Кэтрин Фишер - Incarceron

"He wants it." Keiro sat up now, quickly. "You saw how he looked, when Gildas laughed at him? There was a coldness in his face then, a flicker of something. He wants the Key."

Finn sat on the floor, knees up. "He'll never get it."

"Where is it?"

"Safe, brother." He tapped his coat.

"Good." Keiro lounged back. "And keep your sword with you. This scabby Sapient makes me uneasy. I don't like him."

"Attia says we're his prisoners."

"That little bitch." But Keiro's remark was preoccupied; as Finn watched, he rolled off the bed and stood, snatching a quick look at himself in the faceted window glass. "But don't fret, brother. Keiro has a plan."

He tugged his coat on and went out, peering cautiously around the door.

Alone, Finn pulled the Key out and looked at it. Attia was asleep and Gildas was restlessly searching the books, as he seemed to have been doing since they came here.

Quietly Finn closed the door and put his back against it. Then he activated the Key.

It lit quickly.

He saw a chamber strewn with clothes, and there was light there that made his eyes sting

; sunlight through a window. Beyond the circle of the Key was a large, heavy wooden bed, hangings, a wall of carved panels. Then, breathless, Claudia.

"You have to give me more warning! They could have seen you!

"Who?" he asked.

"The maids, the seamstress. For God's sake, Finn!"

She was red-faced, her hair tousled. He realized she was wearing a white dress, the bodice elaborate with pearls and lace. A wedding dress.

For a moment he had no idea what to say. Then she sat next to him, crouched on the rush-strewn floor. "We failed.

We opened the gate, but it didn't lead to Incarceron, Finn. It was all a stupid mistake. All I found was my father's study." She sounded disgusted with herself.

"But your father is the Warden," he said slowly.

"Whatever that means." She scowled.

He shook his head. "I wish I could remember you, Claudia. You, Outside, all of it." He looked up. "What if I'm not really Giles? That picture ... I don't look like that. I'm not that boy."

"You were once." Her voice was stubborn; she squirmed to face him, the silk rustling.

"Look, all I want is not to marry Caspar. Once you're rescued, once you're free, then our engagement ... well, it doesn't have to happen, that's all. Attia was wrong; it's not just about me being selfish." She smiled wryly. "Where is she?"

"Asleep. I think."

"She's fond of you."

He shrugged. "We rescued her. She's grateful."

"Is that what you call it?" She stared ahead at nothing. "Do people love each other in

Incarceron, Finn?"

"If they do, I haven't seen anything of it." But then he thought of the Maestra, and felt ashamed. There was an awkward silence. Claudia could hear the maids chattering in the next chamber; could see beyond Finn a small room with a frosty window, through which glimmered a dim, artificial twilight.

And there was a smell. As she realized, she breathed in sharply, so that he looked at her.

A musty, unpleasant smell, metallic and sour, air that was trapped and recycled endlessly.

She scrambled to her knees. "I can smell the Prison!"

He stared. "There is no smell. Besides, how—"

"I don't know, but I can!"

She jumped up, ran out of his sight, came back with a tiny glass bottle that she uncorked and sprayed lightly into the sunlight.

Minute drops shimmered in dust.

And Finn cried out, because the smell of it was rich and strong and it sliced into his memory like a knife; he clasped his hands over his mouth and breathed it again and again, closing his eyes, forcing himself to think.

Roses. A garden of yellow roses.

A knife in the cake and he was pushing down, cutting, and it was easy and he was laughing. Crumbs on his fingers. The sweet taste.

"Finn? Finn!" Claudia's voice swayed him back from endless distance. The dryness was in his mouth, the warning prickle crawling in his skin. He shuddered, forced himself to be calm, breathe slower, let the sweat cool his forehead.

She was close to him. "If you can smell it, the drops must be traveling to you, mustn't they?

Perhaps you can touch me now. Try, Finn."

Her hand was close. He put his own around it, closed his fingers.

They passed through hers and there was nothing, not a warmth, not a sensation. He sat back, and they were silent.

Finally he said, "I have to get out of here, Claudia."

"And you will." She knelt up, her face fierce. "I swear to you, I won't give up. If I have to go to my father and beg him on my knees, I'll do it." She turned. "Alys is calling. Wait for me.

The circle went dark.

He sat huddled there till he was stiff and the room was unbearably lonely; then he got up, shoved the Key into his coat, and went out, running down the steps into the library, where

Gildas was pacing irritably forward and back, Blaize watching him across a table spread with food. When he saw Finn, the thin Sapient stood.

"Our last meal together," he said, spreading a hand.

Suspicious, Finn eyed him. "Then what?"

"Then I take you all to a safe place and let you resume your journey."

"Where's Keiro?" Gildas snapped.

"I don't know. So, you're just letting us go?"

Blaize looked at him, his gray eyes calm. "Of course. My aim was only ever to help you.

Gildas has persuaded me that you need to travel on."

"And the Key?"

"I must do without it."

Attia was sitting at the table, her hands clasped together.

Catching Finn's eye, she shrugged slightly. Blaize rose. "I will leave you to make your plans. Enjoy your meal."

In the silence after he was gone Finn said, "We misjudged him."

"I still think he's dangerous. If he's a Sapient, why doesn't he cure that pox he has?"

"What do you know of the Sapienti, ignorant girl?" Gildas growled.

Attia chewed her fingernail, then as Finn reached out for an apple, snatched it first, and bit it. "I taste your food," she said indistinctly. "Remember?"

He was angry. "I'm not the Winglord. You're not my slave."

"No, Finn." She leaned across the table. "I'm your friend. That means a lot more."

Gildas sat down. "Any news from Claudia?"

"They failed. The gate led nowhere."

"As I thought." The old man nodded heavily. "The girl is clever, but we must expect no help from them. We must follow Sapphique alone. Now, there is a story that tells how ..."

His hand reached to the fruit, but Finn grabbed it. His eyes were fixed on Attia; she half rose, pale, and suddenly choking, the apple stalk dropping from her fingers. As he jerked forward and caught her she crumpled, her fingers tearing at her throat.

"The apple," she gasped. "It's burning me!"

"It's poisoned!" Finn clambered over the table and grabbed her; she choked, clutching his arms. "Do something!" Gildas shoved him aside. "Get my bag of medicines. Hurry!"

It took him precious seconds to find it, and by the time he got back Gildas had Attia lying on her side, writhing in pain. The Sapient grabbed the bag and tore through it, then pulled the cap off a small vial and held it to her lips. Attia struggled.

"She's choking," Finn muttered, but Gildas only swore, forcing it on her so that she drank it and coughed and convulsed.

Then, with a horrible racking sound she was sick.

"Good," Gildas said quietly. "That's it." He held her tight, his quick fingers feeling her pulse, the clammy skin of her forehead. She was sick again, and then slumped back, her face white and mottled.