You’re too valuable to lose. The rest of us are not.’ For a while he couldn’t answer her, and when he turned he saw she’d gone.
The door clicked slowly shut.
He stared at its wooden boards.
28
How will we know when the great Destruction is near? Because there will be weeping and anguish and strange cries in the night.
The Swan will sing and the Moth will savage the Tiger. Chains will spring open. The lights will go out, one by one like dreams at daybreak.
Amongst this chaos, one thing is sure.
The Prison will close its eyes against the sufferings of its children.
The stars.
Jared slept beneath them, uneasy in the rustling leaves.
From the battlements Finn gazed up at them, seeing the impossible distances between galaxies and nebulae, and thinking they were not as wide as the distances between people.
In the study Claudia sensed them, in the sparks and crackles on the screen.
In the Prison, Attia dreamt of them. She sat curled on the hard chair, Rix repacking his hidden pockets obsessively with coins and glass discs and hidden handkerchiefs.
A single spark flickered deep in the coin Keiro spun and taught, spun and caught.
And all over Incarceron, through its tunnels and corridors, its cells and seas, the Eyes began to close. One by one they rippled off down galleries where people came out of their huts to stare; in cities where priests of obscure cults cried out to Sapphique; in remote halls where nomads had wandered for centuries; above a crazed Prisoner digging his life-long tunnel with a rusty spade. The Eyes went out in ceilings, in the cobwebbed corner of a cell, in the den of a Winglord, in the thatched eaves of a cottage. Incarceron withdrew its gaze, and for the first time since its waking the Prison ignored its Inmates, drew in on itself, closed down empty sections, gathered its great strength.
In her sleep Attia turned, and woke. Something had changed, had disturbed her, but she didn’t know what it was. The hall was dark, the fire almost out. Keiro was a huddle in the chair, one leg dangling over its wooden armrest, sleeping his light sleep. Rix was brooding. His eyes were fixed on her.
Alarmed, she felt for the Glove and touched its reassuring crackle.
‘It was a pity you weren’t the one to say the riddle, Attia.’ Rix’s voice was a whisper.’! would have preferred to work with you.’ He didn’t ask if she had the Glove safe, but she knew why.
The Prison would hear.
She rubbed her cricked neck and answered, equally quietly.
‘What are you up to, Rix?’
‘Up to?’ He grinned. ‘I’m up to the greatest illusion anyone has ever performed. What a sensation it will be, Attia! People will talk about it for generations.’
‘If there are people.’ Keiro had opened his eyes. He was listening, and not to Rix. ‘Hear that?’ The heartbeat had changed.
It was faster, the double-thump louder. As Attia listened the crystals in the chandelier above her tinkled with it; she felt the faintest reverberation in the chair she sat on.
Then, so loud it made her jump, a bell rang.
High and clear it pierced the darkness; she jammed her hands to her ears in a grimace of shock. Once, twice, three times it rang. Four. Five. Six.
As the last chime ended, its silvery clarity almost painful,. the door opened and the Warden came in. His dark frockcoat was strapped with a belt and two firelocks. He wore a sword, and his eyes were grey points of winter.
‘Stand up,’ he said.
Keiro lounged to his feet. ‘No minions?’
‘Not now. No one enters the Heart of Incarceron but myself. You will be the first — and last — of its creatures to see Incarceron’s own face.’ Attia felt Rix squeeze her hand. ‘The honour is beyond expression: the magician muttered, bowing.
She knew he wanted the Glove from her, right now. She stepped away, towards the Warden, because this decision would be no one’s but hers.
Keiro saw. His smile was cool, and it annoyed her.
If the Warden noticed anything he made no sign. Instead he crossed to the corner of the room and tugged aside a tapestry of forest trees and stags.
Behind it rose a portcullis, ancient and rusted. John Arlex bent and with both hands turned an ancient winch. Once, twice, he heaved it round, and creaking and flaking rust, the portcullis rose, and beyond it they saw a small, worm-eaten wooden door. The Warden shoved it open. A draught of warm air swept out over them. Beyond, they saw darkness, pounding with steam and heat.
John Arlex drew his sword. ‘This is it, Rix. This is what you’ve dreamt of.’ As Finn came into the study Claudia glanced up.
Her eyes were red-rimmed. He wondered if she had been crying. Certainly she was furious with frustration.
‘Look at it!’ she snapped. ‘Hours of work and it’s still a mystery A total, incomprehensible mess!’ Jared’s papers were in chaos. Finn set down the tray of wine Ralph had insisted he bring and stared round. ‘You should take a rest. You must be making some progress.’ She laughed, harshly. Then she stood so quickly the great blue feather propped in the corner lifted into the air. ‘I don’t know! The Portal flickers, it crackles, sounds come out of it.’
‘What sounds?’
‘Cries. Voices. Nothing clear.’ She snapped a switch and he heard them, the distant, faintest echoes of distress.
‘Sounds like frightened people. In some big space.’ He looked at her. ‘Terrified, even.’
‘Is it familiar?’ He laughed, bitter. ‘Claudia the Prison is full of frightened people.’
‘Then there’s no way of knowing which part of the Prison that is, or …’
‘What’s that?’ He stepped closer.
‘What?’
‘That other sound. Behind...’ She stared at him, then went to the controls and began to adjust them. Gradually, out of the chaos of hissing and static, emerged a deeper bass, a repeated, double-pounding motif.
Finn kept still, listening.
Claudia said, ‘It’s the same sound we heard before, when my father spoke to us.’
‘It’s louder now’
‘Have you any idea …’ He shook his head. ‘In all my time Inside I never heard anything like that.’ For a moment only the heartbeat filled the room. Then from Finn’s pocket came a sudden pinging that startled them both. He pulled out her father’s watch.
Startled, Claudia said, ‘It’s never done that before.’ Finn flicked open the gold lid. The clock hands showed six o’clock; the chimes rang out like tiny urgent bells. As if in response the Portal chuntered and went silent.
She came closer. ‘I didn’t know it had an alarm. Who set it?
Why now?’ Finn didn’t answer. He was staring gloomily at the time.
Then he said, ‘Perhaps to tell us there’s only an hour left till the deadline.’ The silver cube that was
