Кэтрин Фишер - Incarceron

"It's safer than the house."

"Yes." He turned on the bench, the pale silk suit rustling, and she caught a waft of the exquisite perfume he doused himself with. "Listen to me now. I have to speak with you, and this may be the only chance. Have you ever heard of the Steel Wolves?"

Danger. There was danger here and she had to be very careful. She said, "Jared is a thorough teacher. The Steel Wolf was the heraldic symbol of Lord Calliston, who was found guilty of plotting treason against the Realm, and was the first Prisoner to enter

Incarceron. But that was centuries ago."

"A hundred and sixty years," Evian murmured. "And that's all you know?"

"Yes." It was true.

He glanced quickly across the lawns. "Then let me tell you that the Steel Wolf is also the name of a secret organization of courtiers and ... shall we say ... malcontents who long for release from the endless playing at an idealized past. From the tyranny of the Havaarnas.

They ... we ... would have the Realm ruled by a queen who cared for her people, who would let us live as we want. Who would open Incarceron."

Her heart thudded with fear.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Claudia?"

She had no idea how to deal with this. Biting her lip she watched Medlicote come out of the gatehouse and look around for them. "I think so. You're one of this group?"

He had seen the secretary too. He said swiftly, "I may be. I'm taking a great chance talking to you. But I think you're not so much your father's daughter."

The secretary's dark figure crossed the drawbridge and strode toward them. Evian waved limply. He said, "Think about it. There are not many who would mourn the Earl of

Steen." He stood. "Are you looking for me, sir?"

John Medlicote was a tall man of few words. He bowed to Claudia and said, "I was, my lord. The Warden sends his compliments and begs me to inform you that these dispatches have arrived from Court." He held out a leather satchel.

Evian smiled and took it daintily. "Then I must go and read them. Excuse me, my dear."

Claudia dropped an awkward curtsy, watching the small man stroll beside the grave servant, talking lightly of the prospects for the harvest, tugging documents out to read.

She crumbled bread between her fingers in silent disbelief.

There are not many who would mourn the Earl of Steen.

Was he talking about assassination? Was he sincere, or was it some plan of the Queen's to trap her, to test her loyalty? If she reported it or kept silent, either way might be a mistake.

She tossed the bread on the dark water, watching the bigger mallards with their greensheened necks peck and bully the smaller ones aside. Her life was a labyrinth of plots and pretense, and the only person she could trust in all of it was Jared.

She dusted her fingers together, cold in the sun. Because he might be dying.

"Claudia." Evian had returned; he held a letter up between plump fingers. "Good news, my dear, of your fiancé." He looked at her, his face unreadable. "Caspar is traveling nearby. He will be here tomorrow."

It shook her. She smiled rigidly and threw the last crumbs onto the water. They floated for seconds. Then they were snatched away.

KEIRO HAD stuffed a pack with plunder—fine clothes, gold, jewels, a firelock. It must have been heavy, but he wouldn't be complaining; Finn knew it would hurt him far more to leave any of it behind. For himself, he had brought one spare set of clothes, some food, a sword, and the Key. That was all he wanted. Looking down at his share of the accumulated riches in the chest had filled him with self-loathing, brought back the

Maestra's scorching stare of scorn. He had shut the lid with a bang.

Seeing Gildas's lantern ahead, he ran behind his oathbrother, glancing back anxiously.

Incarceron's night was inky. But the Prison never slept. One of its small red Eyes opened, turned, and clicked as he raced below it, and the sound swept a small shiver of dismay through his skin. But the Prison would watch curiously. It played with its inmates, allowed them to kill, wander, fight, and love until it grew tired and tormented them with Lockdowns, with twisting the very shape of itself.

They were its only amusement, and maybe it knew there was no Escape.

"Hurry." Gildas was waiting impatiently. He had brought nothing but a satchel of food and medicines and his staff; he strapped that to his back and glanced up the ladder into the shaft. "We get up to the transitway; the top may be guarded, so I'll go first. From there it's two hours to the door."

"Through Civicry territory," Keiro muttered.

Gildas eyed him coldly. "You can still go back."

"No he can't, old man."

Finn spun, Keiro at his side.

From the sides and shadows of the tunnels the Comitatus swaggered; red-eyed, ket-high, crossbows drawn, firelocks in their hands. Finn saw Big Arko flex his shoulders and grin;

Amoz swung his fearsome axe.

Among his bodyguards, glowering and huge, Jormanric stood. Red juice stained his beard like blood.

"No one's going anywhere," he growled. "Neither is that Key."

No one spoke. Finn stepped away from the ladder; he drew his sword and realized Keiro was already armed, but what use were two blades against so many?

Big Arko broke the tension. "Never thought you'd run out on us, Finn."

Keiro's smile was steely. "Who says we are?"

"The sword in your hand says it."

He lumbered toward them, but Jormanric stopped him with the back of a mailed glove against his chest. Then the Winglord looked beyond Finn and Keiro. "Can there really be a device that will open every lock?" His voice was slurred but his eyes were intent. Finn felt Gildas step down from the ladder.

"I believe so. It was sent to me from Sapphique." The old man tried to push past, but Finn caught hold of his belt and stopped him. Annoyed, Gildas jerked free and pointed a bony finger. "Listen to me, Jormanric. I have given you excellent advice for many years. I've healed your wounded and tried to bring some sort of order into this hellhole you've created. But I come and go when I choose and my time with you is over."

"Oh yes," the big man said grimly. "That's true enough."

The Comitatus exchanged grins. They moved closer. Finn caught Keiro's eye; together they closed around Gildas.

Gildas folded his arms. His voice was rich with contempt. "Do you think I fear you?"

"I do, old man. Under all that bluster, you fear me. And you have cause." Jormanric rolled ket around his tongue. "You've stood behind me at enough hand loppings, tongue splittings, seen enough men's heads spitted on pikes to know what I will do." He shrugged. "And your voice has grated on me of late. I'm sick of being lectured and berated. So here's a proposition for you. Get lost before I cut your tongue out myself.

Climb the ladder and join the Civicry. We won't miss you."

That wasn't true, Finn thought. Half the Comitatus owed life and limbs to Gildas. He'd patched them and sewn their wounds after too many fights, and they knew it.

Gildas laughed sourly. "And the Key?"

"Ah." Jormanric's eyes narrowed. "The magic Key and the Starseer. I can't let them go.

And no one ever deserts the Comitatus." He turned his stare on Keiro. "Finn will be useful, but you, deserter, the only Escape you'll make is through Death's Door."

Keiro didn't flinch. He stood tall, his handsome face flushed with controlled anger, though