Keiro looked at Attia. She knew what that look meant. The Glove was in the inner pocket of his coat and they'd find it if they searched him.
He folded his arms and grinned. 'Surrounded by women. Things are looking up.'
Attia glared. 'Shut up. Slave.'
The golden-eyed girl circled him. 'He doesn't have the bearing of a slave. He is arrogant, and a man, and he thinks himself stronger than us.' She gave a curt nod. 'Throw him over.'
'No!'
Attia stepped forward. 'No. He belongs to me. Believe me, I'll fight anyone who tries to kill him.'
The masked girl stared at Keiro. Her golden eye glittered and Attia realized that it was not blind, that she saw through it in some way. A halfwoman.
'Search him then for weapons.'
Two of the girls searched him; he pretended to enjoy it, but when they took the Glove from his pocket Attia knew it took all his self-control not to lash out.
'What is this?'The leader held up the Glove. It lay in her hands, the dragonskin iridescent in the gloom, the claws split and heavy.
'That's mine,' Keiro and Attia said together.
'I
carry it for her,' Keiro said. He smiled his most charming smile. 'I am the Slave of the Glove.'
The girl gazed at the dragonclaws with her mismatched eyes. Then she looked up. 'Both of you will come with us. In all my years taking toll on the Skywalk I've never seen an object of such power. It ripples in purple and gold. It sings in amber.'
Attia moved forward cautiously. 'You can see that?'
'I hear it with my eyes.' She turned away Attia flicked a fierce glance at Keiro. He had to shut up, and play along. Two of the masked girls pushed him. 'Walk; one said. The leader fell in beside Attia. 'Your name?'
'Attia. You?'
'Rho Cygni. We give up our birth names.' At the large hole in the floor the girls were sliding expertly through.
'Down there?' Attia tried not to let the fear into her voice, but she sensed Rho's smile behind the mask. 'It doesn't lead to the ground. Go on. You'll see.'
Attia sat, her legs dangling over the edge. Someone caught her feet and steadied her; she slithered through and grabbed the rusty chain. There was a rickety walkway built close under the viaduct, half hidden by ivy It was as dark as a tunnel and it creaked underfoot, but at its end it divided into a maze of smaller passageways and rope stairs, hanging rooms and cages.
Rho walked behind her, noiseless as a shadow. At the end she guided Attia to the right into a chamber that moved slightly as if beneath it was nothing but sky. Attia swallowed. The walls were of interwoven wattle and the floor was hidden in a deep coating of feathers. But it was the ceiling that made her stare. It was painted a deep, amazing blue and gleaming in it were patterns of golden stones, like the one in Rho's eye.
'The stars!'
'As Sapphique wrote of them.' The girl stood beside her and looked up. 'Outside they sing as they cross the sky. The Bull, and the Hunter and the Chained Princess. And the Swan, of whose Constellation we are.' She pulled off her feathered helm and her hair was dark and short, her face pale. 'Welcome to the Swan's Nest, Attia.'
It was stiflingly warm, and lit by tiny lamps. She saw the shadowy figures remove armour and masks and become girls and women of all ages, some stout, some young and lithe. The smell of food rose from cooking pots. Deep divans filled with downy feathers littered the room.
Rho pushed her towards one. 'Sit down. You look exhausted:
Anxious, she said, 'Where's . . . my servant?' 'Caged. He won't starve. But this place is not for men.' Attia sat. She was suddenly unbearably weary, but she had to stay alert. The thought of Keiro's certain fury cheered her. 'Please eat. We have plenty.'
A bowl of hot soup was put in front of her. She sipped at it hurriedly, while Rho sat, elbows on knees, watching.
'You were hungry,' she said after a while.
'We've been travelling for days:
'Well, your journey's over now. You're safe here.'
Attia savoured the thin soup, wondering what she meant. These people seemed friendly, but she must be on her guard. They had Keiro, and they had the Glove.
'We've been expecting you,' Rho said quietly.
She almost choked. 'Me?'
'Someone like you. Something like this.' Rho drew the Clove from her coat, laid it reverently in her lap. 'Strange things are happening, Attia. Wonderful things. You saw the tribes migrating. For weeks we've watched them down there, always searching, for food, for warmth, always fleeing from the commotion at the Prison's heart:
'What commotion is that, Rho?'
'I've heard it.' The girl's strange gaze turned to Attia. 'We all have. Late at night, deep in dreams. Suspended between ceiling and floor, we've felt its vibrations, in the chains and walls, in our bodies. The beating of Incarceron's heart. It grows stronger, daily. We're its providers, and we know.'
Attia put down the spoon and tore off some black bread.
'The Prison is shutting down. Is that it?'
'Concentrating. Focusing. Whole Wings are dark and silent. The Fimbulwinter has begun, and that was prophesied. And still the Unsapient sends out his demands.'
'Unsapient?'
'So we call him. They say the Prison summoned him from Outside. . . From his chamber in the Prison's heart he is creating something terrible. They say he is making a man, out of rags and dreams and flowers and metal. A man who'll lead us all to the stars. It will happen soon, Attia
Gazing at the girl's lit face Attia felt only weariness. She pushed the plate aside and said sadly, 'What about you? Tell me about you.'
Rho smiled. 'I think that can wait till tomorrow. You need to sleep.' She dragged a thick cover over to Attia. It was soft and warm and irresistible. Attia snuggled into it.
'You won't lose the Glove,' she said sleepily.
'No. Sleep well. You're with us now, Attia Cygni.'
She closed her eyes. From somewhere far off she heard Rho say, 'Was the slave given food?'
'Yes. But he spent most of the time trying to seduce me,' a girl's voice laughed.
Attia rolled over and grinned.
Hours later, deep in sleep, between breaths, in her teeth and eyelashes and nerves, she felt the heartbeat. Her heartbeat. Keiro's. Finn's. The Prison's.
18
The world is a chessboard, Madam, on which we play out our ploys and follies. You are the Queen, of course. Your moves are the strongest. For myself I claim only to be a knight, advancing in a crooked progress. Do we move ourselves, do you think, or does a great gloved hand place us on our squares ?
PRIVATE LETTER; THE WARDEN OF INCARCERON TO QUEEN SIA
'Were you responsible?' Claudia stepped out of the shadow of the hedge and enjoyed the way Medlicote spun round, alarmed.
He bowed, the half-moons of his glasses flashing in the morning sunlight. 'For the storm, my lady? Or the fire?'
'Don't be flippant.' She let herself sound imperious. 'We were attacked in the Forest — Prince Giles and myself. Was it your doing?'
'Please: His inkstained fingers lifted. 'Please, Lady Claudia. Be discreet.' Fuming, she kept silent.
He gazed across the wide lawns. Only peacocks strutted and squawked. There was a group of courtiers in the orangery; faint giggles drifted from the scented gardens.
'We made no attack,' he said quietly. 'Believe me, madam, if we had, Prince Giles — if he is Giles — would be dead. The Steel Wolves deserve their reputation.'
'You failed to kill the Queen on several occasions.' She was scathing. 'And you placed a dagger next to Finn
...'
'To ensure he remembers us. But the Forest, no. If I may say so you were unwise to ride out without an escort. The Realm is frill of discontents. The poor suffer their injustices, but they don't forgive them. It was probably a simple attempt at robbery.'
She thought it was the Queen's plot, though she had no intention of letting him know that. Instead she snapped a bud from the rosebush and said, 'And the fire?'
He looked stricken. 'That is a disaster. You know who was responsible for that, madam. The Queen has never wanted the Portal reopened.'
And now she thinks she's won.' Claudia jumped as a peacock rustled its magnificent tail into a fan. The hundred eyes watched her. 'She thinks that my father is cut off:
'Without the Portal, he is.'
'You knew my father well, Master Medlicote?'
Medlicote frowned. 'I was his secretary for ten years. But lit, was not an easy man to know'
'He kept his secrets?'
'Always.'
'About Incarceron?'
'I knew nothing about the Prison.'
She nodded, and took her hand out of her pocket. 'Do you recognize this?'
He looked at it, wondering. 'It's the Warden's pocketwatch. He always wore it.'
She was watching him closely, alert for any glimmer of hidden recognition, of knowledge. In the glasses she saw the reflection of the open watchcase, the silver cube turning on the chain.
'He left it for me. You have
no idea then, where the Prison
is?'
'None. I wrote his correspondence. I ordered his affairs. But I never went there with him.'
She clicked the case shut. He seemed puzzled, had given no sign of knowing what he was looking at.
'How did he travel there?' she asked quietly.
'I
never discovered that. He would disappear, for a day, or a week. We . . . the Wolves . . . believe the Prison to be some sort of underground labyrinth, below the Court. Obviously the Portal gave access: He looked at her curiously. 'You know more about this than I do. There may be information in his study, at your house in the Wardenry. I was never allowed in there.'
His study.
She tried not to reveal by even a blink the shock his words sparked. 'Thank you. Thank you.'
Hardly knowing what she said she turned on her heel but his voice stopped her.
'Lady Claudia. Something else. We have learned that when the false prince is executed you will share his fate:
'What!'
He was standing with his glasses in his hands, his dusty shoulders stooped. In the sunlight he seemed suddenly a half—blind, agitated man.
'But she can't
'She will. I warned you, lady. You are an escaped Prisoner. She would not be breaking any laws.'
Claudia was cold. She could hardly believe this. 'Are you sure?'
'One of the Privy Council has a mistress. The woman is one of our operatives. He told her that the Queen was adamant.'
'Did she hear anything else? Whether the Queen had brought in this Pretender?'
He stared at her. 'That interests you more than your own death?'
'Tell me!'
'Unfortunately, no. The Queen professes ignorance as to which of the boys is her true stepson. She's told the Council nothing.'
Claudia paced, shredding the rosebud. 'Well, I don't intend to be executed, by her or your Wolves or anyone else.
Thank you.' She had ducked under the rose arch when he took a step after her and said softly, 'Master Jared was bribed to stop work on the Portal. Did you know that?'
She stopped still as death, without turning. The roses were white, perfectly scented. Fat bees fumbled in their petals. There was a thorn in the bud she held; it hurt her fingers and she dropped it.
He came no nearer. His voice was quiet. 'The Queen offered him... '
'There's nothing' — she turned, almost spitting the words —
'nothing,
that she could offer that he would take. Nothing!'
A bell chimed, then another from the Ivory Tower. It was the signal for the Inquisition of the Candidates. Medlicote kept his eyes on her. Then he put his spectacles back on and bowed, clumsily. 'My mistake, my lad,' he said.
She watched him walk away. She was trembling. She didn't know how much with anger, how much with fear.
Jared looked down with a rueful smile at the book in his hand. It had been a favourite of his when he had been a student here, a small red book of mysterious and cryptic poems that languished unread on the shelves. Now, opening the pages, he found the oak leaf he had once placed in it, on page forty-seven, at the sonnet about the dove that would cure the devastation of the Years of Rage, a flowering rose in its beak.
Reading the lines now he let
his memories slip back to that time. It had not been so long ago. He had been the youngest graduate of the Academy since Protocol began, considered brilliant, assured of a great career.