Sapphique Read online

  He smiled his most charming smile. “Rix. Please sit down.”

  The lanky magician collapsed and huddled up like a spider. His utter dismay almost made Attia want to laugh aloud, and yet she felt sorry for him. Some dream that had kept him going for years had come true, and he was devastated in his disappointment.

  “This changes everything.”

  “I should think so.” Keiro tossed the knife to Attia. “So I’m the sorcerer’s Apprentice, am I? Well, it might come in useful.”

  She scowled at him. Joking was stupid. They had to use this.

  “What does it mean?” Keiro leaned forward, his shadow huge on the cave wall.

  “It means revenge is forgotten.” Rix stared blankly into the flames. “The Art Magicke has rules. It means I have to teach you all my tricks. All the substitutions, the replications, the illusions. How to read minds and palms and leaves. How to disappear and reappear.”

  “How to saw people in half?”

  “That too.”

  “Nice.”

  “And the secret writings, the hidden craft, the alchemies, the names of the Great Powers. How to raise the dead, how to live forever. How to make gold pour from a donkey’s ear.”

  They stared at his rapt, gloomy face. Keiro raised an eyebrow at Attia. They both knew how precarious this was. Rix was unstable enough to kill; their lives depended on his whims. And he had the Glove.

  Gently she said, “So we’re all friends again now?”

  “You!” He glared at her. “Not you!”

  “Now now, Rix.” Keiro faced him. “Attia’s my slave. She does what I say.”

  She swallowed her fury and glanced away. He was enjoying this. He would tease Rix within inches of insanity, then grin and charm the danger away. She was trapped here between them, and she had to stay, because of the Glove. Because she had to get it before Keiro did.

  Rix seemed sunk in torpor. And yet after a moment he nodded, muttered to himself, and went to the wagon, tugging things out.

  “Food?” Keiro said hopefully.

  Attia whispered, “Don’t push your luck.”

  “At least I have luck. I’m the Apprentice, I can twist him around my finger like flexiwire.”

  But when Rix came back with bread and cheese Keiro ate it as gratefully as Attia, while Rix watched and chewed ket and seemed to recover his gap-toothed humor.

  “Thieving not paying well these days then?”

  Keiro shrugged.

  “All the jewels you carry. Sacks of loot.” Rix sniggered. “Fine clothes.”

  Keiro fixed him with a cold eye. “So which is the tunnel we leave by?”

  Rix looked at the seven slots. “There they are. Seven narrow arches. Seven openings into the darkness. One leads to the heart of the Prison. But we sleep now. At Lightson, I take you into the unknown.”

  Keiro sucked his fingers. “Anything you say, boss.”

  FINN AND Claudia rode all night. They galloped down the dark lanes of the Realm, clattering over bridges and through fords where sleepy ducks flapped from the rushes, quacking. They clopped through muddy villages where dogs barked and only a child’s eye at the edge of a lifted shutter watched them go by.

  They had become ghosts, Claudia thought, or shadows. Cloaked in black like outlaws, they fled the Court, and behind them there would be uproar, the Queen furious, the Pretender vengeful, the servants panicked, the army being ordered out.

  This was rebellion, and nothing would be the same now. They had rejected Protocol. Claudia wore the dark breeches and coat and Finn had flung the Pretender’s finery into the hedge. As the dawn began to break they topped a rise and found themselves high above the golden countryside, the cocks crowing in its pretty farmyards, its picturesque hovels glowing in the new light.

  “Another perfect day,” Finn muttered.

  “Not for long maybe. Not if Incarceron has its way.”

  Grimly, she led the way down the track.

  By midday they were too exhausted to go on, the horses stumbling with weariness. At an isolated byre shadowed by elms they found straw heaped in a dim sun-slanted loft, where dull flies buzzed and doves cooed in the rafters.

  There was nothing to eat.

  Claudia curled up and slept. If they spoke, she didn’t remember it.

  When she woke it was from a dream of someone knocking insistently at her door, of Alys saying, “Claudia, your father’s here. Get dressed, Claudia!”

  And then soft in her ear, Jared’s whisper: “Do you trust me, Claudia?”

  With a gasp she sat upright.

  The light was fading. The doves had gone and the barn was silent, with only a rustle in the far corner that might have been mice.

  She leaned back slowly on one elbow.

  Finn had his back to her; he slept with his body curled up in the straw, the sword by his hand.

  She watched him for a while until his breathing altered, and although he didn’t move, she knew he was awake. She said, “How much do you remember?”

  “Everything.”

  “Such as?”

  “My father. How he died. Bartlett. My engagement with you. My whole life at Court before the Prison. In snatches … foggy, but there. The only thing I don’t know is what happened between the ambush in the forest and the day I woke in the Prison cell. Perhaps I never will.”

  Claudia drew her knees up and picked straw from them. Was this the truth? Or had it become so necessary for him to know that he had convinced himself?

  Maybe her silence revealed her doubts. He rolled over. “Your dress that day was silver. You were so small—you wore a little necklace of pearls and they gave me white roses to present to you. You gave me your portrait in a silver frame.”

  Had it been silver? She had thought gold.

  “I was scared of you.”

  “Why?”

  “They said I had to marry you. But you were so perfect and shining, your voice was so bright. I just wanted to go and play with my new dog.”

  She stared at him. Then she said, “Come on. They’re probably only hours behind.”

  Usually it took three days to travel between the Court and the Wardenry, but that was with inn stops, and carriages. Like this, it was a relentless gallop, sore and weary and stopping only to buy hard bread and ale from a girl who came running out from a decaying cottage. They rode past watermills and churches, over wide downs where sheep scattered before them, through wool-snagged hedges, over ditches and the wide grassgrown scars of the ancient wars.

  Finn let Claudia lead. He no longer knew where they were, and every bone in his body ached with the strain of the unaccustomed riding. But his mind was clear, clearer and happier than he ever remembered. He saw the land sharp and bright; the smells of the trampled grass, the birdsong, the soft mists that rose from the earth seemed new things to him. He dared not hope that the fits were over. But perhaps his memory had brought back some old strength, some certainties.

  The landscape changed slowly. It became hilly, the fields smaller, the hedges thick, untrimmed masses of oak and birch and holly. All night they rode through them, down lanes and bridle paths and secret ways as Claudia became more and more certain of where she was.

  And then, when Finn was almost asleep in the saddle, his horse slowed to a halt, and he opened his eyes and looked down on an ancient manor house, pale in the glimmer of the broken moon, its moat a silver sheen, its windows lit with candles, the perfume of its ghostly roses sweet in the night.

  Claudia smiled in relief. “Welcome to the Wardenry.” Then she laughed ruefully. “I left in a carriage full of finery to go to my wedding. What a way to come back.”

  Finn nodded. “But you still brought the Prince,” he said.

  24

  People will love you if you tell them of your fears.

  —The Mirror of Dreams to Sapphique

  “Well?” Rix grinned. With a showman’s flourish he pointed to the third tunnel from the left.

  Keiro walked over to it and peered i
n. It seemed as dark and smelly as the rest. “How do you know?”

  “I hear the heartbeat of the Prison.”

  There was a small red Eye just inside each of the tunnels.

  They all watched Keiro.

  “If you say so.”

  “Don’t you believe me?”

  Keiro turned. “Like I said, you’re the boss. Which reminds me, when do I start my training?”

  “Right now.” Rix seemed to have gotten over his disappointment. He had a self-important air this morning; he took a coin out of nowhere before Keiro’s eyes, spun it, and held it out to him. “You practice moving it between your fingers like this. And so. You see?”

  The coin rippled between his bony knuckles.

  Keiro took it. “I’m sure I can manage that.”

  “You’ve picked enough pockets to be deft, you mean.”

  Keiro smiled. He palmed the coin, then made it reappear. Then he ran it pleasantly through his fingers, not as smoothly as Rix, but far better than Attia could have done.

  “Room for improvement,” Rix said loftily. “But my Apprentice is a natural.”

  He turned away, ignoring Attia completely, and strode into the tunnel.

  She followed, feeling gloomy and a little jealous. Behind her the coin tinkled as Keiro dropped it and swore.

  The tunnel was high, its smooth walls perfectly circular. It was lit only by the Eyes, which were placed at regular intervals in the roof, so that the red glow of one was distant before the next made their shadows loom on the floor.

  “Are you watching us so closely?” Attia wanted to ask. She could feel Incarceron here, its curiosity, its need, breathing in her ear, like a fourth walker in the shadows.

  Rix was far in front, with a bag on his back and the sword, and somewhere, hidden on his person, the Glove.

  Attia had no weapons, nothing to carry. She felt light, because everything she knew or owned had been left behind, in some past that was slipping from her mind.

  Except Finn. She still carried Finn’s words like treasure in her hands. I haven’t abandoned you.

  Keiro came last. His dark red coat was torn and ragged, but he wore a belt with two knives from the wagon stuck in it and he had scrubbed his hands and face and tied up his hair. As he walked he tipped the coin between his fingers, tossed it and caught it, but all the time his blue eyes were fixed on Rix’s back. Attia knew why. He was still smarting at the loss of the Glove. Rix might no longer want revenge, but she was sure Keiro did.

  After hours she realized the tunnel was narrowing. The walls were appreciably closer, and the color of them was changing to a deep red. Once she slipped, and looking down, saw that the metal floor was wet with some rusty liquid, running from the gloom ahead.

  It was just after that that they found the first body.

  It had been a man. He lay sprawled against the tunnel wall, as if washed there by some sudden flood, his crumpled torso barely more than a rag-hung skeleton.

  Rix stood over it and sighed. “Poor human flotsam. He came farther than most.”

  Attia said, “Why is it still here? Not recycled?”

  “Because the Prison is preoccupied with its Great Work. Systems are breaking down.” He seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t speaking to her anymore.

  As soon as he had walked on, Keiro muttered, “Are you with me or not?”

  She scowled. “You know what I think about the Glove.”

  “That’s a no then.”

  She shrugged.

  “Suit yourself. Looks like you’re back being the dog-slave. That’s the difference between us.”

  He walked past her and she glared at his back.

  “The difference between us,” she said, “is that you’re arrogant Scum and I’m not.”

  He laughed and tossed the coin.

  Soon there was debris everywhere. Bones, carcasses of animals, wrecked Sweepers, tangled masses of crumpled wires and components. The rusty water flowed over them, deeper now, and Incarceron’s Eyes saw everything. The travelers picked their way through, the water knee-high, and flowing fast.

  “Don’t you care?” Rix snapped suddenly, as if his thoughts had burst out of him. He was gazing down at what might have been a halfman, its metallic face grinning up through the water.

  “Don’t you feel for the creatures that crawl in your veins?”

  Keiro’s hand was at his sword but the words were not for him. The answer came as laughter; a deep rumble that made the floor shake and the lights flicker.

  Rix paled. “I didn’t mean it! No offense.”

  Keiro came up and grabbed him. “Fool! Do you want it to flood this and sweep us all away!”

  “It won’t do that.” Rix’s voice was shaky but defiant. “I have its greatest desire.”

  “Yes, and if you’re dead when you deliver it, what does Incarceron care? Keep your mouth shut!”

  Rix stared at him. “I’m the master. Not you.”

  Keiro pushed past him and waded on. “Not for long.”

  Rix looked at Attia. But before she could speak, he hurried on.

  All day the tunnel narrowed. After about three hours the roof was so low that Rix could stretch up and touch it. The flow of the water was a river now; objects were washed down in it, small Beetles and tangles of metal. Keiro suggested a torch, and Rix lit one reluctantly; in its acrid smoke they saw that the walls of the tunnel were covered with scum, a milky froth obliterating graffiti that seemed to have been there for centuries—names, dates, curses, prayers. And there was a sound too, thudding softly for hours before Attia was aware she could hear it, a deep, pounding shudder, the vibration that she had felt in her dream in the Swan’s Nest.

  She came up to Keiro as he stood listening. In front of them the tunnel shrank into the dark.

  “The heartbeat of the Prison,” she said.

  “Shush …”

  “Surely you can hear it?”

  “Not that. Something else.”

  She kept silent, hearing only the wading sloshes of Rix behind them, weighed down by his pack. And then Keiro swore, and she heard it too. With an unearthly screech a flock of tiny bloodred birds shot out of the tunnel, splitting in panic, so that Rix ducked.

  Behind the birds, something vast was coming. They couldn’t see it yet, but they could hear it; it scraped and sheared against the sides, as if it was metal, a great tangle of sharpness, a mass forced down by the current. Keiro swung the torch, scattering sparks; he scanned the roof and the walls. “Back! It’ll flatten us!”

  Rix looked sick. “Back where?”

  Attia said, “There’s nowhere. We have to go ahead.”

  It was a hard choice. And yet Keiro didn’t hesitate. He raced into the dark, stumbling in the deep water, the torch shedding burning pitch like stars into the torrent.

  The roar of the approaching object filled the tunnel; ahead in the darkness Attia could see it now, an enormous ball of tangled wires, red light faceted from its angles as it rolled toward them.

  She grabbed Rix and hustled him on, straight into the path of the thing, knowing it was death, huge, a pressure wave building in her ears and throat.

  Keiro yelled.

  And then he disappeared.

  It was so sudden, like a magic trick, that Rix howled in anger and she almost stumbled, but then she was floundering toward the spot, and the rumble of the great mesh ball was on her, over her, above her …

  A hand shot out.

  She was hauled sideways and she fell, deep in the water, Rix crashing over her. Then arms went around her waist and hefted her aside, and the three of them felt the scorching heat as the object sheared past them, its blades scraping sparks from the walls. And she saw there were drowned faces in it; rivets and helmets and coils of wire and candlesticks. It was a compacted sphere of ore and girders, impaling a thousand colored rags, scraps of steel flaking off in its wake.

  As it passed she felt the friction, the condensed air imploding in her eardrums. It filled the tunnel fully
; it scraped itself by with a million screeches and the darkness stank of scorching.

  And then it was wedged tight in the dark, filling the world, and her knee was aching, and Keiro was picking himself up and swearing furiously at the state of his coat.

  Attia stood slowly.

  She was deafened and stunned; Rix looked dazed. The torch was out, floating in the thigh-high water, and there was no Eye here, but gradually she made out the dim shape of this fork in the tunnel that had saved them.

  Ahead was a red glow.

  Keiro slicked back his hair.

  He looked up at the crushed and tangled surface of the sphere; it shuddered, the force of the water juddering it against the constricting walls.

  There was no way back now. Over the noise he yelled something, and though Attia couldn’t hear it, she knew what it was. He pointed ahead and waded on.

  She turned and saw Rix reaching out to touch something that glared out from the metal, and she saw it was a mouth; the open snarling maw of a great wolf, as if some statue had been swept away in there, and was struggling to get out.

  She pulled at his arm. Reluctantly, he turned away.

  “I WANT the drawbridge up.” Claudia marched along the corridor shedding her coat and gloves. “Archers in the gatehouse, on every roof, on the Sapient’s tower.”

  “Master Jared’s experiments …” the old man muttered.

  “Pack the delicate things and get them down in the cellars. Ralph, this is F—Prince Giles. This is my steward, Ralph …”

  The old man bowed deeply, his arms full of Claudia’s scattered clothes. “Sire. I am so honored to welcome you to the Wardenry. I only wish—”

  “We haven’t got time.” Claudia turned. “Where’s Alys?”

  “Upstairs, madam. She arrived yesterday, with your messages. Everything has been done. The Warden’s levies have been raised. We have two hundred men billeted in the stableblock and more are arriving hourly.”

  Claudia nodded. She flung open the doors of a large, wood-paneled chamber. Finn smelled the sweetness of roses outside its open casements as he strode in after her.

  “Good. Weapons?”