It was decided from the beginning that the location of Incarceron should be known only to the Warden. All criminals, undesirables, political extremists, degenerates, lunatics would be transported there. The Gate would be sealed and the Experiment commence. It was vital that nothing should disturb the delicate balance of Incarceron's programming, which would provide everything needed—education, balanced diet, exercise, spiritual welfare, and purposeful work—to create a paradise. ; One hundred and fifty years have passed. The Warden reports that progress is excellent.
"That was so delicious!" Lord Evian wiped his plump lips with a white napkin. "You really must let me have the receipt, my dear."
Claudia stopped tapping her nails on the cloth and smiled brightly. "I'll have someone copy it for you, my lord."
Her father was watching from the head of the table, the crumbs of his ascetic breakfast of two dry rolls gathered nearly in a pile on the side of his plate. Like her he had finished at least half an hour ago, but his impatience was hidden with iron control. If he was impatient. She didn't even know.
Now he said, "His Lordship and I will ride out this morning, Claudia, and take a brief lunch at one p.m. exactly. Afterward we will resume our negotiations."
Over my future, she thought, but only nodded, noticing the fat lord's dismay. He couldn't be such a fool as he seemed or the Queen wouldn't have sent him, and though he tried hard, a few shrewd comments had slipped out. But he was hardly a rider.
The Warden was aware of that. Her father had a grim humor.
As she stood he rose with her, meticulously polite, and drew the small gold watch from his pocket. The timepiece gleamed. It was beautiful, digitally accurate, and totally out of Era.
It was his one eccentricity, the watch and the chain and the tiny silver cube that hung from it.
He said, "Perhaps you'd touch the bell, Claudia. I'm afraid we've kept you long enough from your studies."
She went quickly to the green tassel by the hearth and he added without raising his head, "I spoke to Master Jared in the garden earlier. He looked very pale. How is his health these days?"
Her fingers froze a fraction from the bell. Then she pulled it firmly. "He's well, sir. Very well."
He put the watch away. "I've been considering. You won't need a tutor after your marriage, and, besides, there are several
Sapienti at Court. Perhaps we should allow Jared to return to the Academy."
She wanted to stare at him in horror in the dim mirror, but that would have been what he expected. So she kept her face bright and turned lightly. "As you wish. I'd miss him, of course. And we are in the middle of a fascinating study of the Havaarna Kings. He knows everything there is to be known about them."
His gray eyes watched her closely.
If she said another word her dismay would show and it would decide him. A pigeon fluttered on the tiles outside.
Lord Evian creaked to his feet. "Well, if you do, Warden, I assure you some other family will snap him up. Jared Sapiens is renowned through the Realm. He could name his fee.
Poet, philosopher, inventor, genius. You should hold on to him, sir."
Claudia smiled in pleasant agreement but inside she was startled. It was as if the greasy man in the blue silk suit knew what she couldn't say for herself. He smiled back, his small eyes bright.
The Warden's lips were tight. "I'm sure you're right. Shall we go, my lord?"
Claudia dropped a curtsy. As her father followed Evian out and turned to close the double doors, he met her eyes. Then the doors clicked shut.
She sighed in relief. Like a cat eyes a mouse, she thought. But all she said was, "Now, please."
Instantly paneling slid back; maids and men raced out and began removing cups, plates, candelabra, centerpieces, glasses, napkins, kedgeree dishes, fruit bowls. Windows snapped open and burned-out candles relit; the roaring fire in the log-filled hearth vanished without a whiff of charred wood. Dust vaporized; curtains changed color. The air sweetened itself with potpourri.
Leaving them to it, Claudia hurried out. She crossed the hall decorously holding her skirts, then raced up the curved oak staircase and dived through the concealed door on the landing, passing instantly from contrived luxury into the chilly gray corridors of the servants' quarters, bare walls roped with wires and cables and powerpoints, small camera screens and sonic scanners.
The back stairs were stone; she pattered up and opened the quilted door, and stepped out into the luxurious, Era-perfect corridor.
Two steps took her across to her own bedroom.
The maids had already cleaned it. She double-locked the door, flipped on all the security blocks, and crossed to the window.
Green and smooth, the lawns were beautiful in the summer sunshine. The gardener's boy, Job, was wandering about with a sack and a spiked stick, stabbing stray leaves. She couldn't make out the tiny music implant in his ear, but his jerky movements and sudden struts made her grin. Though if the Warden saw him, he'd be sacked.
Turning, she slid back the drawer of her dressing table, took out the minicom, and activated it. It flashed on and showed her a distorted echo of her own face, grotesque in curved glass. Startled, she said, "Master?"
A shadow. Two vast fingers and a thumb came down and lifted the alembic away. Then
Jared sat down before the hidden receiver.
"I'm here, Claudia."
"Is everything set? They ride out in a few minutes."
His thin face darkened. "I'm concerned about this. The disc may not work. We need trials
..."
"No time! I'm going in today. Right now."
He sighed. She knew he wanted to argue, but despite all their precautions, someone might be listening; it was dangerous to say too much. Instead he murmured, "Please be careful."
"As you've taught me, Master." For a brief second she thought about the Warden's threat against him, but this wasn't the time. "Start now," she said, and cut the link.
Her bedroom was dark mahogany; the great four-poster hung with red velvet, its tester embroidered with the black swan singing. Behind it was what looked like a small garderobe set into the wall, but as she walked through the illusion it became an en-suite bathroom with every luxury—there were limits even to the Warden's strictness on Protocol.
As she stood on the toilet seat and peeped out of the narrow window, sunlit dust swirled in motes about her.
She could see the courtyard. Three horses were saddled; her father was standing by one, both gloved hands resting on the reins, and with a suppressed whoop of relief she saw that his secretary, the dark watchful man called
Medlicote, was climbing onto the gray mare. Behind, Lord Evian was being heaved into the saddle by two sweating stable hands. Claudia wondered how much of his comic awkwardness was an act, and whether he'd been prepared for real horses rather than cyber-steeds. Evian and her father were playing an elaborate and deadly game of manners and insults, irritation and etiquette. It bored her, but that was how things were at
Court.
The thought of a future lifetime of it turned her cold.
To hide from it she jumped down, and tugged off the elaborate dress. Underneath she was wearing a dark jumpsuit. For a moment she glanced at herself in the mirror. Clothes changed you. Long ago, King Endor had known that. That was why he had stopped Time, imprisoned everyone in doublets and dresses, stiffed them in conformity and stiffness.