Кэтрин Фишер - Incarceron

Not this humming, tilted box too big for its space.

She paced forward, gripping Jared's disc tightly, but it registered no warnings. Reaching the desk, she touched its smooth, featureless surface and a screen rose up silently with no visible controls. She searched, but there was nothing, so she assumed it was voiceoperated. "Begin," she said quietly.

Nothing happened.

"Go. Start. Commence. Initiate."

The screen stayed blank. Only the room hummed.

There must be a password. She leaned down, placed both hands on the desk. There was only one word she could think of, so she said it.

"Incarceron."

No image. But under the fingers of her left hand a drawer rolled smoothly open.

Inside, on a bed of black velvet, lay a single key. It was intricate, a spun web of crystal.

Embedded in the heart of it was a crowned eagle; the royal insignia of the Havaarna

Dynasty. Bending closer, she looked at its sharp facets that glittered so brilliantly. Was it diamond? Glass? Drawn by its heavy beauty she bent so close her breath misted on its frostiness, her shadow blocking the overhead light so that the rainbow glints went out.

Might it be the key to Incarceron itself? She wanted to lift it. But first she ran Jared's disc cautiously over its surface.

Nothing.

She glanced around once. Everything was quiet. So she picked up the key.

The room crashed. Alarms howled; rays of laserfire shot up from the floor, ringing her in a cage of red light. A metal grille slammed over the door; hidden lights burst on and she stood frozen in the uproar in terror, her heart slamming in her chest, and in that instant the disc jabbed a pepperpoint of red pain urgently into her thumb.

She glanced down at it. Jared's message was breathless with terror.

He's coming back! Get out, Claudia! Get out!

Gildas said testily, "I've told you many times. Outside exists. Sapphique found a way there. But no one comes. Not even you."

"You don't know that."

The old man laughed, making the floor sway. The metal cage hung high over the chamber and was barely big enough for both of them to squat in. Books on chains dangled from it, surgical instruments, a swinging cascade of tin boxes stuffed with festering specimens. It was padded with old mattresses from which wisps of straw fell like an irritating snow onto the cooking fires and stewpots far below. A woman looked up to yell in annoyance. Then she saw Finn and was silent.

"I know it, fool boy, because the Sapienti have written it." Gildas pulled a boot on. "The

Prison was made to hold the Scum of humanity; to seal them away, to exile them from the earth. That was centuries ago, in the time of Martor, in the days the Prison spoke to men.

Seventy Sapienti volunteered to enter the Prison to minister to its inmates, and after them the entrance was sealed forever. They taught their wisdom to their successors. Even children know this."

Finn rubbed the hilt of his sword. He felt tired and resentful.

"No one has entered since. We know about the Wombs too, though not where they are.

Incarceron is efficient; it was designed to be. It doesn't waste dead matter, but recycles everything. In those cells it grows new inmates. Perhaps animals too.

"But I remember things ... bits of things." Finn gripped the

81 cage bars as if to hold on to his belief, watching Keiro cross the floor of the hall far below, arms around two giggling girls.

Gildas's gaze followed his. "You don't. You dream Incarceron's mysteries. Your visions will show us how to Escape."

"No. I remember."

The old man looked exasperated. "Remember what?"

He felt foolish. "Well... a cake. With silver balls and seven candles. There were people.

And music ... lots of music ... He hadn't realized that until now. He was oddly pleased, until he caught the old man's eye.

"A cake. I suppose it may be a symbol. The number seven is important. The Sapienti know it as the sigil of Sapphique, because of the time when he met the renegade Beetle."

"I was there!"

"Everyone has memories, Finn. Your prophecies are what matter. The visions that descend on you are the great gift and strangeness of the Starseer. They're unique. The people know that, the slaves and the warband, even Jormanric. It's in the way they look at you. Sometimes they fear you."

Finn was silent. He hated the fits. They came suddenly, dizzy sickness and blackouts that terrified him, and Gildas's relentless interrogation after each one left him shivering and sick.

"One day I'll die from one," he said quietly.

"It is true few cell-born live to be old." Gildas's voice was harsh, but he looked away.

Buckling the ornate collar over his green robe he muttered, "The past is gone; whatever it was, it doesn't matter anymore. Put it out of your head or it will drive you to madness."

Finn said, "How many other cell-born have you known?"

"Three." Gildas tugged the plaited end of his beard free irritably. He paused. "You're rare beings. I spent my life searching before I found you. A man rumored to be cell-born used to beg outside the Hall of Lepers, but when I finally coaxed him to speak I realized his mind had gone; he babbled about an egg that talked, a cat that faded out to just a smile.

Years later, after many rumors, I found another, a worker of the Civicry in the Ice Wing. She seemed normal enough; I tried to persuade her to speak to me of her visions. But she never would. One day I heard she had hanged herself."

Finn swallowed. "Why?"

"They told me she had gradually begun to believe a child followed her, an invisible child that clutched her skirts and called her, woke her at night. Its voice tormented her. She couldn't shut it out."

Finn shivered. He knew that Gildas was watching him. The Sapient said gruffly, "Finding you here was a chance in a million, Finn. Only you can guide my Escape."

"I can't ..."

"You can. You're my prophet, Finn. My link with Incarceron. Soon now you'll bring me the vision I've waited a lifetime for, the sign that my time has come, that I must follow

Sapphique and seek the Outside. Every Sapient makes that journey. None have succeeded, but none have had a cell-born to guide them."

Finn shook his head. He'd heard this for years and it still scared him. The old man was obsessed with Escape, but how could Finn help him? How could flashes of memory and the skin-tingling, choking lapses into unconsciousness help anyone?

Gildas pushed past him and grasped the metal ladder. "Don't talk about this. Not even to

Keiro."

He climbed down and his eyes were on a level with Finns feet before Finn muttered, "Jormanric will never just let you go."

Gildas glared up through the rungs. "I go where I want."

"He needs you. He rules the Wing because of you. On his own he—"

"He'll manage. He's good at fear and violence."