Текст книги "Incarceron"

Автор книги: Kathryn Fisher

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30

All my years to this moment

All my roads to this wall.

All my words to this silence

All my pride to this fall

-Songs of Sapphique

She paced the study floor anxiously, dressed in dark trousers and jacket. "Well?"

"Five minutes." Jared worked on the controls without looking up. He had already placed a handkerchief on the chair and operated the device; the handkerchief had disappeared, but he couldn't get it back.

Claudia stared at the door.

She had torn up her wedding dress in a fury that had amazed even herself, shredding the lace and ripping the flouncy skirt wide open. All that was over. Protocol was over. She was at war now. Racing down here through the dark cellars, she had run through anger and bewilderment and the emptiness of a wasted past.

"All right." Jared looked up. "I think I understand what's what, but where this machine will take you, Claudia ...?"

"I know where it takes me. Away from him." The knowledge that he was not her father still rang in her head like a great blare of sound, endlessly echoing, so that she felt she would never hear anything else but that girl's quiet, devastating words. Jared said, "Sit in the chair."

She grabbed her sword and walked over and stopped. "What about you? When he finds out..

"Don't worry about me." He took her arm gently and made her sit. "It's about time I stood up to your father. I'm sure it will be good for me."

Her face clouded. "Master ... if he hurts you ..."

"All you need to worry about is finding Giles and bringing him back. Justice must be done.

Good luck, Claudia." He raised her hand and kissed it formally. For a moment she was stricken with the thought that she would never see him again; all she wanted to do was jump up and hug him, but he moved away to the panel of instruments and looked up.

"Ready?"

She couldn't speak. She nodded. And then, just before his fingers touched the panel, she said hurriedly, "Good-bye, Master."

He pressed the blue square, and it happened. From the ceiling slots a cage of white light fell, so blindingly brilliant and so quick that it was gone as soon as it had come, and all he could see was the black aftermath imprinted on his retina.

He brought his hands away from his face.

The room was empty. He could smell a faint sweetness.

"Claudia?" he whispered.

Nothing. For a long moment he waited in the silence. He wanted to stay, but he had to get out of the study; the Warden must not know what had happened for as long as possible, and if they found him here ... Hurriedly he slammed the controls back, slid out through the great bronze door, and locked it behind him.

All the way up through the cellars Jared sweated with fear. There must be some alarm he had overlooked, some screaming trigger his scanner had failed to detect. At every step he expected to hurtle into the Warden or a posse of Palace guards, and by the time he came up to the formal corridors, he was pale and shivering and had to lean in an alcove and take deep, careful breaths, a passing maid staring at him curiously.

In the Great Hall, the crowd's noise was louder. As he threaded among them he sensed the growing tension, the expectation heightened almost to hysteria. The staircase that

Claudia should descend was in full view, lined by footmen in powdered wigs. As he slipped into a seat by the fireplace he saw the Queen, glorious in cloth of gold and a tiara of diamonds, flicker an irritated glance at it.

But brides were always late.

Jared leaned back and stretched out his legs. He was lightheaded with fear and fatigue and yet he felt something else that surprised him: a strange peace. He wondered how long it would last.

Then he saw the Warden.

Tall and grave, the man who was not Claudia's father. Jared watched as the Warden smiled, nodded, exchanged graceful small talk with the waiting courtiers. Once he took out his watch and glanced at it, held it to his ear as if in all the hubbub he needed to check it was going. Then he put it away and frowned.

Impatience grew, slowly.

The crowd murmured. Caspar came over and said something to his mother, she spoke to him sharply, and he went back to his supporters. Jared watched the Queen.

Her hair was swept up elaborately, her lips red in the whitened pallor of her face, but her eyes were cool and shrewd and he recognized the growing suspicion in them.

She crooked a finger and the Warden moved to her side. They spoke briefly. A servant was called, a smooth silver-haired steward, and he bowed and vanished discreetly.

Jared rubbed his face.

It must be panic up there in her rooms, the maids searching for her, fingering the dress, terrified for their own skins. Probably they had all fled. He hoped Alys wouldn't be there-the old nurse would be blamed.

He leaned back against the wall and tried to summon up all his courage.

He didn't have long to wait.

There was a disturbance on the stairs. Heads turned. Women craned to see, a rustle of dresses and faint applause that petered out into bewilderment, because the silver-haired servant was racing down, breathless, and in his hands he had the dress, or rather what was left of it.

Jared wiped sweat from his lip. He had never seen Claudia so furious as when she had torn it to shreds.

Confusion erupted.

A scream of anger, orders, the clash of weapons. Slowly, Jared stood.

The Queen was white-faced; she turned on the Warden. "What is this? Where is she?"

His voice was icy. "I have no idea, madam. But I suggest ..."

He stopped. His gray eyes met Jared's through the agitated crowd.

They looked at each other and in the sudden growing hush the crowd noticed and fell back between them, as if people feared to stand in that corridor of anger.

The Warden said, "Master Jared. Do you know where my daughter is?"

Jared managed a small smile. "I regret I cannot say, sir. But I can say this. She has decided against the wedding." The crowd was utterly silent.

Her eyes glittering with wrath, the Queen said, "She's jilted my son?"

He bowed. "She has changed her mind. It was sudden, and she felt she could not face either of you. She has left the Palace. She begs your indulgence."

Claudia would hate that last, he thought, but he had to be so careful. He steeled himself for the reaction. The Queen gave a laugh of pure venom; she turned on the "warden." My dear John, what a blow for you! After all your plans and schemes! I have to say I never thought it a very good idea. She was so ... unsuitable. You chose your replacement so badly."

The "wardens eyes never left Jared's, and the Sapient felt that basilisk stare slowly petrify his courage." Where has she gone?

Jared swallowed. "Home."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"In a carriage?"

"On horseback."

The Warden turned. "A patrol after her. At once!" Did he believe it? Jared wasn't sure.

"Of course I pity your domestic troubles," the Queen said cruelly, "but you realize that I will never suffer an insult like this again. There will be no wedding, Warden, even if she comes back crawling on her hands and knees."

Caspar muttered, "Scheming ungrateful bitch," but his mother silenced him with a look.

"Clear the chamber," she said sharply. "I want everyone out."

As if it was a signal, an uproar of voices burst out, excited questions, shocked whispers.

Through it all Jared stood still, and the Warden stood watching him, and there was a look in those eyes the Sapient could not beat now. He turned away.

"You stay." John Arlex's order was hoarse and unrecognizable.

"Warden." Lord Evian pushed up close to them. "I have just heard ... such news ... is it true?"

His affectations were gone; he was pale with intensity. "True. She's gone." The Warden spared him one grim glance. It's over.

"Then ... the Queen?"

"Remains the Queen."

"But... our plan ..."

The Warden silenced him with a flash of anger. "Enough, man! Don't you hear what I say?

Go back to your puffs and perfumes. It's all we have now."

As if he could not understand what had happened, Evian clawed restlessly at his tight ruffled suit, tugging a button loose. "We can't let it end like this."

"We have no choice."

"All our dreams. The end of Protocol." He reached his hand inside the coat. "I can t. I won't."

He moved in before Jared realized what was happening, the knife flashing out, slashing down at the Queen. As she turned, it caught her high on the shoulder; she screamed in shock. Instantly the cloth of gold was running with blood, small spatterings and trickles that welled up as she gasped and clawed at Caspar, stumbling into the arms of courtiers. "Guards!" the Warden cried.

He whipped out his sword. Jared turned.

Evian was staggering back, the pink suit smeared with blood. He must have seen he had failed; the Queen was hysterical but not dead, and there was no chance to strike again. At least not at her. Soldiers ran in, their sharp pikes forcing him back in a ring of steel. He stared at Jared without seeing him, at the Warden, at Caspar's pale terror.

"I do this for freedom," he said calmly. "In a world that offers none."

With a swift accuracy he turned the knife and with both hands thrust it into his heart. He crumpled over it, crashed down, juddered a moment and was still. As Jared pushed past the guards and bent over him, he saw death had been almost instant; blood was still slowly welling through the silk cloth.

He gazed down, horrified, at the plump face, the staring eyes.

"Stupid," the Warden said behind him. "And weak." He reached down and hauled Jared up, turning him roughly.

"Are you weak, Master Sapient? I have always thought so. We'll see now if I was tight."

He looked at the guard. "Take the Master to his room and lock him in. Bring me any devices that are there. Post two men outside. He is not to leave, and will receive no visitors."

"Sire." The man bowed.

The Queen had been hustled out and the crowd scattered; all at once the great Chamber seemed empty. The garlands of flowers and orange blossom drifted slightly in the breeze from the open windows. As Jared was led to the door he stepped on spilled petals and sticky sweetmeats; the detritus of a wedding that would never happen.

Just before they pushed him out, he looked back and saw the Warden standing with both hands on the high fireplace, leaning over the empty hearth. His hands were clenched fists on the white marble.

NOTHING HAPPENED but a white light. When Claudia opened her eyes, they stung; her sight was watery, and small dark spots floated there for a minute, dimming the walls of the cell.

It was certainly a cell. It stank. The smell was so strong, she retched and then tried nor to breathe again, the reek of damp and urine and rotting bodies and straw.

The straw was all around her; she was sitting in it, and a flea jumped out of it onto her hand. With a hiss of disgust she jumped up and shook it off, shivering and scratching.

So this was Incarceron.

It was just as she'd expected.

The cell was stone-walled and the stones were carved with ancient names and dates, filmed with milky lichens and a fur of algae. Above, the groined vault was lost in darkness.

There was one window, high in the wall, but it seemed to be covered. Nothing else. But the cell door was open.

Claudia took another breath, trying not to cough. The cell was silent, a heavy, oppressive silence that was cold and clammy. A listening silence. And in the corner of the cell, she saw an Eye. A small red Eye that watched her impassively.

She felt normal. No tingling or sickness. She looked at herself, her hands clutching the

Key. Was she really so minute? Or was any notion of size relative—was this normality and the Realm outside a place of giants?

She crossed to the door. It had not been locked for a long time. Chains hung from it, but they were corroded into a mass with rust, and the hinges were eaten away so that the door hung at an angle. She ducked under it, into the passageway.

It was stone-flagged and filthy, and k stretched into darkness.

She looked at the Key, operated the imager. "Finn?" she whispered. Nothing happened.

Only, far off down the corridor, something hummed. A low-pitched whine, like a machine being activated. She flicked the Key off hastily, her heart thudding. "Is that you?"

Nothing.

She took two steps, then stopped. The sound came again, just ahead, a soft, oddly questing sound. She saw a red Eye open, turn slowly through a half circle, then stop and swivel back toward her. She kept very still.

390

"I see you," a voice said softly. "I recognize you." Not Finns. Not anyone she knew.

"I never forget any of my children. But you haven't been here for a while. I'm not sure I understand that."

Claudia wiped her cheek with a grimy hand. "Who are you? I can't see you."

"Yes you can. You're standing on me, breathing me."

She stepped back, staring down, but there was only the stone floor, the darkness.

The red Eye watched her. She breathed a sickening breath. "You're the Prison."

"I am." It sounded fascinated. "And you are the Wardens daughter."

She couldn't speak. Jared had said it was an intelligence, but she hadn't realized it would be like this.

"Shall we help each other, Claudia Arlexa?" The voice was calm and had a slight echo.

"You are looking for Finn and his friends. Isn't that right?"

"Yes." Should she have said that?

"I will lead you to them."

"The Key will do that."

"Don't use the Key. It interferes with my systems."

Was she mistaken, or had that been hurried, almost annoyed? She began to walk on slowly, into the dark corridor. "I see. And what do you want in return?"

A sound. It could have been a sigh, or a soft laugh. "Not a question I have been asked before. I want you to tell me what is Outside. Sapphique promised faithfully that he would come back and tell me, but he never has. Your father does not speak of it. I begin to wonder, in my heart of hearts, if there even is an

Outside, or whether Sapphique passed only into death and you live in a place here I am unable to detect. I have a billion Eyes and senses, and yet I cannot see out. It is not only the inmates who dream of Escape, Claudia. But then, how can I escape from myself?"

She came to a corner. The passageway forked in two, both dark and dripping, and identical. She frowned and held the Key tightly. "I don't know. It's pretty much what I'm trying to do. All right. Take me to Finn. And as we go I'll tell you what's Outside."

Lights flickered on ahead. "This way." She paused. "You do really know where they are?

This isn't a trick?"

Silence. Then, "Oh Claudia. How angry your father will be with you. When he finds out."

31

He fell all day and all night. He fell into a pit of darkness. He fell like a stone falls, like a bird with broken wings, like an angel cast down. His landing bruised the world.

-Legends of Sapphique

"It's changed." Keiro looked intently at the Key. "The colors." Finn lifted the crystal into a glimmer of light. The red lights were humming, flickering into a muted rainbow. The Key seemed warmer in his hand.

"Maybe she's Inside."

"Then why doesn't she talk to us?"

Ahead, Gildas turned, a limping shadow in the darkness. "Is this the way? Finn?"

He had no idea. The wreckage of the ship was far behind; the cube had become a funnel, narrowing as they hurried into it, the sides and roof closing in, becoming black faceted stone, the familiar obsidian glint of walls.

"Keep close to me," he muttered. "We don't know how far the protective field goes."

Gildas barely heard. Since he had spoken to Jared the feverish possession of his quest had come over him again; anxiously he limped ahead, examining faint scratches on the walls, muttering to himself. He seemed to ignore his injuries, but Finn guessed they were more serious than he let on.

"The old fool's losing it," Keiro muttered in disgust. He turned. "And then there's her."

Attia hung back. She seemed to be walking deliberately slowly; in the shadows she seemed deep in thought.

"That was some stunt she pulled." Keiro walked on. He gave a sharp glance at Finn. "A real blow under the belt."

Finn nodded. Claudia had gone so still. Like someone stabbed with a deep wound keeps still, so as not to feel the pain.

"But," Keiro said, "it means there's a way out. So we can get out too."

"You're heartless. You only ever think about yourself."

"And you, brother." His oathbrother glanced around, alert. "If there is an Outside and you're some sort of king out there, then I'm guarding you like gold. Prince Keiro sounds good to me."

"I'm not sure I can do that... be that."

"You can. It's all pretense. You're a master of lies, Finn." Keiro looked at him sidelong.

"You'll be a natural."

For a moment they shared a look. Then Finn said, "Can you hear something?"

A murmur. It drifted down the corridor, a gust of soft voices. Keiro drew his sword. Attia closed up. "What is it?"

"Something ahead." Keiro listened intently, but the sound did not come again. Standing still, one hand against the wall, Gildas whispered, "Maybe it's Claudia. She's found us."

"Then she was very quick about it." Keiro walked on softly. "Stay together. Finn, go at the back, and keep the Key safe."

Gildas snorted but took his place between them.

It was a voice. It was speaking somewhere ahead, and as they crept toward it, the passageway became cluttered; great chains lay across it, manacles and shackles, scattered heaps of tools, a broken Beetle on its back. They passed small cells, some with the doors locked, and through the grille in one Finn saw a tiny dark room with rats clambering over an empty plate, a filthy pile of rags in one corner that might have been a body. Everything was still. He felt that this was a place forgotten even by its makers, a corner of itself even Incarceron had overlooked for centuries. Had it been somewhere like this that the Maestra's people had found the Key, with the desiccated bones of the man who had made it, or stolen it?

Stepping around a great pillar he realized he was beginning to forget her. Already it seemed so long ago, and yet the clatter of the bridge, her single look, were still inside him, waiting for him to sleep, to think he was safe. And her pity.

Attia grabbed him; he realized he had been walking past them.

"Stay awake, brother." Keiro's hiss was fierce. Heart thudding, he tried to clear his head.

The prickling in his face subsided. He took deep breaths.

"All right?" Gildas whispered.

He nodded. The fit had nearly crept up on him. It made him feel sick.

Peering around the corner, he stared.

The voice was speaking in a language he had never heard, of clicks and squeaks and stilted syllables. It was addressing Beetles and Sweepers and Flies, and the metallic rats that came out of the walls to carry off corpses. Millions of them crouched motionless on the floor of a great hall, lined ropes and aerial walkways, all of them facing one brilliant star that shone like a spark in the darkness. Incarceron instructed its creatures and the words it spoke were a patchwork of sounds, a poetry of cracks and rumbles.

"Can they hear?" Keiro whispered.

"It's not just words." It was a vibration too, deep in the heart of the darkness, a sound like a vast heart beating, a great clock chiming.

The voice stopped. At once the machines turned and filed away, moving in silent rows into the darkness till the last one was gone, barely making a sound.

Finn moved, but Keiro grabbed him tight.

The Eye still watched. Its light lit the empty hall. Then the voice said softly, "Have you got the Key with you, Finn? Shall I take it now?"

He gasped. He wanted to run, but Keiro's grip said no. Biting his lip, he heard the

Prison's low amused chuckle. ''Claudia is Inside. Did you know that? Of course I intend to keep you both apart. I am so vast, it will be only too easy. Won't you speak to me, Finn?"

"It's not sure we're here," Keiro muttered.

"It sounds sure to me."

He had an irrational urge to step out from the Key's protection, to open his arms and go out. But Keiro wouldn't let go, and wriggled around to Attia. "Back. Quickly."

"Of course I am only a machine," Incarceron said acidly.

"Unlike you. Or are you? Are you all so pure? Perhaps I should try a little experiment of my own."

Keiro shoved him, panicking. "Run!"

It was too late. There was a hiss and a crack. The sword flew out of Keiro's hand and clanged against the wall, held there upside down.

And Finn was hauled back, slammed against the stones, the Key in his belt pinning him there, the dagger he held whipping his arm flat with enormous power.

"Ah. Now I feel you, Finn. Now I feel your fear."

He couldn't move. For a moment of terror he thought he was being sucked into the very fabric of the wall; then Gildas was there tugging at him, and he let go of the knife and his hand came free, and he realized the wall had become a magnet. Scraps of iron, flakes of bronze were flying in a fierce horizontal blizzard; the wall became clotted instantly with tools, chainwork, vast links. Finn ducked, cursing, as one clanged right next to his ear. "Get me off!" he screamed.

His body was crushed between the Key and the magnet.

Gildas already had hold of the crystal; the old man dug his heels and gasped, "Help me," and Attia's small hands grabbed tight. Slowly, as if they were tugging it away from invisible fingers they pulled the weight of the Key from him and he fell forward, stumbling.

"Go. Go!"

Incarceron laughed its deep laugh. "But you can't go. Not without your brother."

Poised to flee, he stopped.

Keiro was standing by the wall. He had one hand oddly propped against it, the back of his hand to the black surface. For a moment Finn thought he was trying to pry away the sword and yelled "Leave that!" but then Keiro turned and gave him a look of cold fury.

"It's not the sword."

Finn caught his oathbrother's arm and pulled. It was held tight.

"Let go."

"I'm not holding anything," Keiro said. He turned his face away. Finn looked closer.

"But..."

His brother twisted to look at him and Finn was shocked by the anger in his eyes. "It's me, Finn. Don't you realize? Are you that stupid? Me!"

The fingernail of his right forefinger. It was tight to the wall, and when Finn grabbed his hand and pulled on it, it stayed there, a small shield held to the magnet with an attraction nothing could break.

"Shall I let him go?" The Prison said slyly.

Finn looked at Keiro and Keiro looked back. "Yes," he whispered.

"With a violence that made them all wince, every piece of metal fell from the walls in one resounding crash.

CLAUDIA STOPPED. "What was that?"

"What?"

"That noise!"

"There are always noises in the Prison. Please do go on about the Queen. She sounds so—"

"It came from down there." Claudia stared down the dim archway she was passing. She saw a low passageway, barely head-high, roped with spiderwebs.

Incarceron laughed, but there was a note of anxiety in its humor. "To find Finn you must go straight on."

She was silent. Suddenly she sensed its tense presence all around her, as if it did not breathe, was waiting. She felt small and vulnerable. She said, "I think you're lying to me."

For a moment, nothing. A rat ran up the passage, saw her, and slunk around. Then the voice said thoughtfully, "Your idea of Finn is a foolishly romantic one; the lost Prince, the imprisoned hero. You remember a little boy and want it to be him. But even if Finn is really Giles, that was a lifetime away and a world ago and he is not the same now. I have changed him,"

She stared up into the darkness. "No."

"Oh yes. Your father was right. To survive here men descend to the depths of their beings. They become beasts, not caring, not even seeing the pain of others. Finn has stolen, perhaps killed. How can such a man return to a throne, and govern others? How can he ever be trusted again? The Sapienti were wise, but they made a system without release, Claudia. Without forgiveness."

Its voice was chilling her. She didn't want to listen, to be drawn into its persuasive doubts.

She activated the Key, turned into the low passage, and began to run.

Her shoes slithered on the rubble that littered the floor, bones and straw, a dead creature so desiccated, it collapsed as she jumped over it.

"Claudia. Where are you?"

It was all around her, before her, under her.

"Stop. Please. Or I will have to stop you."

She didn't answer. Ducking under an arch, she found three tunnels that met, but the Key was so hot now, it almost scorched her hand, and she plunged into the left-hand tunnel, racing past cell doors that hung open.

The Prison rumbled. The floor rippled, rose up under her like a carpet. She gasped as it flung her up; she landed with a cry, one leg bloodied, but picking herself up, she raced on, because it couldn't be sure where she was, not with the Key.

The world rocked. It tipped from side to side. Darkness closed in, noxious smells seeped from the walls, bats swirled in clouds. She wouldn't scream. Clawing the stones, she pulled herself on, even when the passageway lifted itself up and became a hill, a steep, slippery slope, and all the rubble that lay on it slid down on her.

And then, just as she wanted to let go and slither back, she heard voices.

KEIRO FLEXED his fingers. His face was flushed and his eyes would not meet Finn's. It was Gildas who broke the silence. "So I've been traveling with a halfman."

Keiro ignored him. He looked at Finn, who said, "How long have you known?"

"All my life." His oathbrother's voice was subdued.

"But you. You were the one who hated them most. Despised them ..."

Keiro shook his head in irritation. "Yes. Of course. I hate them. I have more cause to hate them than you. Don't you see that they scare me stiff?" He flung a glance at Attia, then yelled out at the Prison, "And you! I swear if I could ever find your heart, I'd slice it open!"

Finn didn't know how he felt. Keiro was so perfect, all he had ever wanted to be. Handsome, bold, without flaw, alive with that zestful confidence he had always envied.

He was never scared stiff.

"All my sons think that" Incarceron said slyly.

Keiro slumped against the wall. A Are seemed to have gone out of him. He said, "It scares me because I don't know how far it goes." Lifting up his hand, he flexed his finger.

"It looks real, doesn't it? No one can tell. And how do I know how much more of me is like that? Inside me, the organs, the heart. How do I know?" There was a sort of agony in the question, as if it had been asked silently a million times before, as if behind the bravado and arrogance was a fear he had never revealed.

Finn looked around. "The Prison could tell you."

"No. I don't want to know."

"It doesn't matter to me." Finn ignored Gildas's snort and glanced at Attia.

Quietly she said, "So we're all flawed. Even you. I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Keiro was scornful. "The pity of a dog-girl and a Starseer. That really makes me feel better."

"We're only—"

"Save k. I don't need it." He brushed away Finn's outstretched hand and pulled himself upright. "And don't think it changes me. I'm still me."

Gildas limped past. "Well, you get no pity from me. Let's get on."

Keiro stared at his back with a rigidity of hatred that made

Finn move in; his oathbrother snatched up the sword from the floor, but as he took one step after the Sapient, the Prison shivered and shuddered.

Finn grabbed the wall.

When the world stopped moving, the air was thick with dust; it hung like a fog, and there was a ringing in his ears. Gildas was hissing in pain. Attia scrambled over; she pointed through the miasma. "Finn. What's that?"

For a moment he had no idea. Then he saw it was a face. A face that was oddly clean, with bright clever eyes and a tangle of hastily tied hair. A face that was staring at him out of the mists of the past over the tiny flames of candles on a cake that he leaned over and blew out with one exhausting breath.

"Is that you?" she whispered.

He nodded, silent, knowing this was Claudia.