Incarceron (Incarceron, Book 1)

by Catherine Fisher

  "So there was a door!" Her voice was edged with sarcasm.

  "There was. All the time. It was tiny and it had been invisible in the gray wall. For a long time, hours perhaps, I just watched the rectangle of darkness, fearing what might come in, the faint sounds and smells from beyond. Finally I summoned up the courage to crawl to it and peer out." He knew she was looking at him now. He gripped his hands together and went on steadily. "The only thing outside the door was a tubular white corridor lit from above. It ran straight in either direction, and there were no openings in it, and no end. It narrowed eternally into dimness. I dragged myself up--"

  "You could manage to walk, then?"

  "Barely. I had little strength"

  She smiled, humorless. He hurried on. "I stumbled on till my legs wouldn't hold me, but the corridor was as straight and featureless as before. The lights went out and only the Eyes

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  watched me. When I left one behind I found another ahead, and that comforted me, because stupidly I thought Incarceron was watching over me, leading me to safety. I slept where I fell that night. At Lightson there was a plateful of some bland white food by my head. I ate it and walked on. For two days I followed that corridor until I grew convinced I was walking on the spot, getting nowhere, that it was the corridor that was moving, streaming past me, that I was on some terrible treadmill and would walk forever. Then I slammed into a stone wall. I beat on it in despair. It opened, and I fell out. Into dark-ness."

  He was silent so long she said, "And found yourself here?"

  She was fascinated, despite herself. Finn shrugged. "When I came around I was lying on my back in a wagon with a pile of grain and a few dozen rats. The Comitatus had picked me up on one of their patrols. They could have enslaved me or cut my throat. The Sapient was the one who talked them out of it. Though Keiro takes the credit."

  She laughed harshly. "I'm sure he does. And you never tried to find this tunnel again?"

  "I tried. I've never succeeded."

  "But to stay with these ... animals."

  "There was no one else. And Keiro needed an oathbrother; you can't survive here without one. He thought my... visions ... -might be useful, and maybe he recognized I was reckless enough for him. We cut our hands and mixed blood and crawled under

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  an arch of chains together. It's what they do here--a sacred bond. We guard each other. If one dies, the other takes revenge for him. It can never be broken."

  She glanced around. "He's not a brother I would choose. And the Sapient?"

  Finn shrugged. "He believes my flashes of memory are sent by Sapphique. To help us find the way out." She was silent. Quietly he said, "Now you know my story, tell me about the skin-mark. You spoke of a crystal..."

  "I offered you kindness." Her lips were tight. "In return I'm kidnapped and likely to be murdered by a thug who believes he can store lives up for himself. In silver rings!"

  "Don't joke about that," Finn said uneasily. "It's dangerous.

  "You believe it?" She sounded astonished.

  "It's true. His father lived for two hundred years ..."

  "Total rubbish!" Her scorn was absolute. "His father may well have lived to old age, but probably because he always took the best of the food and clothing, and left any danger to his stupid followers. Like you." She turned and glared at him. "You played on my compassion. You're still doing it."

  "I'm not. I put myself at risk to save you. You saw that."

  The Maestra shook her head. Then she caught his arm and before he could pull away, pushed the ragged sleeve up.

  His dirty skin was bruised but unscarred.

  "What happened to the cuts you made?"

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  "They healed," he said quietly.

  She let go of his sleeve in disgust and turned away. "What will happen to me?"

  "Jormanric will send a messenger to your people. The ransom will be your weight in treasure."

  "And if they won't pay it?"

  "Surely they will."

  "If they won't?" She turned. "What then?"

  Unhappy, he shrugged. "You end up a slave here. Processing the ore, making weapons. It's dangerous. Little food. He works them to death."

  She nodded. Looking straight out into the dark emptiness of the stairway, she took a breath and he saw its mistiness in the cold air. Then she said, "In that case we make a deal. I get them to bring the crystal and you release me. Tonight."

  His heart thumped. But he said, "It's not that easy ..."

  "It is that easy. Otherwise I give you nothing, Finn Cell-born. Nothing. Ever."

  She turned and her dark eyes watched him steadily. "I am the Maestra of my people and will never submit to Scum."

  She was brave, he thought, but she had no idea. In less than an hour Jormanric could have her screaming to give him any-thing he wanted. But Finn had seen that too often, and it sickened him.

  "They must bring it with the ransom."

  "I don't want them to have to. I want you to take me back

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  to where you found me, today, before lockup. Once we get there--"

  "I can't." He stood up abruptly. Behind them the clang of the signal bell sent a flock of the sooty doves that infested the Den flapping out into the dark. "They'd skin me alive!"

  "Your problem." She smiled sourly. "I'm sure you can invent some story. You're an expert."

  "All I've told you is true." Suddenly he needed her to believe him.

  She put her face close to him and her eyes were fierce. "Like the hard-luck tale at the ambush?"

  Finn stared back. Then he dropped his gaze. "I can't just free you. But I swear, if you get me this crystal, you'll get home safely."

  For a moment the silence was icy. She turned her back on him and hugged herself. He knew she was about to tell him. Her voice was grim.

  "All right. A while ago my people broke into a deserted hall. It had been bricked up from the inside, maybe for centuries. The air was foul. When we crawled in we found some clothes gone to dust, some jewelry, a skeleton of a man."

  "So?" He waited, intent.

  She looked at him sidelong. "In his hand was a small cylindrical artifact made of crystal or heavy glass. Inside it is a hologram of an eagle with open wings. In one claw it holds a sphere. Around its neck, like yours, it wears a crown."

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  For a moment he couldn't speak. Before he could draw breath she said, "You must swear my safety."

  He wanted to grab her hand and run with her, now, back to the shaft and climb up and up to the transitway. But he said, "They have to pay the ransom. I can't do anything now if we tried, we'd both be killed. Keiro too."

  The Maestra nodded wearily. "It will cost everything we have to make my weight in treasure."

  He swallowed. "Then I swear to you--on my life, on Keiro's life--that if they do, no harm will come to you. That I'll make certain the exchange is honest. That's all I can do."

  The Maestra drew herself up. "Even if you were once cell-born," she breathed, "you are fast becoming Scum. And you're as much a prisoner here as I am."

  Without waiting for his answer, she turned and swept back into the Den. Slowly, Finn rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, feeling the damp of sweat. He realized his body was a knot of tension; he made himself breathe out. Then he froze.

  A dark figure was sitting ten steps down the dark stairs, lounging against the balustrade.

  Finn scowled. "Don't you trust me?"

  "You're a child, Finn. An innocent." Keiro turned a gold coin over thoughtfully between his fingers. Then he said, "Don't swear on my life again."

  "I didn't mean ..."

  "Didn't you?" With a sudden jerk his oathbrother stood,

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  strode up the steps, and stood face-to-face with him. "Fine. But remember this. You and I are joined by sworn contract. If Jormanric finds out you're double-crossing him in any way, we both end up as the last of his pretty little rings. But I don't intend or die,
Finn. And you owe me. I brought you into this warband, when your head was empty and you were stupid with fear." He shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder why I bothered."

  Finn swallowed. "You bothered because no one else would put up with your pride, your arrogance, and your thieving ways. You bothered because you saw I would be as reckless as you. And when you take on Jormanric you'll need me at your back."

  Keiro raised a sardonic eyebrow. "What makes you think--"

  "You will one day. Maybe soon. So help me in this, brother, and I'll help you." He frowned. "Please. It means a lot to me."

  "You're obsessed with this stupid idea that you came from Outside."

  "Not stupid. Not to me."

  "You and the Sapient. A pair of fools together." When he didn't answer, Keiro laughed harshly. "You were born in Incarceron, Finn. Accept it. No one comes in from Outside. No one Escapes! Incarceron is sealed. We were all born here and we'll all die here. Your mother dumped you and you can't remember her. The bird-scar is just some tribemark. Forget it."

  He wouldn't. He couldn't. He said stubbornly, "I wasn't born here. I can't remember being a child, but I was one. I

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  can't remember how I got here, but I wasn't bred out of some artificial womb of wires and chemicals. And this"--he held up his wrist--"will prove it."

  Keiro shrugged. "Sometimes I think you're still out of your head."

  Finn scowled. Then he stalked back up the stairs. At the top he had to step over something crouched there in the dark. It looked like Jormanric's dog-slave, straining at the end of its chain to reach a bowl of water that some joker had placed just out of reach. Finn kicked the bowl nearer and strode on.

  The slave's chain clanked.

  Through its tangle of hair, its small eyes watched him walk away.

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  6

  ***

  It was decided from the beginning that the location of Incarceron should be known only to the Warden. All criminals, undesirables, political extremists, degenerates, lunatics would

  be transported there. The Gate would be sealed and the Experiment commence. It was vital

  that nothing should disturb the delicate balance of Incarceron's programming, which would

  provide everything needed--education, balanced

  diet, exercise, spiritual welfare, and purposeful

  work--to create a paradise. ;

  One hundred and fifty years have passed.

  The Warden reports that progress is excellent.

  --Court Archives 4302/6

  ***

  "That was so delicious!" Lord Evian wiped his plump lips with a white napkin. "You really must let me have the receipt, my dear."

  Claudia stopped tapping her nails on the cloth and smiled brightly. "I'll have someone copy it for you, my lord."

  Her father was watching from the head of the table, the crumbs of his ascetic breakfast of two dry rolls gathered nearly in a pile on the side of his plate. Like her he had finished at

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  least half an hour ago, but his impatience was hidden with iron control. If he was impatient. She didn't even know.

  Now he said, "His Lordship and I will ride out this morning, Claudia, and take a brief lunch at one p.m. exactly. Afterward we will resume our negotiations."

  Over my future, she thought, but only nodded, noticing the fat lord's dismay. He couldn't be such a fool as he seemed or the Queen wouldn't have sent him, and though he tried hard, a few shrewd comments had slipped out. But he was hardly a rider.

  The Warden was aware of that. Her father had a grim humor.

  As she stood he rose with her, meticulously polite, and drew the small gold watch from his pocket. The timepiece gleamed. It was beautiful, digitally accurate, and totally out of Era. It was his one eccentricity, the watch and the chain and the tiny silver cube that hung from it.

  He said, "Perhaps you'd touch the bell, Claudia. I'm afraid we've kept you long enough from your studies."

  She went quickly to the green tassel by the hearth and he added without raising his head, "I spoke to Master Jared in the garden earlier. He looked very pale. How is his health these days?"

  Her fingers froze a fraction from the bell. Then she pulled it firmly. "He's well, sir. Very well."

  He put the watch away. "I've been considering. You won't need a tutor after your marriage, and, besides, there are several

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  Sapienti at Court. Perhaps we should allow Jared to return to the Academy."

  She wanted to stare at him in horror in the dim mirror, but that would have been what he expected. So she kept her face bright and turned lightly. "As you wish. I'd miss him, of course. And we are in the middle of a fascinating study of the Havaarna Kings. He knows everything there is to be known about them."

  His gray eyes watched her closely.

  If she said another word her dismay would show and it would decide him. A pigeon fluttered on the tiles outside.

  Lord Evian creaked to his feet. "Well, if you do, Warden, I assure you some other family will snap him up. Jared Sapiens is renowned through the Realm. He could name his fee. Poet, philosopher, inventor, genius. You should hold on to him, sir."

  Claudia smiled in pleasant agreement but inside she was startled. It was as if the greasy man in the blue silk suit knew what she couldn't say for herself. He smiled back, his small eyes bright.

  The Warden's lips were tight. "I'm sure you're right. Shall we go, my lord?"

  Claudia dropped a curtsy. As her father followed Evian out and turned to close the double doors, he met her eyes. Then the doors clicked shut.

  She sighed in relief. Like a cat eyes a mouse, she thought. But all she said was, "Now, please."

  Instantly paneling slid back; maids and men raced out and

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  began removing cups, plates, candelabra, centerpieces, glasses, napkins, kedgeree dishes, fruit bowls. Windows snapped open and burned-out candles relit; the roaring fire in the log-filled hearth vanished without a whiff of charred wood. Dust vaporized; curtains changed color. The air sweetened itself with potpourri.

  Leaving them to it, Claudia hurried out. She crossed the hall decorously holding her skirts, then raced up the curved oak staircase and dived through the concealed door on the landing, passing instantly from contrived luxury into the chilly gray corridors of the servants' quarters, bare walls roped with wires and cables and powerpoints, small camera screens and sonic scanners.

  The back stairs were stone; she pattered up and opened the quilted door, and stepped out into the luxurious, Era-perfect corridor.

  Two steps took her across to her own bedroom.

  The maids had already cleaned it. She double-locked the door, flipped on all the security blocks, and crossed to the window.

  Green and smooth, the lawns were beautiful in the summer sunshine. The gardener's boy, Job, was wandering about with a sack and a spiked stick, stabbing stray leaves. She couldn't make out the tiny music implant in his ear, but his jerky movements and sudden struts made her grin. Though if the Warden saw him, he'd be sacked.

  Turning, she slid back the drawer of her dressing table, took

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  out the minicom, and activated it. It flashed on and showed her a distorted echo of her own face, grotesque in curved glass. Startled, she said, "Master?"

  A shadow. Two vast fingers and a thumb came down and lifted the alembic away. Then Jared sat down before the hidden receiver.

  "I'm here, Claudia."

  "Is everything set? They ride out in a few minutes."

  His thin face darkened. "I'm concerned about this. The disc may not work. We need trials ..."

  "No time! I'm going in today. Right now."

  He sighed. She knew he wanted to argue, but despite all their precautions, someone might be listening; it was dangerous to say too much. Instead he murmured, "Please be careful."

  "As you've taught me, Master." For a brief second she thought about the Warden's threat against him, but this was
n't the time. "Start now," she said, and cut the link.

  Her bedroom was dark mahogany; the great four-poster hung with red velvet, its tester embroidered with the black swan singing. Behind it was what looked like a small garde-robe set into the wall, but as she walked through the illusion it became an en-suite bathroom with every luxury--there were limits even to the Warden's strictness on Protocol. As she stood on the toilet seat and peeped out of the narrow window, sunlit dust swirled in motes about her.

  She could see the courtyard. Three horses were saddled; her

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  father was standing by one, both gloved hands resting on the reins, and with a suppressed whoop of relief she saw that his secretary, the dark watchful man called Medlicote, was climbing onto the gray mare. Behind, Lord Evian was being heaved into the saddle by two sweating stable hands. Claudia wondered how much of his comic awkwardness was an act, and whether he'd been prepared for real horses rather than cyber-steeds. Evian and her father were playing an elaborate and deadly game of manners and insults, irritation and etiquette. It bored her, but that was how things were at Court.

  The thought of a future lifetime of it turned her cold.

  To hide from it she jumped down, and tugged off the elaborate dress. Underneath she was wearing a dark jumpsuit. For a moment she glanced at herself in the mirror. Clothes changed you. Long ago, King Endor had known that. That was why he had stopped Time, imprisoned everyone in doublets and dresses, stiffed them in conformity and stiffness.

  Now Claudia felt lithe and free. Dangerous, even. She stepped back up. They were riding through the gatehouse. Her father paused and glanced toward Jared's tower. She smiled secretly. She knew what he could see.

  He could see her.

  Jared had perfected the holo-image in the long nights of sleeplessness. When he had shown her herself, sitting, talking, laughing, reading in the window seat of the sunny tower, she had been fascinated and appalled.

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  "That's not me!"

  He'd smiled. "No one likes to see themselves from the outside."

  She had seen a smug, pert creature, her face a mask of composure, every action considered, every speech rehearsed. Superior and mocking.

  "Is that really how I am?"

  Jared had shrugged. "It's an image, Claudia. Let's say its how you can appear."