Rota of the original Prisoners.
Sentences and Judicial reports.
Criminal Records; Photoimages.
Duties of the Warden.
He touched the last line. The screen rearranged, and under its web of nerves informed him curtly: This material is classified. Speak the password.
He swore, quietly.
Incorrect, the screen said. You have two more attempts before an alarm wilt be sounded.
Jared closed his eyes and tried not to groan. He glanced round; saw the rain slashing against the windows, the small lights on the desks below brighten imperceptibly.
He made himself breathe slowly, felt sweat prickle his back. Then he whispered, ‘Incarceron.’ Incorrect. You have one more attempt before an alarm will be sounded.
He should withdraw and think about it. If they found out he’d never get this far again. And yet time was against hint.
Time, that the Realm had been denied, was taking its revenge.
Pages turned below. He leant closer, seeing in the screen his own pale face, the dark hollows of his eyes. There was a word in his mind and he had no idea if it was the right one.
But the face was both his and another’s, and it was narrow and its hair was dark and he opened his mouth and whispered its name.
‘Sapphique?’ Lists. Rotas. Data.
It spread like a virus over the page, over the diagrams, over everything. The strength and speed of the information astounded him; he tapped the disc to record it as it rapidly came and went.
‘Master?’ Jared almost jumped.
One of the Academy porters stood there, a big man, his dark coat shiny with age, his staff tipped with a white pearl.
‘Sorry to disturb you at work, Master, but this came. From the Court.’ It was a parchment letter, sealed with Claudia’s black swan insignia.
‘Thank you.’ Jared took it, gave the man a coin and smiled calmly. Behind him the screen showed endless medical diagrams. Used to the austere ways of the Sapienti, the porter bowed and withdrew.
The red seal snapped as Jared opened it. And yet he knew it would have been read by the Queen’s spies.
My dearest Master Jared, The most dreadful thing has happened! A fire broke out in the cellars of the East Court, and most of the ground and upperfloors have collapsed. No one was hurt but the entrance to the Portal is buried under tons of rubble. The Queen’s Majesty assures me everything possible will be done but I am so dismayed! My father is lost to us, and Giles bemoans the fate of his friends. Today he faces the trial of the Inquisitors. Pray search hard, dear friend, for our only alternative lies in silence and secrecy.
Your most loving and obedient pupil, Claudia Arlexa.
He smiled ruefully at the Protocol. She could do much better. But then, the note was not just for him, it was for the Queen. A fire! Sia was taking no chances — first removing him and then sealing the entrance to the Prison. But what the Queen presumably didn’t know and only he and Claudia did, was that there was another entrance to the Portal, through the Warden’s study at home in the sleepy manor house of the Wardenry. Our only alternative lies in silence and secrecy. She had known he would understand.
The porter, fidgeting at a respectful distance, said, ‘The messenger returns to Court in an hour. Will there be any answer, Master?’
‘Yes. Please bring some ink and paper.’ As the man went, Jared took out a tiny scanner and ran it across the vellum. Scrawled in red across the neatly written lines was IF FINN LOSES THEY INTEND TO KILL US BOTH.YOU KNOW WHERE WE’LL BE. I TRUST YOU.
He drew in a sharp breath. The porter, anxious, placed the inkwell on the desk. ‘Master, are you in pain?’ He sat, white. ‘Yes,’ he said, crumpling the paper.
He had never guessed they would kill her. And what had she meant by I trust you?
The Queen rose and all the diners stood hurriedly, even those still eating. The summer meal of cold meats and venison pasties, of lavender cream and syllabub lay scattered on the white-clothed tables.
‘Now’ She dabbed her lips with a kerchief. ‘You will all retire, except the Claimants.’ Claudia curtsied. ‘I ask permission to attend the trial, Majesty’ The Queen’s lips made a perfect red pout. ‘I’m sorry Claudia. Not this time.’
‘Nor me?’ Caspar said, drinking.
‘Or you either, my sweet. Run away and shoot things.’ But she was still looking at Claudia, and suddenly, almost rnischeviously, she took her by the arm. ‘Oh Claudia! It’s such a shame about the Portal! And you know I’m so sorry to have to appoint a new Warden. Your dear father was so. . . astute.’ Claudia kept the smile plastered to her face. ‘As Your Majesty wishes.’ She wouldn’t beg. That was what Sia wanted.
‘If only you’d married Caspar! In fact, even now. . .‘ She couldn’t stand this. She couldn’t pull away either, so she stood rigid and said, ‘That choice is over, Majesty.’
‘Too right,’ Caspar muttered. ‘You had your chance, Claudia. I wouldn’t touch you now...’
‘Even for twice the dowry?’ his mother said.
He stared. ‘Are you serious?’ Sia’s lips twitched. ‘You are so easy to tease, Caspar, darling.’ The doors at the end of the room opened. Beyond them Claudia saw the Court of Inquisition.
The Queen’s throne was a vast eagle, its spread wings forming the back, its raised beak open in a harsh cry. The crown of the Havaarna encircled its neck.
The Privy Council sat in a circle around it, but on either side of the throne were two empty seats, one white and one black. As the Council filed in, Claudia watched a small door in the wall open and two figures emerge. She had expected Finn and Giles. Instead she saw the Inquisitors of Sun and Shadow.
The Shadow Lord wore black velvet lined with sable, and his hair and beard were as jet as his clothes. His face was harsh and unreadable. The other, in white, was graceful and smiling, his robe satin, edged with pearls.
She had never seen either of them before.
‘My Lord of Shadow.’ The Queen went to her throne and turned, formally. ‘And my Lord Sun. Your duty here is to question and draw out the truth, so that we and our Council may come to our verdict. Do you swear to deal faithfully in this enquiry?’ Both men knelt and kissed her hand. Then they walked, one to the black chair, one to the white, and sat. The Queen smoothed her dress, pulling a small lace fan out of her sleeve.
‘Excellent. Then let’s begin. Close the doors.’ A gong rang.
Finn and the Pretender were ushered in.
Claudia frowned. Finn wore his usual dark colours, without ornament. He looked defiant, and anxious. The Pretender wore a coat of purest yellow silk, as expensive as could be made. The two stood and faced each other on the tiled floor.
‘Your name?’ the Lord Shadow snapped.
As the doors slammed in her face Claudia heard their joint response.
‘Giles Ferdinand Alexander Havaarna.’ She stared at the carved wood, then turned and walked quickly away through the crowd. And like a whisper in her ear her father’s voice came to her, coldly amused. ‘Do you see them, Claudia? Pieces on the chessboard. How sad that only one can win the game.’
What makes a prince?
A sunny sky, an open door.
What makes a prisoner?