'I see.' The Sun Lord nodded sagely. 'But there was a dead body, was there not? A boy who everyone believed was Giles, laid in state here in the Great Hall for three days. You arranged even that?'
Giles shrugged. 'Yes. One of the peasants in the Forest died from a bear's attack. It was convenient, I admit. It covered my tracks.'
Finn, listening, scowled. It might even be true. Suddenly he thought of the old man, Tom. Hadn't he said something about his son? But the Sun Lord was asking mildly.'
'So you are indeed Prince Giles?'
'Of course I am, man.'
'If I were to suggest you are an imposter, that you. . .'
'I hope' — the Pretender sat up slowly — 'I hope, sir, that you are not implying that Her Majesty somehow had me trained or indoctrinated in any way to play this — role?' His clear brown eyes met the inquisitor's in a direct stare. 'You would not dare suggest such a crime.'
Finn cursed silently. He watched the Queen's mouth twitch into a small secret smile.
'Indeed, not,' the Sun Lord said, bowing. 'Indeed not, sire.'
He had them. If they accused him of that, they accused the Queen, and Finn knew that would never happen. He cursed the boy's cleverness, his plausibility, his easy elegance. He cursed his own rough awkwardness.
The Pretender watched the Sun Lord sit and the Shadow Lord stand. If he was apprehensive there was no sign of it. He leant back, almost negligent, and beckoned for water.
The dark man watched him drink it. As soon as the cup was back on the tray, he said, 'At the age of eleven you left the Academy.'
'I was nine, as you well know. My father felt it more fitting that the Crown Prince should study privately: 'You had several tutors, all eminent Sapienti.' 'Yes. All, unfortunately, now dead.' 'Your chamberlain, Bartley. . .'
'Bartlett.'
'Ah yes, Bartlett. He is also dead.'
'I have heard. He was murdered by the Steel Wolves, as I would have been, if I had stayed here.' His face softened. 'Dear Bartlett. I loved him greatly.'
Finn ground his teeth. A few of the Council glanced at each other.
'You are fluent in seven languages?'
'I am.'
The next question was in some foreign tongue that Finn couldn't even identify and the Pretender's answer was quiet and sneering.
Could he have forgotten whole languages? Was it possible? He rubbed his face, wishing the prickle behind his eyes would die away.
'You are also an accomplished musician?'
'Bring me a viol, a harpsichord.' The Pretender sounded bored. 'Or I could sing. Shall I sing, lords?' He smiled and burst suddenly into an aria, his tenor voice soaring.
The Privy Council stirred. The Queen giggled.
'Stop it!' Finn leapt to his feet.
The Pretender stopped. He met Finn's eyes and said softly, 'Then let you sing, sire. Play for us. Speak in foreign tongues. Recite us the poems of Alicene and Castra. I'm sure they will sound most alluring in your gutter accent.'
Finn didn't move. 'Those things don't make a prince.' he whispered.
'We might debate that.' The Pretender stood. 'But you have no cultured arguments, have you? All you have is anger, and violence, Prisoner.'
'Sire,' the Shadow Lord said. 'Please sit.'
Finn glanced round. The Councillors watched him. They were the jury. Their verdict would condemn him to torture and death or give him the throne. Their faces were hard to read, but he recognized hostility, bewilderment. If only Claudia was here! Or Jared. He longed most of all for Keiro's harsh, arrogant humour. He said, 'My challenge still stands.'
The Pretender glanced at the Queen. In a low voice he said, 'And my acceptance.'
Finn went and sat by the wall, simmering.
The Shadow Lord turned to Giles. 'We have witnesses. Boys who were at the Academy with you. Grooms, maids, the ladies of the Court:
'Excellent. I want to see them all.' The Pretender settled back comfortably. 'Let them be brought in. Let them look at him and look at me. Let them tell you which is the Prince and which the Prisoner.'
The Shadow Lord looked hard at him. Then he raised a hand. 'Bring in the witnesses,' he snapped.
20
The Esoterica are the broken fragments of our knowledge.
The Sapienti will spend generations restoring the gaps.
Much of it will never be recovered.
PROJECT REPORT; MARTOR SAPIENS
'I should punish you. You were the one who told Claudia she was not my daughter.'
It was not the Prison's metallic sneer. Attia stared up at the red accusing Eye.
'I did tell her. She needed to know.'
'It was cruel.' The Warden's voice sounded grave, and weary. Quite suddenly the wall of the room rippled, and he was there.
Rho almost screamed. Attia stared, astonished.
A man stood before her in three-dimensional image, his edges frail and rippling. In places she could see right through him. His grey eyes were cold, and she had to make an effort not to flinch, or kneel, like Rho had hastily done.
She had only ever seen him as Blaize. Now he was the Warden. He wore a black silk coat and black knee — breeches; his boots were finest leather, his silvered hair caught back in a velvet ribbon. At first she thought that despite his austerity she had never seen anyone so fine, and yet as he stepped closer she caught the wear on his sleeve, the stained coat, the slightly untrimmed beard.
He nodded sourly. 'Yes. The conditions of the Prison begin to affect even me.'
'Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?'
'The dog-slave grows a little bold, it seems. So where is Sapphique's Glove?'
Attia almost smiled. 'Ask my captors.'
'We're not your captors,' Rhos stammered. 'You can go, anytime.' The girl was gazing furtively up at the Warden with her grey and gold eyes. She seemed both fascinated and appalled.
'The Glove!' the Warden snapped.
Rho bowed, scrambled up and ran out.
At once Attia said, 'They've got Keiro. I want him released.'
'Why?' The Warden's smile was acid. He looked around the Nest with interest. 'I doubt very much whether he would do the same for you.'
'You don't know him.'
'On the contrary. I have studied his record, and yours. Keiro is ambitious and ruthless. He will act for himself, without a qualm.' He smiled. 'I will use that against him.'
He adjusted an invisible control; the image wavered, and then became clearer. He was so close she could have touched him. He turned and gazed at her sideways. 'Of course you could always bring the Glove yourself and leave him behind.'
For a moment she thought he had read her thoughts. Then she said, 'If you want it, tell them to release him.'
Before he answered Rho was back, breathless, the doorway behind her crowded with inquisitive girls. She laid the Glove down carefully before the Warden's image.
He crouched. He reached out for the Glove and his hand passed right through it. The dragonskin scales glittered. 'So! It still exists! What a marvel that is.'
For a moment he was fascinated. Behind him Attia glimpsed a vast, shadowy place, dimly red. And there was a sound, a pulsing beat that she recognized from her dream.
She said, 'If you went Outside, you could tell them about Finn. You could be a witness for him. Don't you see, you could tell them that you took his memory, that you put him here.'
He stood slowly, and dusted what looked like rust from his gloves.
'Prisoner, you assume too much.' He looked at her, a steel-cold gaze. 'I care nothing for Finn, or the Queen, or any of the Havaarna.' 'You care about Claudia. She could be in danger too His grey eyes flickered. For a moment she thought she had stung him, but he was hard to read. He said, 'Claudia is my concern. And I fully intend to be the next ruler of the Realm myself. Now bring me the Glove.' 'Not without Keiro.'
John Arlex did not move. 'Don't bargain with me, Attia.'
'I won't let him be killed.' Her breath came short and
it almost hurt to speak. She prepared herself for some great anger.
But to her surprise he glanced aside as if consulting something and then shrugged. 'Very well. Release the thief. But hurry. The Prison grows impatient for its freedom. And — '
There was a crack, a spitting of sparks.
Where he had been, only an echo blinded her eyes, a faint smell of burning hung.
Attia was startled, but she moved quickly, stooping and picking up the Glove, feeling again its heaviness, the warm, slightly oily texture of its skin. She turned to Rho.
'Send someone to get Keiro. And show me the way down.'
It happened so quickly Claudia almost thought she imagined it. One minute she was huddled miserably in the chair outside the guarded door gazing down the gilded corridor, and in the next moment the corridor was a ruin. She blinked.
The blue vase was cracked. Its marble pedestal was painted wood. The walls were a mess of wires and faded paint. Great damp patches soaked the ceiling; in one corner the plaster had fallen and drips cascaded in. She stood up, astonished.
Then with a ripple so subtle she felt it only in her nerves the splendour came back.
Claudia turned her head and stared at the two soldiers guarding the door. If they had noticed anything strange they weren't showing it, their faces carefully blank.
'Did you see that!'
'I'm sorry, madam.' The left-hand one's eyes kept straight ahead. 'See what?' She swivelled to the other. 'You?'
He seemed pale. His hand was sweaty on the halberd. 'I thought.. . but no. Nothing'
She turned her back on them and walked up the corridor. Her shoes clattered on the marble floor; she touched the vase and it was perfect. The walls were gilt panelling, beautifully ornamented with cupid masks and wooden swags. Of course she had known that much of the Era here was illusion, but she felt that for a moment she had been granted a vision, a glimmer of the world as it really was. It was hard to breathe. As if, for that instant, even the air had been sucked away.
The power had flickered.
With a crack that made her jump the double doors opened behind her and the Privy Councillors surged out, a grave, chattering straggle. Claudia grabbed the nearest. 'Lord Arto. What's happened?'
He disengaged her hand gently. 'It's all over, my dear. We are retiring to consider our verdict; it must be presented tomorrow I must say I myself have no doubts as to ... ' Then, as if remembering her fate was involved, he smiled and fluttered a bow and was gone.
Claudia saw the Queen. Sia chatted with her ladies, and a foppish youth in a gold coat who was rumoured to be her latest lover. He looked hardly older than Caspar. The dog had been dumped in his arms; Sia clapped her hands and everyone turned.
'Friends! We have such a tiresome wait for the verdict, and I hate waiting! So tonight there will be a masked ball in the Shell Grotto, and everyone is to attend. Everyone, mind!' Her colourless eyes met Claudia's and she smiled her sweetest smile. 'Or I will be very, very displeased.'
The men bowed, the women dropped curtsies. As the entourage swept past Claudia breathed out in dismay, seeing the Pretender follow, surrounded by a group of the most fashionable young men. He was already gaining supporters, it seemed.
He bowed graciously. 'I'm afraid there's no doubt about the verdict, Claudia.' 'You were convincing?' 'You should have seen me!' 'You don't convince me.'
He smiled, a little sadly. Then he took her aside. 'My offer still stands. Marry me, Claudia. We were betrothed a long time ago, so let's do what our fathers wanted. Together we can give the people the justice they deserve.'
She looked at his earnest face, his perfect confidence, his concerned eyes, remembering how just for a second the world had flickered around her. Now she had no idea again how much was false.
She removed her arm from his and bowed. 'Let's wait for the verdict.'
He seemed to draw back, and then he bowed too, coldly. 'I would be a bitter enemy, Claudia,' he said.
She didn't doubt it. Whoever he was, wherever the Queen had found him, his confidence was real enough. She watched him rejoin the courtiers, their silk clothes brilliant in the flashes of sunshine through the casements. Then she turned and went into the empty Council Room.
Finn was sitting on the chair in the centre.
He glanced up, and she saw at once what a struggle it had all been. He looked drained and bitter.
She sat on the bench.
'It's over,' he said.
'You don't know that.'
'He had witnesses. A whole line of people — servants, courtiers, friends. They all looked at us both and said he was Giles. He had answers to every question. He even had this.' He rolled up his sleeve and stared at the eagle on his wrist. 'And I had nothing, Claudia.'
She didn't know what to say. She hated this powerlessness.
'But do you know what?' He rubbed the faded tattoo with his finger, gently. 'Now, when no one else believes me — maybe not even you — now is the first time since I came here that I really know I'm Giles.'
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
'This mark. It used to keep me going, in the Prison. I used to lie awake at night and dream of how things would be Outside, of who I really was. I imagined my mother and father, a warm house, having enough to eat, Keiro in all the splendid clothes he wanted. I used to look at this and know it must mean something. A crowned eagle with its wings spread wide. Like it was about to fly away.'
She had to snap him out of this. 'We needn't wait for their stupid verdict. I've made plans. Two horses will be ready for us, secretly saddled, at the edge of the Forest, at midnight. We can ride for the Wardenry, and use the Portal there to contact my father.'
He wasn't listening. 'The old man in the Forest said that Sapphique flew, in the end. Flew away to the stars.'
'And the Queen has ordered a masked ball. What better cover.'
His eyes lifted to her and she saw the signs Jared had warned her of; the whitening of the lips, the strangely unfocused gaze. She hurried across to him. 'Stay calm, Finn. Nothing is over. Keiro will find my father and—' The room vanished.
It became a chamber of grime, of cobwebs, of cables. For a second Finn knew he was back in the grey world of Incarceron.
Then the Privy Council chamber gleamed around him. He stared at her. 'What was that?'
Claudia pulled him roughly to his feet. 'I think that was reality, Finn.'
Keiro spat the last wet rag out of his mouth and gasped in air. Breathing was a great relief he allowed himself a few vicious swearwords too. They had gagged him to keep him from talking to them. Obviously, they knew he was irresistible. Quickly, he pulled his chained wrists under him, dragged his feet through them, the muscles in his arms straining. He stifled a groan as his bruises ached. But at least his hands were in front now.
The cell swayed under his feet. If the place really was wicker he should be able to hack a way through. He had no tools, though, and there was always the chance that there was nothing below but empty air.
He shook the chain and tested it.
The links were finest steel and it had been elaborately tied. The knots would take hours to undo, and they were bound to hear the chink.
Keiro scowled. He had to get out of here now because Attia had not been joking. The girl was crazy and he should dump her here, with this nest of star-blind devotees. Another oath-betrayer. He certainly knew how to pick them.
He chose the weakest-looking link and twisted his hands so that the fingernail of his right forefinger could slide into the thin gap. Then he prised.
Metal against metal, the fine links strained. He felt no pain, and that terrified him, because where did the metal end and the nerves begin? In his hand? In his heart?
The thought made him lever the link open with a swift anger; at once he bent it far enough to slip the next link out. The chain fell from around his wrists.
But before he could get up he heard footsteps, and the swaying of the cage told him one of the girls w
as coming, so instantly he looped the chain loosely over his hands and sat back.
When Omega came through the door with two others pointing firelocks at him, Keiro just grinned at her. 'Hello, gorgeous,' he said. 'I knew you couldn't keep away.'
Jared had been given a room at the top of the Seventh Tower. The climb made him breathless but it was worth it for the view of the Forest, dark miles of trees over the twilit hills. He leant out of the casement, both hands on the gritty sill, and breathed in the warm dusk.
There were the stars, brilliant and unreachable.
For a moment he thought a ripple passed over them, that their brightness dimmed. For a moment the nearest trees were dead and white and ghostly. Then the dizziness passed. He rubbed his eyes with both hands. Was this the illness?
Moths danced around the lantern.
The room behind him was stark. It had a bed, a chair and table and a mirror that he had taken down and turned to the wall. Still, the less there was in the room the less chance of it being bugged.
Leaning out, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocked, unwrapped the disc, placed it on the sill, and activated it.
The screen was minute, but as yet there was nothing wrong with his eyesight.
Duties of the Warden. The words unravelled quickly. There were dozens of subtitles. Food provision, educational facilities, healthcare — his hand hovered over that but he moved on quickly — social care, structural maintenance. So much information — it would take weeks to read it all. How many Wardens had ever done so? Probably only Martor Sapiens, the first. The designer.
Martor.
He searched for design, narrowed it down to structure, found a doubly encrypted entry in the last file. He couldn't decipher it, but he opened it.
The screen showed an image that made him smile, leaning there under the stars. It showed the crystal Key.
Sapphique - Incarceron 02 Page 17