Кэтрин Фишер - Incarceron

The visor was so efficient she could almost lip-read as the coachman swore; then the posts of the bridge flashed past and she realized they had reached the river and the lodge. Mistress Simmy was running out to open the gates with a dishcloth still in her hands, hens panicking before her.

Claudia frowned. She took off the visor and the movement made the bird fly; the world slid back and the coach was small. Alys wailed, "Claudia! They're here! Will you come and get dressed!"

For a moment she thought she wouldn't. She toyed with the idea of letting the carriage rumble in and climbing down from the tree and strolling over, opening the door, and standing there in front of him, with her hair in a tangle and the old green dress with the tear in its hem. Her father's displeasure would be stiff, but he wouldn't say anything. If she turned up naked he probably wouldn't say anything. Just "Claudia. My dear." And the cold kiss printed under her ear.

She swung over the bough and climbed down, wondering if there would be a present.

There usually was. Expensive and pretty and chosen for him by one of the ladies of the

Court. Last time it had been a crystal bird in a gold cage that trilled a shrill whistle. Even though the whole estate was full of birds, mostly real ones, which flew and squabbled and chirruped outside the casements.

Jumping off, she ran across the lawn to the wide stone steps; as she descended them, the manor house rose in front of her, its warm stone glowing in the heat, the wisteria hanging purple over its turrets and crooked corners, the deep moat dark under three elegant swans. On the roof doves had settled, cooing and strutting; some of them flew to the corner turrets and tucked themselves into loopholes and arrow slits, on heaps of straw that had taken generations to gather. Or so you'd think.

A casement unclicked; Alys's hot face gasped, "Where have you been! Can't you hear them?"

"I can hear them. Stop panicking."

As she raced up the steps the carriage was rumbling over the timbers of the bridge; she saw its blackness flicker through the balustrade; then the cool dimness of the house was around her, with its scents of rosemary and lavender. A serving girl came out of the kitchens, dropped a hasty curtsy, and disappeared. Claudia hurtled up the stairs.

In her room Alys was dragging clothes out of the closet. A silken petticoat, the blue and gold dress over it, the bodice quickly laced. Claudia stood there and let herself be strapped and fastened into it, the hated cage she was kept in. Over her nurse's shoulder she saw the crystal bird in the tiny prison, its beak agape, and scowled at it.

"Keep still."

"I am still!"

"I suppose you were with Jared."

Claudia shrugged. Gloom was settling over her. She couldn't be bothered to explain.

The bodice was too tight, but she was used to it. Her hair was fiercely brushed and the pearl net pinned into it; it crackled with static on the velvet of her shoulders. Breathless, the old woman stepped back. "You'd look better if you weren't scowling.

"I'll scowl if I want to." Claudia turned to the door, feeling the whole dress sway. "One day

I'll howl and scream and yell in his face."

"I don't think so." Alys stuffed the old green dress into the chest. She glanced in the mirror and tucked the gray hairs back under her wimple, took a laser skinwand out, unscrewed it, and skillfully eliminated a wrinkle under her eye.

"If I'm going to be Queen, who's to stop me?"

"He is." Her nurse's retort followed her through the door. "And you're just as terrified of him as everyone else."

It was true. Walking sedately down the stairs, she knew it had always been true. Her life was fractured into two; the time when her father was here, and the time he was away. She lived two lives, and so did the servants, the whole house, the estate, the world.

As she crossed the wooden floor between the breathless, sweating double row of gardeners and dairywomen, lackeys and link-men, toward the coach that had rumbled to a halt in the cobbled courtyard, she wondered if he had any idea of that. Probably. He didn't miss much.

On the steps she waited. Horses snorted; the clatter of their hooves was huge in the enclosed space. Someone shouted, old Ralph hurried forward; two powdered men in livery leaped from the back of the coach, opened the door, snapped down the steps.

For a moment the doorway was dark.

Then his hand grasped the coachwork; his dark hat came out, his shoulders, a boot, black knee breeches.

John Arlex, Warden of Incarceron, stood upright and flicked dust off himself with his gloves.

He was a tall, straight man, his beard carefully trimmed, his frockcoat and waistcoat of the finest brocade. It had been six months since she had seen him, but he looked exactly the same. No one of his status need show signs of age, but he didn't even seem to use a skinwand. He looked at her and smiled graciously; his dark hair, tied in the black ribbon, was elegantly silvered.

"Claudia. How well you look, my dear."

She stepped forward and dropped a low curtsy, then his hand raised her and she felt the cold kiss. His fingers were always cool and slightly clammy, unpleasant to touch; as if he was aware of it, he usually wore gloves, even in warm weather. She wondered if he thought she had changed. "As do you, Father," she muttered.

For a moment he remained looking at her, the calm gray gaze hard and clear as ever.

Then he turned.

"Allow me to present our guest. The Queen's Chancellor. Lord Evian."

The carriage rocked. An extremely fat man unfurled from it, and with him a wave of scent that seemed to roll almost visibly up the steps. Behind her Claudia sensed the servants' collective interest. She felt only dismay.

The Chancellor wore a blue silk suit with an elaborate ruffle at the neck, so high she wondered how he could breathe. He was certainly red in the face, but his bow was assured and his smile carefully pleasant. "My lady Claudia. The last time I saw you, you were no more than a baby in arms. How delightful to see you again."

She hadn't expected a visitor. The main guestroom was heaped with the half-sewn train of her wedding dress all over its unmade bed. She'd have to use delaying tactics.

"The honor is ours," she said. "Perhaps you'd like to come into the parlor. We have cider and newly baked cakes as refreshment after your journey." Well, she hoped they did.

Turning, she saw three of the servants had gone and the gaps in the line had closed swiftly behind them. Her father gave her a cool look, then walked up the steps, nodding graciously along the row of faces that curtsied and bobbed and dropped their eyes before him.

Smiling tightly, Claudia thought fast. Evian was the Queen's man. The witch must have sent him to look the bride over. Well, that was fine by her. She'd been preparing for this for years.

At the door her father stopped. "No Jared?" he said lightly.

"I hope he's well?"

"I think he's working on a very delicate process. He probably hasn't even noticed you've arrived." It was true, but it sounded like an excuse. Annoyed at his wintry smile she led them, her skirts sweeping the bare boards, into the parlor. It was a wood-paneled room dark with a great mahogany sideboard, carved chairs, and a trestle table. She was relieved to see cider jugs and a platter of the cook's honeycakes among a scatter of lavender and rosemary.

Lord Evian sniffed the sweet scents. "Wonderful," he said. "Even the Court couldn't match the authenticity."

Probably because most of the Courts backdrop was computer-generated, she thought sweetly, and said, "At the Wardenry, my lord, we pride ourselves that everything is in Era.

The house is truly old. It was restored fully after the Years of Rage."