Incarceron (Incarceron, Book 1) by Catherine Fisher Page B

heavy, but he wouldn't be complaining; Finn knew it would hurt him far more to leave any of it behind. For himself, he had brought one spare set of clothes, some food, a sword, and the Key. That was all he wanted. Looking down at his share of the accumulated riches in the chest had filled him with self-loathing, brought back the Maestra's scorching stare of scorn. He had shut the lid with a bang.
    Seeing Gildas's lantern ahead, he ran behind his oathbrother, glancing back anxiously.
    Incarceron's night was inky. But the Prison never slept. One of its small red Eyes opened, turned, and clicked as he raced below it, and the sound swept a small shiver of dismay through his skin. But the Prison would watch curiously. It played with its inmates, allowed them to kill, wander, fight, and love until
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    it grew tired and tormented them with Lockdowns, with twisting the very shape of itself. They were its only amusement, and maybe it knew there was no Escape.
    "Hurry." Gildas was waiting impatiently. He had brought nothing but a satchel of food and medicines and his staff; he strapped that to his back and glanced up the ladder into the shaft. "We get up to the transitway; the top may be guarded, so I'll go first. From there it's two hours to the door."
    "Through Civicry territory," Keiro muttered.
    Gildas eyed him coldly. "You can still go back."
    "No he can't, old man."
    Finn spun, Keiro at his side.

From the sides and shadows of the tunnels the Comitatus swaggered; red-eyed, ket-high, crossbows drawn, firelocks in their hands. Finn saw Big Arko flex his shoulders and grin; Amoz swung his fearsome axe.
    Among his bodyguards, glowering and huge, Jormanric stood. Red juice stained his beard like blood.
    "No one's going anywhere," he growled. "Neither is that Key."
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    ***
    The eyes in the corridor were dark and watchful and there were many of them.
    "Come out," he said.
    They came out. They were children. They wore rags and their skin was livid with sores.
    Their veins were tubes, their hair wire. Sapphique reached out and touched them.
    "You are the ones who will save us," he said.
    --Sapphique and the Children
    ***
    No one spoke. Finn stepped away from the ladder; he drew his sword and realized Keiro was already armed, but what use were two blades against so many?
    Big Arko broke the tension. "Never thought you'd run out on us, Finn."
    Keiro's smile was steely. "Who says we are?"
    "The sword in your hand says it."
    He lumbered toward them, but Jormanric stopped him with the back of a mailed glove against his chest. Then the Winglord looked beyond Finn and Keiro. "Can there really be a device that will open every lock?" His voice was slurred but his eyes
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    were intent. Finn felt Gildas step down from the ladder.
    "I believe so. It was sent to me from Sapphique." The old man tried to push past, but Finn caught hold of his belt and stopped him. Annoyed, Gildas jerked free and pointed a bony finger. "Listen to me, Jormanric. I have given you excellent advice for many years. I've healed your wounded and tried to bring some sort of order into this hellhole you've created. But I come and go when I choose and my time with you is over."
    "Oh yes," the big man said grimly. "That's true enough."
    The Comitatus exchanged grins. They moved closer. Finn caught Keiro's eye; together they closed around Gildas.
    Gildas folded his arms. His voice was rich with contempt. "Do you think I fear you?"
    "I do, old man. Under all that bluster, you fear me. And you have cause." Jormanric rolled ket around his tongue. "You've stood behind me at enough hand loppings, tongue splittings, seen enough men's heads spitted on pikes to know what I will do." He shrugged. "And your voice has grated on me of late. I'm sick of being lectured and berated. So here's a proposition for you. Get lost before I cut your tongue out myself. Climb the ladder and join the Civicry. We won't miss you."
    That wasn't true, Finn thought. Half the Comitatus owed life and limbs