As she inched forward, the Maestra's voice came back to him, hard and cold. "If they don't bring ... the crystal? What then?"
"What crystal?" Keiro asked slyly.
Finn said, "Shut up." Ahead in the dimness he could see the Civicry--three men, as agreed, waiting by the weighing platform. He edged up close behind the Maestra. "Don't even try to make a run for it. Jormanric will have twenty weapons trained on you."
"I'm not a fool," she snapped. Then she stepped onto the Spike.
Finn followed, taking a deep breath of relief. It was a mistake. The fumes of the heat haze choked his throat; he coughed.
Keiro pushed past him, sword drawn, and grabbed the woman's arm. "On this."
He shoved her onto the weighing platform. It was a vast aluminum construction, dragged here in pieces and reassembled with immense difficulty for occasions like this, though in all Finn's time with the Comitatus he had never seen it used. Jormanric didn't usually bother with ransoms.
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"Look hard at the marker, friend." Keiro turned silkily to the Civic leader. "Not such a lightweight, is she?" He grinned.
"Perhaps you should have kept her on a stricter diet."
The man was stocky, muffled in a striped coat, bulky with concealed weapons. Ignoring Keiro's taunt he came and glanced at the needle on the rusting dial, exchanging a swift, snatched look with the Maestra. Finn recognized him from the ambush. The one she'd called Sim.
The man gave Finn a filthy glare. Taking no chances, Keiro pulled the Maestra back and held his dagger to her neck. "Now pile it on. And don't try anything."
In the moment before the treasure began to be poured, Finn wiped sweat from his eyes. He swallowed again, trying not to breathe too hard, wishing desperately he had tied something over his mouth and nose. Faint, horribly familiar, the spots of redness began to swim before his eyes. Not now, he thought frantically. Please.
Not now.
Gold was slithering and rattling. Rings, cups, plates, elaborate candlesticks. A bag was upended and silver coins cascaded out, forged probably from the ore smuggled by traders; then a deluge of delicate components robbed from dark and unfrequented parts of the Wing--broken Beetles, Eye-lenses, a Sweeper with its radar mangled.
The needle began to move. Watching it, the Civicry dumped a sack of ket and two small pieces of the precious ebony wood
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that grew somewhere in a stunted forest even Gildas had only-heard rumors of.
Keiro grinned at Finn.
As the red needle edged across, a heap of copper wire and Plastiglas went on, a handful of crystal filaments, a patched helm, and three rusted foils that would certainly snap at the first good blow.
The men worked hurriedly, but it was clear they were running out of goods. The Maestra watched tight-lipped, Keiro's knifepoint whitening the skin under her ear.
Finn's breath was ragged. Prickles of pain sparked behind his eyes. He swallowed and tried to whisper to Keiro, but he had no breath and his oathbrother was watching the last sack--of useless tinware--being placed on the heap.
The needle swung over.
It stopped short.
"More," Keiro said quietly.
"There's nothing more."
Keiro laughed. "You love the coat you're wearing better than her?"
Sim tore the coat off and flung it on. Then, with a glance at the Maestra he tossed his sword and firelock after it. The other two men did the same. They stood empty-handed and each of them watched the needle quiver.
It didn't quite make the mark.
"More," Keiro said.
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"For God's sake!" Sim's voice was harsh. "Just let her go!" Keiro glanced at Finn. "This crystal. Is it there?" Dizzy, he shook his head.
Keiro smiled icily at the men. He pressed the blade; a glistening trickle of dark blood edged it. "Beg, lady."
She was very calm. She said, "They want the crystal, Sim. The one you found in the lost hall."
"Maestra ..."
"Give it to them."
Sim hesitated. It was only for a second, though through his nausea Finn saw it strike the Maestra like a blow. Then the man put his hand into his shirt and pulled out an object that caught a glimmer of light, so that a brief rainbow rippled in his fingers. 'We've found out something," he said. "Something it does ..."
She stopped him with a look. He tossed the crystal slowly down onto the pile.
The needle touched the mark.
At once Keiro shoved the woman away. Sim grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the second bridge. "Run!" he yelled.
Finn crouched. Saliva welled in his throat as he picked up the crystal. Inside it an eagle spread wide wings. It was the same as the mark on his wrist. Finn.
He looked up.
The Maestra had stopped and turned, her face white. "I hope it destroys you."
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"Maestra!" Sim had her arm but she shook him off. Gripping the chains of the second bridge, she faced Finn and spat words at him.
"I curse the crystal, and I curse you."
"There's no time," he said hoarsely. "Just go."
"You've destroyed my trust. My compassion. I thought I could tell truth from lies. Now I'll never dare show kindness to a stranger again. For that I can never forgive you!"
Her hatred scorched him. Then, as she turned away, the bridge lurched.
The abyss swung crazily. In a second of frozen horror the Maestra screamed and he gasped, "No!" staggering one step toward her. Then Keiro had hold of him and was shouting and something was cracking and as if the pain in his head had slowed them down he saw the chains and rivets that held the bridge snapping and jerking out, heard Jormanric's great howl of laughter and knew this was treachery.
The Maestra must have realized too. She stood upright.
She gave him one look, her eyes to his; then she was gone, she and Sim and the others were gone, down and down, and the bridge was a crazy contraption slamming and shedding wrecked ironware in a clattering uproar against the side of the cliff.
Screaming echoes faded.
Crumpling to his knees, Finn stared, appalled. A wave of nausea shuddered through him. He clutched the crystal, and through the roaring in his ears heard Keiro say calmly, "I
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should have guessed the old rogue would do that. And a lump of glass doesn't look much for all your trouble. What is it?"
Then Finn knew, in a second of sour clarity, that he was right, that he must have been born Outside; knew it because he held in his hand the one object that no one in Incarceron for generations had ever seen or would even guess the purpose of, and yet it was familiar to him, he had a word for it, he knew what it was.
It was a key.
Darkness and pain roared up and swallowed him. He fell into Keiro's firm grip.
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UNERGROUND, THE STARS ARE LEGENDS
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***
The Years of Rage are ended and nothing can be the same. The war has hollowed the moon and stilled the tides. We must find a simpler way of life. We must retreat into the past, everyone and everything, in its place, in order. Freedom is a small price to pay for survival.
---King Endor's Decree
***
Finn felt himself fall for a thousand miles down the abyss before he crashed onto a ledge. Breathless, he raised his head. All around, darkness roared. Beside him, leaning back against the rock, someone was sitting. Finn said instantly,
"The Key ..."
"At your side."
He groped for it in the rubble, felt its smooth heaviness. Then he turned.
A stranger sat there. He was young and had long dark hair. He wore a high-collared coat like a Sapient s, but it was ragged and patched. He pointed to the rock face and said, "Look, inn.
In the rock was a keyhole. Light shone through it. And Finn saw that the rock was a door, tiny and black, and in its transparency stars and galaxies were
embedded.
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"This is Time. This is what you must unlock," Sapphique said.
Finn tried to lift the Key, but it was so heavy he needed both hands, and even then it shook in his grasp. "Help me," he gasped.
But the hole was closing, swiftly, and by the time he got the Key steady, there was nothing left but a pinhole of light.
"So many have tried," Sapphique whispered in his ear. "Have died trying,"
***
FOR A second Claudia was stock-still with despair.
Then she moved. She shoved the crystal key into her pocket, used Jared's disc to make a perfect holocopy of it nestled in the black velvet and slammed the drawer shut. Fingers hot with sweat she took out the box prepared just for this emergency and flipped out the ladybugs. They flew, landing on the control panel and the floor. Then she clicked the blue switch on the disc to red, swung, and aimed it at the door.
Three of the laserlights fizzed and died. She slid through the gap they left, flinching from imaginary bolts of weaponry. The grille was a nightmare; the disc chuntered and clicked, and she howled at it in desperation, sure it would break down, run out of power, but slowly a white-hot hole melted in the metal as the atoms scrambled and re-formed.
In seconds she was through it, had the door open, was in the corridor.
It was silent.
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Amazed, she listened. As the study door clicked shut behind her, the panic alarms were sliced off as if they rang in some other world.
The house was peaceful. Doves cooed. And below, she heard voices.
She ran. Up the back stairs, right to the attics, then down a passageway through the servants' garrets to the tiny storeroom at the end; it stank of wormwood and cloves. Diving in she groped hastily for the mechanism that opened the ancient priesthole, her fingernails scraping grime and spiderwebs and then, yes, there! The latch barely wide enough for her thumb.
As she jabbed it, the panel grated; she flung her weight on it, heaved it, swearing, and it shuddered open and she fell in.
Once she had it shut and her back against it, she could breathe.
Before her, the tunnel to Jared's tower ran into darkness.
***
FINN LAY crookedly on his bed.
He lay there a long while, gradually becoming aware of the noises of the Den outside, of someone running, of the clatter of dishes. Finally, groping with his hand, he found that a blanket had been laid carefully over him. His shoulders and neck ached; cold sweat chilled him.
He rolled over and looked up at the filthy ceiling. Echoes of a long scream were ringing in his ears, the tingling of alarms and panicking, flashing lights. For a sickening moment he had
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the sense that his vision had stretched into a long dark tunnel leading away from him, that he could step into it and grope his way toward the light.
Then Keiro said, "About time."
Blurred and distorted, his oathbrother came and sat on the bed. He made a face. "You look rough."
Finn's voice, when he tried it out, was hoarse. "You don't"
Slowly he focused. Keiro's mane of blond hair was tied back. He wore Sim's striped coat with far more panache than its owner ever had, a wide studded belt slung around his hips, a jeweled dagger strapped to it. He spread his arms. "Suits me, don't you think?"
Finn didn't answer. A wave of anger and shame was rising somewhere in him; his mind squirmed away from it. If he let it in, it would drown him. He croaked, "How long? How bad?"
"Two hours. You've missed the shareout. Again."
Carefully Finn sat up. The seizures left him dizzy and dry-mouthed.
Keiro said, "It was a bit more severe than usual. Convulsions. You jerked and struggled, but I held you down and Gildas made sure you didn't injure yourself. No one else took much notice; they were too busy gloating over the treasure. We carried you back."
Finn flushed with despair. The blackouts were impossible to predict, and Gildas knew of no cure, or so he said. Finn had no idea what happened after the hot, roaring darkness engulfed
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him, and he didn't want to know. It was a weakness and he was bitterly ashamed of it, even if the Comitatus held him in awe. Now he felt as if he had left his body and had come back to find it sore and empty, that he was aslant inside it. "I didn't have them Outside. I'm sure of it."
Keiro shrugged. "Gildas is desperate to hear about your vision."
Finn looked up. "He can wait." There was an awkward silence. Into it he said, "Jormanric ordered her death?"
"Who else? It's the sort of thing that amuses him. And it's a warning to us."
Grim, Finn nodded. He swung his feet off the bed and stared down at his worn boots. "I'm going to kill him for that."
Keiro raised an elegant eyebrow. "Brother, why bother? You got what you wanted."
"I gave her my word. I told her she'd be safe."
Keiro watched him a moment, then said, "We're Scum, Finn. Our word means nothing. She knew that. She was a hostage; if they'd gotten hold of you, the Civicry would probably have done the same, so think no more about it. I've told you before, you brood over things too much. It makes you weak. There's no room for weakness in Incarceron. No mercy for a fatal flaw. Here it's kill or be killed." He was staring straight ahead and there was an odd sourness in his voice that was new to Finn. But when he turned his smile was sharp. "So. What's a key, then?"
Finn's heart thumped. "The Key! Where is it?"
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Keiro shook his head in mock wonder. "What would you do without me?" He held up his hand and Finn saw that the crystal was dangling from one hooked finger.
He snatched at it, but Keiro jerked it away. "I said, what's a key?"
Finn licked paper-dry lips. "A key is a device that opens."
"Opens?"
"Unlocks."
Keiro was alert. "The Winglocks? Any door?"
"I don't know! I just... recognize it." He reached out hastily and grabbed it, and this time, reluctantly, Keiro let it go. The artifact was heavy, woven of strange glassy filaments, and the holographic eagle in its heart glared at Finn majestically. He saw that it wore a fine collar shaped like a crown around its neck, and tugging back his sleeve he compared it with the fading blue marks in his skin.
Over his shoulder Keiro said, "It looks the same."
"It's identical."
"But it means nothing. In fact, if anything, it means you were born Inside."
"This didn't come from Inside." Finn nursed it in both hands. "Look at it. What material do we have like this? The workmanship ..."
"The Prison could have made it."
Finn said nothing.
But at that moment, just as if it had been listening, the Prison turned all the lights off.
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***
WHEN THE Warden softly opened the observatory door the wall-screen was lit with images of the Havaarna Kings of the Eighteenth Dynasty, those effete generations whose social policies had led directly to the Years of Rage. Jared was sitting on the desk, one foot propped on the back of Claudia's chair, the fox cub in his arms; she was leaning forward and reading from a pad in her hand.
"... Alexander the Sixth, Restorer of the Realm. Created the Contract of Duality. Closed all theatres and public forms of entertainment... Why did he do that?"
"Fear," Jared said dryly. "By that time any crowd of people was seen as a threat to order."
Claudia smiled, her throat dry. This is what her father must see; his daughter and her beloved tutor. Of course he would know perfectly well that they knew he was here.
"Ahem."
Claudia jumped; Jared looked around. Their surprise was masterly.
The Warden smiled a cold smile, as if he admired it.
"Sir?" Claudia stood up, her silk dress uncreasing. "Are you back already? I thought you said one."
"That was indeed what I said. May I come in, Master?"
Jared said, "Of course," and the cub streaked
from his hands and jumped up the bookshelves. "Were honored, Warden."
The Warden walked to the table littered with apparatus
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and touched an alembic. "Your Era detail is a little ... eccentric, Jared. But the Sapienti are not so bound by Protocol, of course." He lifted the delicate glassware and raised it so that his left eye, hugely magnified, gazed at them through it. "The Sapienti do as they will. They invent, they experiment, they keep the mind of mankind active even in the tyranny of the past. Always searching for new sources of energy, new cures. Admirable. But tell me, how is my daughter progressing?"
Jared linked his frail fingers. Carefully he said, "Claudia is always a remarkable pupil."
"A scholar."
"Indeed."
"Intelligent and able?" The Warden lowered the glass. His eyes were fixed on her; she looked up and gazed calmly back at him.
"I'm sure," Jared murmured, "that she'll be a success in everything she attempts."
"And she would attempt anything." The Warden opened his fingers and the flask fell. It hit the corner of the desk and smashed, an explosion of glass slivers, sending a raven screeching out through the window.
Jared had leaped back; now he froze. Claudia stood behind him, quite still.
"I am so sorry!" The Warden surveyed the wreckage calmly, then took out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers. "The clumsiness of age, I'm afraid. I hope it didn't contain anything vital?"
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Jared shook his head; Claudia caught the faintest glimmer of sweat on his forehead. She knew her own face was pale. Her father said, "Claudia, you'll be pleased to know that Lord Evian and I have finalized the dowry arrangements. You had better begin gathering your trousseau, my dear."
At the door he paused. Jared had crouched and was picking up the sharp, curved fragments of glass. Claudia did not move. She watched the Warden, and his look reminded her, for a moment, of her own reflection as she stared at it in the looking glass each morning. He said, "I won't take lunch after all. I have a lot of work to do. In my study. We seem to have an insect problem."
When the door closed behind him, neither of them spoke. Claudia sat, and Jared dumped the glass into a disposer and switched the monitor on for the tower stairs. Together they watched the Warders dark angular figure pick a fastidious way through the mouse droppings and hanging webs.
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