Sapphique - Incarceron 02

by Catherine Fisher

  'You're agitated Medlicote said. 'It is hardly surprising. My lady, if—'

  'Listen to me.' She turned on him, sharply. 'Tell these Wolves that they must do nothing. Nothing! Do you understand?' Ignoring his surprise she said, 'You mustn't think Finn .... Prince Giles . . . is your enemy. He may be the Havaarna heir but I assure you he is as determined to abolish Protocol as you are. I insist you stop any plots against him.'

  Medlicote stood still, looking at the stone floor. When he looked up she realized her show of temper had had no effect on him.

  'Madam, with respect, we too thought that Prince Giles might be our saviour. But this boy, if he is indeed the Prince, is not what we expected. He is melancholy, indeed sullen, and rarely appears in public. When he does his manner is awkward. He seems to brood on those he has left behind in Incarceron . . .'

  'Isn't that understandable?' she snapped.

  'Yes, but he is far more interested in finding the Prison than about what happens here. Then there are the fits he has, the loss of memory. . .'

  'All right!' She was furious with him. 'All right. But leave him to me. I mean that. I order you.'

  Far off the stable clock chimed seven. The eagle opened its beak and made a harsh cry; the merlin, far down on its perch, flapped its wings and screeched.

  A shadow darkened the mews door.

  'Someone's coming,' she said. 'Go. Quickly.'

  Medlicote bowed. As he stepped back into the shadows only the half—moons of his glasses glittered. He said, 'I will report your order to the Clan, my lady. But I can give no assurances.'

  'You will,' she hissed, 'or I'll have you arrested.'

  His smile was grim. 'I do not think you would do that, Lady Claudia. Because you too would do anything to change this Realm. And the Queen needs only a small excuse to remove you.'

  She swept away from him and marched towards the door, tossing down the gauntlet. Her anger burnt her, but she knew it was not just at him. She was angry with herself, because he had said what she thought, what she had been secretly thinking for months, only she had never allowed herself to realize it. Finn was a disappointment to her. Medlicote's judgement had been coldly accurate.

  'Claudia?'

  She looked up and saw Finn was standing in the doorway. He looked hot and agitated. 'I've been looking everywhere. Why did you run off like that?'

  He stepped towards her but she swept past him, as if irritated. 'Jared called me.'

  Finn's heart leapt. 'Has he got the Portal to work? Has he found the Prison?' He grabbed her arm. 'Tell me!'

  'Let go of me.' She shook him off. 'I suppose you're in a panic because of this Proclamation. It's nothing, Finn. It means nothing.'

  He scowled. 'I keep telling you, Claudia. I won't be King till I can find Keiro. . .'

  Something snapped in her. Suddenly all she wanted to do was hurt him. 'You never will,' she said. 'Don't you realize that? Are you so stupid? And you can forget all your maps and searches because the Prison isn't like that, Finn. It's a world so small that you could crush it between your lingers like an ant and not even notice!'

  'What do you mean?' He stared at her. There was a warning itch behind his eyes, a prickle of sweat on his back, but he ignored it. He caught her arm again and knew he was hurting her; furious, she flung him away. He couldn't breathe. 'What do you mean?'

  'It's true! Incarceron is only huge from inside. The Sapient miniaturized it to some zillionth of a nanometer! That's why no one comes or goes. That's why we have no idea where it is. And you'd better get it into your head, Finn, because that's why Keiro and Attia and the thousands of Prisoners in there will never come out. Never! There's not enough power left in the whole world to do it, even if we knew how.'

  Her words were dark black spots that flew at him. He beat them away. 'It can't be . . . you're lying . . . '

  She laughed, harshly. The silk of her dress crackled in the sun. Its brilliance stabbed him like a bright dagger. He rubbed a hand down his face and his skin was dry as paper.

  'Claudia,' he said. But no sound came out.

  She was talking. She was saying something hard and scathing and storming away from him, but it was all too far for him to hear now. It was behind the sparkling itchy shimmer that was rising around him, the familiar, dreaded heat that crumpled his knees and turned the world black, and all he could think of as he fell was that the cobbles were stone and that his forehead would smack against them and that he would lie in his own blood.

  And then there were hands, grabbing him. There was a forest and he fell from his horse into it. And then there was nothing.

  Jared said softly, 'I believe the Queen is expecting me.'

  The guardsman outside the Royal Apartments barely nodded. He turned and gave a smart rap on the door; it opened instantly, and a footman in a coat as blue as the feathers had been stepped out.

  'Master Sapient. Please follow me.'

  Jared obeyed, wondering at the amount of powder on the man's wig. There was so much that it had dusted his shoulders with a faint greyness like ash. Claudia would have been amused. He tried to smile about it, but his nervousness tightened the muscles of his face, and he knew he was pale and scared. A Sapient should be calm. In the Academy they had taught techniques of detachment. He wished he could concentrate on them now.

  The Royal Apartments were vast. He was led down a corridor frescoed on each side with murals of fish, so lifelike that it was like walking underwater. Even the light through the high windows was a filtered green. After that came a blue room painted with birds and a room with a carpet as yellow and soft as desert sand, with palm trees growing out of it in elaborate urns. To his relief he was ushered past the entrance of the Great State Chamber; he had not been in there since the terrible morning of

  Claudia's non-wedding, and he didn't want to. It brought back memories of how the Warden had looked at him through the crowd. He shivered even now to think of it.

  The footman paused before a padded door and opened it, bowing low. 'Please wait here, Master. Her Majesty will be with you shortly.'

  He stepped in. The door closed with a soft click. Like a muffled trap.

  The room was small and intimate. Upholstered sofas faced each other across a wide stone hearth where an enormous bowl of roses stood, flanked by sconces in the shape of eagles. Sunlight poured through the high windows.

  Jared wandered to one of them.

  Wide lawns lay beyond. Bees buzzed in archways of honeysuckle. The voices of croquet players laughed from the nearby gardens. He wondered if the game was quite in Era. The Queen tended to pick and choose what pleased her. Threading his hands together nervously, he turned away and walked to the fireplace.

  The room was warm and faintly stuffy, as if rarely used. The furniture smelt musty.

  Wishing he could loosen his collar, he made himself sit down.

  At once, as if she had been waiting for just that, the door opened and the Queen glided in. Jared jumped up. 'Master Jared. Thank you so much for coming.'

  'My pleasure, Madam.'

  He bowed, and she made a graceful curtsy. She still wore the shepherdess costume; he noticed a wilting bunch of violets tucked in her belt.

  Sia missed nothing, including his glance. She gave her silvery laugh and dropped the flowers on to the table. 'Dear Caspar. Always so thoughtful to his mama.' She lounged on one sofa and pointed to the other. 'Please sit, Master. Let's not be too formal

  He sat, his back upright.

  'A drink?'

  'No. Thank you.'

  'You look a little too pale, Jared. Are you getting enough fresh air?'

  'I'm quite well, thank you, Your Majesty.' He kept his voice steady. She was playing with him. He thought of her as a cat, a mischevious white cat toying with the mouse it will eventually kill with one clawed blow. She smiled. Her curiously light eyes gazed at him.

  'I'm afraid that isn't quite true, is it? But let's talk about your search. What progress have you made?'

  He shook
his head. 'Very little. The Portal is badly damaged. I fear it may be beyond repair.' He did not say anything about the Warden's study at home, nor did she ask. Only he and Claudia knew that the Portal was identical in both places. He had ridden there weeks ago to check it. It was exactly the same as here. 'However, something happened today that I did not expect.' 'Oh?'

  He told her about the feather. 'The replication was extraordinary. But I have no way of knowing whether anything happened in the Prison. Since the Warden took both Keys with him we have no communication with the Inmates.'

  'I see. And have you come any closer to finding Incarceron's actual location?'

  He moved slightly, feeling the watch's heavy tick against his chest. 'I'm afraid not.'

  'Such a pity! We know so little.'

  What would she do if she knew he carried it in his pocket? Stamp on it with her white-heeled shoes?

  'Lady Claudia and I have decided we must visit the Academy.' He surprised himself by his assured tone. 'The records of the making of the Prison may be there among the Esoterica. Perhaps there will be diagrams, equations.' He paused, aware that he was perilously close to infringing Protocol. But Sia's gaze was on her neat fingernails.

  'You will go,' she said. 'But not Claudia.'

  Jared frowned. 'But..’

  She lifted her eyes and smiled at him sweetly, full in his face. 'Master, how many more years does your physician think you will live?'

  He breathed in sharply. He felt as if she had stabbed him, a bitter resentment that she could ask him, a cold dread of answering. His hands shook.

  Glancing down, he tried to speak steadily, but his voice sounded strange to himself.

  'Two years. At most.'

  'I am so very sorry.' She did not take her eyes off him. 'And you agree with him?'

  He shrugged, hating her pity. 'I think he is a little optimistic.'

  She made a small pout with her red lips. Then she said, 'Of course, we are all the victims of fate and destiny. For example, if there had never been the Years of Rage, the great war, the Protocol, a cure for even your rare condition would certainly have been available years ago. Research then was extensive. Or so I gather.'

  He stared at her, his skin prickling, sensing danger.

  The Queen sighed. She poured out wine into a crystal cup and settled back with it, curling her legs under her up on to the sofa. 'And you are so young, Master Jared. Barely thirty I understand?'

  He managed to nod.

  'And a brilliant scholar. Such a loss to the Realm. And dear Claudia! How will she bear it?'

  Her cruelty astounded him. Her voice was silken and sad; she ran one long finger thoughtfully round the rim of the cup. 'And the pain you will have to bear,' she said softly. 'Knowing that soon no medicine will help, that you will lie helpless and ill, day after long day sinking further from what you were, until not even Claudia will be able to bring herself to see you. Until death will be welcome.' He stood, abruptly. 'Madam, I don't know what—' 'You do know. Sit down, Jared.'

  He wanted to walk to the door, open it, storm out, away from the horror she faced him with. Instead, he sat. His forehead was damp with sweat. He felt defeated.

  She eyed him calmly. Then she said, 'You will go and examine the Esoterica. The collection is vast, the remnants of a world's wisdom. I'm sure you will find some medical research that can help you. The rest will be up to you. You will need to experiment, to test, to do whatever it is you Sapienti do. I suggest you remain at the Academy; the medical facilities there are the best we have. A blind eye will be turned to any infringements of Protocol; you can do as you wish. You can spend your remaining time as it should be spent, in the research that will cure you.' She leant forward, her skirts rustling. 'I offer it to you, Jared. The forbidden knowledge. The chance of life.'

  He swallowed.

  In the stuffy room every sound seemed magnified, the voices outside worlds away.

  'What do you want in return?' he said, hoarse. She leant back, smiling. As if she had won. 'I want nothing. Literally, nothing. The Portal must never open again. The gates of Incerceron, wherever that place is, must be found to be impassable. All attempts must fail.' Over the top of the crystal glass, her eyes met his.

  'And Claudia need never know.'

  8

  Sapphique leapt up, overjoyed. 'If you cannot answer, then I've won. Show me a way Out.'

  Incarceron laughed in its million halls. It raised a claw and the skin of the claw split and the dragonskin Glove curled off and lay on the ground.

  Sapphique was alone. He picked the shining thing up and cursed the Prison.

  But when he put his hand into Incarceron's he knew its plans. He dreamed its dreams.

  SAPPHIQUE IN THE TUNNELS OF MADNESS

  That evening's show was packed.

  The troupe had erected their creaking wooden stage in the central space of one of the snow-domes, a smoky hollow of hewn iceblocks, melted and refrozen over so many years that the roof was twisted and seamed, gnarled with gloops and pinnacles of ice, black with soot.

  Watching Rix stand before the two chosen volunteers next to her Attia tried to keep her face rapt and wondering, but she knew he was very tense. The crowd here had been quiet all evening. Too quiet. Nothing seemed to impress them.

  And things hadn't gone well. Perhaps it was the bitter cold, but the bear had refused to dance, crouching mournfully on the stage, despite all prodding. The jugglers had dropped their plates twice, and even Gigantia had only managed to draw a few spatters of applause by lifting a man on a chair with one of her huge hands.

  But when the Dark Enchanter had appeared, the silence had grown deeper, more intense. The people stood in attentive rows, their eyes fixed in fascination on Rix as he faced them, young and dark, the black glove on his right hand, its forefinger pinned back to show the maiming.

  It was more than fascination. It was hunger. From this close, Attia saw the sweat on his forehead.

  The things he had said to the two women had been greeted with silence too. Neither of them had wept or clasped his hands with joy or given any indication of recognizing anything, even though he had managed to pretend they had. Their rheumy eyes just gazed imploringly at him. Attia had had to do the sobbing and cries of amazement; she thought she hadn't overplayed it, but the stillness had cowed her. The applause had been a mere ripple.

  What was wrong with them all?

  As she gazed out she saw they were dirty and sallow, their mouths and noses muffled and scarved against the cold, their eyes sunken with hunger. But that was nothing new. There seemed to be few old people, hardly any children. They stank of smoke and sweat and some sweet herbal tang. And they stood apart; they did not crowd together. Some sort of commotion caught her eye; to one side a woman swayed and fell. Those nearby stepped away. No one touched her, or bent over her. They left a space around her.

  Maybe Rix had seen it too.

  As he turned Attia caught a flash of panic under his make-up, but his voice was as smooth as ever.

  'You search for an Enchanter of power, a Sapient who will show you the way out of Incarceron. All of you search for that!' He swung on them, challenging, daring them to deny it.

  'I am that man! The way that Sapphique took lies through the Door of Death. I will take this girl through that door. And I will bring her back!'

  She didn't have to pretend. Her heart was thudding hard.

  There was no roar from the crowd, but the silence was different now. It had become a threat, a force of such desire it scared her. As Rix led her to the couch she glanced out at the muffled faces and knew that this was no audience happy to be fooled. They wanted Escape like a starving man craves food. Rix was playing with fire here.

  'Pull out,' she breathed.

  'Can't.' His lips barely moved. 'Show must go on.'

  Faces pressed forward to see. Someone fell, and was trampled. A soft ice-thaw dripped from the roof, on Rix's make-up, on her hands gripping the couch, on the black glove. The crowd's b
reath was a frosted contagion.

  'Death,' he said. 'We fear it. We would do anything to avoid it. And yet Death is a doorway that opens both ways. Before your eyes, you will see the dead live!'

  He drew the sword out of the air. It was real. It gleamed with ice as he held it up.

  This time there was no rumble, no lightning from the roof. Maybe Incarceron had seen the act too often. The crowd stared at the steel blade greedily. In the front row a man scratched endlessly, muttering under his breath.

  Rix turned. He fastened the links around Attia's hands. 'We may have to leave fast. Be ready.'

  The loops went round her neck and waist. They were false, she realized, and was glad.

  He turned to the crowd and held up the sword. 'Behold! I will release her. And I will bring her back!'

  He'd switched it. It was fake too. She only had seconds to notice, before he plunged it into her heart.

  This time there was no vision of Outside.

  She lay rigid, unbreathing, feeling the blade retract, the cold damp of fake blood spread on her skin.

  Rix was facing the Silent mob; now he turned, she sensed him come near, his warmth bending over her.

  He tugged the sword away. 'Now,' he breathed.

  She opened her eyes. She felt unsteady, but not like the first time. As he helped her stand and the blood shrivelled miraculously on her coat she felt a strange release; she took his hand and was shown to the crowd and she bowed and smiled in relief, forgetting for a moment that she was not supposed to be part of the act.

  Rix bowed too, but quickly. And as her euphoria drained away, she saw why.