'Join us,' Rho begged. 'Let him take the Glove and you stay with us.'
Up on the viaduct Attia waited with the Glove in her hand and a pack of food on her back and watched three armed women push Keiro up through the hole.
His coat was filthy and his bright hair dull with grease.
For a moment she was tempted. Meeting his enquiring stare she dreamt for a moment of sidestepping this crazy obsession of his, of finding her own place of warmth and safety. Maybe she could even try to find her brothers and sisters, somewhere far off in the Wing she had lived in before the Comitatus had dragged her away to be their dog-slave.
But then Keiro snapped, 'Are you going to stand there all day! Get these chains off me,' and something rippled in her that might have been a cold shiver of reality. It made her feel hard and determined. If Incarceron had the Glove its ambition would be complete. It would break free of itself and leave the Prison a dark and lifeless shell. Keiro might Escape, but no one else would.
She took the Glove and held it out.
'I'm sorry, Keiro,' she said. 'I can't let you do it.'
His hands gripped the chains. 'Attia!'
But she flung the Glove out into the empty air.
* * *
After an hour's work, the moths flitting round the lamp on the sill, the code gave way with a sigh of rippling letters and the word EXITS came up on the screen. Jared's weariness vanished. He sat up and read avidly.
There will be only one Key and this will remain in the possession of the Warden at all times
The Key is not needed for the Portal but is the only way of return from Incarceron, except for
The Emergency exit
Jared drew in a breath. He glanced quickly round the room. It was dim and silent, the only movement his own vast shadow on the wall, and the dark moths, fluttering in the light and over the tiny screen.
Should you lose the Key, there is a secret door. In the Heart of Incarceron a chamber has been constructed to withstand any catastrophic spacial collapse or environmental catastrophe. Do not use this channel unless absolutely necessary. Its stability cannot be guaranteed. To use the exit a mobile neural net has been constructed, to be worn on the hand. It is activated by extremes of emotion, and thus will not work until a time of great danger. We have given the door a codename, known only to you. That name is SAPPHIQUE
Jared read the final sentence. Then he read it again. He sat back, his breath frosting in the night air, ignoring the moth that landed on the screen, the heavy footsteps up the stair. Outside, the stars shimmered in the eternal sky.
21
When he was born, silent and alone, his mind was empty. He had no past, no being. He found himself in the deepest place of darkness and loneliness. 'Give me a name,' he begged.
The Prison said, 'I lay this fate on you, Prisoner. You shall have no name unless I give it to you. And I will never give it.'
He groaned. He reached out his fingers and found raised letters on the door. Great iron letters, riveted through.
After hours, he had grasped their shape.
'Sapphique,' he said, 'will be my name.'
LEGENDS OF SAPPHIQUE
Keiro leapt.
With a gasp Attia saw him jump high, the chain flung away. He caught the Glove. And then he was gone.
Attia dived for him; Rho grabbed her. As he fell his hand shot out; grabbing the ivy he swung and crashed into the side of the viaduct, a concussion that should have stunned
him but somehow he held tight, twisted round, scrabbling in the glossy leaves. 'You fool!'Attia stormed.
Keiro grabbed the ivy. He glanced up at her and she saw the bruised triumph in his eyes. 'Now what, dog-slave?' he yelled. 'Do you pull me up, or do I fall?'
Before she could answer movement shook them all. Under her feet the viaduct was humming. A high, faint vibration trembled in its girders and meshes. 'What is it?' she breathed.
Rho turned, her mismatched eyes gazing into the darkness. She drew in a breath; her face was white. 'They're coming.' 'What? Another migration? Up here?' 'There!' Keiro yelled.
Attia stared into the darkness, but whatever had terrified them both was invisible to her. The bridge was shivering, as if a great host had set foot on it, as if their massed tramp had set the whole thing moving on a frequency that would make it shudder and rupture into impossible waves.
Then she saw them.
Fist-sized shapes, dark and rounded, they crawled, on the meshes and wires, in the ivy leaves. For a second she had no idea what they were; then with a creeping of her skin she realized they were Beetles, millions of them, the Prison's all-devouring carnivores. Already the viaduct was glistening with them; there was a terrible new sound, the acidic crack and dissolving of metal, the rustle of carapaces and small pincers cutting steel and wire.
Attia snatched a firelock from the nearest girl. 'Get your people! Get them down!' But the Cygni were already moving, she could see them unravelling ladders that flipped out far below, the rungs lashing to and fro.
'Come with us,' Rho said.
'I can't leave him.'
'You have to!'
Firelocks were slashing; looking down she saw that Keiro had hauled himself up and was kicking savagely at one of the Beetles that had reached him. It fell with a sudden high whine.
Two of the things came out of the ivy at her feet; she leapt back, staring, and saw the metal under them begin to smoke and corrode rapidly, its surface dulling to black. Then it crumbled to dust.
Rho fired at them, and jumped the gap. 'Attia! Come on!'
She could have gone. But if she did she would never see Finn again. Never see the stars.
She said, 'Goodbye, Rho. Thank the others for me.' Smoke rose between them, blurring the world. Rho said, 'I see both dark and gold for you, Attia. I see Sapphique opening the secret door to you.' She stepped luck. 'Good luck.'
Attia wanted to say more but the words seemed to choke in her throat. Instead she raised the weapon and fired a vicious sweep at the Beetles swarming towards her. They burst into blue and purple flame, a sizzling explosion of circuits.
'That's what I like to see!' Keiro had climbed up the ivy, now he was hauling himself over the side of the viaduct, the Glove tucked in his belt. He grabbed for the weapon.
Attia jerked back. 'Not this time.'
'What are you going to do? Kill me?'
'I don't need to. They'll do it for me.'
He watched the relentless glistening insects devour the viaduct, and his face was bright and hard. Already the bridge was severed; chunks of it fell away into the unguessable distances below. The gap to Rho's empty ladders was too far to jump now.
He turned.
Mesh shuddered; a vibration sent a great crack splitting through girders. With a sound like gunshot, bolts and rivets snapped.
'No way out.'
'Only down.' Attia glanced over. 'Do you think ... If we climbed. . .?'
'It would collapse before we were halfway.' He bit his lip, then yelled out at the sky. 'Prison! Do you hear me?'
If it did it did not answer. Under Attia's feet the metal began to separate.
'Do you see this?' Keiro pulled out the dragonglove.
'If you want it, you have to save it. You have to catch it. And us!'
The road broke open. Attia slid, bracing her feet wide. Frost fell in showers from girders; a great creaking, straining howl rang through the structure. Metal struts sprang out.
Keiro grabbed her by the arm. 'Time to take a chance,' he hissed in her ear.
And before she could yell in terror he had leapt with her off the bridge.
Claudia pondered the selection of masks. One was a columbine's upper face with glittering blue sapphires, topped with a blue feather. Another was white silk, a cat with elegant slanting eyes and whiskers of silver wire. Fur trimmed its edge. She picked a red devil from the bed, but it had to be held on a stick, so that was no use. Tonight, she needed to be as secret as she could. The cat, then.
&
nbsp; Sitting cross-legged on the bolster she said to Alys, 'You've packed what I need?'
Her nurse, folding clothes, frowned. 'Claudia, are you ire this is wise?'
'Wise or not, we're going.'
'But if the Council find that Finn is the Prince ...' She looked up. 'They won't. You know that.' Far below, in the halls and chambers of the palace, musicians were tuning up. Faint scrapes and screeches and ripples of notes rang through the corridors.
Alys sighed. 'Poor dear Finn. I've grown fond of him, Claudia. Even though he's as moody as you can be.'
'I'm not moody, I'm practical. Finn's still trapped in his past.'
'He misses this boy Keiro. He told me one day all about their adventures. The Prison sounded such a terrible place, and yet ... well, he seemed almost sad, looking back. Wistful. As if he was... '
'Happier there?'
'No. No I wouldn't say that. As if his life was more real there.'
Claudia snorted. 'He probably told you a pack of lies. His stories are never the same twice. Jared says he learnt that in order to survive.'
The mention of Jared silenced them both. Finally Alys said cautiously, 'Have you heard from Master Jared?'
'He's probably far too busy to answer my letter.' It sounded defensive, even to her.
Alys did the straps up on the leather bag and pushed a stray hair back. 'I hope he's taking care of himself. I'm sure that Academy is a draughty great barn of a place.'
'You fuss over him,' Claudia snapped.
'Of course I do. We all should.'
Claudia stood. She didn't want the worry of this now, didn't want to have to face Jared's loss. And the words Medlicote had spoken burnt in her. Jared could
never be bought. She would never believe that. 'We'll leave the ball at midnight. Make sure Simon is waiting with the horses. Behind the folly near the stream, out beyond the
High Meadow'
'I know. And if he's seen?' 'He's just exercising them.' 'At midnight! Claudia...'
She scowled. 'Well, if he has to he'll just have to hide in the Forest.' Seeing Alys's alarm she raised a hand. 'And that's the end of it!'
Wearing the cat mask would mean the white silk dress, which was annoyingly cumbersome, but under it she would wear dark breeches and if she was hot, she'd have to put up with it. Boots and jacket were in the pack. As Alys fussed about the fastenings of the dress Claudia thought about her father. His mask would have been very simple, of black velvet, and he would have worn it with a faint air of scorn in his grey eyes. He never danced, but he would have stood elegantly at the fireplace and talked, and bowed, and watched her in the minuet and the gavotte. She scowled. Was she missing him? That would be ridiculous.
But there was something that was pulling him into her mind, and as Alys hitched the last lace tight Claudia realized that it was his portrait, there on the wall, looking at her.
His portrait?
'There.' Alys stepped back, hot. 'That's the best I can do. Oh you do look well, Claudia. White suits you... '
There was a tap on the door.
'Come in she said, and Finn came in, and they both stared. For a moment she wasn't even sure it was him. His clothes were black velvet, slashed with silver, and his mask was black, and his hair was caught back in a dark ribbon. But for a moment it could have been the Pretender, until he spoke.
'I look ridiculous.'
'You look fine.'
He propped himself on a chair. 'Keiro would love this place. He would be so flamboyant here, so popular. He always said he'd make a great prince:
'He'd have us at war within a year.' Claudia glanced at her nurse. 'Leave us now please, Alys.'
Alys went to the door. 'Good luck, both of you,' she said softly. 'I'll see you at the Wardenry'
When she was gone they listened to the tuning fiddles. Finally Finn said, 'Is she going now?'
'Leaving at once, with the carriage. A decoy.'
'Claudia . . .'
'Wait.'
Surprised, he saw she had crossed to a small portrait on the wall, of a man in a dark doublet.
'Isn't that your father?'
'Yes. And it wasn't here yesterday.'
Finn stood up and crossed to stand behind her. 'Are you sure?'
'Certain.'
The Warden gazed out at them. His eyes had that cold calm certainty that Finn remembered, the slightly scornful air that Claudia often had.
'You're like him,' he said.
'How can I be like him!' Her venom startled him. 'He's not really my father, remember.'
'I didn't mean like that. . .' But it was best not to say any more about it, he thought. 'How did it get here?'
'I don't know.' She reached up and took the painting down. It looked like oil on canvas, and the frame seemed worm-eaten, but when she turned it over they saw it was plastiglas, and the painting a clever reproduction.
And tucked into the back of the frame was a note.
The door of Jared's room opened noiselessly and the big man stepped inside. He was breathless from the climb and the sword he held was sharp and heavy, but he was fairly certain he wouldn't need it.
The Sapient hadn't even noticed him yet. For a moment the assassin almost felt sorry for him. So young for a Sapient, so gentle. But he had turned his head now and was standing, quickly, as if he knew his danger.
'Yes? Did you knock?'
'Death doesn't knock, Master. Death just walks in, where he wants to.'
Jared nodded, slowly. He slipped a disc into his pocket.
'I see. You, then, are my executioner?'
'I am.'
'Don't I know you?'
'Yes, Master. This afternoon I had the pleasure of bringing your letter to the library.'
'Of course. The porter.' Jared moved away from the window, so that the old desk was between them. 'So that wasn't the only message from Court.'
'You're quick, Master, like all these scholars.' The porter leant companionably on the sword. 'My instructions came direct from the Queen herself. She employs me, in a . . . private capacity.' He glanced around. 'You see, she seems to think you've been prying into things you shouldn't. She sends you this.'
He held out a sliver of paper.
Jared reached out and took it, over the desk. There was no way past the man to the door, and the drop from the window was suicidal. He unfolded the note.
I am very disappointed in you, Master Jared. I offered you the chance of a cure but that's not what you've been researching, is it? Did you really think you could fool me? I do feel just a little betrayed. And oh, how very sad Claudia will be.
It was unsigned, but he knew the Queen's hand by now. He crumpled it. 'I'll have it back if I may, Master. Not to leave any evidence, you see.'
Jared dropped the paper on the desk.
'And that clever little gadget, sir, if you please.'
He took the disc out and looked at it ruefully, his delicate fingers adjusting it. 'Ah, I understand. The moths! I thought they were a little too curious. I believe they are to my designs, too.'
'Insult to injury, sir, I'm sure.' The man hefted the sword, regretfully. 'I hope you know this is not personal at all, Master. I thought you a very kind gentleman.'
'So I'm already in the past tense.'
'I don't know about tenses and such learning, sir.' The man spoke quietly, but there was an edge to his voice now. 'Such learning was never for the son of an ostler.'
'My father was a falconer,' Jared said mildly.
'Then maybe they saw your cleverness early.'
'I suppose they did.' Jared touched the table with his finger. 'I suppose also it's no use to offer money? To ask you to reconsider? To join the cause of Prince Giles. . .'
'Not till I know which Giles is the true one, sir,' the man said firmly. 'But, as I said, nothing personal.'
Jared smiled, surprising himself. 'I see.' He felt calm and light. 'Surely a sword is a little . . . obvious?'
'Oh bless you, sir, I won't need this. Not unless you ma
ke me. You see, in view of your illness, the Queen thought a little jump from the tower would look about right. All the learned Sapienti running out into the quad to find your body. Poor Master Jared. Took the quick way out. So understandable.'
Jared nodded. He put the disc down in front of him on the desk and heard a tiny metallic click. He glanced up, and his eyes were green and sad. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you to the trouble of a fight. I don't intend to jump.'
'Ah the porter sighed. 'Well, as you wish. A man has his pride.'
'Yes. He does.' As he said it he moved, jerking to one side. The big man laughed. 'You'll not get past me, sir.'
Jared came round in front of the desk and stood face to face with him. 'Then get it over with.'
Two-fisted, the man raised the sword and struck. Jared leapt to one side with all his agility as it clanged down, feeling the point whistle past his face, the blade smash across the desk. But he barely heard the scream, the sizzle of blue electrified flesh, because the charge seemed to suck the air out of the room and fling him back against the wall.
Then there was nothing but a singed smell and an echoing that rang in his ears as if he was deafened.
Gripping the stone work, he pulled himself upright.
The man lay in a heap on the floor; he was still, but breathing.
Jared gazed down at him. He felt a dull regret, a shame. And under that a fierce and surprising energy He laughed a shaky laugh. So this was how it felt to nearly kill a man.
But of course, there was nothing personal in it.
Carefully he detached the disc from the metal desk, switched its field off and dropped it in his pocket. Bending over the porter, he felt his pulse, and laid him gently on his side. The man was badly shocked and his hands were burnt but he would almost certainly live. Jared kicked the sword under the bed, then grabbed his pack and raced down the stairs. In the dark portico where the sunlight slanted through the stained-glass windows a tire-woman was hauling a basket of laundry from the Senior Sapient's study. Jared paused. 'Excuse me. I'm sorry. I've left a bit of a mess in my room, number fifty-six at the top. Do you think someone could clear it up?'
Sapphique - Incarceron 02 Page 18
