17
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
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
around, 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 ink-stained 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 full 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 he 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
halfblind, 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 lady,” 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 favorite 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.
The oak leaf was as frail as cobweb, a skeleton of
veins. His fingers trembling slightly, he closed the book and slid
it back. He was certainly above such self-pity.
The library of the Academy was a vast and hushed
collection of rooms. Great oak cabinets of books, some of them
chained, stood in ranks down the galleried halls.
Sapienti sat huddled over manuscripts and
illuminated volumes, quill nibs scraping, each stall lit by a small
lamp that looked like a candle but was in fact a high intensity
personal diode powered by the hidden underground generators. Jared
estimated that at least a third of the precious remaining power of
the Realm was consumed here. Not just in the library, of course.
The apparent quills were linked to a central computer that also ran
the lunar observatory and the extensive medical wing. The Queen,
though he hated her, had been right. If there had once been a cure
for him, this was the only place it might still be found.
“Master?” The librarian had returned, the Queen’s
letter in his hand. “This is all in order. Please follow me.”
The Esoterica was the heart of the library. It was
rumored to be a secret chamber, entered only by the First High
Sapient and the Warden. Jared certainly had never been there. His
heart fluttered a little with excitement.
They walked through three rooms, through a hall of
maps and up a winding stair into a small gallery that ran around
above the reading room, under the dusty cornice. In the far corner
was a shadowy alcove, containing a desk and a chair, the arms
carved with winding snakes.
The librarian bowed. “If you need anything, please
ask one of my assistants.”
Jared nodded and sat. He tried not to show his
surprise and disappointment; he had expected something more secret,
more impressive, but perhaps that had been foolish.
He glanced around.
There were no obvious watching devices, but they
were here, he sensed that. He put his hand into his coat and slid
out the disc he had prepared. He slipped the disc under the desk
and it clasped itself on tight.
The desk, despite appearances, was metal. He
touched it, and a portion of the wainscoting became a screen that
lit discreetly. It said YOU HAVE ENTERED THE ESOTERICA.
He worked quickly. Soon diagrams of the lymphatic
and nervous systems rippled over the screen. He studied them
intently, cross-referencing with the fragments of medical research
that the system still held. The room below was silent, formal busts
of ancient Sapienti staring in stiff rigor from their marble
pedestals. Outside the distant casement, a few doves cooed.
A librarian padded by, carrying a heap of
parchment. Jared smiled gently.
They were keeping a good watch on him.
By three, the time for the brief afternoon rain
shower, he was ready. As the light dimmed and the room grew
gloomier, he slid his hand under the desk and touched the
disc.
At once, under the diagrams of the nervous system,
writing appeared. It had taken a long time to find the encrypted
files on Incarceron, and his eyes were tired, his thirst a torment.
But as the first thunder rumbled, here they were.
Reading one script below another was a skill he had
perfected long ago. It needed concentration, and always gave him a
headache, but that would be bearable. After ten minutes he had
worked out one symbol that unlocked others, then recognized an old
variant of the Sapient tongue he had once studied.
As he translated, the words began to form out of
the mass of strange glyphs.
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 will be sounded.
Jared closed his eyes and tried not to groan. He
glanced around; 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
him. Time, which the Realm had been denied, was taking its
revenge.
Pages turned below. He leaned 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 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 upper floors 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
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
mischievously, 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
inquiry?”
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 colors,
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 Alexander Ferdinand 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.”