Кэтрин Фишер: Sapphique

‘I suppose he thinks he’s 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, don’t you, Claudia? Your rough scabby thief. Well, don’t get too close. Mama has her claws out for you. You’re finished, Claudia. Without your father to protect you you’re 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 Giles’s right to the throne will be approved. I’ve 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!

Sia’s 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 Claudia’s mind was tense with disbelief.

‘Told you,’ Caspar smirked.

Finn looked furious. He opened his mouth but caught Claudia’s 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 Claudia’s 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.

‘What’s wrong?’ No answer.

‘Master?’ A faint sound. Glass falling, and smashing.

Instantly she turned and ran.

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 bear’s 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. ‘Tonight’s 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 magician’s dexterous fingers.

‘What do I call you?’ she muttered.

He grinned. 'Men like me change their names like coats.

I’ve 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 he’s 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 didn’t 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 you’ve told her. And it’s 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 she’d 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 Sapphique’s 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 didn’t 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. There’s 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 I’m curious. I’d like to learn a few tricks.’ He nodded. ‘You and everyone else. But my secrets die with me, sister. Magician’s Pledge.