Sappique

by Catherine Fisher

  Keiro lifted his head sharply. ‘Where?’

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  ‘It was . . . a sort of dream.’

  ‘A vision?’ He groaned. ‘Oh, fantastic! That’s all I need!

  Another Starseer .’ Dragging the pack nearer, he took out some bread, tore it open and tossed her the smaller part. ‘So what did you see my precious oathbrother doing? Sitting on his golden throne?’

  Exactly, she thought, but instead she said, ‘He looked lost.’

  Keiro snorted. ‘Sure. Lost in his luxurious corridors and throne rooms. His wine and women. I suppose he’s got them all eating out of his hand, Claudia and his stepmother, the Queen, and whoever else is soft enough to listen to him. I taught him how to do that. I taught him how to survive, when he was a stunned kid sobbing at every loud bang. And this is how he repays me.’

  Attia swallowed the last of the bread. She had heard all this before. ‘It wasn’t Finn’s fault you couldn’t Escape.’

  He glared at her. ‘I don’t need you to remind me.’

  She shrugged, trying not to glance at his hand. He always seemed to wear gloves now, even when it wasn’t so cold. But under the dirty and embroidered red gauntlet was Keiro’s secret, the thing that haunted him and of which he never spoke, the single metal fingernail that told him that he was not entirely human. And that he had no idea how much of his body Incarceron had made.

  Now he muttered,’ Finn swore he’d try to find some way to get me Out. All the Sapienti of his pathetic kingdom 121

  would work at it. But I don’t intend to wait around. He forgot the Outside, so maybe he’s forgotten us now. All I know is if I ever find him again he’ll regret it.’

  ‘Unlikely to happen,’ Attia said heartlessly.

  He glanced at her, his handsome face flushed. ‘And what about you? Always had a soft spot for poor old Finn, didn’t you?’

  ‘He saved my life.’

  ‘Twice. Once with my magic ring. Which I should still have, instead of it being wasted on you.’

  She was silent. She was used to his scorn, and his moods. He tolerated her because she was useful, and she stayed with him because if Finn came back, it would be to find Keiro. She had no illusions about that.

  Gloomily, Keiro sank a mouthful of sour beer. ‘Look at me. Skulking in the Ice Wing, when I should have been leading the old gang now, out on some raid, taking the chief’s share of the plunder. I beat Jormanric in a fair fight! I destroyed him. I had everything in my hands, and I let Finn persuade me to leave it. And what happens? He Escapes and I don’t.’

  His disgust was real; Attia didn’t bother to remind him that she had tripped his opponent at the critical moment and won the fight for him. Instead she said, ‘Stop moping. We’ve got the Glove. At least let’s take a look at it.’

  He was still a moment, then brought out the silk pouch from his pocket. He dangled it from one finger. ‘What a 122

  pretty little thing. I won’t ask how you found out where he kept it.’

  She shuffled closer. If her guess had been wrong.. Carefully, Keiro opened the drawstring, tipped out a small dark crumpled object. He spread the thing out on his palm, and they stared at it in fascination.

  It was extremely old. And very different from the gloves Rix had worn in his act.

  For a start it was not made of fabric, but of some glistening, scaly skin, very soft and supple. Its colour was difficult to define; it seemed to shimmer and change between dark green and black and metallic grey. But it was certainly a glove.

  The fingers were worn, and stiff, and the thumb had been repaired with a patch, sewn by ragged stitches. On the gauntlet were pinned a few metal objects, tiny images of a beetle and a wolf, and two swans linked by a fine chain. But most unexpected of all, the fingers of the Glove were tipped with ancient, ivory-yellow claws.

  Keiro said wonderingly, ‘Is it really dragonskin?’

  ‘Could be snake.’ But she had never seen scales so fine and tough.

  Slowly, Keiro took his own glove off. His hand was muscular and dirt’

  ‘Don’t,’ she said.

  Sapphique’s Glove looked too small for him. It seemed to be made for a fine, delicate hand.

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  ‘I’ve been waiting a lifetime.’

  She knew he thought it would somehow change things, that wearing it might negate the components that were part of him, that if Finn came back through the Portal to fetch him he could follow, by wearing this. But Rix’s warning haunted her.

  ‘Keiro...’

  ‘Shut up, Attia.’ He opened the Glove. It crackled slightly and she smelt its fusty, ancient smell. But before he could slide his fingers in the horse raised its head and gave a sharp snort. Keiro froze.

  Beyond the rigid waterfall the Ice Wing seemed dark and silent, deserted in its black night. As they listened they heard the low moan of the wind that gusted out there, a cold echo in the meltholes and glaciers of the abandoned landscape. And then something else.

  A chink of metal.

  Keiro stamped on the fire; Attia dived behind a rock. There was no way of hiding the horse, but it stood quietly, as if it too sensed the danger.

  With the flames gone the Prison’s night was blue and silver; the seamed currents of the waterfall twisted like grotesque marble.

  ‘See anything?’ Keiro squeezed in beside her, shoving the Glove into his shirt.

  ‘I thought so. Yes. There.’

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  A glint, out on the tundra. Aurora reflecting on steel. A flicker of torchlight.

  Keiro swore. ‘Is it Rix?’

  ‘I don’t see how it can be Rix could never have caught up with them, not with the clumsy waggons. She narrowed her eyes and stared.

  There was something out there. It lurched in the shadows. As the light it carried flared up she glimpsed a grotesque creature, lumpy, as if it had many heads. It clanked, as if its body was made of chains. A thread of dread touched her spine. ‘What is that?’

  Keiro was very still. ‘Something I hoped never to run into.’

  His voice was drained of all bravado; glancing at him she saw only a flicker of his eyes.

  It was making straight for them. Perhaps it could smell the horse, or sense the frozen water. The chinking became regular, as if the thing marched with military precision. As if its centipede legs were a legion.

  Keiro said, ‘Get on the horse. Leave everything.’

  The fear in his voice made her move without question. But the horse sensed it too, and it whinnied, loud in the silence. The creature stopped. It whispered. It had many voices, and its heads turned, hydra-like, to each other. Then it began to lope raggedly, awkwardly, parts of it falling, being dragged, staggering up. It yelled and swore at itself, bunched in a dark bristling mass. Sword blades and flames

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  gleamed in its hands. Green aurora flickered over it. It was a Chain-gang.

  Claudia stared at the boy. He straightened, saw her, and smiled, warmly. ‘Claudia! You’ve grown up so much. You look wonderful!’ He stepped towards her and before she could move or the guards could stop him he had taken her hand and kissed it, formally.

  Astonished, she said, ‘Giles?’

  Instantly there was uproar. The crowd buzzed with excitement, the soldiers looked to the Queen. Sia was standing absolutely still, as if thunderstruck; with an elegant movement she recovered, lifted her hand and waited for silence.

  It came slowly. A guard banged his halberd on the floor. The crowd hushed, but there were still whispers. The Sapienti glanced at each other; Claudia saw Finn stride forward and stare at the newcomer angrily. ‘What do you mean, “the real Giles”? I’m Giles.’

  The stranger turned and looked at him as if he was dirt.

  ‘You, sir, are an escaped Prisoner and an imposter. I don’t know what malice lies behind your claims, but I can tell you they are certainly not true. I am the rightful Heir.’ He turned to the crowd. ‘And I’ve come to claim my inheritance.’

  Before
anyone else could speak the Queen said, ‘Enough!

  Whoever you are, sir, you are certainly far too

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  bold. I will hear this matter in private. My lords, please join us.’ Her pale eyes glanced at Finn. ’You, too, are entitled to hear.’

  She turned, regally, and the Ambassadors and courtiers bowed low. Claudia grabbed Finn as he came past. He shook her off.

  ‘It can’t be him,’ she hissed. ‘Keep calm.’

  ‘Then why did you say that name? Why did you say that, Claudia!’ He sounded furious. She had no real answer.

  ‘I was … it was just the shock. He has to be a pretender.’

  ‘Does he?’ Finn’s glare was hard. Then he had turned and was striding swiftly through the crowd, one hand on his sword.

  The room was in uproar. Claudia felt Jared grab her sleeve.

  ‘Come on,’ he hissed.

  They hurried to the door of the Privy Chamber, pushing through the perfumed and bewigged mass of bodies,

  Claudia gasping breathlessly, ‘Who is he? Has the Queen set this up?’

  ‘If so she’s an excellent actress.’

  ‘Caspar hasn’t got the brains’

  ‘Certain metal animals then?’

  She stared at him for a second, wide-eyed. Then the spears of the door-guards clashed in front of her.

  Astonished, she said, ‘Let me through.’

  A flustered footman murmured, ‘I’m sorry, my lady. Sapienti and Privy Council only.’ He glanced at Jared. ‘You can enter, Master.’

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  Claudia drew herself up. For a moment Jared almost felt sorry for the man.

  ‘I am the Warden of Incarceron’s daughter: she said, in a voice that dripped ice. ‘You will stand aside now, before I ensure your transfer to the most rat-ridden keep in this Realm.’

  The footman was young. He swallowed. ‘Madam …’

  ‘Not a word.’ She stared at him, impassive. ‘Just move.’

  For a moment Jared wondered if it would work. And then an amused murmur came from behind them. ‘Oh let her in. What harm can it do? I wouldn’t want you to miss all the fun, Claudia.’

  Faced with a grinning Caspar the footman shrank. The guards stood back.

  Instantly Claudia swept past them and through the door. Jared waited, and bowed, and the Prince hurried after her, his bodyguard close as a shadow. Walking behind, the Sapient felt the door click shut at his back.

  The Privy Chamber was small, and smelt musty. The seats were of ancient red leather, arranged in a horseshoe, the Queen’s in the centre with her coat of arms suspended over it. The Councillors sat, the Sapienti gathered behind them. Not knowing where to go, Finn stood near the Queen, trying to ignore Caspar’s grin, the way he leant over and said something in his mother’s ear, the way she tinkled a laugh. Claudia came and stood next to him, her arms folded. They said nothing to each other.

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  ‘Well?’ The Queen leant forward graciously. ‘You may approach.’

  The boy in the yellow coat came and stood within the horseshoe. Every eye was on him, but he seemed completely at his ease. Finn looked him over with instinctive dislike. The same height as himself. Brown, wavy hair. Brown eyes. Smiling. Confident.

  He scowled.

  The stranger said, ‘Your Majesty. My lords. I have made a serious claim, and I understand the gravity of it. But I intend to prove to you that what I say is true. I am indeed Giles Alexander Ferdinand of the Havaarna, Lord of the Southern Isles, Count of Marly, Crown Prince of this Realm.’

  He was talking to all of them, but his eyes were on the Queen. And just for a bright second, on Claudia.

  ‘Liar,’ Finn hissed.

  The Queen said, ’I will have silence.’

  The Pretender smiled. ‘I was brought up among you until my fifteenth year. Many of you will remember me. You, Lord Burgogne. You will remember the times I borrowed your fine horses, the time I lost your goshawk in the Great Forest.’

  The Councillor, an elderly man in a black furred robe, looked startled.

  ‘My lady Amelia will remember the day when her son and I fell out of a tree dressed as pirates and nearly landed

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  on top of her.’ His smile was warm. One of the Queen’s ladies of the Chamber nodded. Her face was white. ‘It was so,’ she whispered. ‘How we laughed!’

  ‘Indeed we did. I have many such memories.’ He folded his arms. ‘My lords, I know all of you. I can tell you where you live, the names of your ladies. I have played with your children. I can answer any question you ask me about my tutors, my dear bodyservant, Bartlett, my father, the late King, and my mother, Queen Argente.’ For a moment then, a shadow crossed his face. But he smiled, and shook his head.

  ‘Which is more than this Prisoner, with his oh-so-convenient memory loss, can do.’

  Beside her, Claudia felt Finn’s stillness like a threat.

  ‘So where have I been all this time, you will be asking. Why was my death faked? Or perhaps you will already have heard from my gracious stepmother the Queen, how my

  supposed fall from my horse at the age of fifteen was …

  arranged, as a protection for my own safety.’

  Claudia bit her lip. He was using the truth and twisting it. He was very clever. Or had been well taught.

  ‘It was a time of great danger. There is a secret and sinister organization, gentlemen, of which you may have heard. It is known as the Clan of the Steel Wolves. Their plans have only recently been foiled, with the failure of their attempt on Queen Sia’s life, and the exposure of their leader, the disgraced Warden of Incarceron.’

  Now he was not looking at Claudia. He was playing the 130

  audience like an expert, his voice clear and steady. ‘Our spies have been aware of them for years, and it was known that they planned my death. My death, and the revoking of the Edict. The end of Protocol. They would return us to the terrors and chaos of the Years of Rage. And so I disappeared. Not even the Queen knew of my plans. I realized that the only way to be safe was to make them think I was already dead. And to await my time He smiled. ‘Now, my lords, that time has come.’

  He beckoned, his gesture regal, and natural, and a footman brought a package of paper to him.

  Claudia chewed her lip anxiously.

  ‘I have here documentary evidence of what I say. My royal line, my birth deeds, many letters I have received, invitations

  — many of you wrote them. You will recognize them. I have the portrait of my fiancée as a child, given by her to me at our engagement.’

  Claudia drew in a sharp breath. She glanced up at him, and he looked steadily back.

  ‘Above all, Lords and Masters, I have the evidence of my own flesh.’

  He held up his hand, drew back the lacy ruffle of his sleeve, turned slowly so that the whole room could see. On his wrist, tatooed deep into the skin, was the crowned Eagle of the Havaarnas.

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  10

  Hand to hand, skin to skin,

  Twin in a mirror, Incarceron.

  Fear to fear, desire to desire,

  Eye to eye. Prison to prison.

  SONGS OF SAPPHIQUE

  It had heard them.

  ‘Move!’ Keiro yelled.

  Attia grabbed the reins and saddle, but the horse was terrified; it circled and whickered, and before she could scramble up Keiro had jumped back, swearing. She turned. The Chain-gang waited. It was male, twelve-headed,

  helmeted, the bodies fused at hand and wrist and hip, linked with umbilical skin-chains from shoulder to shoulder or waist to waist. Beams of light shone from some of its hands; in others were weapons; blades, cleavers, a rusted firelock. Keiro had his own firelock out. He levelled it at the centre of the huddled thing. ‘No nearer. Keep well away.’

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  Torch-beams focused on him. Attia clung to the horse, its sweaty flank hot and trembling under her hand.

  The Chain-gang opened and its bodies moved apart; it bec
ame a line of shadows, the movement making her think stupidly of paper chains she had made as a child, cutting a man and then pulling wide a line of them.

  ‘I said keep back!’ Keiro swivelled the weapon along the line. His hand was steady, but he could only fire at one part of it, and then surely the rest would attack. Or would they?’

  The Chain-gang spoke.

  ‘We want food.’

  Its voice was a ripple of repetitions, one over another.

  ‘We’ve nothing to give you.’

  ‘Liar. We smell bread. We smell flesh.’

  Was it one, or many? Did it have one brain, controlling its bodies like limbs, or was each of them a man, eternally and horribly joined? Attia stared at it, fascinated.

  Keiro swore. Then he said, ‘Throw it the bag.’

  Carefully, Attia took the food-bag back off the horse and threw it on to the ice. It skittered over the ground. A long arm reached down and gathered it up. It disappeared into the creature’s misshapen darkness.

  ‘Not enough.’

  ‘There’s no more,’ she said.

  ‘We smell the beast. Its hot blood. Its sweet meat.’

  She glanced at Keiro in alarm. Without the horse

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  they were trapped here. She stood beside him. ‘No. Not the horse.’

  Faint crackles of static lit the sky. She prayed the lights would come on. But this was the Ice Wing, eternally dark.

  ‘Leave,’ Keiro said savagely. ‘Or I blow you away. I mean it!’

  ‘Which of us? The Prison has joined us. You cannot divide us.’

  It was moving in. Out of the corner of her eye Attia saw movement; she gasped, ‘It’s all round.’ She backed off, terrified, suddenly sure that if one of its hands touched her, the fingers would grow into hers.

  Clinking with steel the Chain-gang had almost surrounded them. Only the frozen falls behind offered some protection; Keiro backed up against the seamed ice and snapped, ‘Get on the horse, Attia.’