Incarceron

by Catherine Fisher

  Keiro laughed harshly. "Well, well. Jormanric was slyer than I thought."

  "He didn't know." The girl looked at him boldly. "None of them knew. When they caught me I was with a group--one old woman died that night. I stole these rags from her body and made the sores out of rust, rubbed muck all over myself, hacked off my hair. I knew I had to be clever, very clever, to stay alive."

  She looked scared, and defiant. It was hard to tell her age; the brutal haircut made her seem like a scrawny child, but Finn guessed she was not so much younger than himself. He said, "It didn't turn out to be such a good idea."

  She shrugged. "I didn't know I'd end up as his slave."

  "And tasting his food?"

  She laughed then, a bitter amusement. "He ate well. It kept me alive."

  Finn glanced at Keiro. His oathbrother watched the girl, then turned away and curled up in the blankets. "We dump her in the morning."

  "It's not up to you." Her voice was quiet but firm. "I'm the servant of the Starseer now."

  Keiro rolled and stared. Finn said, "Me?"

  "You brought me out of that place. No one else would have

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  done that. Leave me, and I'll follow you. Like a dog ." She stepped forward, "I want to Escape. I want to find the Outside, if there is one. And they said in the slavehall that you see the stars in your dreams, that Sapphique talks to you. That the Prison will show you the way out because you're its son."

  He stared at her in dismay. Gildas shook his head. He looked at Finn and Finn looked back.

  "Up to you," the old man muttered.

  He had no idea what to do, so he cleared his throat and said to the girl, "What's your name?" "Attia."

  "Well, look, Attia. I don't want a servant. But ... you can come with us."

  "She has no food. That means we have to feed her," Keiro said.

  "Neither do you." Finn nudged the pack of clothes. "Or me, now."

  "Then she shares your catch, brother. Not mine."

  Gildas leaned back against one of the metal trees. "Sleep," he said. "We'll discuss it when the lights come on. But someone has to keep watch, so first it can be you, girl."

  She nodded, and as Finn curled up uneasily in the blankets, he saw her slip into the shadows and vanish.

  Keiro yawned like a cat. "She'll probably slit our throats," he muttered.

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  ***

  CLAUDIA SAID, "I said good night, Alys," and watched in her dressing table mirror as her nurse fussed over silk garments strewn on the floor.

  "Look at this, Claudia, it's ruined with mud ..."

  "Put it through the washing machine. I know you've got one somewhere."

  Alys gave her a glare. They both knew the endless archaic scrubbing and beating and starching of clothes was so wearing that the staff had secretly abandoned Protocol long ago. It was probably the same even at Court, Claudia thought.

  As soon as the door was closed she jumped up and went over and locked it, turning the wrought-iron key and clicking on all the secrecy systems. Then she leaned her back against it and considered.

  Jared had not been at supper. That didn't mean anything; he would have wanted to keep up the pretense, and he hated the Ear's stupidity. For a moment she wondered if he really had been ill in the maze, and whether she should call him, but he had warned her to keep the minicom for emergencies, especially with the Warden in the house.

  She tied the belt of her dressing gown and jumped on the bed, reaching up to grope in the canopy of the four-poster.

  Not there.

  The house was quiet now. Caspar had talked and drunk his way through supper; fourteen courses of fish and finches,

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  capons and swan, eels and sweetmeats. He had talked loudly and peevishly about tournaments, his new horse, a castle he was having built on the coast, the sums he had lost at gambling. His new passion seemed to be boar-hunting, or at least staying well back while his servants trussed a wounded boar for him to kill. He had described his spear, the kills he had made, the tusked heads that adorned the corridors of the Court. And all the time he had drunk and refilled and his voice had grown more and more hectoring and slurred.

  She had listened with a fixed smile and had teased him with odd, barbed questions that he had barely understood. And all the time her father had sat opposite and toyed with the stem of his wineglass, turning it on the white cloth between his thin fingers, looking at her. Now, as she jumped down and went over to the dressing table, searching through all the drawers, she remembered that cool look, how it appraised her sitting there, beside the fool she would have to marry.

  It wasn't in any of the drawers.

  Suddenly chilled, she went to the window and unlatched it, letting the casement swing open, curling herself up in a miserable huddle on the cushions of the window seat. If he loved her, how could he do this to her? Couldn't he see the misery it would be?

  The summer evening was warm and smelled sweetly of stocks and honeysuckle and the hedge of musk-roses that

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  curved around the moat. From far over the fields the bell of Hornsely church softly tolled twelve chimes. She watched as a moth fluttered in and swooped recklessly around the flame of the candles; its shadow briefly huge on the ceiling.

  Had there been a new edge in his smile? Had that stupid blurted question about her mother sharpened the danger?

  Her mother had died. That's what Alys had said, but Alys hadn't been working here then, nor had any of the servants except Medlicote, her father's secretary, a man she rarely spoke to. But maybe she should. Because that question had gone in like a knife, through the Warden's studied armor of grave smiles and cold Period decorum. She had stabbed him and he had felt it.

  She smiled, her face hot.

  It had never happened before.

  Could there be something strange about her mother's death? Illness was rife, but for the rich, illegal drugs could be found. Medicines too modern for this Era. Her father was strict, but surely if he had loved his wife he would have done anything, however illegal, to save her. Could he have sacrificed his wife just because of Protocol? Or was it worse than that?

  The moth scuttered on the ceiling. Leaning forward, she looked out of the window at the sky.

  The summer stars were bright. They lit the roofs and gables of the manor house with a faint, ghostly glimmer, an

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  owl-light, reflecting the black and silver ripples of the moat.

  Her father was implicated in Giles's death. Could he have killed before?

  A touch on her cheek made her jump. The moth wings brushed her, whispered, "In the window seat" and were gone, fluttering out toward the faint light in Jared's tower.

  Claudia grinned.

  She pushed herself up, groped under the cushions, and touched the cold edge of crystal. Carefully, she pulled it out.

  The Key took the light of the stars and held it. It seemed to shine with a faint luminescence, and the eagle within it held a sliver of light in its beak.

  Jared must have brought it here while everyone was at supper.

  She took the precaution of blowing the candles out and closing the window. Tugging the heavy quilt from her bed, she wrapped herself in it and propped the Key on her knees. Then she touched it, rubbed it, breathed on it.

  "Speak to me," she said.

  ***

  FINN WAS so cold he barely had the energy even to shiver.

  The metal forest was utterly black; the lantern threw only a tiny pool of light, on Keiro's sprawled hand, on the huddle that was Gildas. The girl was a shadow under a tree; she made no sound and he wondered if she was even asleep.

  He reached out cautiously for Keiro's pack. He would pull

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  one of his oathbrother's fancy jackets over his own. Two, maybe, and if they split Keiro could put up with it.

  Tugging the pack over, he put his hand in, and touched the Key.

  It was warm.

  He lifted
it out, very gently, and let his fingers close over it, so that the heat it was generating comforted his cramped fingers. Quietly it said, "Speak to me."

  Wide-eyed, Finn glanced at the others.

  No one moved.

  Carefully, his leather belt creaking in the stillness, he stood up and turned. He managed three steps before the rustling crunch of the metal leaves made Keiro mutter and turn over.

  Behind the tree, Finn froze.

  He brought the Key up to his ear. It was silent. He touched it, all over, shook it. Then he whispered to it, "Sapphique. Lord Sapphique. Is that you?"

  CLAUDIA GASPED.

  The answer had come so clearly. She looked wildly around for anything to record this on, saw nothing and cursed. Then she said, "No! No. My name's Claudia. Who are you?"

  "Quiet! They'll wake up."

  "Who will?"

  There was a pause. Then he said, "My friends." He sounded breathless, oddly terrified.

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  "Who are you?" she said. "Where are you? Are you a Prisoner? Are you in Incarceron?"

  HE JERKED his head back and stared at the Key in disbelief.

  There was a small blue light in the heart of it; he bent closer so that it lit his skin. "Of course I am. Do you mean ... Are you ... Outside?"

  There was silence. It lasted so long he thought the link had been broken; he said hurriedly, "Did you hear me?" and at the same time the girl said, "Are you still there?" in awkward collision.

  Then she said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be speaking to you. Jared warned me about this."

  "Jared?"

  "My tutor."

  He shook his head, and his breath frosted the crystal.

  "But look," she said, "it's too late now and I can't believe a few words can damage a centuries-old experiment, do you?"

  He had no idea what she was talking about. "You are Outside, aren't you? Outside exists? The stars are there, aren't they?"

  He was terrified she wouldn't answer, but after a moment she said, "Yes. I'm looking at them."

  He breathed out in amazement; the crystal furred instantly with frost.

  "You didn't tell me your name," she said.

  "Finn. Just Finn."

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  Silence. A self-conscious stillness, the Key clumsy in his hands. There was so much he wanted to ask, to know, that he didn't know where to begin. And then she said, "How are you speaking to me, Finn? Is it a crystal key, with the hologram of an eagle inside?"

  He swallowed. "Yes. A key."

  A rustle, behind him. He looked around the tree, saw Gildas snore and grunt.

  "Then we each have a replica of the same device." She sounded quick, thoughtful, as if she was used to solving problems, working out solutions; a clear voice that made him remember suddenly, with the tiniest spark of pain, candles. The seven candles on the cake.

  At that moment, with their usual abruptness, the lights of Incarceron came on.

  He gasped, saw that he was standing in a landscape of copper and gilt and tawny redness. The forest stretched for miles, sloping down, far down into a wide, undulating landscape. He stared at it in astonishment.

  "What was that? What happened? Finn?"

  "The lights went on. I ... I'm in a new place, a different Wing. A metal forest."

  She said oddly, "I envy you. It must be fascinating."

  "Finn?" Gildas was on his feet, looking around. For a moment Finn wanted to call him over, and then caution set in. This was his secret. He needed to keep it.

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  "I have to go," he said hurriedly. "1'll try and speak to you again ... now we know... that is, if you want to. But you have to," he added urgently. "You have to help me."

  The girl's answer surprised him. "How can I help you? What can be wrong in a perfect world?"

  Finn's hand tightened as the blue light faded. Desperately he whispered, "Please. You have to help me Escape."

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  ***

  Walls have ears.

  Doors have eyes.

  Trees have voices.

  Beasts tell lies.

  Beware the rain.

  Beware the snow.

  Beware the man

  You think you know.

  --Songs of Sapphique

  ***

  Finn's voice. As she pulled on the gauntlet and flexed the foil, his voice whispered again inside her mask.

  You have to help me Escape....

  "En garde, please, Claudia." The swordmaster was a small gray man who sweated profusely. His sword crossed hers; he gave signals with the tiny precise movements of a skilled fencer. Automatically she responded, practicing lunges, parries--sixte, septime, octave--as she had done since she was six.

  There had been something familiar about the boy's voice. Inside the warm darkness of the mask she bit her lip,

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  attacked, took quarte, riposted, hitting the maestro's padded jacket with a satisfying thud.

  The accent, the slightly slow vowels. It was how they spoke at Court.

  "Feint of straight thrust, disengage, please."

  She obeyed, hot now, the glove already softened with sweat, the foil whipping, the small clicks of the familiar exercise comforting, the control of the sword forcing her mind to speed.

  You have to help me Escape.

  Fear. Fear in the whispering, of being overheard, of saying what he said. And the word Escape like a holy thing, forbidden, full of awe.

  "Quarte counter quarte, please, Claudia. And keep your hand high."

  She took the parries absently, the blades of the foils sliding past her body. Behind the maestro Lord Evian came out of the main door into the courtyard and stood on the steps, taking snuff. He watched her, elegantly poised.

  Claudia frowned.

  She had so much to think about. The fencing lesson was her own escape. In the house it was chaos; her clothes being packed, the last measurements for the wedding dress, the books she refused to leave behind, the pets she insisted came with her. And now this. One thing--Jared would have to carry the Key. It wouldn't be safe in her baggage.

  They were fighting now. She let all thoughts go,

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  concentrated on the hits, the clicked parries, the bending of the foil as she hit once, again, again.

  Until finally he stepped back. "Very good, my lady. Your point control remains excellent."

  Slowly she took off her mask and shook his hand. Close up, he looked older, and a little sad.

  "I'll be sorry to lose such a pupil."

  Her hand clenched on his. "Lose?"

  He stepped back. "I... it seems... after your wedding ..."

  Claudia restrained her anger. She released his hand and drew herself up. "After my marriage I will still require your services. Please disregard anything my father has said about this. You will travel with us to the Court."

  He smiled, and bowed. His doubt showed; as she turned away and took the cup of water from Alys, she felt the heat of humiliation scorch her face.

  They were trying to isolate her. She had expected this; Jared had warned her of it. At Queen Sia's court they wanted her alone with no one to trust, no one to plot with. But she was having none of that.

  Lord Evian had waddled over. "Quite wonderful, my dear." His small eyes enjoyed her figure in the fencing breeches.

  "Don't patronize me," she snapped, "waving Alys away, she took the cup and jug and stalked to a bench that stood at the edge of the green lawn. After a moment Evian came after her. She turned on him. "I need to talk to you."

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  "The house overlooks us," he said quietly. "Anyone can see."

  "Then wave your handkerchief and laugh. Or whatever it is spies do."

  His fingers closed the snuffbox. "You are angry, Lady Claudia. But not, I think, with me."

  That was true. But still she glared at him. "What do you want from me?"

  He smiled serenely at the ducks on the lake, the small black moorhens in the rushes. "As yet, nothing. Obviou
sly we will make no move until after the wedding. But then, we will need your help. The Queen must be dealt with first--she is the most dangerous. And then, when you are safely Queen, your husband will meet with some accident..."

  She drank the cold water. Upside-down in the cup she saw Jared's tower reflected, the blue sky behind it, the tiny windows in perfect Protocol.

  "How do I know this isn't a trap?"

  He smiled. "Does the Queen doubt you? She has no reason.

  Claudia shrugged. She only met the Queen at festivals. The first rime had been at her betrothal, and that had been years ago. She remembered a slim blond woman in a white dress, sitting on a throne that had seemed to have hundreds of steps up to it, and she had had to climb every one, concentrating, carrying the basket of flowers that was almost as big as she had been.

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  The Queen's hands, the nails a glossy red.

  The cool palm on her forehead.

  The words. "How charming, Warden. How sweet."

  "You could be recording this," she said. "You could be testing me ... my loyalty."

  Evian sighed, a tiny sound. "I assure you ..."

  "Assure all you like, it could be true." She dumped the cup and picked up the towel Alys had left, wiping her face with its softness. Then she turned. "What do you know about Giles's death?"

  It startled him. His pale eyes widened slightly. But he was practiced at deception; he answered without giving anything away. "Prince Giles? He fell from his horse."

  "Was it an accident? Or was he murdered?"

  If he was recording this, she knew she was finished now.

  His stubby fingers folded together. "Really, my dear ..."

  "Tell me. I need to know. Of all people it concerns me most. Giles was ... we were betrothed. I liked him."

  "Yes." Evian looked at her shrewdly. "I see." He seemed uncertain, then, as if he'd made up his mind, he said, "There was something strange about the death."

  "I knew it! I told Jared--"

  "The Sapient knows about this?" He looked up in alarm. "About me?"

  "I would trust Jared with my life."

  "Those are the most dangerous people." Evian turned,

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  watching the house. One of the ducks meandered toward him; he gave a flurried wave and it padded away, quacking.

  "We never know where the listeners are," he said quietly, staring after it. "That is what the Havaarna have done to us, Claudia. They have riddled us with fear."