Sapphique

by Catherine Fisher

  “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.

  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.

  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 hall 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. It’s Attia.”

  “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.

  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?”

  “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?”

  She felt Keiro standing close behind her. His voice, when it came, was dark and mocking.

  “Well,” he said. “Look at you.”

  14

  None of us know who we are anymore.

  —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 him. “You look well set up to me, brother. Hungry, are you?”

  “No, but—”

  “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 leaned forward, both hands on the desk, toward them. “I haven’t forgotten you. I haven’t abandoned you. I think about you all the tim
e. 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.

  “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 leaped 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 up, holding the musical box tight, but it gave a broken clank in her hands and the mirror cracked into pieces. She threw it down.

  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, anytime.” 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.”

  “No? Shall I tell you then, Keiro, the answer to what torments you? It would end the pain forever, 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 around and saw Attia’s face.

  He scowled. “I suppose that stupid grin is because Finn is alive.”

  “Not entirely,” she said.

  CLAUDIA RAN down the stairs the 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 splendor. 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 in to 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 good-bye 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.

  “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 wagonloads 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.

  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 P
risoner 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 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 gleamed in the sun. Bells were ringing, and the glass roof shone like a diamond.