There was an awkward silence. Then Attia said simply, 'Finn?'
He realized she would do it if he asked her to. He didn't want to have that power. But
Keiro was glowering, so he said, 'All right. I'll help you.'
Side by side, they knelt and cut the sheep up. She borrowed Gildas's knife and worked efficiently; he realized she had done it often before, and when he was clumsy, she pushed him aside and dissected the raw flesh. They took only a little; they had no way of carrying more or any tinder to cook it on as yet. Only half the beast was organic; the rest was a patchwork of metal, ingeniously put together. Gildas raked over the remains with his stick.
'The Prison breeds its beasts less well these days.'
He sounded grave. Keiro said, 'What do you mean, old man:
'What I say. I can remember when the creatures were all flesh. Then circuits began to appear, tiny things, threaded instead of vein, of cartilage. The Sapienti have always studied and dissected any tissue we could find. At one time I offered rewards for carcasses brought to me, though the Prison was usually too quick.'
Finn nodded. They all knew that the remains of any dead creature vanished overnight; that
Incarceron sent its Beetles out instantly and collected the raw material for recycling.
Nothing was ever buried here, nothing burned. Even those of the Comitatus who had been killed were left, wrapped in their favorite possessions, decked with flowers, in a place by the abyss. In the morning, they were always gone.
To their surprise Attia spoke. 'My people knew this. For a long time now the lambs have been like this, and the dogs. Last year, in our group, a child was born. Its left foot was made of metal.'
'What happened to it?' Keiro asked quietly.
'The child?' She shrugged. 'They killed it. Such things can't be allowed to live.'
'The Scum were kinder. We let all sorts of freaks live.'
Finn glanced at him. Keiro's voice was acid; he turned and led the way through the wood.
But Gildas didn't move. Instead he said, 'Don't you see what it means, fool boy? It means the Prison is running out of organic matter ...'
But Keiro wasn't listening. He lifted his hand, alert.
A sound was rising in the wood. A low whisper, a rustling breeze. Tiny at first, barely raising the leaves, it stirred Finn's hair, Gildas's robe.
Finn turned. 'What is it?'
The Sapient moved, pushing him on. 'Hurry. We must find shelter. Hurry!'
They ran between the trees, Attia always at Finn's heels. The wind grew rapidly. Leaves began to lift, swirl, fly past them. One nicked Finn's cheek; putting his hand up to the sudden sting he felt a cut, saw blood. Attia gasped, her hand protecting her eyes.
And all at once they were in a blizzard of metal slivers, the leaves of copper and steel and silver a razor- sharp whirlwind in the sudden storm. The wood groaned and bent, twigs cracked with snaps that rang in the invisible roof.
As he ran, ducking and breathless, Finn heard the roar of the storm like a great voice. It raged at him, picked him up and threw him; its anger crashed him against the metal trees, it bruised him and beat at him. Stumbling, he knew the leaves were its words, arrows of spite, that Incatceron was taunting him, its son, born from its cells, and he stopped, bent over, gasping, 'I hear you! I hear you! Stop!'
'Finn!' Keiro yanked him down. He slid, the ground giving way, crumpling into a hollow between the tangled roots of some vast oak.
He landed on Gildas, who shoved him off. For a moment each of them caught breath, listening to the deadly leaves slicing the air outside, the whine and hum. Then Attia's muffled voice came from behind.
'What is this place?'
Finn turned. Behind them he saw a dull rounded hollow, seamed deep under the steel oak. Too low to stand up in, it extended back into darkness. The girl, on hands and knees, crept inside. Foil leaves crackled under her; he smelled a musty, odd tang, saw that the walls sprouted fungi, contorted, spore-dusted masses of flabby growth.
'It's a hole,' Keiro said sourly. He drew his knees up, brushed litter from his coat, and then looked at Finn. 'Is the Key safe, brother?'
'Of course it is,' Finn muttered.
Keiro's blue eyes were hard. 'Well, show me.'
Oddly reluctant, Finn put his hand into his shirt. He drew the Key out, and they saw the crystal glimmer in the dimness. It was cold, and to Finn's relief, silent.
Attia's eyes went wide.
'Sapphique's Key!'
Gildas turned on her. 'What did you say?'
But she wasn't looking at the crystal. She was staring at the picture scratched meticulously onto the back wall of the tree, smeared by centuries of dirt and overgrown by green lichen, the image of a tall, slim, dark-haired man sitting on a throne, in his upheld hands a hexagonal slot of darkness.
Gildas took the Key from Finn. He slotted it into the aperture. Instantly it began to glow; light and heat burned from it, showing them one another's dirty faces, the slanting cuts, brightening the furthest recesses of the hollow.
Keiro nodded. 'We seem to be going the right way,' he muttered.
Finn didn't answer. He was watching the Sapient; the glow of awe and joy on the old man's face. The obsession. It chilled him to the bone.
14
We forbid growth and therefore decay. Ambition, and therefore despair. Because each is only the warped reflection of the other. Above all, Time is forbidden. From now on nothing will change.
'I don't think you'll be wanting all this junk.' Caspar picked a book out of the pile and opened it. He gazed idly at the bright illuminated letters. 'We have books at the Palace. I never bother with them.'
'You do surprise me.' Claudia sat on the bed and gazed around hopelessly at the chaos.
How could she have so many possessions? And so little time!
'And the Sapienti have thousands.' He tossed it aside. 'You are so lucky, Claudia, that you never had to go to the Academy. I thought I'd die of dullness. Anyway, aren't we going out with the hawks? The servants can do all this. It's what they're for.'
'Yes.' Claudia was biting her nail; she realized, and stopped.
'Are you trying to get rid of me, Claudia?'
She looked up. He was watching her, his small eyes fixed in that nerveless stare. 'I know you don't want to marry me,' he said.
'Caspar ...'
'It's all right, I don't mind. It's a dynastic thing, that's all. My mother's explained it. You can have any lovers you like, after we've had an heir. I certainly will.'
She stared at him in disbelief. She couldn't sit still; she jumped up and paced the disrupted room. 'Caspar, listen to yourself!' Have you ever thought about what sort of life we'll have together, in that marble mausoleum you call a palace? Living a lie, a pretense, keeping false smiles on our faces, wearing clothes from a time that never existed, posing and preening and aping manners that should only be in books? Have you thought about that?'
He was surprised. 'It's always been like that.'
She sat next to him. 'Have you never wanted to be free, Caspar? To be able to ride out alone one spring
