Sapphique i-2 Read online

  Attia breathed out slowly. She felt stiff, and stupid. She felt as if some great explosion had deafened and stunned her.

  Quickly, before anyone noticed, she turned and ducked under the awnings, past the bearpit, through the ragged camp of the jugglers. One of them saw her, but stayed sitting by the fire they had lit, cooking slivers of meat.

  Attia opened a small door under an overhanging roof and slipped in.

  The room was dark.

  He was sitting in front of a smeared mirror lit only by a single guttering candle, and he looked up and saw her in the glass.

  As she watched he took off the black wig, unfurled his missing finger, wiped the smooth make-up from his lined face, tossed the ragged coat on the floor.

  Then he leant his elbows on the table and gave her a gap-toothed grin. ‘An excellent performance,’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘I told you I could do it.’

  ‘Well, I’m convinced, sweetie. The job’s yours, if you still want it He slipped a wad of ket into his cheek and began to chew.

  Attia glanced round. There was no sign of the Glove.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I want it.’

  2

  How could you betray me, Incarceron?

  How could you let me fall?

  I thought I was your son.

  It seems I am your fool.

  SONGS OF SAPPHIQUE

  Finn flung the documents at the wall. Then he picked the inkwell up and hurled it after them. It exploded into a black, dripping star.

  ‘Sire,’ the chamberlain gasped. ‘Please!’ Finn ignored him. He heaved the table over; it collapsed with a crash. Papers and scrolls cascaded everywhere, their seals and ribbons tangling. Grim, he stalked over to the door.

  ‘Sire. There are at least sixteen more . . .‘

  ‘Stuff them.’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘You heard. Burn them. Eat them. Feed them to the dogs.’

  ‘There are invitations which need your signature.

  The deeds of the Stygian Accord, the orders for the coronation robes.’ Savagely, Finn turned on the thin figure scrabbling among the papers. ‘How many times do I have to say it. There will be no coronation!’ Leaving the man open-mouthed he turned and hauled the doors open. The guards outside stiffened to attention but as they closed in behind him he swore at them. Then he ran, down the panelled corridor, through the curtains and across the Great Salon, vaulting the upholstered sofas, flinging the dainty chairs over, leaving the guards panting behind. With one quick leap on to the table he slithered over its polished surface, dodged silver candlesticks, jumped up on to the wide windowseat, slid through the casement, and was gone.

  Back in the doorway, breathless, the chamberlain groaned.

  He stepped discreetly into a small side chamber, closed the door and hefted the pile of crumpled paper wearily under one arm. With a careful look around, he took out the minicom she had given him and pressed the button, with distaste, because he deplored this breach of Protocol. But he didn’t dare not to, because she could be almost as ferocious as the Prince.

  The device crackled. ‘What now?’ a girl’s voice snapped.

  The chamberlain swallowed. ‘I’m sorry Lady Claudia, but you asked me to tell you if it happened again. Well, I think it just did.’ Finn landed on all fours on the gravel outside the window and picked himself up. He stalked off across the grass.

  Parading groups of courtiers scattered as he passed, the women under their flimsy parasols dropping hurried curtsies, the men making elaborate bows and sweeping their hats off. Eyes fixed, Finn marched past. He scorned the pathways with their finely raked surfaces, cutting directly across the parterre, crunching the white seashells underfoot.

  An indignant gardener came out from behind a hedge, but as soon as he saw it was Finn he crumpled to one knee. Finn allowed himself a cold smile. Being the Prince in this pretty Paradise had some advantages.

  The day was perfect. Tiny fleecy clouds moved high in the sky, the amazingly blue sky he could never get used to. A flock of jackdaws cavorted over the elms near the lake.

  It was the lake he wanted.

  That smooth blue expanse of water drew him like a magnet. He undid the stiff collar they made him wear, tearing it open, cursing everything over and over: the constricting clothes, the baffling rules of courtesy, the endless Protocol. Suddenly he broke into a run, past statues and classical urns planted with floral displays, making a gaggle of geese on the grass squawk and flutter and hiss away.

  He was breathing more freely now. The sparks and dull pain behind his eyes were easing. The fit had been coming on him, back there in that stuffy unbearable room, behind that heaped desk. It had been growing inside him like anger.

  Maybe it was anger. Maybe he should have let it happen, fallen gratefully into it, the seizure that always waited for him somewhere like a black pit in the road. Because whatever it made him see, however much it hurt, after it was over he could sleep, deep and oblivious, without dreams of the Prison. Without dreams of Keiro, the oathbrother he had left there.

  The lakewater rippled under the faint breeze. He shook his head, angry at how perfectly judged the temperature was, how serene it all looked. At the jetty rowing boats bobbed and knocked at the end of their ropes, surrounded by flat green waterlily leaves, where tiny gnats danced.

  He had no idea how much of it was real.

  At least in the Prison he had known that.

  Finn sat on the grass. He felt worn, and his anger was turning on himself. The chamberlain had only been doing his best. Throwing the ink had been stupid.

  Lying on his stomach he buried his forehead under his arms and let the warm sun comfort him. It was so hot, and so bright. He could take it now, but for the first few days Outside he had been blinded, had had to wear dark glasses because his eyes wept and watered. And then all those long weeks until his skin had lost that white pallor, those days of washing and delousing and the endless medication Jared had made him take. Weeks of patient lessons from Claudia in how to dress, how to talk, how to eat with knives and forks; the titles, the bows, how not to yell, spit, swear, fight.

  Two months ago he had been a Prisoner without hope, a starved, ragged thief and liar. Now he was a Prince in Paradise.

  And yet he had never been more unhappy.

  A shadow darkened the red light behind his eyelids.

  He kept them tight shut but the scent of the perfume she wore came to him clearly; the rustle of her dress was loud as she sat beside him on the low stone parapet.

  After a moment he said, ‘The Maestra cursed me, did you know that?’ Claudia’s voice was cold. ‘No.’

  ‘Well she did. The Maestra, the woman whose death was my fault? I took the crystal Key from her. Her dying words were “I hope it destroys you”. I think her curse is coming true, Claudia.’ The silence went on so long that he raised his head and looked at her. She had her knees up under the peach silk dress and her arms hugged around them and she was watching him with that concerned, annoyed look he had come to know. ‘Finn...' He sat up. ‘Don’t! Don’t tell me I should forget the past.

  Don’t tell me again that life here is a game, that every word you say and every smile, every gracious bow is a move in a game. I can’t live like that! I won’t.’ Claudia frowned. She saw the strain in his eyes. When the fits came he always had this look. She wanted to snap at him, but instead she made herself say quietly, ‘Are you all right?’ He shrugged. ‘It was coming. But it’s gone. I thought... I thought when I Escaped there would be no more fits. All those stupid documents. .

  Claudia shook her head. ‘Not them. It’s Keiro again, isn’t it?’ Finn stared ahead. After a while he said, ‘Are you always this sharp?’ She laughed. ‘I’m the pupil of Jared Sapiens. Trained in observation and analysis. And,’ she added bitterly, ‘I’m the daughter of the Warden of Incarceron. The game’s finest player.’ He was surprised she had even mentioned her father. He pulled a blade of grass and began to shred it. ‘Well you�
��re right. I can’t stop thinking about Keiro. Keiro is my oathbrother, Claudia. We swore loyalty to each other, loyalty to death and beyond. You can’t even guess what that means.

  In the Prison no one can survive alone; he looked after me when I didn’t even know who I was. He watched my back in a hundred fights. That time in the cave of the Beast he came back for me, even though he had the Key, even though he could have gone anywhere.’ Claudia was silent. Then she said, ‘I made him find you.

  Don’t you remember?’

  ‘He would have done it anyway.’

  ‘Would he?’ She gazed over the lake. ‘From what I saw, Keiro was arrogant, ruthless and incredibly vain. You were the one who seemed to take all the risks. He only cared about himself.’

  ‘You don’t know him. You didn’t see him fight our Winglord. He was amazing that day. Keiro is my brother.

  And I’ve left him in that hell, after I promised to get him Out’ A group of young men were strutting from the Archery Court. Claudia said, ‘It’s Caspar and his cronies. Quick.’ She jumped up and hauled one of the boats to shore; Finn stepped in and took the oars and she scrambled after him.

  With a few strokes they were safely out in the stillness of the lake, the prow rippling among the lily-leaves. Butterflies danced in the warm air. Claudia lay back on the cushions and stared up at the sky. ‘Did he see us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ Finn watched the effete youths in disgust. Caspar’s red hair and gaudy blue frockcoat were clear from here. He was laughing; he raised his bow and aimed it at the boat, twanging the empty string with a mocking grin. Finn stared back grimly. ‘Between him and Keiro I know which brother I’d choose.’ Claudia shrugged. ‘Well I’m with you there. Remember, I nearly had to marry him.’ She let the memory of that day come back to her; the cold deliberate pleasure she had felt in tearing the wedding dress, ripping its lace and white perfection apart, as if it had been her life she was tearing, or herself and her father. Herself and Caspar.

  ‘You don’t need to marry him now,’ Finn said quietly.

  They were silent then, as the oars dipped and splashed in the water. Claudia trailed her hand over the side, not looking at him. They both knew that she had been betrothed as a child to Prince Giles, and only when he had been presumed dead had Caspar, the younger prince, taken his place. But Finn was Giles now. She frowned.

  ‘Look...’ They both said it together. Claudia was first to laugh.

  ‘You first.’ He shrugged, not even smiling. ‘Look, Claudia, I don’t know who I am. If you thought getting me out of Incarceron would bring my memory back, you were wrong. I can’t remember any more than before — just flashes, visions that the fits bring. Jared’s potions haven’t made any difference He stopped rowing suddenly, letting the boat drift, leaning forward. ‘Don’t you see? I may not be the real prince. I may not be Giles, despite this.’ He held up his hand; she saw the faded tattoo of the crowned eagle. ‘And even if I am. . . I’ve changed.’ He struggled to get the words out. ‘Incarceron has changed me. I don’t fit in here. I can’t settle. How can Scum like me be what you want? I keep looking behind me. I keep thinking that a small red Eye is spying on me up in the sky.’ Dismayed, she watched him. He was right. She had thought it would be easy, had expected an ally, a friend. Not this tormented streetfighter who seemed to loathe himself, who spent hours gazing at the stars.

  His face was drawn, his voice a low mutter. 'I can’t be the King,’ he whispered.

  Claudia sat up. ‘I’ve told you. You have to. If you want the power to get Keiro out you have to!’ Angry, she turned and stared back at the lawns.

  A gaudy gathering of courtiers was assembling. Two footmen carried a stack of gilt chairs, another was laden with cushions and croquet mallets. A sweating gang of underservants was propping a vast tasselled awning of yellow silk over trestle tables, and a procession of butlers and maids carried jellies, sweetmeats, cold capons, dainty pastries and jugs of iced punch on silver trays.

  Claudia groaned. ‘The Queen’s buffet. I’d forgotten: Finn looked over. ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘Yes you are. Take the boat back in.’ She gave him a fierce hard look. ‘You have to keep it together, Finn. You owe me. I didn’t wreck my life to get some thug on to the throne. Jared is working all hours on the Portal. We’ll get it to work. We’ll get Keiro out of the Prison. And that bitch Attia too, even though I notice you’ve been careful not to mention her. But you have to do your part!’ He scowled. Then he picked up the oars and rowed them back.

  As they came close to the jetty; Claudia saw the Queen. Sia was wearing a dress of dazzling white, the elaborate skirts looped like a shepherdess, showing small feet in glimmering slippers. Her pallid skin was protected from the sun by a wide hat, and a graceful wisp of shawl was tucked around her shoulders. She looked about twenty, but she must be four times that, Claudia thought sourly. And her eyes were strange, with pale irises. Witch’s eyes.

  The boat bumped.

  Finn took a breath. He did up his collar, climbed out and held out his hand. Formally, she took it and stepped elegantly on to the wooden boards. Together they walked towards the gathering.

  ‘Remember she breathed. ‘Use the napkins, not your fingers. Don’t swear, don’t scowl.’ He shrugged. ‘What does it matter? She’d like us both dead anyway.’ Claudia stepped away from him, as the Queen hurried up.

  ‘So here you both are! My dear boy, you look so much better today.’ Finn bowed, awkward. Claudia dropped a low curtsy beside him. The Queen ignored her, took Finn’s arm and swept him away. ‘Come and sit by me. I have such a surprise for you.’ She led Finn to the awning and made him sit beside her on the gilt thrones, clapped her hands for a servant to bring more cushions.

  ‘I suppose he thinks he’s King already.' The slurred voice was right behind Claudia; she turned and saw Caspar, his doublet unlaced, a half-empty goblet in his hand. ‘My so-called stepbrother.’

  ‘You stink of wine,’ she muttered.

  He winked sourly at her. ‘You like him better than me, don’t you, Claudia? Your rough scabby thief. Well, don’t get too close. Mama has her claws out for you. You’re finished, Claudia. Without your father to protect you you’re nothing.’ Furious, she stepped away from him but he came after her.

  ‘Just watch now Watch Mama make her first move.' The Queen is the strongest piece on the board. That could have been you, Claudia.’ Queen Sia called for silence. Then she said in her silvery voice, ‘Dear friends. I have such good news. The Council of the Sapienti have sent word that everything is ready for the Proclamation of the Heir. AU the edicts are drawn up and my dearest stepson Giles’s right to the throne will be approved. I’ve decided to hold the ceremony tomorrow in the Crystal Court, and invite all the Ambassadors to the Realm, and all the Court to witness it. And afterwards, a masked ball for everyone!’ The courtiers applauded, the women whispering with delight. Claudia kept her face pleasant, though instantly she was alert. What was this? What was Sia up to? She loathed Finn. It had to be some sort of trap. Jared had always said the Queen would delay the Proclamation, for months, let alone the coronation. Yet here she was announcing it. For tomorrow!

  Sia’s eyes met hers through the shimmering throng. She was laughing her tinkling laugh, making Finn stand, clasping his hand, lifting a thin glass of wine to toast him.

  Every nerve in Claudia’s mind was tense with disbelief.

  ‘Told you,’ Caspar smirked.

  Finn looked furious. He opened his mouth but caught Claudia’s glare and kept silent, simmering.

  ‘He looks so cross,’ Caspar grinned. She turned on him but he jerked back, at once, alarmed. ‘Yuk! Get the filthy thing off me!’ It was a dragonfly, a green glimmer of flickering wings; it darted at him and he swiped at it and missed. It landed, with a faint crackle, on Claudia’s dress.

  Before anyone else could see she took two steps toward the lake and turned, her voice a whisper. ‘Jared? This is not a good time.’ No reply. The
dragonfly flexed its wings. For a moment she thought she had made a mistake, that it was a real insect.

  Then it breathed. ‘Claudia. . . Please. Come quickly..:

  ‘Jared? What is it?’ Her voice rose in anxiety.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ No answer.

  ‘Master?’ A faint sound. Glass falling, and smashing.

  Instantly she turned and ran.

  3

  Once Incarceron became a dragon, and a Prisoner crawled into his lair. They made a wager. They would ask each other riddles, and the one who could not answer would lose. If it was the man, he would give his life. The Prison offered a secret way of Escape. But even as the man agreed, he felt its hidden laughter.They played for a year and a day. The lights stayed dark. The dead were not removed. Food was not provided. The Prison ignored the cries of its Inmates. Sapphique was the man. He had one riddle left. He said, ‘What is the Key that unlocks the heart?’ For a day Incarceron thought. For two days. For three. Then it said, ‘If I ever knew the answer, I have forgotten it.’

  SAPPHIQUE IN THE TUNNELS OF MADNESS

  The showmen left the village early, before Lightson.

  Attia waited for them outside the ramshackle walls, behind a pillar of brick where gigantic shackles still hung, rusting to red powder. When the Prison lights snapped on with their acrid flicker she saw seven waggons were already rumbling down the ramp, the bear cage strapped on one, the rest covered by contraptions of starry cloth. As they approached she saw the bear’s small red eyes squint at her.

  The seven identical jugglers walked alongside, tossing balls to each other in complex patterns.

  She swung up on to the seat and sat beside the Enchanter.

  ‘Welcome to the troupe: he said. ‘Tonight’s triumph is in a village two hours away, through the tunnels. A rat- haunted heap, but I hear they have a good stash of silver. You can get down well before we reach it. Remember, Attia, my sweetkin. You must never be seen with us. You do not know us.’ She looked at him. In the harsh glare of the lights he had none of the youth of his stage disguise. His skin was pocked with boils, his coppery hair lank and greasy. Half his teeth were gone, probably in some fight. But his hands were powerful and delicate on the reins. A magician’s dexterous fingers.