Incarceron Part 95

Keiro slumped against the wall. A fire seemed to have gone out of him. He said, "It scares me because I don't know how far it goes."

Lifting up his hand, he flexed his finger.

"It looks real, doesn't it? No one can tell. And how do I know how much more of me is like that? Inside me, the organs, the heart. How do I know?"

There was a sort of agony in the question, as if it had been asked silently a million times before, as if behind the bravado and arrogance was a fear he had never revealed. Finn looked around.

"The Prison could tell you."

"No. I don't want to know."

"It doesn't matter to me."

Finn ignored Gildas's snort and glanced at Attia.

Quietly she said, "So we're all flawed. Even you. I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

Keiro was scornful. "The pity of a dog-girl and a Sta.r.s.eer. That really makes me feel better."

"We're only-"

"Save it. I don't need it."

He brushed away Finn's outstretched hand and pulled himself upright.

"And don't think it changes me. I'm still me."

Gildas limped past.

"Well, you get no pity from me. Let's get on."

Keiro stared at his back with a rigidity of hatred that made Finn move in; his oathbrother s.n.a.t.c.hed up the sword from the floor, but as he took one step after the Sapient, the Prison shivered and shuddered.

Finn grabbed the wall. When the world stopped moving, the air was thick with dust; it hung like a fog, and there was a ringing in his ears. Gildas was hissing in pain.

Attia scrambled over; she pointed through the miasma. "Finn. What's that?"

For a moment he had no idea. Then he saw it was a face. A face that was oddly clean, with bright clever eyes and a tangle of hastily tied hair.

A face that was staring at him out of the mists of the past over the tiny flames of candles on a cake that he leaned over and blew out with one exhausting breath.

"Is that you?" she whispered.

He nodded, silent, knowing this was Claudia.

32.

Energy will not be wasted on frivolous machines.

We will learn to live simply, untroubled by jealousies and desires.

Our souls will be as placid as the tideless seas.

-King Endor's Decree ***

The soldiers came after two hours. Jared had been waiting for them; he had lain on the hard bed in the silent room and listened to the sounds of the Palace through the open cas.e.m.e.nt; the galloping horses far below, the coaches, the scurry, the shouts. It was as if Claudia had taken a stick to a nest of ants and now they were in a swarming panic, their Queen injured and their peace gone. The Queen.

As he sat up stiffly and gazed at the men, he hoped he wouldn't have to face her fury.

"Master."

The liveried servant seemed embarra.s.sed.

"Would you come with us, sir."

Always the Protocol. It saved them from facing the truth. As they led him down the stairs, the guardsmen fell in discreetly behind, their halberds held like staffs of office. He had already gone through all the emotions. Terror, bl.u.s.ter, despair. Now all that was left was a sort of dull resignation. Whatever the Warden would do to him had to be borne. Claudia had to have time.

To his surprise they took him past the state rooms, where anxious envoys argued and messengers ran in and out, down to a small room in the east wing. When they ushered him in he saw it was one of the Queen's private drawing-rooms, cluttered with fragile gilt furniture, an elaborate clock on the mantelpiece heaped with cherubs and simpering shepherdesses.

Only the Warden was here. He was not sitting at a desk, but standing, facing the door. Two armchairs were arranged at easy angles by the hearth, where a great bowl of potpourri sat in the empty fireplace. It still felt like a trap.

"Master Jared." The Warden indicated one chair with a long finger. "Please sit."

He was glad to. He felt breathless and lightheaded. "A little water."

The Warden poured it and brought the goblet over. As he drank from it Jared felt Claudia's father ... no, not her father ... watching him acutely.

"Thank you."