Ralph’s hand was on his shoulder; the quavery voice in his ear. ‘I’m with you, sire.’ This shouldn’t happen. If he remembered, he was cured.
He should be cured.
Attia climbed over the top of the ladder and stood upright.
The Warden dropped her hand. ‘Welcome to the heart of Incarceron.’ They eyed each other. He wore a dark suit still, but his skin was grained now with the dirt of the Prison, his hair unkempt and greying. A firelock was thrust into his belt.
Behind him, in the red room Keiro stood, looking as if his temper was under tight control. Three men held weapons on him.
‘Our thief friend here does not seem to have the Glove. So you must.’ Attia shrugged. ’Wrong again.’ She took her coat off and flung it down. ‘See for yourself’ The Warden raised an eyebrow. He kicked the coat to one of the Prisoners, who searched it rapidly. ‘Nothing, sire .’
‘Then I must search you, Attia.’ He was rough and thorough and she scorched with anger but when the muffled cry came up the shaft he stopped abruptly. ‘Is that the mountebank Rix?’ She was surprised he didn’t know. ‘Yes.’
‘Get him up here. Now.’ She walked to the edge of the shaft and crouched down.
‘Rix! Come up. It’s safe. No problems.’ The Warden pulled her back, and made a sign to one of his men. As Rix made his may noisily up the swinging ladder the man knelt, aiming his firelock directly at the hole. When Rix’s head came up, he stared straight into the muzzle of the gun.
‘Slowly, magician.’ The Warden crouched, his eyes grey and ashen. ‘Very slowly, if you want to keep your head.’ Attia glanced at Keiro. He raised his eyebrows and she shook her head, the tiniest movement. They watched Rix.
He climbed out of the shaft and held his hands wide of his body.
‘The Glove?’ the Warden said.
‘Hidden. In a secret place which I will divulge only to Incarceron itself.’ The Warden sighed, took out a handkerchief that was still almost white, and wiped his hands. Wearily he said, ‘Search him.’ They were even harder on Rix. A few blows to keep him quiet, his pack ripped apart, his body scoured.
They found hidden coins, coloured handkerchiefs, two mice, a collapsible dove cage. They found hidden pockets, false sleeves, reversible linings. But no Glove.
The Warden sat watching, and Keiro lazed defiantly on the tiled floor. Attia took the chance to stare round.
They were in a vast hail of black and white tiles. It stretched into the distance, the walls hung with red satin, sagging in great swathes. At the far end, so distant it could barely be seen, was a long table flanked by standing candlesticks, branches lit with tiny flames.
Finally the prisoners stood back. ‘There’s nothing else on him, sire. He’s clean.’ Behind her, Attia felt Keiro sit up slowly.
‘I see.’ The Warden’s smile was wintry ‘Well, Rix, you disappoint me. But if you wish to speak to Incarceron, then speak. The Prison hears you.’ Rix bowed. He buttoned his ragged coat and summoned his dignity. ‘Then the Prison’s majesty will hear my request.
I ask to speak to Incarceron face to face. As Sapphique did.’ There was a soft laughter.
It came out of the walls and the floor and the roof, and the armed men looked round in terror.
‘What do you say to that?’ the Warden asked.
I say the Prisoner is over-bold, and that I could devour him now and scour the very circuits of his brain for this knowledge.
Rix knelt, humbly. ‘All my life I have dreamt of you. I have guarded your Glove, and I have longed to bring it to you.
Allow your servant this privilege.’ Keiro snorted with scorn.
Rix glanced at Attia.
His eyes flickered to the shaft, then back. it was such a swift movement she almost missed it, but she looked, and saw the string.
It was barely visible, very thin and transparent, the stuff he used in his act for levitating objects. It was looped round a rung of the ladder, and it trailed down into the shaft.
Of course. There had been no Eyes in the shaft.
She made a small step towards it.
The Prison’s voice was cool and metallic. I am so moved, Rix.
The Warden will bring you to me, and yes, you will see me face to face. You will tell me where the Glove is and then for your reward I will very slowly and very carefully destroy you, atom by atom, for centuries. You will scream like the prisoners in your patchbooks, like Prometheus eaten daily by the eagle, like Loki as poison drips on his face. When I have Escaped and everyone else is dead your struggles will still convulse the Prison.
Rix bowed, white-faced.
John Arlex.
The Warden said drily, ‘What now?’ Bring them all.
Attia moved. With a yell to Keiro she jumped for the shaft, was racing down it. The string swung; she grabbed at it, hauled it up, snatched the dry scaly thing it held, thrust it down her shirt.
Then arms grabbed her; she kicked and bit but the Warden’s men hauled her up and she saw Keiro sprawled and the Warden standing over him, weapon in hand.
Claudia’s father stared at her in mock dismay. ‘Escape, Attia? There is no Escape. For any of us.’ Morose, he met her eyes and his gaze was bleak. Then he stalked away, down the long hail. ‘Bring them.’ Keiro wiped blood from his nose. He gave her one look.
Rix too.
This time she nodded.
Jared turned slowly.
‘My Lord of Steen,’ he said.
Caspar leant against a tree-trunk. He wore a breastplate of such dazzling steel it hurt to look at it, and his breeches and boots were of finest leather.
‘I see my lord is dressed for war,’ Jared murmured.
‘You didn’t used to be so sarcastic, Master.’
‘I’m sorry. I have had a trying time.’ Caspar grinned. ‘My mother will be amazed you survived.
She’s been waiting for a message from the Academy for days, but none has come: He stepped forward. ‘Did you kill him, Master, with some Sapient potion? Or do you have secret fighting skills?’ Jared looked down at his delicate hands. ‘Let’s say I surprised even myself, sire. But is the Queen here?’ Caspar pointed. ‘Oh yes. She wouldn’t miss this for the world.’ A white horse. It was saddled with the finest white leather fittings, and on it Sia rode sidesaddle, in an austere gown of dark grey. She too wore a breastplate, and a hat with a feather, and around her and before her pikemen marched, their weapons slanted in perfect array.
Jared came to stand by the Earl. ‘What’s happening?’
‘It’s a parlay. They’ll talk each other to death. Look, there’s Claudia.’ Jared’s breath tightened as he saw her. She was standing on the gatehouse roof, and Soames and Alys were with her.
‘Where’s Finn?’ He murmured it to himself, but Caspar heard and snorted.
‘Tired out maybe.’ He grinned sidelong at Jared. ‘Ah, Master Sapient, she’s cast both of us off now. I admit I always had something of an eye for Claudia, but marrying her — that was my mother’s plan. She would have turned out far too fierce and bossy, so I don’t care. But it must be hard for you. You and she were always so close. Everyone says so. Until he came along.’ Jared smiled. ‘You have a poisonous tongue, Caspar.’
‘Yes. And it stings you, doesn’t it?’ He turned, with negligent ease. ‘Perhaps we’ll go down and hear what they’re saying. My mother will be rather proud when I drag you through the ranks and throw you down before her.
And I’d love to see Claudia’s face!’ Jared stepped back. ‘You don’t seemed to be armed, my lord.’
‘No. I’m not.’ Caspar smiled, sweetly. ‘But Fax is.’ A rustle. It came from the left, and Jared turned very slowly to face it, knowing his freedom was over.
Sitting on a tree-trunk, an axe slung between his knees, the huge bulk of his body rippling with chainmail, the Prince’s bodyguard nodded, unsmiling.