completely, and strode into the tunnel.
She followed, feeling gloomy and a little jealous. Behind her the coin tinkled as Keiro dropped it, and swore.
The tunnel was high, its smooth walls perfectly circular. It was lit only by the Eyes, which were placed at regular intervals in the roof, so that the red glow of one was distant before the next made their shadows loom on the floor.
‘Are you watching us so closely?’ Attia wanted to ask. She could feel Incarceron here, its curiosity; its need, breathing in her ear, like a fourth walker in the shadows.
Rix was far in front, with a bag on his back and the sword, and somewhere, hidden on his person, the Glove. Attia had no weapons, nothing to carry. She felt light, because everything she knew or owned had been left behind, in some past that was slipping from her mind. Except Finn. She still carried Finn’s words like treasure in her hands. I haven’t abandoned you.
Keiro came last. His dark red coat was torn and ragged but he wore a belt with two knives from the waggon stuck in it and he had scrubbed his hands and face and tied up his hair.
As he walked he tipped the coin between his fingers, tossed it and caught it, but all the time his blue eyes were fixed on Rix’s back. Attia knew why. He was still smarting at the loss of the Glove. Rix might no longer want revenge, but she was sure Keiro did.
After hours she realized the tunnel was narrowing. The walls were appreciably closer, and the colour of them was changing to a deep red. Once she slipped, and looking down, saw that the metal floor was wet with some rusty liquid, running from the gloom ahead.
It was just after that that they found the first body.
It had been a man. He lay sprawled against the tunnel wall, as if washed there by some sudden flood, his crumpled torso barely more a rag-hung skeleton.
Rix stood over it and sighed. ‘Poor human flotsam. He came farther than most.’ Attia said, ‘Why is it still here? Not recycled?’
‘Because the Prison is preoccupied with its Great Work.
Systems are breaking down.’ He seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t speaking to her any more.
As soon as he had walked on, Keiro muttered, ‘Are you with me or not?’ She scowled. ‘You know what I think about the Glove.’
‘That’s a no then.’ She shrugged.
‘Suit yourself. Looks like you’re back being the dog- slave.
That’s the difference between us.’ He walked past her and she glared at his back.
‘The difference between us; she said, ‘is that you’re arrogant Scum and I’m not.’ He laughed, and tossed the coin.
Soon there was debris everywhere. Bones, carcasses of animals, wrecked Sweepers, tangled masses of crumpled wires and components. The rusty water flowed over them, deeper now, and Incarceron’s Eyes saw everything. The travellers picked their way through, the water knee-high, and flowing fast.
‘Don’t you care?’ Rix snapped suddenly, as if his thoughts had burst out of him. He was gazing down at what might have been a halfman, its metallic face grinning up through the water.
‘Don’t you feel for the creatures that crawl in your veins?’ Keiro’s hand was at his sword but the words were not for him. The answer came as laughter; a deep rumble that made the floor shake and the lights flicker.
Rix paled. ‘I didn’t mean it! No offence Keiro came up and grabbed him. ‘Fool! Do you want it to flood this and sweep us all away!’
‘It won’t do that.’ Rix’s voice was shaky but defiant. ‘I have its greatest desire
‘Yes and if you’re dead when you deliver it what does Incarceron care? Keep your mouth shut!’ Rix stared at him. ‘I’m the master. Not you.’ Keiro pushed past him and waded on. ‘Not for long.’ Rix looked at Attia. But before she could speak, he hurried on.
All day the tunnel narrowed. After about three hours the roof was so low that Rix could stretch up and touch it. The flow of the water was a river now; objects were washed down in it, small Beetles and tangles of metal. Keiro suggested a torch, and Rix lit one reluctantly; in its acrid smoke they saw that the walls of the tunnel were covered with scum, a milky froth obliterating graffiti that seemed to have been there for centuries — names, dates, curses, prayers. And there was a sound too, thudding softly for hours before Attia was aware she could hear it, a deep, pounding shudder, the vibration that she had felt in her dream in the Swan’s Nest.
She came up to Keiro as he stood listening. In front of them the tunnel shrank into the dark.
‘The heartbeat of the Prison,’ she said.
‘Shush...’
‘Surely you can hear it?’
‘Not that. Something else.’ She kept silent, hearing only the wading sloshes of Rix behind them, weighed down by his pack. And then Keiro swore, and she heard it too. With an unearthly screech a flock of tiny blood-red birds shot out of the tunnel, splitting in panic, so that Rix ducked.
Behind the birds, something vast was coming. They couldn’t see it yet, but they could hear it; it scraped and sheared against the sides, as if it was metal, a great tangle of sharpness, a mass forced down by the current. Keiro swung the torch, scattering sparks; he scanned the roof and the walls. ‘Back! It’ll flatten us!’ Rix looked sick. ‘Back where?’ Attia said, ‘There’s nowhere. We have to go ahead.’ it was a hard choice. And yet Keiro didn’t hesitate. I Ic raced into the dark, stumbling in the deep water, the torch shedding burning pitch like stars into the torrent. I’he roar of the approaching object filled the tunnel; ahead in the darkness Attia could see it now, an enormous ball of tangled wires, red light faceted from its angles as it rolled towards them.
She grabbed Rix and hustled him on, straight into the path of the thing, knowing it was death, huge, a pressure wave building in her ears and throat.
Keiro yelled.
And then he disappeared.
It was so sudden, like a magic trick, that Rix howled in anger and she almost stumbled, but then she was floundering towards the spot, and the rumble of the great mesh ball was on her, over her, above her.
A hand shot out.
She was hauled sideways and she fell, deep in the water, Rix crashing over her. Then arms went round her waist and hefted her aside, and the three of them felt the scorching heat as the object sheared past them, its blades scraping sparks from the walls. And she saw there were drowned faces in it; rivets and helmets and coils of wire and candlesticks. It was a compacted sphere of ore and girders, impaling a thousand coloured rags, a million scraps of steel flaking off in its wake.
As it passed she felt the friction, the condensed air imploding in her eardrums. It filled the tunnel fully; it scraped itself by with a million screeches and the darkness stank of scorching.
And then it was wedged tight in the dark, filling the world, and her knee was aching, and Keiro was picking himself up and swearing furiously at the state of his coat.
Attia stood, slowly.
She was deafened and stunned; Rix looked dazed.
The torch was out, floating in the thigh-high water, and there was no Eye here, but gradually she made out the dim shape of this fork in the tunnel that had saved them.
Ahead was a red glow.
Keiro slicked back his hair.
He looked up at the crushed and tangled surface of the sphere; it shuddered, the force of the water juddering it against the constricting walls.
There was no way back now. Over the noise he yelled something, and though Attia couldn’t hear it, she knew what it was. He pointed ahead, and waded on.
She turned, and saw Rix reaching out to touch something that glared out from the metal, and she saw it was a mouth; the open snarling maw of a great wolf, as if some statue had been swept away in there, and was struggling to get out.
She pulled at his arm. Reluctantly, he turned away.
I want the drawbridge up.’ Claudia marched along the corridor shedding her coat and gloves. ‘Archers in the gatehouse, on every roof, on the Sapient’s tower.’
