No one seemed to have noticed, though the girl was staring at him. Gildas was saying, "He's leading us along the way he took. Like a thread through the labyrinth."
"So he left his own picture?" Keiro drawled.
Gildas frowned. "Obviously not. This is a shrine, created by the Sapienti who have followed him. We should find other signs on the way."
"I can't wait." Keiro rolled himself over and curled up.
Gildas glared at his back. Then he said to Finn, "Take the Key out. We need to take care of it. The way may be longer than we think."
Thinking of the vast forest outside, Finn wondered if they would wander in it forever. Carefully he reached up and removed the Key from the hexagon; it came away with a slight click, and instantly the hollow was dim and the whistling splinters of foil blurred the distant Prison lights.
Finn was stiff and uncomfortable, but he kept still, listening. After a long while he knew by the old mans harsh breathing that Gildas was sleeping. He wasn't sure about the others. Keiro had his face turned away. Attia always seemed silent, as if she had learned that keeping still and being overlooked kept her alive. Outside, the forest roared with the storm. He heard
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the cracking of its branches, the turmoil of its contempt surge from far distances, felt the strength of the wind batter the trees, shudder the iron trunk above him.
They had angered Incarceron. They had opened one of its forbidden doors and crossed some boundary. Perhaps it would trap them here forever, before they had barely begun.
At last, he couldn't wait any longer.
Cautiously, taking infinite pains to keep the rustle of the leaf-litter down, he tugged the Key from his pocket. It was cold, frosted with cold. His ringers left smeared imprints on it, and even the eagle inside was hard to see until he had rubbed condensation from its surface.
He held it tight. "Claudia" he breathed.
The Key was cold and dead.
No lights moved in it. He dared not speak louder.
But just then Gildas muttered, so he took the chance and curled up, bringing k closer. "Can you hear me?" he said to it. "Are you there? Please, answer."
The storm raged. It whined in his teeth and nerves. He closed his eyes and felt despair, that he had imagined all of it, that the girl did not exist, that he was indeed born in some Womb here.
And then, as if out of his own fear, came a voice, a soft remark. "Laughed? Are you sure that's what he said?"
Finn's eyes snapped open. A man's voice. Calm and considering.
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He glanced around wildly, afraid the others had heard, and then a girl said, "... Of course I'm sure. "Why should the old man laugh, Master, if Giles was dead?"
"Claudia." Finn whispered the name before he could stop himself.
Instantly Gildas turned; Keiro sat up. Cursing, Finn shoved the Key into his coat and rolled over to see Attia staring at him. He knew at once that she'd seen everything.
Keiro had his knife out. "Did you hear that? Someone outside." His blue eyes were alert.
"No." Finn swallowed. "It was me."
"Talking in your sleep?"
"He was talking to me," Attia said quietly.
For a moment Keiro looked at them both. Then he leaned back, but Finn knew he was not convinced. "Was he now?" his oathbrother said softly. "So who's Claudia?"
***
THEY CANTERED quickly up the lane, the deep green leaves of the oaks a tunnel over their heads. "And you believe Evian?"
"On this I do." She looked ahead at the mill rising at the foot of the hill. "The old man's reaction was all wrong, Master. He must have loved Giles."
"Grief affects people strangely, Claudia." Jared seemed worried. "Did you tell Evian you would find this Bartlett?"
"No. He--"
"Did you tell anyone? Alys?"
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She snorted. "Tell Alys and it's around the servants' hall in minutes." That reminded her. She slowed the breathless horse. "My father paid off the swordmaster. Or tried to. Has he said anything more to you?"
"No. Not yet."
They were silent while he leaned down and unlatched the gate, easing the horse back to drag it wide. On the other side the lane was rutted, lined by hedgerows, dog-roses twined among nettles and willow-herb, the white umbels of cow-parsley.
Jared sucked at a sting on his finger. Then he said, "That must be the place."
It was a low cottage half obscured by a great chestnut that grew beside it. As they rode closer Claudia scowled at its perfect Protocol, the thatch with holes in it, the damp walls, the gnarled trees of the orchard. "A hovel for the poor."
Jared smiled his sad smile. "I'm afraid so. In this Era only the rich know comfort."
They left the horses tied, cropping lush long grass from the verge. The gate was broken, hanging wide; Claudia saw how it had recently been forced, how the grass blades were dragged back under it, still wet with dew.
Jared stopped. "The doors open," he said.
She went to step past him, but he said, "A moment, Claudia." He took out the small scanner and let it hum. "Nothing.
No one here."
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"Then we go in and wait for him. I've only got today." She strode up the cracked path; Jared followed quickly.
Claudia pushed the door wider; it creaked and she thought something shuffled inside. "Hello?" she said quietly.
Silence.
She put her head around the door.
The room was dark and smelled of smoke. A low window lit it, the shutter off and leaning against the wall. The fire was out in the hearth; as she came in she saw the blackened cooking pot on its chains, the spit, ashes drifting in the draft down the great chimney.
Two small benches lined the chimney corner; near the window stood a table and chair and a dresser with some battered pewter plates and a jug on it. She picked the jug up and sniffed the milk inside.
"Fresh."
There was a small doorway into the cow byre. Jared crossed to it and looked through, stooping under the lintel.
His back was to her, but she knew, from his sudden, intent stillness, something was wrong. "What?" she said.
He turned, and his face was so pale, she thought he was ill. He said, "I'm afraid we're too late."
She came over. He stayed, blocking her way. "I want to see," she muttered.
"Claudia..."
"Let me see, Master." She ducked under his arm.
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The old man lay sprawled on the floor of the byre. It was quite obvious that his neck was broken. He lay on his back, arms flung out, one hand buried in the straw. His eyes were open.
The byre smelled of old dung. Flies buzzed endlessly and wasps came in and out through the open doorway; a small goat bleated outside.
Cold with awe and anger she said, "They killed him."
"We don't know that." Jared seemed to come to life all at once. He knelt by the old man, touched neck and wrist, ran the scanner over him.
"They killed him. He knew something about Giles, about the murder. They realized we were coming here!"
"Who could have realized?" He stood quickly, stepped back into the living room.
"Evian knew. My talk with him must have been bugged. Then there's Job. I asked him ..."
"Job's a child."
"He's scared of my father."
"Claudia, I'm scared of your father,"
She looked again at the small figure in the straw, letting her anger loose, clutching her arms around herself, "You can see the marks," she breathed.
Hand marks. Two bruises like the dark traces of thumbs, deep in the mottled flesh. "Someone big. Very strong."
Jared jerked open the cupboard in the dresser and pulled out plates. "Certainly he didn't fall."
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She turned.
He slammed the drawer, went to the chimney, and stared up. Then to her astonishment he climbed on one of the benches and reached into the darkness, groping blindly. Soot fe
ll in showers.
"Master?"
"He lived at Court, Claudia. He must have been literate."
For a moment she didn't understand. Then she turned and gazed hurriedly around, found the bed, tipped the mattress up, tore open the lice-ridden straw.
Outside, a blackbird shrieked and flapped.
Claudia stared. "Are they coming back?"
"Maybe. Keep looking."
But as she moved her foot caught on a board that creaked, and when she knelt and pulled at it, it swung up on a pivot with the ease of constant use.
"Jared!"
It was the old man's store of treasures. A battered purse with some copper coins, a broken necklace with most of the stones pried out, two quills, a fold of parchment, and, carefully hidden right at the bottom, a blue velvet drawstring bag, small as her palm.
Jared took the parchment and riffled through it. "Looks like some sort of testament. I knew he would have written it down! If he'd been taught by Sapienti, it's only ..." He glanced over. She had opened the blue bag. Out of it she slid a small oval of
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gold, its back engraved with the crowned eagle. She turned it over.
A boy's face looked up at them, his smile shy and direct, his eyes brown.
Claudia smiled back at him, bitter. She looked up at her tutor. "It must be worth a fortune, but he never sold it. He must have loved him very much."
Gently he said, "Are you sure ...?"
"Oh yes, I'm sure. It's Giles."
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CHAINED,
HAND AND FOOT .
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15
***
Sapphique rode out of the Tanglewood and saw the Fortress of Bronze. People were streaming into its walls from all around.
"Come inside," they urged him. "Hurry! Before it attacks!"
He looked around. The world was metal and the sky was metal. The people were ants on the plains of the Prison.
"Have you forgotten he said, "that you are already Inside?"
But they hurried past and said he was deranged.
--Legends of Sapphique
***
The storm had raged all night before dying away so abruptly that Finn had been woken at once by the silence. It seemed eerie after the wind, but at least it meant they could move now, before the Prison changed its mind. Keiro had scrambled outside and stretched, groaning with cramp. After a minute his voice had come back, unusually muted. "Look at this."
When Finn had pulled himself up, he had seen that the forest was bare. Every leaf, every thin metallic curl of foliage lay heaped in immense drifts.
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The trees had broken out into flower. Copper blossoms, scarlet and gold, glimmered up hill and down dale as far as he could see.
Behind him, Attia had laughed. "It's beautiful."
He had turned, surprised, realizing he saw it only as an obstacle. "Is it?"
"Oh yes. But you ... you're used to color. Coming from Outside"
"You believe me?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes. There's something different about you. You don't fit. And the name you called out in your sleep, this Claudia. You remember her?"
It was what he had told them. He looked up. "Listen, Attia, I need your help. It's just... I need sometimes to be alone. The Key ... it helps the visions. Sometimes I need to be away from Keiro and Gildas. Do you understand?"
She had nodded gravely, her bright eyes fixed on him. "I told you, I'm your servant. Just tell me when, Finn."
He had felt ashamed. Looking at his face, she had said nothing more.
Since then they had hurried through a landscape of jewel-bright color, between plantations of trees that had marched downhill, the forest floor broken and seamed with streams in strange insulated beds, riven with cracks. Insects Finn had never imagined crawled in great drifts of leaves that blocked the path; finding detours around these lost them hours. And
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high, in the bare branches jackdaws hopped and karked in flocks, following the travelers with beady curiosity till Gildas cursed them and waved a fist at them. Then, silently, they all flew away.
Keiro nodded. "So the Sapienti still have some magic after all."
Breathless, the old man glared at him. "I wish it worked on you."
Keiro grinned at Finn,
Finn allowed himself a smile. He felt lighter somehow, and as he trudged after Gildas down the aisles of the wood, he began to sense something that must be like happiness. The Escape had begun. The Comitatus was far behind; all that life of brutal infighting, of murder and lies and fear was over. Things would be different now. Sapphique would show him the way out.
Stepping over a tangle of root he almost felt like laughing aloud, but instead he put his hand inside his shirt and touched the Key.
He jerked his hand away at once.
It was warm.
He glanced at Keiro, pacing ahead. Then he turned. Attia was where she always walked. At his heels.
Annoyed, he stopped. "I don't want a slave."
She stopped too. "Whatever you say." Her eyes watched him with that bruised look.
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He said, "There's a stream here, I can hear it. Tell the others I'm getting some water."
Without waiting, he strode off the path deep into a thicket of platinum thorns, then crouched among the undergrowth. Umbels of pliant wire rose around him, hollow reeds where microBeetles worked busily.
Hurriedly he took out the Key.
It was a risk. Keiro might come. But it was hot now in his fingers, and there were the familiar small blue lights deep in the crystal. "Claudia?" he whispered anxiously. "Can you hear me?
"Finn! At last!"
Her voice was so loud it made him swallow; he glanced around. "Quiet! Be quick please. They'll come looking for me."
"Who will?" She sounded fascinated.
"Keiro."
"Who's he?"
"My oathbrother ..."
"All right. Now listen. There's a small finger panel at the base of the Key. It's invisible but the surface is slightly raised. Can you find it?"
His fingers groped, leaving dirty smudges. "No," he said, flustered.
"Try! Do you think he has a different artifact?" The question wasn't for Finn. The other voice answered her, the one he remembered as Jared. "It's almost certainly
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identical. Finn, use your fingertips. Search the edge, the facets near the edge."
What did they think he was! He scrabbled, his hands sore.
"Finn!" Keiro's murmur was right behind him. He jumped up, shoving the Key back, gasped, "For God's sake! Can't I take a drink in peace?"
His brother's hand shoved him back down into the leaf drift. "Get down and shut up. We've got visitors."
CLAUDIA SAT back on her heels and swore with frustration. "He's gone! Why is he gone?"
Jared went to the window and gazed out at the utter chaos in the courtyard. "It's just as well. The Warden is coming up the steps."
"Did you hear the way he sounded? Again, it was so ... panicky."
"I know how he feels." Jared tugged a small pad from the pocket of his riding coat and thrust it at her. "This is the full draft of the old man's testament. Read it while we travel."
Doors slamming. Voices outside. Her father's. Caspar's.
"Delete it straight afterward, Claudia. I have a copy."
"We should do something. About the body."
"We weren't there, remember?"
He barely had the words out before the door opened. Claudia calmly slipped the pad down her dress.
"My dear." Her father came in and stood before her. She
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stood up to meet him. He wore his usual black frockcoat, the scarf at his neck silkily expensive, his boots the finest leather. But today he wore a small white flower in his buttonhole, as if to mark the occasion, and that was so unlike him she stared at it in surprise.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
She nodded. She was wearing a dark blue traveling dress and cloak, with a special pocket sewn into it for the Key.
"A great morning for the House of Arlex, Claudia. The beginning of a new life for you, for us all." His hair with its streak of silver was tied severely back, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He pulled on his gloves before he took her hand. She looked at him without smiling, and the old dead man in the straw was in her mind, his eyes open.
She smiled and dropped a curtsy. "I'm ready, sir."
He nodded. "I always knew you would be. I always knew you'd never let me down."
Like my mother did? she wondered acidly. But she said nothing, and her father gave Jared the briefest nod and led her out. They swept into the great hall, over the lavender-strewn floor, down between the rows of fascinated servants, the Warden of Incarceron and his proud daughter, setting out for the marriage that would make her a queen. And on a signal from Ralph the staff cheered and applauded and threw sweet irises underfoot; they rang tiny silver bells in honor of the wedding they would never see.
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Jared walked behind, a satchel of books under one arm. He shook hands with the servants, and the maids moped over him, pushing tiny packets of sweetmeats at him, promising to keep the tower safe, not to touch any of his precious instruments, feed the fox cub and the birds.
As Claudia took her seat in the coach and looked back, she felt a rueful lump in the back of her throat. They would all miss Jared, his gentle ways, his fragile good looks, his willingness to dose their coughing children and advise their wayward sons. None of them seemed at all sorry to see her go.
But then whose fault was that? She had played the game. She was the mistress, the Warden's daughter.
Cold as ice. Hard as nails.
She raised her head and smiled across at Alys. "Four days' traveling. I intend to ride for at least half of it."
Her nurse frowned. "I doubt the Earl will. And he'll probably want you to sit in his coach for some of the time."
"Well, I'm not married to him yet. When I am, he'll soon find out it's what I want that counts." If they thought her hard, she would be hard. And yet, as the horses were mounted and the outriders gathered and the coaches began the slow turn to the gatehouse, all she wanted was to be staying here, in the house where she had lived since she was born, and she leaned out of the window and waved and called out all their names, her eyes stinging with sudden tears. "Ralph! Job! Mary-Ellen!"