Кэтрин Фишер - Sapphique

Wet, cold, unbelievably battered, she tried to sit up, but couldn’t. And yet his choked voice was a rasp of triumph.

‘It needs us, Attia! We’ve won. We’ve beaten it’ She didn’t answer.

She was watching the Eye.

The Shell grotto was well named.

A vast cavern, its walls and pendulous roof gleamed with mother-of-pearl and crystal; each shell arranged in patterns that whorled and spiralled. False stalactites, hand-adorned with a million minute crystals, hung from the ceiling.

It was a glassy, dazzling spectacle.

Claudia danced with Giles, with men with foxfaces and knights’ helms, with highwaymen and harlequins. She felt icily calm, and had no idea where Finn was, but perhaps he could see her. She hoped he could. She chatted, fluttered the fan, made eyes at everyone through the slanted holes of the mask, and told herself she was enjoying it. When the chimes of the clock formed of a million tiny periwinkles struck eleven, she sipped iced tea from rosy glasses and nibbled on the cakes and cool sorbets handed out by serving-girls dressed as nymphs.

And then she saw them.

They wore masks, but she knew they were the Privy Council. A sudden influx of loud, brilliantly dressed men, some in long robes, their voices dry and parched from debate, harsh with relief.

She edged to the nearest, safe behind her mask. ‘Sire. Have the Council come to a verdict?’ The man winked behind his owlface, and toasted her with a glass. ‘We certainly have, my pretty kitten He came close, his breath foul. ‘Meet me behind the pavilion and I might even tell you what it was.’ She bowed, flicked the fan, and backed away.

Stupid, simpering fools. But this changed everything! The Queen wouldn’t wait for tomorrow; suddenly Claudia realized they had been tricked, that the announcement would be made here, tonight, and the loser arrested on the spot.

Outside, on the dark lawns beside the lake, Finn stood with his back to the distant Grotto and ignored the silky voice.

Hut it spoke again, and he felt it like a knife between his shoulder blades.

‘They’ve reached the verdict. We both know what it will be.’ The eagleface was reflected, hideously swollen, in the glass he held. He said, ‘Then let’s finish it now. Right here.’ The lawns were deserted, the lake a ripple of boats and torches.

Giles laughed, a low amusement. ‘You know I accept.’ Finn nodded. A great relief surged up in him. He threw down the wineglass, turned and drew his sword.

But Giles was beckoning to a servant who came from the shadows with a small leather case.

‘Oh no Giles said softly. ‘After all, you were the one who challenged me. That means by all the rules of honour I get to choose the weapons.’ He flipped the lid open.

Starlight gleamed on two long, ivory-handled pistols.

Forcing her way through the crowd Claudia searched the glittering room, was snatched into the dance and squirmed out of it, ducked under curtains into kissing couples, dodged troupes of strolling minstrels. The ball became a nightmare of grotesque faces, but where was Finn?

Suddenly, near the arched entrance a jester in cap and bells sprang out in front of her. ‘Oh Claudia, is that you? I insist you dance with me. Most of these women are complete clod—hoppers.’

‘Caspar! Have you seen Finn?’ The jester’s painted lips curled in a smile. They came close to her ear and whispered, ‘Yes. But I’ll only tell you where he is if you dance with me.’

‘Caspar, don’t be an idiot …’

‘It’s the only way you’ll find him.’

‘I haven’t got time …’ But he had caught her hands and dragged her into the gavotte, a great stately square of couples pacing and joining hands to the music, their masks forming crazy partnerships of devil and cockerel, goddess and hawk.

‘Caspar!’ She hauled him out and pinned him against the glittering wall. ‘Tell me where he is now or you get my knee where it hurts. I mean it!’ He scowled, waving the bells crossly. ‘You’re a total bore about him. Forget him.’ His eyes went sly. ‘Because my dear mama’s explained it all to me. You see, when the Pretender is chosen then Finn is dead and after a few weeks we expose the other one as a fake too and so I get the throne.’

‘So he is a fake?’

‘Of course he is.’ She stared at him so hard he said, ‘You look really strange.

Don’t tell me you didn’t know.’

‘Did you know that when Finn dies I do?’ He was silent. Then, ‘My mother wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t let her.’

‘She’ll eat you alive, Caspar. Now where is Finn?’ The jester’s face had lost its mirth. ‘He’s with the other one.

They’ve gone out by the lake.’ For a second she stared at him and felt nothing but cold fear.

Then she ran.

Finn stood in the darkness and watched the muzzle of the pistol as it rose. Giles held it at arm’s length, ten paces away across the dark lawn. He held it steady, and the hole that the bullet would fire from was a perfect circle of blackness, the dark eye of death.

Finn stared into it.

He would not flinch.

He wouldn’t move.

Every muscle was so tense he felt he would break, that he had become wooden, that the shot would fracture him into pieces.

But he would not move.

He felt calm, as if this was the moment of decision. If he died here he could never have been Giles. If he was meant to live he would live. Stupid, Keiro would say.

But it made him feel strong.

And as the Pretender’s finger clicked back on the trigger he felt its answer deep in his mind, as if a cascade of images was shifting and unlocking.

‘Giles! No!’ He didn’t know which of them Claudia’s scream was for.

But neither of them were looking at her when Giles fired.

It was a huge Eye and it was brilliantly red.

For a moment Attia thought it was the dragon of the old story, its head low, staring at her, and then she saw that it was the opening of a cave, that outside it a fiery light burnt.

She picked herself up, and stared at Keiro.

He looked terrible, just as she must; wet, ragged, bruised.

But the water had made his hair yellow again; he slicked it back and said, ‘1 must have been crazy bringing you.’ She limped past him, too weary to even care any more.

The cave was a red velvet chamber, perfectly circular, with seven tunnels leading out of it. In the centre of the room, cooking something over a small bright fire, a man sat with his back to them. He had long hair, and wore a dark robe, and he didn’t turn.

The meat crackled, its smell fabulous.

Keiro glanced at the hastily-rigged tent, the gaudy stripes, the small wheeled cart where a cyber-ox chewed something green and soggy. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Impossible’ He stepped forward, but the man said, ‘Still with your handsome pal then, Attia?’ Her eyes widened with shock.

She said, ’Rix?’

‘Who else? And how did I get here? By the Art Magicke, sweetie He turned, and gave his sly gap-tooth grin. ‘Did you really think I was just some backstreet conjuror?’ He winked, and leant forward, sprinkling some dark dust on the flames.

Keiro sat. ‘I don’t believe this.’

‘Believe it.’ Rix stood. ‘Because I am the Dark Enchanter, and now I enchant you both into magic sleep.’ Smoke was billowing from the fire, sweet and cloying.

Keiro jumped up and stumbled, and fell. Darkness entered Attia’s nose, her throat, her eyes.

It took her hand, and led her into silence.

Finn felt the bullet pass his chest like a crack of lightning.

Instantly he raised his pistol, and pointed it straight at Giles’s head. The eagle mask tilted.

From the clock tower the chimes of midnight began; Claudia, gasping for breath, couldn’t move, even though she knew the Queen would be announcing the verdict right now.