Incarceron (Incarceron, Book 1) Read Online Free

week."
    "Next week!"
    "The Queen has already begun preparations. In two days we set off for Court. Make sure you're ready."
    Claudia said nothing. She felt empty, and stunned.
    John Arlex turned toward the door. "You've done well here. The Era is impeccable, except for that window. Get it changed."
    Without moving she said quietly, "How was your time at Court?"
    "Wearisome."
    "And your work? How is Incarceron?"
    For a fraction of a second he paused. Her heart thudded. Then he turned and his voice was cold and curious. "The Prison is in excellent order. Why do you ask?"
    "No reason." She tried to smile, wanting to know how he monitored the Prison, where it was, because all her spies had told her he never left the Court. But the mysteries of Incarceron were the least of her worries now.
    "Ah yes. I nearly forgot." He crossed to a leather bag on the table and tugged it open. "I bring a gift from your future mother-in-law." He pulled it out and set it down.
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    They both looked at it.
    A sandalwood box, tied with ribbon.
    Reluctant, Claudia reached out for the tiny bow, but he said, "Wait," took out a small scanning wand, and moved it over the box. Images flashed down its stem. "Harmless." He folded the wand. "Open it."
    She lifted the lid. Inside, in a frame of gold and pearls, was an enameled miniature of a black swan on a lake, the emblem of her house. She took it out and smiled, pleased despite herself by the delicate blue of the water, the bird's long elegant neck. It's pretty.
    "Yes, but watch."
    The swan was moving. It seemed to glide, peacefully at first; then it reared up, flapping its great wings, and she saw how an arrow came slowly out of the trees and pierced its breast. It opened its golden beak and sang, an eerie, terrible music. Then it sank under the water and vanished.
    Her father's smile was acid. "How very charming," he said.
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    3
    ***
    The experiment will be a bold one and there
    may well be risks we have not foreseen. But
    Incarceron will be a system of great complexity and intelligence. There could be no kinder or more compassionate guardian for its inmates.
    --Project report; Martor Sapiens
    ***
    It was a long way back to the shaft, and the tunnels were low. The Maestra walked with her head bent; she was silent , her arms hugging herself. Keiro had put Big Arko to watch her, Finn stayed right at the back behind the wounded.
    In this part of the wing, Incarceron was dark and mostly uninhabited. Here the Prison rarely bothered itself to stir, putting its lights on infrequently and sending few Beetles out. Unlike the stone transitway above, these floors were made of a metallic mesh that gave slightly underfoot; as Finn walked he saw the gleam of a rat's eyes where it crouched, dust falling on its metal scales.
    He was stiff and sore, and as always after an ambush, angry. For everyone else the pent-up tension had burst; even the injured chattered as they stumbled, and their loud laughter had the energy of relief in it. He turned his head and looked back. Behind them the tunnel was windblown and echoing. Incarceron would be listening.
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    He couldn't talk and he didn't want to laugh. A bleak stare at a few joking remarks warned the others off; he saw Lis nudge Amoz and raise her eyebrows. Finn didn't care. The anger was inside, at himself, and it was mixed with fear and a hot, scorching pride, because no one else had had the guts to be chained like that, to lie there in all that silence and wait for death to come rolling over him.
    In his mind he felt the huge wheels again, high above his head.
    And he was angry with the Maestra.
    The Comitatus took no prisoners. It was one of the rules. Keiro was one thing, but when they got back to the Den he'd have to explain her to Jormanric, and that turned him cold. But the woman knew something about the tattoo on his wrist, and he had to find out what that was. He might never have another chance.
    Walking, he thought about that flash of vision. As always it had hurt,