Sapphique - Incarceron 02 (27 page)

'No. No I wouldn't say that. As if his life was more real there.'

Claudia snorted. 'He probably told you a pack of lies. His stories are never the same twice. Jared says he learnt that in order to survive.'

The mention of Jared silenced them both. Finally Alys said cautiously, 'Have you heard from Master Jared?'

'He's probably far too busy to answer my letter.' It sounded defensive, even to her.

Alys did the straps up on the leather bag and pushed a stray hair back. 'I hope he's taking care of himself. I'm sure that Academy is a draughty great barn of a place.'

'You fuss over him,' Claudia snapped.

'Of course I do.
We all should.'

Claudia stood. She didn't want the worry of this now, didn't want to have to face Jared's loss. And the words Medlicote had spoken burnt in her. Jared could

never be bought. She would never believe that. 'We'll leave the ball at midnight. Make sure Simon is waiting with the horses. Behind the folly near the stream, out beyond the

High Meadow'

'I know. And if he's seen?' 'He's just exercising them.' 'At midnight! Claudia...'

She scowled. 'Well, if he has to he'll just have to hide in the Forest.' Seeing Alys's alarm she raised a hand. 'And that's the end of it!'

Wearing the cat mask would mean the white silk dress, which was annoyingly cumbersome, but under it she would wear dark breeches and if she was hot, she'd have to put up with it. Boots and jacket were in the pack. As Alys fussed about the fastenings of the dress Claudia thought about her father. His mask would have been very simple, of black velvet, and he would have worn it with a faint air of scorn in his grey eyes. He never danced, but he would have stood elegantly at the fireplace and talked, and bowed, and watched her in the minuet and the gavotte. She scowled. Was she missing him? That would be ridiculous.

But there was something that was pulling him into her mind, and as Alys hitched the last lace tight Claudia realized that it was his portrait, there on the wall, looking at her.

His portrait?

'There.' Alys stepped back, hot. 'That's the best I can do. Oh you do look well, Claudia. White suits you... '

There was a tap on the door.

'Come in she said, and Finn came in, and they both stared. For a moment she wasn't even sure it was him. His clothes were black velvet, slashed with silver, and his mask was black, and his hair was caught back in a dark ribbon. But for a moment it could have been the Pretender, until he spoke.

'I look ridiculous.'

'You look
fine.'

He propped himself on a chair. 'Keiro would love this place. He would be so flamboyant here, so popular. He always said he'd make a great prince:

'He'd have us at war within a year.' Claudia glanced at her nurse. 'Leave us now please, Alys.'

Alys went to the door. 'Good luck, both of you,' she said softly. 'I'll see you at the Wardenry'

When she was gone they listened to the tuning fiddles. Finally Finn said, 'Is she going now?'

'Leaving at once, with the carriage. A decoy.'

'Claudia . . .'

'Wait.'

Surprised, he saw she had crossed to a small portrait on the wall, of a man in a dark doublet.

'Isn't that your father?'

'Yes. And it wasn't here yesterday.'

Finn stood up and crossed to stand behind her. 'Are you sure?'

'Certain.'

The Warden gazed out at them. His eyes had that cold calm certainty that Finn remembered, the slightly scornful air that Claudia often had.

'You're like him,' he said.

'How can I be like him!' Her venom startled him. 'He's not really my father, remember.'

'I didn't mean like that. . .' But it was best not to say any more about it, he thought. 'How did it get here?'

'I don't know.' She reached up and took the painting down. It looked like oil on canvas, and the frame seemed worm-eaten, but when she turned it over they saw it was plastiglas, and the painting a clever reproduction.

And tucked into the back of the frame was a note.

The door of Jared's room opened noiselessly and the big man stepped inside. He was breathless from the climb and the sword he held was sharp and heavy, but he was fairly certain he wouldn't need it.

The Sapient hadn't even noticed him yet. For a moment the assassin almost felt sorry for him. So young for a Sapient, so gentle. But he had turned his head now and was standing, quickly, as if he knew his danger.

'Yes? Did you knock?'

'Death doesn't knock, Master. Death just walks in, where he wants to.'

Jared nodded, slowly. He slipped a disc into his pocket.

'I see. You, then, are my executioner?'

'I am.'

'Don't I know you?'

'Yes, Master. This afternoon I had the pleasure of bringing your letter to the library.'

'Of course. The porter.' Jared moved away from the window, so that the old desk was between them. 'So that wasn't the only message from Court.'

'You're quick, Master, like all these scholars.' The porter leant companionably on the sword. 'My instructions came direct from the Queen herself. She employs me, in a . . . private capacity.' He glanced around. 'You see, she seems to think you've been prying into things you shouldn't. She sends you this.'

He held out a sliver of paper.

Jared reached out and took it, over the desk. There was no way past the man to the door, and the drop from the window was suicidal. He unfolded the note.

I am very disappointed in you, Master Jared. I offered you the chance of a cure but that's not what you've been researching, is it? Did you really think you could fool me? I do feel just a little betrayed. And oh, how very sad Claudia will be.

It was unsigned, but he knew the Queen's hand by now. He crumpled it. 'I'll have it back if I may, Master. Not to leave any evidence, you see.'

Jared dropped the paper on the desk.

'And that clever little gadget, sir, if you please.'

He took the disc out and looked at it ruefully, his delicate fingers adjusting it. 'Ah, I understand. The moths! I thought they were a little too curious. I believe they are to my designs, too.'

'Insult to injury, sir, I'm sure.' The man hefted the sword, regretfully. 'I hope you know this is not personal at all, Master. I thought you a very kind gentleman.'

'So I'm already in the past tense.'

'I don't know about tenses and such learning, sir.' The man spoke quietly, but there was an edge to his voice now. 'Such learning was never for the son of an ostler.'

'My father was a falconer,' Jared said mildly.

'Then maybe they saw your cleverness early.'

'I suppose they did.' Jared touched the table with his finger. 'I suppose also it's no use to offer money? To ask you to reconsider? To join the cause of Prince Giles. . .'

'Not till I know which Giles is the true one, sir,' the man said firmly. 'But, as I said, nothing personal.'

Jared smiled, surprising himself. 'I see.' He felt calm and light. 'Surely a sword is a little . . . obvious?'

'Oh bless you, sir, I won't need this. Not unless you make me. You see, in view of your illness, the Queen thought a little jump from the tower would look about right. All the learned Sapienti running
out into the quad to find your
body. Poor Master Jared. Took the quick way out. So understandable.'

Jared nodded. He put the disc down in front of him on the desk and heard a tiny metallic click. He glanced up, and his eyes were green and sad. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you to the trouble of a fight. I don't intend to jump.'

'Ah the porter sighed. 'Well, as you wish. A man has his pride.'

'Yes. He does.' As he said it he moved, jerking to one side. The big man laughed. 'You'll not get past me, sir.'

Jared came round in front of the desk and stood face to face with him. 'Then get it over with.'

Two-fisted, the man raised the sword and struck. Jared leapt to one side with all his agility as it clanged down, feeling the point whistle past his face, the blade smash across the desk. But he barely heard the scream, the sizzle of blue electrified flesh, because the charge seemed to suck the air out of the room and fling him back against the wall.

Then there was nothing but a singed smell and an echoing that rang in his ears as if he was deafened.

Gripping the stone work, he pulled himself upright.

The man lay in a heap on the floor; he was still, but breathing.

Jared gazed down at him. He felt a dull regret, a shame. And under that a fierce and surprising energy He laughed a shaky laugh. So this was how it felt to nearly kill a man.

But of course, there was nothing personal in it.

Carefully he detached the disc from the metal desk, switched its field off and dropped it in his pocket. Bending over the porter, he felt his pulse, and laid him gently on his side. The man was badly shocked and his hands were burnt but he would almost certainly live. Jared kicked the sword under the bed, then grabbed his pack and raced down the stairs. In the dark portico where the sunlight slanted through the stained-glass windows a tire-woman was hauling a basket of laundry from the Senior Sapient's study. Jared paused. 'Excuse me. I'm sorry. I've left a bit of a mess in my room, number fifty-six at the top. Do you think someone could clear it up?'

She looked at him, then nodded. 'I'll get someone. Master.'

The basket was obviously heavy and he wanted to tell her not to hurry, but the man needed help so he said, 'Thank you,' and turned away. He had to be careful. Who knows what other private arrangements the Queen had here?

In the stable the horses were sleepy, snuffling nosebags. He saddled his quickly, and then before mounting took the narrow syringe from its case and injected the medication into his arm, concentrating on breathing, on the ebbing of the pain in his chest.

He closed the case and leant a moment, giddy, on the animal's warm flank; its long nose came round and nuzzled him.

One thing was sure. There would be no cure now He had had his only chance, and it was gone.

'Read it Finn,' said.

She read, her voice shaky.

'My dear Claudia, Just a brief
word.
. .'

As she said it her voice faltered and stopped because, as if she had activated it, the portrait came to life. Her father's face turned to her and he spoke, his gaze as clear as if he really saw her.

It will be my last chance to contact you, I'm afraid. Incarceron has become rather demanding in its ambition. It has drained almost all the power of the Keys, and awaits only Sapphique's Glove.

'The Glove,' Finn muttered, and she said, 'Father. . .' but the voice went on, calm and amused and recorded...

Your friend Keiro holds that. It will certainly be the final piece of the puzzle. I begin to feel that I have served my purpose, and that Incarceron has begun to realize it does not need a Warden any more. It's really very ironic. Like the Sapienti of old, I have created a monster, and it has no loyalty.

He paused, and then the smile went, and he looked drawn. He said
Guard the Portal, Claudia. The terrible cruelty of the Prison must not infect the R
ealm. If anything tries to come
through, any person, any being, whoever it seems to be, you must destroy it. Incarceron is crafty, and I no longer know its plans.

He laughed a wintry laugh.

It seems you will be my successor after all.

His face froze.

She looked up at Finn. Far below, the viols and flutes and fiddles struck up the first merry dance of the Ball.

22

'The fault is yours,' the Enchanter said. 'How could a Prison know of Escape but through your dreams? It would be best to give up the Glove.'

Sapphique shook his head. 'Too late. It has grown into me now. How could I sing my songs without it?'

SAPPHIQUE AND THE DARK ENCHANTER

As they walked arm in arm along the terrace the crowding courtiers bowed and murmured. Fans fluttered. Eyes watched through the faces of demons, wolves, mermaids, storks.