Кэтрин Фишер - Incarceron

In the Great Hall, the crowd's noise was louder. As he threaded among them he sensed the growing tension, the expectation heightened almost to hysteria. The staircase that

Claudia should descend was in full view, lined by footmen in powdered wigs. As he slipped into a seat by the fireplace he saw the Queen, glorious in cloth of gold and a tiara of diamonds, flicker an irritated glance at it.

But brides were always late.

Jared leaned back and stretched out his legs. He was lightheaded with fear and fatigue and yet he felt something else that surprised him: a strange peace. He wondered how long it would last.

Then he saw the Warden.

Tall and grave, the man who was not Claudia's father. Jared watched as the Warden smiled, nodded, exchanged graceful small talk with the waiting courtiers. Once he took out his watch and glanced at it, held it to his ear as if in all the hubbub he needed to check it was going. Then he put it away and frowned.

Impatience grew, slowly.

The crowd murmured. Caspar came over and said something to his mother, she spoke to him sharply, and he went back to his supporters. Jared watched the Queen.

Her hair was swept up elaborately, her lips red in the whitened pallor of her face, but her eyes were cool and shrewd and he recognized the growing suspicion in them.

She crooked a finger and the Warden moved to her side. They spoke briefly. A servant was called, a smooth silver-haired steward, and he bowed and vanished discreetly.

Jared rubbed his face.

It must be panic up there in her rooms, the maids searching for her, fingering the dress, terrified for their own skins. Probably they had all fled. He hoped Alys wouldn't be there-the old nurse would be blamed.

He leaned back against the wall and tried to summon up all his courage.

He didn't have long to wait.

There was a disturbance on the stairs. Heads turned. Women craned to see, a rustle of dresses and faint applause that petered out into bewilderment, because the silver-haired servant was racing down, breathless, and in his hands he had the dress, or rather what was left of it.

Jared wiped sweat from his lip. He had never seen Claudia so furious as when she had torn it to shreds.

Confusion erupted.

A scream of anger, orders, the clash of weapons. Slowly, Jared stood.

The Queen was white-faced; she turned on the Warden. "What is this? Where is she?"

His voice was icy. "I have no idea, madam. But I suggest ..."

He stopped. His gray eyes met Jared's through the agitated crowd.

They looked at each other and in the sudden growing hush the crowd noticed and fell back between them, as if people feared to stand in that corridor of anger.

The Warden said, "Master Jared. Do you know where my daughter is?"

Jared managed a small smile. "I regret I cannot say, sir. But I can say this. She has decided against the wedding." The crowd was utterly silent.

Her eyes glittering with wrath, the Queen said, "She's jilted my son?"

He bowed. "She has changed her mind. It was sudden, and she felt she could not face either of you. She has left the Palace. She begs your indulgence."

Claudia would hate that last, he thought, but he had to be so careful. He steeled himself for the reaction. The Queen gave a laugh of pure venom; she turned on the "warden." My dear John, what a blow for you! After all your plans and schemes! I have to say I never thought it a very good idea. She was so ... unsuitable. You chose your replacement so badly."

The "wardens eyes never left Jared's, and the Sapient felt that basilisk stare slowly petrify his courage." Where has she gone?

Jared swallowed. "Home."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"In a carriage?"

"On horseback."

The Warden turned. "A patrol after her. At once!" Did he believe it? Jared wasn't sure.

"Of course I pity your domestic troubles," the Queen said cruelly, "but you realize that I will never suffer an insult like this again. There will be no wedding, Warden, even if she comes back crawling on her hands and knees."

Caspar muttered, "Scheming ungrateful bitch," but his mother silenced him with a look.

"Clear the chamber," she said sharply. "I want everyone out."

As if it was a signal, an uproar of voices burst out, excited questions, shocked whispers.

Through it all Jared stood still, and the Warden stood watching him, and there was a look in those eyes the Sapient could not beat now. He turned away.

"You stay." John Arlex's order was hoarse and unrecognizable.

"Warden." Lord Evian pushed up close to them. "I have just heard ... such news ... is it true?"

His affectations were gone; he was pale with intensity. "True. She's gone." The Warden spared him one grim glance. It's over.

"Then ... the Queen?"

"Remains the Queen."

"But... our plan ..."

The Warden silenced him with a flash of anger. "Enough, man! Don't you hear what I say?

Go back to your puffs and perfumes. It's all we have now."

As if he could not understand what had happened, Evian clawed restlessly at his tight ruffled suit, tugging a button loose. "We can't let it end like this."

"We have no choice."

"All our dreams. The end of Protocol." He reached his hand inside the coat. "I can t. I won't."

He moved in before Jared realized what was happening, the knife flashing out, slashing down at the Queen. As she turned, it caught her high on the shoulder; she screamed in shock. Instantly the cloth of gold was running with blood, small spatterings and trickles that welled up as she gasped and clawed at Caspar, stumbling into the arms of courtiers. "Guards!" the Warden cried.

He whipped out his sword. Jared turned.

Evian was staggering back, the pink suit smeared with blood. He must have seen he had failed; the Queen was hysterical but not dead, and there was no chance to strike again. At least not at her. Soldiers ran in, their sharp pikes forcing him back in a ring of steel. He stared at Jared without seeing him, at the Warden, at Caspar's pale terror.

"I do this for freedom," he said calmly. "In a world that offers none."

With a swift accuracy he turned the knife and with both hands thrust it into his heart. He crumpled over it, crashed down, juddered a moment and was still. As Jared pushed past the guards and bent over him, he saw death had been almost instant; blood was still slowly welling through the silk cloth.

He gazed down, horrified, at the plump face, the staring eyes.

"Stupid," the Warden said behind him. "And weak." He reached down and hauled Jared up, turning him roughly.

"Are you weak, Master Sapient? I have always thought so. We'll see now if I was tight."

He looked at the guard. "Take the Master to his room and lock him in. Bring me any devices that are there. Post two men outside. He is not to leave, and will receive no visitors."

"Sire." The man bowed.

The Queen had been hustled out and the crowd scattered; all at once the great Chamber seemed empty. The garlands of flowers and orange blossom drifted slightly in the breeze from the open windows. As Jared was led to the door he stepped on spilled petals and sticky sweetmeats; the detritus of a wedding that would never happen.

Just before they pushed him out, he looked back and saw the Warden standing with both hands on the high fireplace, leaning over the empty hearth. His hands were clenched fists on the white marble.

NOTHING HAPPENED but a white light. When Claudia opened her eyes, they stung; her sight was watery, and small dark spots floated there for a minute, dimming the walls of the cell.

It was certainly a cell. It stank. The smell was so strong, she retched and then tried nor to breathe again, the reek of damp and urine and rotting bodies and straw.

The straw was all around her; she was sitting in it, and a flea jumped out of it onto her hand. With a hiss of disgust she jumped up and shook it off, shivering and scratching.