Кэтрин Фишер - Sapphique

In the heated room nothing moved but the flames. They made the heavy furniture shimmer, the facets of the crystals glint like watchful stars.

Outside, voices murmured in the corridor. The rumble of cannonballs being stacked came from the roof. If Claudia listened very hard she could hear the revelry from the Queen’s camp.

Suddenly needing fresh air, she went to the window, and opened the casement.

It was dark, the moon hung low, close to the horizon.

Beyond the lawns the hills were crowned with trees, and she wondered how many artillery pieces the Queen had brought up behind them. Sick with sudden fear she said, ‘You miss Keiro and I miss my father.’ Sensing his head turn she nodded. ‘No, I didn’t think I would, but I do. . . Maybe there’s more of him in me than I thought.’ He said nothing.

Claudia pulled the window shut and went to the door. ‘Try and eat something. Ralph will be disappointed otherwise.

I’m going back up.’ He didn’t move. They had left the study a mess of papers and diagrams and still nothing made sense. It was hopeless, because neither of them had any idea what they were looking for. But he couldn’t tell her that.

At the door she paused. ’Listen, Finn. If we don’t succeed and you walk out like some hero the Queen will destroy this house anyway She won’t be content now without a show of force. There’s a secret way out — a tunnel under the stables. It’s a trapdoor, under the fourth stall. The stable boy, Job, found it one day and showed Jared and myself It’s old, pre-Era, and it comes up beyond the moat. If they break in, remember it, because I want to be sure you’ll use it. You’re the King. You’re the one who understands Incarceron.

You’re too valuable to lose. The rest of us are not.’ For a while he couldn’t answer her, and when he turned he saw she’d gone.

The door clicked slowly shut.

He stared at its wooden boards.

The stars.

Jared slept beneath them, uneasy in the rustling leaves.

From the battlements Finn gazed up at them, seeing the impossible distances between galaxies and nebulae, and thinking they were not as wide as the distances between people.

In the study Claudia sensed them, in the sparks and crackles on the screen.

In the Prison, Attia dreamt of them. She sat curled on the hard chair, Rix repacking his hidden pockets obsessively with coins and glass discs and hidden handkerchiefs.

A single spark flickered deep in the coin Keiro spun and taught, spun and caught.

And all over Incarceron, through its tunnels and corridors, its cells and seas, the Eyes began to close. One by one they rippled off down galleries where people came out of their huts to stare; in cities where priests of obscure cults cried out to Sapphique; in remote halls where nomads had wandered for centuries; above a crazed Prisoner digging his life-long tunnel with a rusty spade. The Eyes went out in ceilings, in the cobwebbed corner of a cell, in the den of a Winglord, in the thatched eaves of a cottage. Incarceron withdrew its gaze, and for the first time since its waking the Prison ignored its Inmates, drew in on itself, closed down empty sections, gathered its great strength.

In her sleep Attia turned, and woke. Something had changed, had disturbed her, but she didn’t know what it was. The hall was dark, the fire almost out. Keiro was a huddle in the chair, one leg dangling over its wooden armrest, sleeping his light sleep. Rix was brooding. His eyes were fixed on her.

Alarmed, she felt for the Glove and touched its reassuring crackle.

‘It was a pity you weren’t the one to say the riddle, Attia.’ Rix’s voice was a whisper.’! would have preferred to work with you.’ He didn’t ask if she had the Glove safe, but she knew why.

The Prison would hear.

She rubbed her cricked neck and answered, equally quietly.

‘What are you up to, Rix?’

‘Up to?’ He grinned. ‘I’m up to the greatest illusion anyone has ever performed. What a sensation it will be, Attia! People will talk about it for generations.’

‘If there are people.’ Keiro had opened his eyes. He was listening, and not to Rix. ‘Hear that?’ The heartbeat had changed.

It was faster, the double-thump louder. As Attia listened the crystals in the chandelier above her tinkled with it; she felt the faintest reverberation in the chair she sat on.

Then, so loud it made her jump, a bell rang.

High and clear it pierced the darkness; she jammed her hands to her ears in a grimace of shock. Once, twice, three times it rang. Four. Five. Six.

As the last chime ended, its silvery clarity almost painful,. the door opened and the Warden came in. His dark frockcoat was strapped with a belt and two firelocks. He wore a sword, and his eyes were grey points of winter.

‘Stand up,’ he said.

Keiro lounged to his feet. ‘No minions?’

‘Not now. No one enters the Heart of Incarceron but myself. You will be the first — and last — of its creatures to see Incarceron’s own face.’ Attia felt Rix squeeze her hand. ‘The honour is beyond expression: the magician muttered, bowing.

She knew he wanted the Glove from her, right now. She stepped away, towards the Warden, because this decision would be no one’s but hers.

Keiro saw. His smile was cool, and it annoyed her.

If the Warden noticed anything he made no sign. Instead he crossed to the corner of the room and tugged aside a tapestry of forest trees and stags.

Behind it rose a portcullis, ancient and rusted. John Arlex bent and with both hands turned an ancient winch. Once, twice, he heaved it round, and creaking and flaking rust, the portcullis rose, and beyond it they saw a small, worm-eaten wooden door. The Warden shoved it open. A draught of warm air swept out over them. Beyond, they saw darkness, pounding with steam and heat.

John Arlex drew his sword. ‘This is it, Rix. This is what you’ve dreamt of.’ As Finn came into the study Claudia glanced up.

Her eyes were red-rimmed. He wondered if she had been crying. Certainly she was furious with frustration.

‘Look at it!’ she snapped. ‘Hours of work and it’s still a mystery A total, incomprehensible mess!’ Jared’s papers were in chaos. Finn set down the tray of wine Ralph had insisted he bring and stared round. ‘You should take a rest. You must be making some progress.’ She laughed, harshly. Then she stood so quickly the great blue feather propped in the corner lifted into the air. ‘I don’t know! The Portal flickers, it crackles, sounds come out of it.’

‘What sounds?’

‘Cries. Voices. Nothing clear.’ She snapped a switch and he heard them, the distant, faintest echoes of distress.

‘Sounds like frightened people. In some big space.’ He looked at her. ‘Terrified, even.’

‘Is it familiar?’ He laughed, bitter. ‘Claudia the Prison is full of frightened people.’

‘Then there’s no way of knowing which part of the Prison that is, or …’

‘What’s that?’ He stepped closer.

‘What?’

‘That other sound. Behind...’ She stared at him, then went to the controls and began to adjust them. Gradually, out of the chaos of hissing and static, emerged a deeper bass, a repeated, double-pounding motif.

Finn kept still, listening.