A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge Page A

a freezing of the blood
Neverfell heard the metallic protest of the crank handle once again.
    ‘No!’ she bellowed at the top of her lungs. ‘Stop! Stop!’ Her scream echoed to and fro between the walls, like a bird banging around inside a flue. There was a rushing
rattle, and the cage plunged into the water, this time with a splash, and sank within seconds, taking Neverfell down with it. She had just enough presence of mind to take a deep breath before she
was dragged down beneath the black, freezing water, her sodden clothes tangling around her limbs as she failed. She heard the muffled, watery clang of the cage hitting the rocky canal bed.
    This is death , was all she could think. This is death, cold and alone and trapped, with no way of calling to anybody.
    And then, just as her lungs were aching for breath, the cage she clung to righted itself again. There was a submerged cling-cling-cling of metal telling through metal, and then her face
surfaced once more, allowing her a rippling, lopsided view of the jetty. The cage was being hauled up out of the water again. The hoods on the lantern had been removed. Treble was standing on the
jetty now, as were a number of other Enquirers, one of whom was cranking the wall-handle as fast as possible. Once the water had trickled out of Neverfell’s ears she realized that Treble was
shouting.
    ‘What the devil happened? Who dropped this cage?’ She strode to the jetty’s edge, and glared out towards Neverfell. ‘Did you see who it was? Did you see who released the
mechanism?’
    All Neverfell could do was numbly shake her head as she started to understand what had happened. Somebody had tried to kill her, and not on the Enquiry’s orders.
    From that point forth, a guard watched her cage from the shadows all the time. There was no clock, no change in light, no way of marking the passing of time but by the arrival
of food and water, delivered to the cage through the frying pan. Neverfell could not tell how long she had been catnapping in her cage when she was woken by a small polite cough.
    On the jetty stood an unfamiliar lanky figure, looking intently towards her. This man, however, did not hold himself with the stiffness of authority, but was leaning back against the wall as if
he had paused mid-stroll. His lantern was dangling from his hand, so she could make out little of him but his shoes.
    ‘Let’s see you, then.’ His voice was not unkind.
    Neverfell obediently breathed on her lantern until it flared and showed her face properly. The stranger regarded her steadily for a long while. His lean figure showed no tremor.
    ‘So it’s true,’ he said quietly after a long pause. ‘That’s . . . genuinely remarkable. Oh – wait a second – this isn’t very fair, is it? One
moment.’ He raised his own lantern to his face, and blew on it until it gleamed, illuminating his own figure. ‘That evens things out a bit, doesn’t it?’
    The lantern showed her a long face with a narrow black beard that looked as if it had been painted on. He had deep, watchful eyes and a complicated mouth, a hiding place for secret smiles. He
was wearing a Face that combined self-assurance, readiness to be amused and a tiny hint of pity. It was the friendliest Face Neverfell had seen since her arrest.
    He was just over average height and unusually thin, but everything he wore served to make him look taller and thinner. The fingers of his gloves had been extended and padded so that they looked
longer and more elegant. His trailing coat of burgundy-coloured moleskin was striped with long, vertical furrows.
    ‘You’re terrified,’ he said, studying Neverfell carefully. ‘You’re bewildered, you’re fighting down a sense of unfairness and betrayal, and you really
don’t have any idea what’s going on at all, do you?’ He shook his head and gave a small grim smile. ‘Idiots,’ he muttered. ‘Hiding out and jabbering about the
way you “keep putting on terrible Faces”.