His face was drawn, his voice a low mutter. 'I cant be the King, he whispered.
Claudia sat up. Ive told you. You have to. If you want the power to get Keiro out you have to! Angry, she turned and stared back at the lawns.
A gaudy gathering of courtiers was assembling. Two footmen carried a stack of gilt chairs, another was laden with cushions and croquet mallets. A sweating gang of underservants was propping a vast tasselled awning of yellow silk over trestle tables, and a procession of butlers and maids carried jellies, sweetmeats, cold capons, dainty pastries and jugs of iced punch on silver trays.
Claudia groaned. The Queens buffet. Id forgotten: Finn looked over. Im not going.
Yes you are. Take the boat back in. She gave him a fierce hard look. You have to keep it together, Finn. You owe me. I didnt wreck my life to get some thug on to the throne. Jared is working all hours on the Portal. Well get it to work. Well get Keiro out of the Prison. And that bitch Attia too, even though I notice youve been careful not to mention her. But you have to do your part! He scowled. Then he picked up the oars and rowed them back.
As they came close to the jetty; Claudia saw the Queen. Sia was wearing a dress of dazzling white, the elaborate skirts looped like a shepherdess, showing small feet in glimmering slippers. Her pallid skin was protected from the sun by a wide hat, and a graceful wisp of shawl was tucked around her shoulders. She looked about twenty, but she must be four times that, Claudia thought sourly. And her eyes were strange, with pale irises. Witchs eyes.
The boat bumped.
Finn took a breath. He did up his collar, climbed out and held out his hand. Formally, she took it and stepped elegantly on to the wooden boards. Together they walked towards the gathering.
Remember she breathed. Use the napkins, not your fingers. Dont swear, dont scowl. He shrugged. What does it matter? Shed like us both dead anyway. Claudia stepped away from him, as the Queen hurried up.
So here you both are! My dear boy, you look so much better today. Finn bowed, awkward. Claudia dropped a low curtsy beside him. The Queen ignored her, took Finns arm and swept him away. Come and sit by me. I have such a surprise for you. She led Finn to the awning and made him sit beside her on the gilt thrones, clapped her hands for a servant to bring more cushions.
I suppose he thinks hes King already.' The slurred voice was right behind Claudia; she turned and saw Caspar, his doublet unlaced, a half-empty goblet in his hand. My so-
called stepbrother.
You stink of wine, she muttered.
He winked sourly at her. You like him better than me, dont you, Claudia? Your rough scabby thief. Well, dont get too close. Mama has her claws out for you. Youre finished, Claudia. Without your father to protect you youre nothing. Furious, she stepped away from him but he came after her.
Just watch now Watch Mama make her first move.' The Queen is the strongest piece on the board. That could have been you, Claudia. Queen Sia called for silence. Then she said in her silvery voice, Dear friends. I have such good news. The Council of the Sapienti have sent word that everything is ready for the Proclamation of the Heir. AU the edicts are drawn up and my dearest stepson Giless right to the throne will be approved. Ive decided to hold the ceremony tomorrow in the Crystal Court, and invite all the Ambassadors to the Realm, and all the Court to witness it. And afterwards, a masked ball for everyone! The courtiers applauded, the women whispering with delight. Claudia kept her face pleasant, though instantly she was alert. What was this? What was Sia up to? She loathed Finn. It had to be some sort of trap. Jared had always said the Queen would delay the Proclamation, for months, let alone the coronation. Yet here she was announcing it. For tomorrow!
Sias eyes met hers through the shimmering throng. She was laughing her tinkling laugh, making Finn stand, clasping his hand, lifting a thin glass of wine to toast him.
Every nerve in Claudias mind was tense with disbelief.
Told you, Caspar smirked.
Finn looked furious. He opened his mouth but caught Claudias glare and kept silent, simmering.
He looks so cross, Caspar grinned. She turned on him but he jerked back, at once, alarmed. Yuk! Get the filthy thing off me! It was a dragonfly, a green glimmer of flickering wings; it darted at him and he swiped at it and missed. It landed, with a faint crackle, on Claudias dress.
Before anyone else could see she took two steps toward the lake and turned, her voice a whisper. Jared? This is not a good time. No reply. The dragonfly flexed its wings. For a moment she thought she had made a mistake, that it was a real insect.
Then it breathed. Claudia. . . Please. Come quickly..:
Jared? What is it? Her voice rose in anxiety.
Whats wrong? No answer.
Master? A faint sound. Glass falling, and smashing.
Instantly she turned and ran.
3
Once Incarceron became a dragon, and a Prisoner crawled into his lair. They made a wager. They would ask each other riddles, and the one who could not answer would lose. If it was the man, he would give his life. The Prison offered a secret way of Escape. But even as the man agreed, he felt its hidden laughter.They played for a year and a day. The lights stayed dark. The dead were not removed. Food was not provided. The Prison ignored the cries of its Inmates. Sapphique was the man. He had one riddle left. He said, What is the Key that unlocks the heart? For a day Incarceron thought. For two days. For three. Then it said, If I ever knew the answer, I have forgotten it.
SAPPHIQUE IN THE TUNNELS OF MADNESS
The showmen left the village early, before Lightson.
Attia waited for them outside the ramshackle walls, behind a pillar of brick where gigantic shackles still hung, rusting to red powder. When the Prison lights snapped on with their acrid flicker she saw seven waggons were already rumbling down the ramp, the bear cage strapped on one, the rest covered by contraptions of starry cloth. As they approached she saw the bears small red eyes squint at her.
The seven identical jugglers walked alongside, tossing balls to each other in complex patterns.
She swung up on to the seat and sat beside the Enchanter.
Welcome to the troupe: he said. Tonights triumph is in a village two hours away, through the tunnels. A rat- haunted heap, but I hear they have a good stash of silver. You can get down well before we reach it. Remember, Attia, my sweetkin. You must never be seen with us. You do not know us. She looked at him. In the harsh glare of the lights he had none of the youth of his stage disguise. His skin was pocked with boils, his coppery hair lank and greasy. Half his teeth were gone, probably in some fight. But his hands were powerful and delicate on the reins. A magicians dexterous fingers.
What do I call you? she muttered.
He grinned. 'Men like me change their names like coats.
Ive been Silentio the Silent Seer, and Alixia the One-eyed Witch of Demonia. One year I was the Wandering Felon, the next, the Elastic Outlaw of the Ash Wing. The Enchanter is a new direction. Confers a certain dignity, I feel. He flicked the reins; the ox plodded patiently round a hole in the metallic track.
You must have a real name
Must I? He grinned at her. Like Attia? Call that real? Annoyed, she dumped her bundle of possessions at her feet. Real enough.
Call me Ishmael he said and then laughed, a sudden throaty bark that startled her.
What?
From a patchbook I once read. About a man obsessed with a great white rabbit. He chases it down a hole and it eats him and hes in its belly for forty days. He gazed out at the featureless plain of tilted metal, its few spiny shrubs. Guess my name. Riddle me my name, Attia mine. She scowled, silent.
Is my name Adrax, or Malevin, or Korrestan? Is it Torn Tat Tot or Rumpelstiltsker? Is it
Forget it, she said. There was a crazy glint in his eye now; he was staring at her in a way that she didnt like. To her alarm he leapt up and yelled out, Is it Wild Edric who rides upon the wind? The ox strode on, unbothered. One of the seven identical jugglers ran alongside. All right, Rix? The magician blinked. As if he had lost balance he sat down heavily. Now youve told her. And its Master Rix to you, fumblefingers. The man shrugged and glanced at Attia. Discreetly he tapped his forehead, rolled his eyes and walked on.
She frowned. She had thought he was high on ket, but maybe shed got herself mixed up with a lunatic. There were plenty of those in Incarceron. Half-brained or broken cell-
borns. The thought made her think of Finn, and she bit her lip. But whatever this Rix was, there was something about him. Did he really have Sapphiques Glove, or was it just some stage-prop? And if he did, how was she going to steal it?
He was silent now, gloomy all at once. His moods seemed to change swiftly. She didnt speak either, staring out at the grim landscape of the Prison.
In this Wing the light was a muted, fiery glow, as if something burnt just out of sight. The roof here was too high to see, but as the waggons rumbled down the track they swerved around the end of a vast chain hanging down; she gazed up, but its top was lost in rusty wisps of cloud.
She had once sailed up there, in a silver ship, with friends, with a Key. But like Sapphique, she had fallen low.
Ahead, a range of hills rose up, their shapes odd and jagged.
What are those? she said.
Rix shrugged. Those are the Dice. Theres no way over them. The road goes under.' He glanced at her, sidelong. So what brings an ex-slave to our little group?
I told you. I need to eat. She bit her nail and said, And Im curious. Id like to learn a few tricks. He nodded. You and everyone else. But my secrets die with me, sister. Magicians Pledge.
You wont teach me?
Only the Apprentice gets my secrets. She wasnt that interested, but she needed to find out about the Glove. Thats your son? His bark of laughter made her jump. Son! I probably have a few of those around the Prison! No. Each magician teaches his lifes work to one person, their Apprentice. And that person comes once in a lifetime. It could be you. It could be anyone. He leant closer, and winked. And I know them only by what they say.
You mean, like a password? He swayed back, in exaggerated respect. Thats exactly what I mean. A word, a phrase, that only I know. That my old master taught to me. One day, I will hear someone speak it. And that someone will be the one I teach
And pass your props on to? she said quietly.
His eyes slid to her. He jerked the reins; the ox bellowed, hauled to a clumsy standstill.
Attias hand shot to her knife.
Rix turned to her. Ignoring the shouts of the waggoners behind he watched her with sharp, suspicious eyes. So thats it, he said. You want my Glove She shrugged. If it was the real one...'.
Oh its real. She snorted. Sure. And Sapphique gave it to you.
Your scorn is meant to draw out my story He flicked the reins, and the ox lumbered on. Well Ill tell you, because I want to. Its no secret. Three years ago, I was in a wing of the Prison known as the Tunnels of Madness.
They exist?
They exist, but you wouldnt want to go there. Deep in one I met an old woman. She was sick, dying by the roadside. I gave her a cup of water. In return, she told me that when she was a girl, she had seen Sapphique. He had appeared to her in a vision, when she slept in a strange tilted room. He had knelt beside her, and taken from his right hand the Glove, and slid it under her fingers. Keep this safe for me until I return, he said.
She was mad, Attia said quietly. Everyone who goes there goes mad. Rix laughed his harsh bark. Just so! I myself have never been quite the same. And I didnt believe her. But she drew from her rags a Glove, and closed my fingers over it. I have hidden it for a lifetime, she whispered, and the Prison hunts for it, I know. You are a great magician. It will be safe with you. Attia wondered how much was true. Not the last sentence, for sure. And youve kept it safe.
Many have tried to steal it. His eyes flicked sideways. No one has succeeded. He obviously had suspicions. She smiled, and went on the attack. Last night, in that so-called act of yours. Where did you get that stuff about Finn?
You told me, sweetkin.
I told you Id been a slave and that Finn. . . rescued me.
But what you said about betrayal. About love. Where did you get that?
Ah. He made his fingers into a quick elaborate steeple.
I read your mind.
Rubbish.
You saw. The man, the sobbing woman
Oh I saw! She let a rich disgust enter her voice. Tricking them with that junk! He is safe in the peace of Incarceron. How can you live with yourself?
The woman wanted to hear it. And you do both love and hate this Finn The gleam was back in his eye. Then his face fell. But the rumble of thunder! I admit that astonished me.
That has never happened before. Is Incarceron watching you, Attia? Is it interested in you?
Its watching us all, she growled.
From behind, a shrill voice screeched, Speed up, Rix! The head of a giantess was peering from the starry cloth.
And that vision of a tiny keyhole? Attia had to know.
What keyhole?
You said you could see Outside. The stars, you said, and a great palace.
Did I? His eyes were puzzled; she had no idea if it was pretence or not. I dont remember. Sometimes when I wear the Glove 1 really think something takes over my mind. He shook the reins. She wanted to ask him more but he said, I suggest you get down and stretch your legs.
Well be at the Dice soon, and then we all need to be on our guard It was a dismissal. Annoyed, Attia jumped from the cart.
About time, the giantess snarled.
Rix smiled his toothless smile. Gigantia, darling. Go back to sleep. He whipped up the ox. Attia let the cart rumble ahead; in fact she let them all pass, the gaudy painted sides, the red and yellow spoked wheels, the pots and pans clattering underneath. Right at the back a donkey trailed on a long rope, and a few small children trudged wearily.
She followed, head down. She needed time to think. The only plan, when she had heard the rumours of a magician who claimed to own Sapphiques Glove, had been to find him and steal it. If she had been abandoned by Finn, she would try anything to find her own way out. For a moment, as her feet tramped along the metal roadway, she allowed herself to relive the frill misery of those hours in the cell at the Worlds end, Keiros scorn and his pity and his Hes not coming back. Get used to it. She had turned on him then. He promised Hes your brother! Even now, two months later, his cold shrug and his answer chilled her.
Not any more. Keiro had paused at the door. Finns an expert liar. His speciality is getting people to feel sorry for him. Dont waste your time. Hes got Claudia now, and his precious kingdom. Well never see him again.
And where are you going? He had smiled. To find my own kingdom. Catch me up. Then he had gone, shoving his way down the collapsed corridor.
But she had waited.
She had waited alone in the dingy silent cell for three days, until thirst and hunger drove her away. Three days of refusal to believe, of doubt, of anger. Three days to imagine Finn out in that world where the stars were, in some great marble palace with people bowing to him. Why hadnt he come back? It must have been Claudia. She must have persuaded him, put a spell on him, made him forget. Or the Key must have got broken, or lost.
But now it was harder to think like that. Two months was a long time. And there was another thought that hid in her mind, that crept out when she was tired or depressed. That he was dead. That his enemies out there had killed him.
Except that last night, in that moment of fake death, she had seen him.
A shout, ahead.
She looked up, and saw, towering over her, the Dice.
That was exactly what they were. A great tumble of them, vaster than mountains, their sides white and faintly gleaming, as if a giant had tipped a pile of sugar cubes in the way, with smooth hollows that might be arranged in sixes and fives. In places stunted stubby growths struggled to grow; deep in the clefts and valleys a faint moss clung like grass. No roads led up there; the cuboid hills must be hard as marble, and smooth, impossible to climb. Instead the track ran into a tunnel hacked into the base.
The waggons halted. Rix stood up, and said, People. Quite suddenly faces were peering out from the waggons, all the stunted, enormous, shrivelled, dwarfish faces of the freakshow. The seven jugglers clustered round. Even the bearguard ambled back.
The rumour is that the gang that runs this road is greedy but thick. Rix took a coin from his pocket and spun it. It vanished into the air. So we should get through without problems. If there are. . . obstructions, you all know what to do. Be alert, my friends. And remember, the Art Magicke is the art of illusion He made an elaborate bow and sat back down. Puzzled, Attia saw how the seven jugglers were distributing swords and knives, and small balls of blue and red. Then each of them climbed up by a driver. The carts closed together, a tight formation.
She climbed hastily behind Rix and his guard.
Are you seriously taking on some Scum gang with collapsible knives and fake swords? Rix didnt answer. He just grinned his gappy grin.
As the tunnel entrance loomed Attia loosened her own knife and wished desperately that she had a firelock. These people were crazy, and she didnt intend to die with them.
Ahead, the tunnels shadow loomed. Soon intense darkness closed over her.
Everything disappeared. No, not everything. With a wry smile she realized that if she leant out she could see the lettering on the waggon behind; that it was picked out in glowing luminous paintThe One, the Only, Travelling Extravaganzathat its wheels were whirling spokes of green. There was nothing else. The tunnel was narrow; from its roof the noise of rumbling axles reverberated into an echoing thunder.
The further in they went, the more worried she became. No road was without its owners; whoever held this one had a surefire ambush site. Glancing up she tried to make out the roof, whether any one was up there on walkways or hanging from nets, but apart from the web of one uberspider she could see nothing.
Except, of course, the Eyes.
They were very obvious in the darkness. Incarcerons small red Eyes watched her at intervals, tiny starpoints of curiosity She remembered the books of images she had seen, imagined how she must look to the curious Prison, tiny and grainy, gazing up from the waggon.
Look at me, she thought, bitterly. Remember, Ive heard you speak. I know there is a way Out from you.
Theyre here, Rix muttered.
She stared at him. Then, with a crash that made her jump, a grid smashed down ahead in the darkness; and another, behind. Dust billowed up; the ox bellowed as Rix dragged it to a halt. The waggons creaked into a long straggling stillness.
Greetings! The shout came from the darkness ahead.
Welcome to the toll gate of Thars Butchers.
Sit tight, Rix muttered. And follow my lead. He jumped down, a lanky shadow in the darkness. Immediately a beam of light lit him. He shaded his eyes against it. Were more than willing to pay great Thar whatever he wants. A snort of laughter. Attia glanced up. Some of them were overhead, she was sure. Stealthily she drew her knife, remembering how the Comitatus had captured her with a flung net.
Just tell us, great one, whats the fee? Rix sounded apprehensive.
Gold or women or metal. Whatever we choose, showman. Rix bowed, and let relief creep into his voice. Then come forward and take what you want, masters. All I ask is that the properties of our art are left us. Attia hissed, Youre just going to let them
Shut up, he muttered. Then, to the juggler, Which one are you?
Quintus.
Your brothers?
Ready, boss. Someone was coming out of the dark. In the red glimmer of the Eyes, Attia saw him in flickers, a bald head, stocky shoulders, the glint of metal strapped all over him. Behind, in a sinister line, other figures.
On each side, green lights flared with a sizzle.
Attia stared; even Rix swore.
The gangleader was a halfman.
Most of his bald skull was a metal plate, one ear a gaping hole meshed with filaments of skin.
In his hands he held a fearsome weapon, part axe, part cleaver. The men behind him were all shaven-headed, as if that was their tribemark.
Rix swallowed. Then he held up a hand and said, Were poor folk, Winglord. Some thin silver coins, a few precious stones. Take them. Take anything. Just leave us our pathetic props. The halfman reached out and gripped Rix by the throat.
You talk too much. His henchmen were already climbing all over the waggons, pushing the jugglers aside, ducking under the canvas.
Several of them came straight back out.
Hells teeth, one muttered. These are beasts not men. Rix smiled wanly at the Winglord. People will pay to see ugliness. It makes them feel human. A stupid thing to say, Attia thought, watching Thars grim face.
The Winglord narrowed his eyes. So youll pay us coins.
Any amount.
And women?
Indeed, lord
Even your children?
Take your pick. The Winglord sneered. What a stinking coward you are: Rix pulled a rueful face. The man dropped him in disgust.
He flicked a glance at Attia. What about you, girl?
Touch me she said quietly, and Ill cut your throat. Thar grunted. Now thats what I like. Guts. He stepped forward and fingered the edge of his blade. So tell me, coward. What are these . . . props? Rix paled. Things we use in our act:
And what makes them so precious?
Theyre not. I mean...' Rix stuttered. To us, yes, but. .
The Winglord pushed his face close to the magicians.
Then you wont mind me looking at them, will you? Rix looked stricken. His own fault, Attia thought sourly. The Winglord pushed past him. He reached into the waggon, wrenched open the cavity that was hidden under the drivers footboard, and dragged out a box.
No. Rix licked cracked lips. Sir, please! Take anything we have, but not that! Without these trinkets we cant perform. .
I have heard: Thar smashed the hasp of the box thoughtfully, tales about you. About a certain Glove: Rix was silent. He looked panic-stricken.
The halfman tore the box lid off and looked inside.
Reaching in, he drew out a small black object.
Attia drew a breath. The glove was tiny in the mans paw; it was worn and had been mended, and the forefinger was marked with what might have once been bloodstains. She made a move; the man glanced at her and she froze. So, he said greedily. Sapphiques Glove.
Please. Rix had lost all his bluster. Anything but that: The Winglord grinned. With mocking slowness, he began to pull the glove on over his fat fingers.
4
We have been most careful in setting the locks of the Prison. No one can break in or out. The Warden will hold the sole Key. Should he die without passing on his knowledge the Esoterica must be opened. But only by his successor. For these things are forbidden now .
PROJECT REPORT; MARTOR SAPLENS
Jared? Breathless, Claudia burst through the door into her tutors room and stared round.
It was empty.
The bed was neatly made, the spartan shelves lined with a few books. On the wooden floor sweet rushes were scattered, and a tray on the table had a plate with crumbs on it and an empty wineglass.
As she whirled to go the draught of her skirt lifted a paper.
She stared at it. It looked like a letter, on thick vellum, tucked under the glass. Even from here she could see the royal insignia on the back, the crowned Havaarna eagle, its raised talon holding the world. And the Queens white rose.
She was in a hurry. She wanted to find Jared, but still she stared at it. It had been opened, and read. He had left it lying around. It couldnt be a secret.
Still she hesitated. She would have read anyone elses letters without a scrap of remorse; in the Court everyone was a stranger, perhaps an enemy. They were part of the game. But Jared was her only friend. More than that. Her love for him was old and strong.
So when she crossed the room and opened the letter she told herself that it didnt matter, that he would only tell her about it anyway. They shared everything.
It was from the Queen. Claudia read it, her eyes widening.
My dear Master Jared, I write to you because I feel I need to make things clear between us. You and I have been enemies in the past; that really no longer need be the case. I know you are busy with your work of trying to reactivate the Portal. Claudia must be desperate to have news of her dear father. But I wonder f you might find time to wait on me? I will expect you in my private rooms, at seven.
Sia, Regina.
And in small letters underneath: We could be of great help to each other.
Claudia frowned. She folded the note, jammed it back under the glass, and hurried out. The Queen was always plotting. But what did she want with Jared?
He had to be at the Portal.
As she grabbed a candle and shook it into life she tried not to feel so agitated. She opened the door in the panelling of the lavish corridor and pattered down the spiral staircase that led to the cellars, ducking cobwebs that regenerated themselves with irritating speed. The deep vaults were damp and chilly. Squeezing between the barrels and winecasks she hurried to the darkest corner where the high bronze doors reared to the roof and found to her horror that they were shut. The great snails that seemed to infest this place clung to the icy metal; their trails crisscrossed the damp surface.
Master! Claudia slammed her fist against the door.
Let me in! Silence.
For a moment she knew for sure that he couldnt, that he was lying unconscious, that the slow illness that had been consuming him for years had crumpled him in pam. Then another fear stabbed her even harder; that he had finally got the Portal to work and had trapped himself in Incarceron.
The door sprang open with a click.
She slipped in and stared.
And then she laughed.
On his hands and knees, trying to pick up hundreds and hundreds of glistening blue feathers, Jared glanced up at her irritably. This is not funny, Claudia. She couldnt stop. She was silly with relief. She sat down in the single chair and let the giggles rise to a sort of hysteria that left her wiping her eyes with the silk of her skirt. Jared leant back on his hands in the blue ocean of plumage and watched her. He wore a dark green shirt, the sleeves rolled up. His Sapient coat, flung over the chair, was buried in feathers. His long hair was tangled. But his smile, when it came, was rueful and real. Well, all right. Perhaps it is. The room that had always been so pure and white looked as if a thousand kingfishers had been plucked in it. Feathers lay on the metal desk and coated the sleek silver shelves with their unknowable devices. The floor was ankle deep. Clouds of them rose and settled at every movement.
Be careful. I knocked a flask over trying to grab them.
Why feathers? she managed to say at last.
Jared sighed. One feather. I picked it up from the lawn.
Small. Organic. Perfect for experimentation. She stared at him. One? Then...'