"Nothing. Yet." She took the Key out and held it in both hands, letting the sunlight catch its facets. "I'm not an assassin."
He nodded, but seemed preoccupied, staring hard at the crystal.
"Master?"
"Something's happening." Absorbed, he reached out for the Key and took it from her. "Look at it, Claudia."
The tiny lights were back, this time moving deep, a rapid, repeated pattern. Jared placed the artifact quickly on the bench. "It's getting warm."
Not only that, but there were sounds coming from it. She brought her face nearer, heard a clatter and a ripple of musical notes.
Then the Key spoke.
"Nothings happening'' it said.
Claudia gasped and jerked away; wide-eyed she stared at Jared. "Did you ...?"
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"Quiet. Listen!"
Another voice, older, rasping. "Look closer, fool boy. There are lights inside it."
Claudia knelt, fascinated. Jared's delicate fingers slid silently into his pocket. He took the scanner out and placed it beside the Key, recording.
The Key chimed, a soft sound. The first voice came again, oddly distant and excited. "It's opening. Get back!"
And then a sound came out of the artifact, a heavy clang, ominous and hollow, so that she took a moment to register it, to recognize what it was.
A door. Unlocking.
A heavy, metallic door, perhaps ancient, because it groaned on its hinges, and there was a clatter and smash, as if rust fell, or debris shuddered from its lintel.
Then silence.
The lights in the Key reversed, changed to green, went out. Only the rooks in the elms by the moat karked. A blackbird landed in the rosebush and flicked its tail. "Well," Jared said softly.
He adjusted the scanner and ran it over the Key again. Claudia reached out and touched the crystal. It was cold. "What happened? Who were they?"
Jared turned the scanner to show her. "It was a fragment of conversation. Real-time. A phonic link opened and closed very briefly. Whether you initiated it or they did I'm not sure."
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"They didn't know we were listening."
"Apparently not."
"One of them said, 'There are lights inside it.'"
The Sapient's dark eyes met hers. "You're thinking they may have a similar device?"
"Yes!" She scrambled up, too excited to sit, and the blackbird flew off in alarm. "Listen, Master, as you said, this isn't just a key to Incarceron. Maybe it's also a device to communicate!"
"With the Prison?"
"The inmates."
"Claudia ..."
"Think about it! No one can go there. How else does he monitor the Experiment? Overhear what's happening?"
He nodded, his hair in his eyes. "It's possible."
"Only..." She frowned, knotting her fingers together. Then she turned on him. "They sounded wrong."
"You must be more precise in speech, Claudia. How, wrong?"
She searched for the word. When it came, it surprised her. "They sounded scared."
Jared considered. "Yes ... they did."
"And what would they be scared of? There's nothing to fear in a perfect world, is there?"
Doubtfully, he said, "We may have overheard some form of drama. A broadcast."
"But if they have that ... plays, films, then they have to know about danger, and risk, and terror. Is that possible? Can
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you do that if your world is perfect? Would they even be able to create such a story?"
The Sapient smiled. "That is a point we could debate, Claudia. Some people would say your own world is perfect, and yet you know those things."
She scowled. "All right. There's something else too." She tapped the wide-winged eagle. "Is this just for listening? Or can we use it to speak to them?"
He sighed. "Even if we can, we shouldn't. Conditions in Incarceron are strictly controlled; everything was carefully calculated. If we introduce variables, if we open even a tiny keyhole into that place, we may ruin everything. We can't admit germs into Paradise, Claudia."
Claudia turned. "Yes, but..."
She froze.
Behind Jared, in the gap in the hedges, her father was standing. He was watching her. For a moment her heart leaped with the terrible shock; then she let the practiced smile slip gracefully over her face. Sir!
Jared stiffened. The Key lay on the bench; he slid out his hand, but it was just out of reach.
"I've been looking everywhere for you both." The Warden's voice was soft, his dark velvet coat an emptiness at the heart of the sunlit glade. Jared looked up at Claudia, white-faced. If he saw the Key ....
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The Warden smiled calmly. "I have some news, Claudia. The Earl of Steen has arrived. Your fiancé is looking for you."
For one cold moment she stared at him. Then she stood, slowly.
"Lord Evian is entertaining him but will only bore him. Are you pleased, my dear?"
He came to take her hand; she wanted to step aside to hide the glittering crystal from him, but she couldn't move. Then Jared gave a murmur and slumped forward slightly.
"Master?" Alarmed, she broke from her father's grip. "Are you in pain?"
Jared's voice was hoarse. "I ... No ... Just faint, for a moment. Nothing to worry about."
She helped him to sit up. The Warden stood above them, his face a mask of concern. He said, "I'm afraid you're overdoing things lately, Jared. Sitting out in the sun is not good for you. And so much study, at all hours of the night."
Jared stood shakily. "Yes. Thank you, Claudia. I'm fine now. Really."
"Perhaps you should get some rest," she said.
"I will. I'll go up to my tower, I think. Please excuse me, sir."
He stumbled up. For one terrible second Claudia thought her father would not move. He and Jared stood face-to-face. Then the Warden stepped back, his smile wry. "If you'd like supper sent up, we'll have it seen to."
Jared just nodded.
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Claudia watched her tutor walk carefully between the yew hedges. She dared not look at the bench, but she knew it would be empty.
The Warden went and sat down, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. "A remarkable man, the Sapient."
She said, "Yes. How did you get in here?"
He laughed. "Oh Claudia. I designed this maze before you were born. No one knows its secrets as I do, not even your precious Jared." He turned, one arm over the back of the bench. Quietly he said, "I think you have done something to disobey me, Claudia."
She swallowed. "Have I?"
Her father nodded gravely. Their eyes met.
He was doing what he always did, teasing her, playing games with her. Quite suddenly she couldn't bear it anymore, the plotting, the stupid game. She stood, furious. "All right! It was me who broke into your study." She faced him, her face hot with anger. "You know that, you've known it since you went in there, so why are we pretending! I wanted to see inside, arid you never let me. You never let me in. So I broke in. I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry!"
He stared at her. Was he shaken? She couldn't tell. But she was shaking, all the pent-up fear and rage of years bursting out, the fury that he made her life so false, and Jared's too.
He held up a hand hastily. "Claudia, please! Of course I knew. I'm not angry. Rather, I admire your ingenuity. It will come in useful in your life at the Palace."
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She stared. For a moment he had been startled. More than that. Dismayed.
And he had not mentioned the Key.
The breeze rippled the rosebush, bringing a waft of its cloying scent, a silent surprise that he had revealed so much. When he spoke again his voice had its normal acid tone. "I hope you and Jared enjoyed the challenge." He stood abruptly. "The Earl is waiting."
She scowled. "I don't want to see him."
"You have no choice." He bowed and strode toward the gap in the hedge, and she swung around and glared at his back. Th
en she said, "Why are there no pictures of my mother in the house?"
She had no idea she was going to say it. It came out in a harsh demand quite unlike her own voice.
He stopped dead.
Her heart thudded; she was appalled at herself. She didn't want him to turn, to answer, didn't want to see his face. Because if he showed weakness, she would be terrified; his controlled poise was hateful and yet if it broke, she had no idea what might be underneath.
But he spoke without turning. "Don't go too far, Claudia. Don't try my patience."
***
WHEN HE was gone she found she was sitting on the bench in a huddle, the muscles of her back and shoulders tight with tension, her hands clenched on the silk of her skirt. She made herself take a slow breath.
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Then another.
Her lips were salty with sweat.
Why had she asked him that? Where had it come from? Her mother was someone she never thought of, never even imagined. It was as if she had never existed. Even when she'd been small, looking at the other girls at Court with their fussing mamas, she had had no curiosity about her own.
She gnawed the bitten nails on her fingers. It had been a deadly mistake. She should never, never have said that.
"Claudia!"
A loud, demanding voice. She closed her eyes.
"Claudia, it's no good hiding in all these hedges." Branches swished and cracked. "Talk to me! I can't find the right way!"
She sighed. "So you've finally arrived. And how is my husband-to-be?"
"Hot and irritable. Not that you care. Look, there are five paths here at a meeting point. Which do I take?"
His voice was close; she could smell the expensive cologne he used. Not splashed on, like Evian, but just enough. "The one that looks least likely," she said. "Toward the house."
The peevish mutter became more distant. "Like our engagement, many would say. Claudia, get me out of here!"
She scowled. He was worse than she remembered.
Yew thrashed and snapped.
She stood quickly, brushing down her dress, hoping her face was not as pale as she felt. On her left the hedge shuddered. A
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sword came through and hacked an opening, and his big silent bodyguard, Fax, stepped through, looked quickly around, then held open the branches. Through them came a thin youth, his mouth sour with dissatisfaction. He glared at her crossly. "Look at my clothes, Claudia. They re ruined. Quite ruined."
He kissed her coldly on one cheek. "Anyone would think you were avoiding me."
"So you've been expelled," she said calmly.
"I left." He shrugged. "Too boring. My mother sends you this."
It was a note, on white thick paper, sealed with the Queen's white rose. Claudia opened it and read.
My dear,
You will have heard the good news that your
wedding is imminent. After waiting all these
years, am sure yours excitement is as intense as my own! Caspar insisted on coming to escort you
here--such a romantic. What a handsome couple
you will make. From now on, my dear you must
think of me as your loving mother.
Sia Regina.
Claudia folded it. "Did you insist?"
"No. She sent me." He kicked the astrolabe. "What a bore getting married is going to be, Claudia. Don't you think?" She nodded, silent.
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12
***
The decay was gradual and we were slow to recognize it. Then, one day, I had been talking with the Prison, and as I left the room I heard it laugh. A low, mocking chuckle.
The sound turned me cold. I stood in the corridor and the thought came to me of an ancient image I had once seen in a fragmented manuscript, of the enormous mouth of Hell devouring sinners.
It was then I knew we had created a demon that would destroy us.
--Lord Calliston's Diary
***
The sound of the unlocking was painful, as if the Prison sighed. As if this was a door that had not been opened for centuries. But no alarms howled. Perhaps Incarceron knew no door could lead them out.
Gildas stepped back at Finn's warning; chunks of debris and a red rain of rust clattered. The door shuddered inward, and stuck.
For a moment they waited, because the narrow slit was dark and a cool, oddly sweet-smelling air moved beyond. Then Finn kicked the rubble aside and put his shoulder to the door. He
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heaved, and rammed it until it stuck again. But now there was room to squeeze through.
Gildas nudged him. "Take a look. Be careful."
Finn glanced back at Keiro, sitting slumped and weary. He drew his sword and slipped sideways through the gap.
It was colder. His breath frosted. The ground was uneven, and ran downhill. As he took a few steps a strange tinny litter rustled around his ankles; putting a hand down, he felt drifts of crisp stuff, cold and wet, sharp against his fingertips. As his eyes grew used to the deeper gloom, he thought he was standing in a sloping hall of columns; tall black pillars rose to a tangle overhead. Groping to the nearest one, he felt it over with his hands, puzzled. It was icy cold and hard, but not smooth. A mass of fissures and cracks seamed it, knots and swelling growths, and branches of intricate mesh.
"Finn?"
Gildas was a shadow at the door.
"Wait." Finn listened. The breeze moved in the tangle, making a faint silvery tinkle that seemed to stretch for miles. After a moment he said, "There's no one here. Come through."
A few rustles and stirrings. Then Gildas said, "Bring the Key, Keiro. We need to shut this."
"If we do, can we get back?" Keiro sounded worn.
"What's to get back for? Give me a hand." As soon as the dog-slave had slipped through, Finn and the old man shoved and forced the tiny door back into its frame. It clicked quietly shut.
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A rustle. A scrape of sound. Light, steadying, in a lantern.
"Someone might see it," Keiro snapped.
But Finn said, "I told you. We're alone."
As Gildas held the lantern high, they looked around at the ominous enclosing pillars. Finally Keiro said, "What are they?"
Behind him, the dog-creature crouched down. Finn glanced at it, and knew it was looking at him.
"Metal trees." The light caught the Sapient's plaited beard, the gleam of satisfaction in his eye. "A forest where the species are iron, and steel, and copper, where the leaves are thin as foil, where fruits grow gold and silver." He turned. "There are stories, from the old times, of such places. Apples of gold guarded by monsters. It seems they're true."
The air was cold and still. It held an alien sense of distance. It was Keiro who asked the question Finn didn't dare to.
"Are we Outside?"
Gildas snorted. "Do you think it's that easy? Now sit before you fall." He glanced at Finn. 'I'll deal with his wounds. This is as good a place as any to wait for Lightson. We can rest. Even eat."
But Finn turned and faced Keiro. He felt cold and sick, but he spoke the words stubbornly. "Before we go any further I want to know what Jormanric meant. About the Maestra's death."
There was a second of silence. In the ghostly light Keiro gave
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Finn one exasperated glare and crumpled wearily in the rustling leaves, pushing back his hair with blood-streaked hands. "For God's sake, Finn, do you really think I know? You saw him. He was finished. He would have said anything! It was just lies. Forget it."
Finn looked down at him. For a second he wanted to insist, ask again, to silence the nagging fear inside him, but Gildas eased him aside. "Make yourself useful. Find something to eat.
While the Sapient poured water, Finn tipped out a few packages of dried meat and fruit from his pack and another lantern, which he lit from the first. Then he trampled down the icy metal leaves into a clotted mass, spread some blankets on them, and sat. In the shadowed forest beyond the pool of light, sma
ll rustles and scrapings disturbed him; he tried to ignore them. Keiro swore viciously as Gildas cleaned his cuts, stripped his jacket and shirt, and rubbed chewed-up herbs of a disgusting pungency onto the wound across his chest.
In the shadows the dog-slave crouched, barely visible. Finn took one of the food packets, opened it, and held some out.
"Take it," he whispered.
A rag-bound hand, crusted with sores, snatched it from him. While the creature ate he watched, remembering the voice that had answered him, a low, urgent voice. Now he whispered, "Who are you?"
"Is that thing still here?" Sore and irritable, Keiro pulled his
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jacket back on and laced it, scowling at the slashes and tears. Finn shrugged.
"We dump it." Keiro sat, wolfed down the meat, and looked around for more. "It's poxed."
"You owe that thing your life," Gildas remarked.
Hot, Keiro glared up. "I don't think so! I had Jormanric where I wanted him." His eyes turned to the creature; then they widened in sudden fury and he leaped up, strode to where it crouched, and snatched away something dark. "This is mine!"
It was his bag. A green tunic and a jeweled dagger spilled out. "Stinking thief." Keiro aimed a kick at the creature; it jerked away. Then, to their astonishment, it said in a girl's voice, "You should be grateful to me for bringing it."
Gildas turned on his heel and stared at the shadow of rags. Then he stabbed a bony finger at it. "Show yourself," he said.
The ragged hood was pushed back, the wrapped paws unwound bandages and gray strips of binding. Slowly, out of the crippled huddle a small figure emerged, crouched up on its knees, a dark cropped head of dirty hair, a narrow face with watchful, suspicious eyes. She was layered with clothes strapped and tied to make humps and bulges; as she tugged the clotted wrappings from her hands, Finn stepped back in disgust at the open sores, the running ulcers. Until Gildas snorted. "Fake."
He strode forward. "No wonder you didn't want me near you."
In the dimness of the metal forest the dog-slave had become a small thin girl, the sores clever messes of color. She stood
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upright slowly, as if she had almost forgotten how. Then she stretched and groaned. The ends of the chain around her neck clattered and swung.
Incarceron (Incarceron, Book 1) Page 10
