Incarceron Part 90

"You stay." John Arlex's order was hoa.r.s.e and unrecognizable.

"Warden."

Lord Evian pushed up close to them.

"I have just heard ... such news ... is it true?"

His affectations were gone; he was pale with intensity.

"True. She's gone."

The Warden spared him one grim glance. It's over.

"Then ... the Queen?"

"Remains the Queen."

"But... our plan ..."

The Warden silenced him with a flash of anger. "Enough, man! Don't you hear what I say? Go back to your puffs and perfumes. It's all we have now."

As if he could not understand what had happened, Evian clawed restlessly at his tight ruffled suit, tugging a b.u.t.ton loose.

"We can't let it end like this."

"We have no choice."

"All our dreams. The end of Protocol." He reached his hand inside the coat. "I can't. I won't."

He moved in before Jared realized what was happening, the knife flas.h.i.+ng out, slas.h.i.+ng down at the Queen. As she turned, it caught her high on the shoulder; she screamed in shock. Instantly the cloth of gold was running with blood, small spatterings and trickles that welled up as she gasped and clawed at Caspar, stumbling into the arms of courtiers.

"Guards!" the Warden cried. He whipped out his sword.

Jared turned. Evian was staggering back, the pink suit smeared with blood. He must have seen he had failed; the Queen was hysterical but not dead, and there was no chance to strike again. At least not at her. Soldiers ran in, their sharp pikes forcing him back in a ring of steel. He stared at Jared without seeing him, at the Warden, at Caspar's pale terror.

"I do this for freedom," he said calmly. "In a world that offers none."

With a swift accuracy he turned the knife and with both hands thrust it into his heart. He crumpled over it, crashed down, juddered a moment and was still.

As Jared pushed past the guards and bent over him, he saw death had been almost instant; blood was still slowly welling through the silk cloth. He gazed down, horrified, at the plump face, the staring eyes.

"Stupid," the Warden said behind him. "And weak."

He reached down and hauled Jared up, turning him roughly.

"Are you weak, Master Sapient? I have always thought so. We'll see now if I was right."

He looked at the guard.

"Take the Master to his room and lock him in. Bring me any devices that are there. Post two men outside. He is not to leave, and will receive no visitors."

"Sire."

The man bowed.

The Queen had been hustled out and the crowd scattered; all at once the great Chamber seemed empty.

The garlands of flowers and orange blossom drifted slightly in the breeze from the open windows. As Jared was led to the door he stepped on spilled petals and sticky sweetmeats; the detritus of a wedding that would never happen.

Just before they pushed him out, he looked back and saw the Warden standing with both hands on the high fireplace, leaning over the empty hearth.

His hands were clenched fists on the white marble.

NOTHING HAPPENED but a white light.

When Claudia opened her eyes, they stung; her sight was watery, and small dark spots floated there for a minute, dimming the walls of the cell. It was certainly a cell. It stank. The smell was so strong, she retched and then tried nor to breathe again, the reek of damp and urine and rotting bodies and straw. The straw was all around her; she was sitting in it, and a flea jumped out of it onto her hand. With a hiss of disgust she jumped up and shook it off, s.h.i.+vering and scratching.

So this was Incarceron. It was just as she'd expected. The cell was stone-walled and the stones were carved with ancient names and dates, filmed with milky lichens and a fur of algae. Above, the groined vault was lost in darkness. There was one window, high in the wall, but it seemed to be covered. Nothing else. But the cell door was open. Claudia took another breath, trying not to cough. The cell was silent, a heavy, oppressive silence that was cold and clammy.

A listening silence. And in the corner of the cell, she saw an Eye. A small red Eye that watched her impa.s.sively. She felt normal. No tingling or sickness. She looked at herself, her hands clutching the Key. Was she really so minute? Or was any notion of size relative-was this normality and the Realm outside a place of giants?

She crossed to the door. It had not been locked for a long time. Chains hung from it, but they were corroded into a ma.s.s with rust, and the hinges were eaten away so that the door hung at an angle. She ducked under it, into the pa.s.sageway. It was stone-flagged and filthy, and it stretched into darkness. She looked at the Key, operated the imager.

"Finn?" she whispered. Nothing happened. Only, far off down the corridor, something hummed. A low-pitched whine, like a machine being activated. She flicked the Key off hastily, her heart thudding.