‘I don’t know.. . We’re in some sort of. . . nursery’
‘Did she say nursery?’ Claudia whispered.
Finn shrugged. All he was, watching was Keiro’s silence.
‘It’s just …’ Jared was puzzled. ‘There are some peculiar readings coming in.As if some potent source of energy was very close to you.’ Attia said, ‘It must be the Glove. The Prison wants—’ Her voice stopped, abruptly. There was a scuffle and a mutter, and the screen tilted and flickered and went black.
Jared said, ‘Attia! Are you all right?’ Muffled and angry; Keiro’s voice hissed, ‘Shut up!’Then, louder, ‘The Prison’s unstable. We’re getting out of here.’ A muffled yelp. A whiplash of steel.
‘Keiro?’ Finn leapt up. ‘He’s drawn his sword. Keiro!
What’s going on there?’ A clatter. Distinctly they heard Attia’s hiss of fear. ‘The puppets,’ she breathed.
Then nothing but static.
She’d bitten Keiro’s hand; now he jerked it away from her mouth and she gasped. ‘Look. Look!’ He turned, and saw. The puppet on the end of the row was moving. The strings that worked it were taut from the roof’s darkness, and its head was lifting, turning smoothly to look at them.
One lank hand rose and pointed. The jaw clacked.
I told you not to betray me, it said.
Attia backed, holding the musical box tight, but it gave a broken clank in her hands and the mirror cracked into pieces.
She threw it down.
The puppet jerked upright, knock.-kneed, rickety as a skeleton. Its face was some ancient harlequin, the nose hooked and hideous. It wore a striped jester’s cap and bells.
Its eyes were red.
‘We haven’t,’ Keiro said rapidly. ‘We heard a voice and came to find out what it was. We’ve got the Glove safe and we’re still bringing it to you. I didn’t let her tell them about it. You saw that.’ Attia scowled at him. Her mouth was sore where he had clamped his hand over it.
I saw. The wooden jaw opened and closed, but its voice, with its faint echo, came from nowhere. You interest me, Prisoner. I could destroy you and yet you defy me.
‘What’s new?’ Keiro’s drawl was sarcastic. ‘You could destroy us all, any time.’ He stepped up to the puppet, his handsome face to its ugliness. ‘Or is there some twisted remnant of your programming left? He says, the Sapient out there, that you were made to be a Paradise. We should have had everything. So what went wrong? What did you do, Prison? What turned you into a monster?’ Attia stared at him, appalled.
The puppet raised its hands and feet and danced, a slow, macabre caper.
Men went wrong. Men like you, who seem so bold and are in fact riddled with fears. Crawl back to your horse and ride on my road, Prisoner.
‘I’m not afraid of you.’ No? Shall I tell you then, Keiro, the answer to u’hat torments you? It would end the pain for ever, because you’d know. The puppet’s face bobbed mockingly before him. You’d know how far the circuitry and plastic reaches into your body, how much of you is flesh and blood, how much of you belongs to me.
‘I already know.’ Attia was shocked at the whisper his voice had become.
No you don’t. None of you know. To find out you must open up your heart, and die. Unless I tell you. Shall I tell you, Keiro?
‘No.’ Let me tell you now. Let me end the uncertainty.
Keiro looked up. His eyes were blue and blazing with anger. ‘We’ll go back to your stinking road. But I swear one day it’ll be me doing the tormenting.’ I can see you want to know. Very well. In fact, you are—
The sword slashed. With a yell of fury Keiro sliced through the strings and the puppet collapsed, a heap of splinters and a mask.
Keiro stamped on them; the face cracked under his boot.
He raised his face, eyes blazing. ‘Do you see that! Having a body will make you vulnerable, Prison-puppet. If you have a body you can die!’ The dark nursery was silent.
Breathing hard, he whirled round and saw Attia’s face.
He scowled. ‘I suppose that stupid grin is because Finn is alive.’
‘Not entirely,’ she said.
Claudia ran down the stairs next morning, slipping past the retainers carrying the Queen’s breakfast. Probably the Pretender’s too, she thought. She glanced up at the Ivory Tower, wondering how he was enjoying his splendour. If he was some farm-boy, it would all be new to him. And yet his manner had been so assured. His hands so smooth!
Quickly, before the doubts came back, she turned into the stables, past the rows of cybersteeds to the real horses at the end.
Jared was adjusting his saddle.
‘You haven’t got much baggage,’ she muttered.
‘The Sapient carries all he needs in his heart. Which is from where, Claudia?’
‘Martor Sapiens. The Illuminatus. Book One.’ She watched Finn lead out his horse, surprised. ‘Are you coming too?’
‘You suggested it.’ She had forgotten that. It rather annoyed her now; she wanted to see Jared on his way by herself, to say goodbye to him privately. He might be away for days, and the Court would be even more hateful in his absence.
If Finn noticed he said nothing, turning and swinging himself up into the saddle expertly. Riding had come naturally to him, though he had no memory of doing it before the Prison. He waited, while Claudia’s horse was saddled and the groom held her foot while she mounted
‘Is that outfit in Era?’ he asked quietly.
‘You know very well it isn’t.’ She wore a boy’s riding coat and trousers under her skirt.
Watching Jared turn his horse she said suddenly, ‘Change your plans, Master, don’t go. After what happened last night…‘
‘I have to go, Claudia.’ His voice was strained and low; he rubbed the horse’s neck gently. ‘Please don’t make me feel worse than I do about it.’ She didn’t see why. It would mean work on the Portal would pause, just when they were having success. But he was her tutor, and though he rarely exercised it, his authority was real. Besides, she sensed he had his own reasons for going. The Sapienti returned yearly to the Academy; perhaps his superiors had summoned him.
‘I’ll miss you.’ He looked up, and for a moment she thought there was a desolation in his green eyes. Then he smiled and it was gone.
‘And I you, Claudia.’ They rode slowly through the courtyards and quadrangles of the vast palace. Servants drawing water and hauling in waggonloads of kindling stared, their eyes on Finn. It made him ride proudly, trying to look like a prince. Housemaids shaking sheets outside the laundry stopped to watch. At the corner of the scrivener’s offices Claudia saw Medlicote come out of the door. As she rode past he bowed, elaborately.
Jared raised an eyebrow. ‘That looks meaningful.’
‘Leave him to me.’
‘I don’t like leaving you with that problem, Claudia.’
‘They won’t try anything, Master. Not if the Pretender is their candidate.’ Jared nodded, the breeze lifting his dark hair. Then he said, ‘Finn, what did Attia mean by the Glove?’ Finn shrugged. ‘Sapphique made a wager with the Prison once. Some say they played dice, but Gildas had a version where they told riddles. Anyway, the Prison lost.’