden said softly in Claudia’s ear.
‘I can’t help it. He’s not strong.’
‘Oh I think he is stronger than all of us.’
‘The Prison will corrupt him.’ Attia said it, and Claudia
turned on her angrily. ‘No!’
‘It will. Incarceron is cruel, and your tutor is too gentle to
control it. It will all go wrong just like it did before’ Attia was
cold; she knew her words hurt but she still said them, and a
bitter misery made her add, ‘And you and Finn won’t have
much a kingdom either, by the looks of things.’
She looked up at Finn and he gazed back. ‘Come Out’ he
said. ‘Both of you.’
470
Behind her Rix said, ‘Shall I open you a magic door, Attia?
And will I get my Apprentice back?’
‘No chance.’ Keiro flickered a blue glance at Finn. ‘The
pay’s better out here.’
At the edge of the steps, Jared turned. ‘Well, Rix,’ he said.
‘Shall we see more of the Art Magicke? Make us a door, Rix.’
The sorcerer laughed. He took a small piece of chalk from
his pocket and held it up, and the crowd stared. Then he bent
over and drew with it on the marble floor where
the statue had once stood. Carefully he drew the door of a
dungeon, ancient and wooden, with a barred grille and a
great keyhole and chains looped across it. On it he wrote
SAPPHIQUE.
‘They all think you’re Sapphique’ he said to Jared,
straightening. ‘But of course you’re not. I won’t tell them,
you can trust me He came close to Attia and winked at her.
‘It’s all an illusion. There’s a patchbook like it. A man steals
fire from the gods and saves the people with its warmth.
They punish him by binding him with a great chain for ever.
But he struggles and squirms, and at the world’s end he will
come back. In a ship made of fingernails.’ Then he smiled at
her sadly. ‘I’ll miss you, Attia.’
Jared reached out and touched the chalked door with the
tip of a dragonclaw. Instantly it became real, and
opened, the door falling inwards with a great clang, leaving
a rectangular darkness in the floor.
471
Finn stepped back, bewildered. At his feet too the floor had
swung down. The pit was black and empty.
Jared led Claudia gently to its edge. ‘Go on, Claudia. You’ll
be there, and I here. We’ll work together, just as we always
have
She nodded, and looked at her father. The Warden said,
‘Master Jared, may I have a word with my daughter?’
Jared bowed and moved away.
‘Do as he says,’ the Warden said.
‘What about you?’
Her father smiled his cold smile. ‘My plan was for you to
be Queen, Claudia. That was what I worked for. Perhaps it is
time I did some work here, in my own realm. This new
regime will need a Warden. Jared is far too lenient, and
Incarceron too harsh.’
She nodded. Then she said, ‘Tell me the truth. What
happened to Prince Giles?’
He was silent a while. He stroked his narrow beard with
his thumb. ‘Claudia...’
‘Tell me.’
‘Does it matter?’ He looked at Finn. ‘The Realm has its
king.’
‘But is he?’
His grey eyes held her. ‘If you are my daughter, you will
not ask me.’
She was silent too. For a long moment they looked at each
other. Then, formally, he lifted her hand and kissed it,
472
and she gave him a low curtsy.
‘Goodbye, father,’ she whispered.
‘Rebuild the Realm,’ he said. ‘And I will come home at
intervals, as I used to do. Perhaps from now on you will not
dread my coming so much.’
‘I won’t dread it at all.’ She walked to the edge of the
trapdoor, and glanced back at him. ‘You must come to Finn’s
coronation.’
‘And yours.’
She shrugged. Then, with one last look at Jared, she walked
down the steps of darkness inside the door, and they saw her
climb up into the room of the Portal, Finn catching her hand
and helping her Out.
‘Go on, girl,’ Rix said to Attia.
‘No.’ She was watching the screen. ‘You can’t lose both
your Apprentices, Rix.’
‘Ah, but my powers have grown. Now I can conjure a
winged being into life, Attia. I can bring a man from the
stars. What a show I’ll take on the road! I’m made, for ever.
However it’s true I can always use an assistant. .
‘I could stay. . .’
Keiro said, ‘So you’re scared then?’
‘Scared?’ Attia glared up at him. ‘Of what?’
‘Of seeing Outside.’
‘What do you care?’
He shrugged, his eyes blue and cold. ‘I don’t.’
‘Right.’
473
‘But Finn needs all the help he can get. If you were in any
way grateful . . .’
‘For what? I was the one who got the Glove. Who saved
your life
Finn said, ‘Come Out, Attia. Please. I want you to see the
stars. Gildas would have wanted that.’
She stared up at him, silent, and made no move, and
whatever she was thinking there was no trace of it on her
face. But Jared, with the eyes of Incarceron, must have seen
something because he came over and held her hand, and she
turned and stalked down the steps of darkness, and into a
strange shiver of space that twisted so that suddenly the
steps were leading upward, and as Jared’s hand left hers
another came down and hauled her up, a scarred, muscular
hand with a scorched palm and a steel fingernail.
Keiro said, ‘Not so difficult, was it?’
She stared round. The room was grey and calm, it hummed
with a faint power. Outside the door in a ruined corridor a
few bruised men watched, sitting slumped against the wall.
They looked at her as if she was a ghost.
In the screen on the desk the Warden’s face was fading.
‘Not only will I come to the coronation, Claudia,’ he said.
‘But I will expect an invitation to the wedding.’
And then the screen was dark, and it whispered in Jared’s
voice, So will I.
* * *
474
There was no way down so they climbed up the remains of
the stairs to the roof.
Finn took out the watch; he looked at the cube a long
moment, then he gave it to Claudia. ‘You keep this.’
She let the silver cube lie on her palm. ‘Are they really
there? Or have we never known where Incarceron is?’
But Finn had no answer, and holding the watch tight, she
could only climb after him.
The damage to the house horrified her; she fingered
hangings that fell to pieces and touched the holes in walls
and windows uncomprehendingly. ‘It can’t be possible. How
can we ever put all this together again.’
‘We can’t,’ Keiro said brutally. He led them up the stone
steps, his voice echoing back. ‘If Incarceron is cruel, Finn, so
are you. You show me a glimpse of paradise and then it’s
gone.’
Finn glanced at Attia. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘To both
of you.’
She shrugged. ‘As long as the stars haven’t gone.’
He stood aside for her on the final step. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They
haven’t.’
She stepped out on to the stone battlements and stopped,
and he saw it come into her face, the shock and the wonder
he remembered for himself, and she gasped as she stared
upwards.
The storm had swept the sky clear. Brilliant and fiery, the
stars hung in their splendour, in their secret patterns, their
475
distant nebulae, and Attia’s breath frosted as she gazed at
them. Behind her Keiro’s eyes were wide; he stood still,
transfixed by magic.
‘They exist. They really exist!’
The Realm was dark. The distant army of refugees huddled
round campfires, flickers of flame. Beyond them the land
rose in dim hills and the black fringes of forest, a realm
without power, exposed to the night, all its finery as
shrivelled and battered as the silk flag with its black swan
that fluttered, shredded, over their heads.
‘We’ll never survive.’ Claudia shook her head. ‘We don’t
know how to any more.’
‘Yes we do,’ Attia said.
Keiro pointed. ‘So do they’
And she saw, faint and far, the candlepoints of flame in the
cottages of the poor, the hovels where the Prison’s wrath and
fury had brought no change.
‘Those are the stars too,’ Finn said quietly.
476
Read more from Catherine Fisher
THE ORACLE
Catherine Fisher
THE FIRST BOOK IN THE ORACLE SEQUENCE
Mirany is the new Bearer, afraid of her perilous duties for the
god in the rituals of the Oracle, and fearful of her secret
questioning: Does the god truly exist?
In a land dying of drought, everyone believes that the old
Archon, god-on-earth, must die to bring rain. But his death
thrusts Mirany into a terrifying quest — with only a mad
musician and a tomb—robbing scribe for allies .
477
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THE ARCHON
Catherine Fisher
THE SECOND BOOK IN THE ORACLE SEQUENCE
Alexos, the new Archon, will lead a pilgrimage to the Well of
Songs. Great riches are said to lie there, and the Archon seeks
peace with the Rain Queen. But the desert is a place of
strange menace for the Archon and his companions, and
behind them there is always the general, Argelin, seeking
riches and power for himself.
Alone, amid treachery, Mirany has to face the terrors of war.
478
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THE SCARAB
Catherine Fisher
THE FINAL BOOK IN THE ORACLE SEQUENCE
Returning from the desert, Seth finds a reign of madness
oppressing the Two Lands. Argelin has declared war on the
gods, Mirany is in hiding, and the Nine are scattered. And
whose is the sinister new power hidden in the sign of the
Scarab?
In the descent into anarchy, Mirany and the Archon must
attempt the final, impossible journey of the soul. Through the
Nine Gateways into death. And back.