Sappique

by Catherine Fisher

‘They? You mean the Queen.’

  ‘Or the Warden. Or indeed the Prison itself. If it’s any consolation, I do think the fits will become less severe with time.’

  Finn scowled. ‘Fine. Meanwhile the Crown Prince of the Realm collapses into a twitching cripple every few weeks.’

  ‘This is not the Prison,’ Jared said quietly. ‘Illness is not a crime here.’ His voice was sharper than usual. Claudia frowned, annoyed at Finn’s clumsiness.

  Finn put the glass on the table and his head in his hands, dragging his fingers through his tangled hair. After a moment he said, ‘I’m sorry, Master. I’m always thinking only of myself.’

  ‘But what did you remember?’ Claudia was impatient. She leant against the bedpost, staring at him, her face tense with expectation.

  Finn tried to think. ‘The only things I’ve ever been sure of as memories have been blowing out the candles on the cake, and the boats on the lake. .

  ‘Your seventh birthday. When we were betrothed.’

  ‘...So you say. But this time, it was different.’ He wrapped his arms round his chest; Claudia took the silk robe from the chair arid brought it quickly. He put it on,

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  concentrating. ‘I think . . . I’m sure really, that I was older this time. I was certainly riding a horse. A grey horse. There was undergrowth whipping against my legs

  bracken, very high. The horse crashed through it. There were trees.’

  Claudia took a breath; Jared’s hand came up to keep her silent. Calmly he said, ‘The Great Forest?’

  ‘Maybe. Bracken and brambles. But there were Beetles too.’

  ‘Beetles?’

  ‘They’re in the Prison. Small metal things; they clear away rubbish, eat metal and plastic and flesh. I don’t know if this was a forest here, or Inside. How could they have been here.

  . .?‘

  ‘You just might be mixing things up.’ Claudia couldn’t keep quiet any longer. ‘But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a real memory. What happened?’

  Jared took a small scanner from his pocket, and placed it on the bedclothes. He made an adjustment to it, and it beeped.

  ‘The room is almost certainly full of listening devices. This will give us some protection, if you speak quietly.’

  Finn stared at it. ‘The horse jumped. There was a pain in my ankle. I fell.’

  ‘A pain?’ Claudia came and sat next to him. ‘What sort of pain?’

  ‘Sharp. Like a sting. It was …‘ He paused, as if the

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  memory was fiickering, just beyond reach. ’Orange. Orange and black. Small.’

  ‘A wasp? A bee?’

  ‘It hurt. I looked down at it.’ He shrugged. ‘Then nothing.’

  Hurriedly he pulled up his ankle and examined it. ‘Just here. It went through the boot leather.’

  There were many old marks and scars. Claudia said,

  ‘Could it have been some sort of tranquillizer? Like your false insects, Master.’

  ‘If it was; Jared said slowly, ‘the maker was skilful, and unbothered by Protocol.’

  Claudia snorted. ‘The Queen uses Protocol to control others, not herself.’

  Jared fingered the collar of his robe. ‘But Finn, you have ridden in the forest many times since you left the Prison. This may not be an old memory. It may not even be a memory at all.’ He paused, seeing the defiance come into the boy’s face.

  ‘I say this because others may say it. They’ll say you dreamt it.’

  ‘I know the difference.’ Finn’s voice was angry. He stood up, tying the robe around him. ‘Gildas always said the visions came from Sapphique. But this was memory. It was so . . . sharp. It happened, Jared. I fell. I remember falling.’

  His eyes held Claudia’s. ‘Wait for me. I’ll get ready.’

  They watched him walk into the wood-panelled dressingroom and slam the door. 109

  Bees hummed peacefully in the honeysuckle outside.

  ‘Well?’ Claudia whispered.

  Jared got up and crossed to the window. He opened the casement wider and sat on the sill, leaning his head back. After a moment he said, ‘In the Prison, Finn had to survive. He learnt the power of lies.’

  ‘You don’t believe him?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. But he is skilful at telling the stories his listeners want to hear.’

  She shook her head. ‘Prince Giles was hunting in the Forest when he fell. What if this is that memory? What if he was drugged then, and taken to wherever they wiped his mind?’

  Excited, she jumped up, came over to him. ‘What if it’s all coming back to him?’

  ‘Then that’s good. But do you remember his story of the Maestra, Claudia? The woman who gave him the Key? We have heard several versions of that. Each time he tells it differently. Who knows which if any is the truth?’

  They were silent a moment. Claudia smoothed the silk of her dress, trying not to feel deflated. She knew Jared was right, that at least one of them had to keep a clear head. It was the method he had always taught her, to weigh up arguments, to probe them without favour. But she so wanted Finn to remember, to change, to become suddenly the Giles they needed. She wanted to be sure of him.

  ‘You don’t resent my scepticism, Claudia?’ Her tutor’s 110

  voice was wistful; she looked up, surprised, and saw he was looking at her closely.

  ‘Of course not!’ Caught by some sadness in his eyes she came over and sat by him, gripping his arm. ‘Are you well, Master? All this worry over Finn...’

  ‘I am quite well, Claudia.’

  She nodded, not wanting to know if he was lying. ‘But I haven’t asked you about the Queen. What did she have to say that was so urgent?’

  He looked away, out at the green lawns. ‘She wanted to know how the efforts to open the Portal went. I told her about the feathers.’ He smiled his rare smile. ‘I don’t think it impressed her.’

  Claudia said, ‘No.’

  ‘And I broached the subject of the Academy.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. She won’t let me go.’

  It was his turn to be surprised. ‘Correct. You think it is because of what Medlicote told you? That she plans to disinherit you?’

  ‘She can try;’ she said fiercely. ‘She’ll have a battle on her hands.’

  ‘Claudia, there is more. She . . . is happy for me to go. Alone.’

  She opened her eyes wider. ‘To search for the way In? But why? We both know she doesn’t want it found.’

  He nodded, gazing down at his thin fingers.

  ‘It’s some sort of plot. She wants to get you out of 111

  Court.’ Claudia bit her nails, thinking hard.’ Out of the way. Perhaps she knows you won’t find anything, that you’ll be wasting your time. Maybe she already knows where

  Incarceron is. .

  ‘Claudia, I have to tell you. . .‘ He looked up and turned but at that moment the tower clock began to strike, and the dressing-room door opened.

  Finn ran out. ‘Where’s my sword?’

  ‘Here.’ Claudia took the foil from the chair and watched him buckle it on. ‘You should have a servant to do that.’

  ‘I can do it myself.’

  She looked at him. His hair had grown longer since his Escape; now it was hastily tied back in a black ribbon. His frockcoat was a rich midnight blue, and though the sleeves were edged with gold it had none of the laced and ruffled extravagance of the other courtiers. He wouldn’t wear powder, or bright colours, or any of the perfumed sashes and stars and plumed hats the Queen had sent him. It was as if he was in rnourning. The austerity reminded her of her father.

  He stood there nervously. ‘Well?’

  ‘You look fine. But you should have more gold lace. We have to show these people. .

  ‘You look every inch the Prince Jared said, coming and opening the door.

  Finn didn’t move. His hand gripped the swordhilt as if it 112

  was the only familiar thing there. ‘I don’t know if I can do t
his,’ he said.

  Jared stepped back. ‘Yes you can, Finn.’ He moved closer and his voice was so quiet Claudia barely caught the words. ‘

  You will do it for the Maestra’s sake.’

  Startled, Finn stared at him. But then the bell rang again, and Claudia slipped her arm firmly in his and led him from the room.

  All the corridors of the Court were lined with people. Wellwishers, servants, soldiers, secretaries, they gathered in hallways and peered from doors and galleries to see the Crown Prince of the Realm going to his Proclamation. Preceded by a guard of thirty men-at—arms, sweating in their shining cuirasses, ceremonial swords upright in their hands, Claudia and Finn walked quickly towards the State Apartments. Flowers were thrown at Finn’s feet, applause rippled from doorways and stairs. But it was muted, and Claudia knew that, and she wanted to frown under the gracious smile she had to keep on her face. Finn wasn’t popular enough. People didn’t know him. Or they thought he was surly and remote. It was all his own fault.

  But she smiled and nodded and waved at them, and Finn walked stiffly, bowing here and there at faces he recognized, and she knew Jared was reassuringly behind her, his Sapient coat swirling the dust on the floor. They were escorted through the myriad apartments of the Silver Wing, and the Gold Rooms, and the Turquoise Ballroom,

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  massed with staring crowds, and the Mirrored Salon where the walls of looking-glass made the gathering seem

  overwhelmingly huge. Under glittering chandeliers they walked, through air that was hot and cloying with perfume and sweat and pomander oils, through whispers and polite cheers and curious scrutiny. Music tinkled from viols and cellos on a high balcony; rose petals were tossed in showers from the ladies-in-waiting. Finn looked up and managed a smile; the pretty women tittered and hid their faces behind fans.

  His arm was hot and tense in Claudia’s; she squeezed his wrist in reassurance. And as she did so she realized how little she really knew of him, of the agony of his memory loss, of the life he had lived.

  As they came to the entrance of the Crystal Court two livened footmen bowed and flung the doors back.

  The vast room shimmered. Hundreds of people turned their heads.

  Claudia loosened her arm, and stepped back beside Jared. She saw how Finn gave her one glance; then he drew himself up and marched on, one hand on his sword. She followed, wondering what terrors of the Prison had taught him such cold bravado.

  Because the room was full of danger.

  As the crowd fell back she walked between their sweeping bows and elegant curtsies and wondered how many secret weapons were concealed here, how many

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  assassins lurked, how many spies pushed close. A silken flock of smiling women, Ambassadors in full regalia, Countesses and Dukes and all the ermine robes of the Privy Council opened to show the scarlet carpet that led the length of the room, and the tiny birds in bright cages that sang and fluttered in the high arches of the roof. And everywhere, like a bewildering maze, the thousand crystal pillars that gave the room its name reflected and twisted and entwined from the vaulted ceiling.

  On each side of the dais ranks of Sapienti stood, their iridescent robes catching the light. Jared joined them, quietly moving to the end of the line.

  The dais itself was raised on five wide marble steps, and on the top of it were two thrones. Queen Sia rose from one. She wore a hugely looped gown of white satin, a cloak trimmed with ermine, and the crown. It was oddly small on her elaborate hair, Claudia thought, stopping at the front row of courtiers next to Caspar. He glanced at her, and grinned, and the hulking bodyguard called Fax stood close behind him. Claudia turned away, frowning.

  She watched Finn.

  He climbed the steps swiftly, his head slightly bowed. At the top he turned to face the crowd and she saw his chin go up, the steady defiant stare he sent out at them all. But for the first time she thought, If he tried he could look like a prince. The Queen held up her hand. The murmuring crowd

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  fell silent; only the hundreds of finches cheeped and warbled high above.

  ‘Friends. This is a historic day. Giles, who was once lost from us, has returned to take up his inheritance. The Havaarna Dynasty welcomes its Heir. The Realm welcomes its King.’

  It was a pretty speech. Everyone applauded it. Claudia caught Jared’s eye and he blinked slowly. She tried not to smile.

  ‘And now we will hear the Proclamation.’

  As Finn stood rigidly beside Sia the First Lord Sapient, a thin austere man, stood and handed his silver wand tipped with its crescent moon to a footman. From another he took a parchment scroll, unrolled it and began to read from it in a firm, sonorous voice. It was long and tedious, full of clauses and titles and legalese, but Claudia realized it was essentially an announcement of Finn’s intention to be crowned, and the assertion of his rights and fitness. When the phrase, ‘sane in mind and whole in body and in spirit’ rolled out she stiffened, sensing rather than seeing Finn’s tension. Beside her, Caspar made a small tutting noise.

  She glanced at him. He still wore the stupid smirk. Suddenly a cold fear sprang up in her. Something was wrong. They had something planned. She moved, agitated; Caspar’s hand caught hers.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to interrupt,’ he breathed in her ear, ‘and ruin Finn’s lovely day.’

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  She stared at him.

  The Sapient ended, rolling the scroll. ‘. . . Thus it is Proclaimed. And unless there be any who cry out against it, I affirm and announce here and before these witnesses, before the Court and the Realm, that the Prince Giles Alexander Ferdinand of the Havaarna, Lord of the

  Southern Isles, Count of—’

  ‘I object.’

  The Sapient faltered, fell silent. The crowd turned, astonished.

  Claudia whipped her head round.

  The voice had been quiet but firm, and it came from a boy. He pushed his way through and past her, and she saw he was tall and had brown hair and there was a clear,

  purposeful look in his eyes. He wore a coat of fine golden satin. And his resemblance to Finn was astonishing.

  ‘I object.’

  He looked up at the Queen and Finn and they stared back, and the First Sapient made a sharp gesture, and the soldiers lifted their weapons quickly.

  ‘And who are you, sir, that you think you may object?’ the Queen said in amazement.

  The boy smiled, and held out his hands in a curiously regal gesture. He stood on the step and bowed low.

  ‘Madam Stepmother,’ he said, ‘don’t you know me? I am the real Giles.’

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  9

  So he rose up and sought the hardest way, the road that leads inward. And all the time he wore the Glove he did not eat or sleep and Incarceron knew all his desires.

  LEGEND OF SAPPHIQUE

  The horse was tireless, its metal legs deep in snow. Attia held tight to Keiro, because the cold made her stiff and her hands numb, and several times she almost, felt she would fall.

  ‘We have to get far enough away,’ Keiro said over his shoulder.

  ‘Yes. I know.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re not a bad little operator. Finn would be proud.’

  She didn’t answer. The plan of how they should steal the Glove had been hers and she had known she could do it, but she felt a curious shame at betraying Rix. He was crazy, but she’d liked him and his ramshackle troupe. As they rode she wondered what he would be doing now, what story he

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  would be spinning them. But he’d never used the real Glove in the act, so they should be able to carry on. And she shouldn’t feel sorry for him. There was no place for pity in Incarceron. But as she thought that she thought of Finn, who had pitied her, once, and rescued her. She frowned.

  The Ice Wing glittered in the darkness. It was as if the artificial light of the Prison had been stored deep in its frozen strata, so that even now, in darkness, the vast tundra was pale and phosphor
escent, its pitted surface swept by cold winds. Shimmers of aurora rippled in the sky, as if

  Incarceron amused itself with strange effects in the long hours of the arctic night.

  They rode for over an hour, the land becoming more and more contorted, the air colder. Attia grew tired; her legs aching, her back an agony.

  Finally, Keiro slowed the beast. His back was damp with sweat. He said, ‘This will have to do?

  It was a great overhang of ice, sheened with a frozen waterfall.

  ‘Great,’ she muttered.

  Slowly, the horse picked its way in, among boulders furred with frost. Attia swung both feet over and slid gratefully down. Her legs almost gave way; she grabbed one of the rocks, then stretched, groaning.

  Keiro jumped down. If he was stiff he was far too proud to show it. He took off the hat and mask and she saw his face. 119

  ‘Fire,’ he muttered.

  There was nothing to burn. Finally he found an ancient tree-stump; there was still some bark that could be snapped off, and with some kindling from the pack and a great deal of impatient swearing he managed to get it alight. The heat was paltry, but Attia was glad to stretch out her hands and shiver over it.

  She crouched, watching him. ‘We said a week. You were lucky I’d managed to guess...’

  ‘If you think I was going to hang around a stinking plagueheap, you were wrong? He sat opposite. ‘Besides, things were getting rough back there. That mob might have got to it first.’

  Attia nodded.

  Keiro watched ice drip into the fire. The damp wood hissed and crackled. His face was edged with shadows, his blue eyes red-rimmed with weariness, but his old arrogance was still there, his effortless sense of superiority ‘So how was it?’

  She shrugged. ‘The magician’s name was Rix. He was . . . strange. Maybe a little mad.’

  ‘His act was rubbish.’

  ‘You would think that? She remembered the lightning in the sky, the dripping letters painted by the man who could not write. ‘A few odd things happened. Perhaps because of the Glove. I thought I saw Finn.’