But it might save us all.’ Finn stared at him. Outside the rain lashed, flinging the casement open, snuffing the last flicker of the candle out. 1-Ic was cold and shaken, his hands icy. The fear in Claudia’s voice had infected him like a taste of the Prison, and for a moment he was back in that white cell where he had been born, and was no prince but a Prisoner with no memory and no hope.
The house shivered around them as lightning struck. ‘What do you need?’ Finn said.
It was Incarceron that stopped them. As the Prisoners surged to the second step its voice rang out in power through the vast hall.
I will kill anyone who comes closer.
The step pulsed with sudden light. Currents of power ran along it and rippled in blue waves. The crowd convulsed. Some pushed on, others stopped, or squirmed back. It became a vortex of movement, and the spotlights circled lazily over it, stabbing down to show a terrified eye, a flailing hand.
Attia snatched the kindling from Rix.
She moved to thrust it into the rotten fibres, but Claudia grabbed her hand. ‘Wait.’
‘For what?’ She turned, but Claudia jerked her wrist savagely and the tiny burning scrap fell, flaring in the air. It landed on the tapestries but before the whoof of flame took hold Claudia had stamped it out.
‘Are you mad? We’re finished!’ Attia was furious. ‘You’ve finished us. . .‘
‘Jared. .
‘Jared is wrong!’ I am very pleased to have you all here for this execution. The Prison’s sarcasm echoed through the freezing air; tiny, icy snowflakes drifting from its heights. You will see my justice and understand that I have no favourites. Behold, the man before you. John Arlex, your Warden.
The Warden was grey and grim but he drew himself up, his dark coat glistening with snow.
‘Listen to me,’ he yelled. ‘The Prison is trying to leave us!
To leave its own people to starve!’ Only the nearest heard him, and they howled him down.
As she closed up beside him Claudia knew that only the Prison’s proclamation kept the mob back, and that the Prison was playing with them.
John Arlex, who hates and detests you. See how he cowers under this image of Sapphique. Does he think it will protect him from my wrath?
They needn’t have bothered with the tapestries. Claudia realized that Incarceron would burn its own body, that its anger at the Glove’s loss, at the end of all its plans, would be their end too. The same pyre would consume them all.
And then, beside her, a sharp voice said, ‘Oh my father.
Listen to me.’ The crowd hushed.
They stilled as if the voice was one they knew, had heard before, so that they quietened to hear it again.
And Claudia felt in her bones and nerves how Incarceron zigzagged closer, moved in, its reply murmured in her ear and against her cheek, a quiet, fascinated question of secret doubt.
Is that you, Rix?
Rix laughed. His eyes were narrowed, his breath stank of ket. He opened his arms wide. ‘Let me show you what I can do. The greatest magic ever performed. Let me show you, my father, how I will bring your body to life.’
He raised his hands. They saw his coat was feathered like the wings of the Swan when it dies, when it sings its secret song.
And he opened the door that none of them had seen until now.
LEGENDS OF SAPPHIQUE
As Finn moved out into the corridor he saw that Keiro was right. The very antiquity of the house was against them now; all its true decay, like the Queen’s, had come upon it at once.
‘Ralph!’ Ralph came hastening up, stepping over lumps of fallen plaster. ‘Sire.’
‘Evacuate. Everyone is to leave.’
‘But where will we go, sire?’ Finn scowled. ‘I don’t know! Certainly the Queen’s camp’s in no better shape. Find what shelter you can in the stables, the outlying cottages. No one must stay here but us. Where’s Caspar?’ Ralph tugged off his decaying wig. Underneath, his own hair was shaved close. His chin was stubbled, and his face unwashed. He looked weary and lost. ‘With his mother. The poor lad is devastated. I think even he had no idea of her reality.’ Finn glanced round. Keiro had Medlicote in an armlock.
Jared, tall in his Sapient robe, carried the Glove.
‘Do we need this scum?’ Keiro muttered.
‘No. Let him go with the rest.’ Giving the secretary’s arm one last painful jerk, Keiro shoved him away.
‘Get outside,’ Finn said, ‘Where it’s safe. Find the rest of your people.’
‘Nowhere is safe.’ Medlicote ducked as a suit of armour beside him suddenly crashed into dust. ‘Not while the Glove exists.’ Finn shrugged. He turned to Jared. ‘Let’s go.’ The three of them ran past the secretary and along the corridors of the house. They moved through a nightmare of dissolving beauty, of fragmented hangings and paintings lost under grime and mould. In places chandeliers of white candles had fallen; the crystal droplets lay like tears in the broken wax. Keiro moved ahead, heaving wreckage aside; Finn kept near Jared, unsure of the Sapient’s strength. They struggled to the foot of the great stairway, but as Finn looked up he was appalled at the destruction on the upper floors. A silent blink of lightning showed him a vast crack running right down the outside wall. Debris of vases and plastiglas crunched under their feet; potpourri and fungal spores and the dust of centuries blurred the air like snow.
The stairs were ruined. Keiro climbed two, his back flat against the wall, but on the third tread his foot plunged through, and he tugged it out, swearing. ‘We’ll never get up this.’
‘We must get to the study, and the Portal.’ Jared looked up anxiously. He felt utterly weary, his head light and dizzy.
When had he last taken his medication? He leant against the wall and tugged out the pouch and stared at it in despair.
The small syringe had broken into pieces, as if the glass had brittled and aged instantly. The serum had congealed to a yellow crust.
Finn said, ‘What will you do?’ Jared almost smiled. He replaced the pieces and tossed the pouch out into the dark corridor, and Finn saw his eyes were remote and dark. ‘It was only ever a stopgap, Finn. Like everyone else, I must now live without my little comforts.’ If he dies, Finn thought, if I let him die, Claudia will never forgive me. He glared up at his oathbrother. ‘We have to get up there. You’re the expert, Keiro. Do something!’ Keiro frowned. Then he tugged off his velvet coat and tied back his hair in a scrap of ribbon. He tore away some of the hangings and bound them rapidly round his hands, swearing as he touched his scorched palm.
‘Rope. I need rope.’ Finn snatched down the thick tasselled ties that held the curtains and knotted them firmly together — bizarre cables of gold and scarlet. Keiro looped them over his shoulder.
Then he set off up the stairs.
The world had inverted, Jared thought, watching his inching progress, because a staircase he had climbed every day for years had became a treacherous obstacle, a deathtrap.
This was how tune transformed things, how your own body betrayed you. This was what the Realm had tried to forget, in its deliberate elegant amnesia.
Keiro had to ascend the stairs as a mountaineer climbs a scree slope. The whole central section was gone, and as he grabbed at the higher treads their edges crumbled away in his hands.
Finn and Jared watched, anxious. Above the house thunder rumbled; far off in the stableyard they heard the shouts of the guards, ushering everyone out, the neighing of horses, the screech of a hawk.
Finally, at Finn’s elbow, a breathless voice said, ‘The drawbridge is down, sire, and everyone across.’
‘Then you go too.’ Finn didn’t turn, willing Keiro on as he balanced precariously between a bannister and a fallen panel.
‘The Queen, sire.’ Ralph wiped his smeared face with a filthy rag that might once have been a handkerchief. ‘The Queen is dead.’ The stab of shock was so distant that Finn almost missed it.