Кэтрин Фишер - Sapphique

‘I can’t see anything. I’m going on.’ Scrapes and clangs. Muttered swearing that the shaft took and whispered to itself. Worried, Attia called, ‘Be careful.’ He didn’t bother to answer. The ladder twisted and jerked as she struggled to hold it still; Rix came and hauled on it with all his weight, and it was easier. She said, ‘Listen, Rix.

While we’re alone. You have to listen to me. Keiro will steal the Glove from you. Why not pull a stunt on him?’ He smiled, sly. ‘You mean give it to you, and carry a fake one? Oh my poor Attia. Is this the limit of your cunning? A child could do better.’ She glared at him. ‘At least I won’t give it to the Prison. At least I won’t kill us all.’ He winked. ‘Incarceron is my father, Attia. I am born of its cells. It will not betray me.’ Disgusted, she gripped the ladder.

And realized it was still.

‘Keiro?’ They waited, hearing the thud-thud, thud-thud, of the Prison’s heart.

‘Keiro? Answer me.’ The ladder swung easily now. No one was on it.

‘Keiro!’ There was a sound but it was muffled and far away.

Hastily she shoved the torch into Rix’s hands. ‘He’s found something. I’m going up.’ As she hauled herself up the first slippery rungs he said, ‘If it’s trouble, say the word “problem”. I’ll understand.’ She stared at his pock-marked face, his gap-toothed grin.

Then she swung down and put her face close to his. ‘Just how crazy are you, Rix? A lot, or not at all? Because I’m beginning to be very unsure.’ He arched one eyebrow. ’I am the Dark Enchanter, Attia.

I am unknowable.’ The ladder wriggled and slid under her as if it was alive.

She turned and climbed quickly, soon breathless, hauling her weight up. Her hands slid on the mud Keiro’s boots had left; the heat grew as she went up, a murky sulphurous stench that reminded her uneasily of Rix’s idea of the magma chamber.

Her arms ached. Each step now was an effort and the torch, far below, was no more than a spark in the darkness. She hauled herself up one more rung and hung, giddily.

And then she realized there was no shaft wall in front of her, but a faintly lit space.

And a pair of boots.

They were black, rather battered, with a silver buckle on one and broken stitching on the other. And whoever wore them was bending down, because his shadow was over her and he was saying, ’How very pleasant to meet you again, Attia.’ And he reached down and grabbed her chin and jerked her face up and she saw his cold smile.

The study door looked exactly the same; black as ebony, the black swan spitting defiance down at them, its eye bright as diamond.

‘This opened it once before.’ Claudia waited impatiently as the disc hummed. Behind her, Finn stood in the long corridor, gazing down at the vases and suits of armour.

‘A bit better than the Court cellars,’ he said. ‘But are you sure it will be the same Portal? How can it be?’ The disc clicked. ‘Don’t ask me.’ She reached up and snapped it off. ‘Jared had a theory it was some halfway point between here and the Prison

‘Meaning we lose size in there?’

‘I don’t know.’ The door lock chuntered, she turned the handle, and it opened.

When he followed her in through the dizzying threshold Finn stared around. Then he nodded. ‘Amazing.’ The Portal was the room he had grown to know in the Palace. All Jared’s contraptions and wires still trailed from the controls; the huge feather lay curled in a corner, drifting as the breeze took it. The room hummed in its tilted silence, its solitary desk and chair enigmatic as ever.

Claudia crossed the floor and said, ‘Incarceron.’ A small drawer rolled open. Inside he saw a black cushion with an empty key-shape in it. ‘This is where I stole the Key.

It seems so long ago. I was so scared that day! So. Where do we start?’ He shrugged. ‘You’re the one who had Jared for a tutor.’

‘He worked too fast to explain everything to me.’

‘Well, there must be notes. Diagrams. .

‘There are.’ Piled on the desk were pages of writing in Jared’s spidery script; a book of drawings, lists of equations.

Claudia picked one up and sighed. ‘We’d better start. This could take all night.’ He didn’t answer so she looked up and saw his face. She stood quickly. ‘Finn.’ He was pale; there was a tinge of blue around his lips. She grabbed him and made him sit on the floor, kicking circuits aside. ‘Be calm. Breathe slowly. Have you got any of those pills Jared made up?’ He shook his head, feeling the prickling agony invade and darken his sight, feeling the shame and sheer anger flood him. ‘I’ll be fine he heard himself mumble. ‘I’ll be fine.’ He preferred darkness. He put his hands over his eyes and sat there, against the grey wall, numb, breathing, counting.

After a while Claudia went; there was shouting, running feet. A cup was pressed into his hand. ‘Water: she said. Then, ‘Ralph will stay with you. I have to go. The Queen has come.’ He wanted to stand but couldn’t. He wanted her to stay but she was gone.

Ralph’s hand was on his shoulder; the quavery voice in his ear. ‘I’m with you, sire.’ This shouldn’t happen. If he remembered, he was cured.

He should be cured.

Attia climbed over the top of the ladder and stood upright.

The Warden dropped her hand. ‘Welcome to the heart of Incarceron.’ They eyed each other. He wore a dark suit still, but his skin was grained now with the dirt of the Prison, his hair unkempt and greying. A firelock was thrust into his belt.

Behind him, in the red room Keiro stood, looking as if his temper was under tight control. Three men held weapons on him.

‘Our thief friend here does not seem to have the Glove. So you must.’ Attia shrugged. ’Wrong again.’ She took her coat off and flung it down. ‘See for yourself’ The Warden raised an eyebrow. He kicked the coat to one of the Prisoners, who searched it rapidly. ‘Nothing, sire .’

‘Then I must search you, Attia.’ He was rough and thorough and she scorched with anger but when the muffled cry came up the shaft he stopped abruptly. ‘Is that the mountebank Rix?’ She was surprised he didn’t know. ‘Yes.’

‘Get him up here. Now.’ She walked to the edge of the shaft and crouched down.

‘Rix! Come up. It’s safe. No problems.’ The Warden pulled her back, and made a sign to one of his men. As Rix made his may noisily up the swinging ladder the man knelt, aiming his firelock directly at the hole. When Rix’s head came up, he stared straight into the muzzle of the gun.

‘Slowly, magician.’ The Warden crouched, his eyes grey and ashen. ‘Very slowly, if you want to keep your head.’ Attia glanced at Keiro. He raised his eyebrows and she shook her head, the tiniest movement. They watched Rix.

He climbed out of the shaft and held his hands wide of his body.

‘The Glove?’ the Warden said.

‘Hidden. In a secret place which I will divulge only to Incarceron itself.’ The Warden sighed, took out a handkerchief that was still almost white, and wiped his hands. Wearily he said, ‘Search him.’ They were even harder on Rix. A few blows to keep him quiet, his pack ripped apart, his body scoured.

They found hidden coins, coloured handkerchiefs, two mice, a collapsible dove cage. They found hidden pockets, false sleeves, reversible linings. But no Glove.

The Warden sat watching, and Keiro lazed defiantly on the tiled floor. Attia took the chance to stare round.

They were in a vast hail of black and white tiles. It stretched into the distance, the walls hung with red satin, sagging in great swathes. At the far end, so distant it could barely be seen, was a long table flanked by standing candlesticks, branches lit with tiny flames.