Then she touched it, rubbed it, breathed on it.

"Speak to me," she said.

FINN WAS so cold he barely had the energy even to shiver.

The metal forest was utterly black; the lantern threw only a tiny pool of light, on Keiro's sprawled hand, on the huddle that was Gildas. The girl was a shadow under a tree; she made no sound and he wondered if she was even asleep.

He reached out cautiously for Keiro's pack. He would pull one of his oathbrother's fancy jackets over his own. Two, maybe, and if they split Keiro could put up with it.

Tugging the pack over, he put his hand in, and touched the Key.

It was warm.

He lifted it out, very gently, and let his fingers close over it, so that the heat it was generating comforted his cramped fingers. Quietly it said, "Speak to me."

Wide-eyed, Finn glanced at the others.

No one moved.

Carefully, his leather belt creaking in the stillness, he stood up and turned. He managed three steps before the rustling crunch of the metal leaves made Keiro mutter and turn over.

Behind the tree, Finn froze.

He brought the Key up to his ear. It was silent. He touched it, all over, shook it. Then he whispered to it, "Sapphique. Lord Sapphique. Is that you?"

CLAUDIA GASPED.

The answer had come so clearly. She looked wildly around for anything to record this on, saw nothing and cursed. Then she said, "No! No. My name's Claudia. Who are you?"

"Quiet! They'll wake up."

"Who will?"

There was a pause. Then he said, "My friends." He sounded breathless, oddly terrified.

"Who are you?" she said. "Where are you? Are you a Prisoner? Are you in Incarceron?"

HE JERKED his head back and stared at the Key in disbelief.

There was a small blue light in the heart of it; he bent closer so that it lit his skin. "Of course I am. Do you mean ... Are you ... Outside?"

There was silence. It lasted so long he thought the link had been broken; he said hurriedly, "Did you hear me?" and at the same time the girl said, "Are you still there?" in awkward collision.

Then she said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be speaking to you. Jared warned me about this."

"Jared?"

"My tutor."

He shook his head, and his breath frosted the crystal.

"But look," she said, "it's too late now and I can't believe a few words can damage a centuries-old experiment, do you?"

He had no idea what she was talking about. "You are Outside, aren't you? Outside exists?

The stars are there, aren't they?"

He was terrified she wouldn't answer, but after a moment she said, "Yes. I'm looking at them."

He breathed out in amazement; the crystal furred instantly with frost.

"You didn't tell me your name," she said.

"Finn. Just Finn."

Silence. A self-conscious stillness, the Key clumsy in his hands. There was so much he wanted to ask, to know, that he didn't know where to begin. And then she said, "How are you speaking to me, Finn? Is it a crystal key, with the hologram of an eagle inside?"

He swallowed. "Yes. A key."

A rustle, behind him. He looked around the tree, saw Gildas snore and grunt.

"Then we each have a replica of the same device." She sounded quick, thoughtful, as if she was used to solving problems, working out solutions; a clear voice that made him remember suddenly, with the tiniest spark of pain, candles. The seven candles on the cake.

At that moment, with their usual abruptness, the lights of Incarceron came on.

He gasped, saw that he was standing in a landscape of copper and gilt and tawny redness. The forest stretched for miles, sloping down, far down into a wide, undulating landscape. He stared at it in astonishment.

"What was that? What happened? Finn?"

"The lights went on. I ... I'm in a new place, a different Wing. A metal forest."

She said oddly, "I envy you. It must be fascinating."

"Finn?" Gildas was on his feet, looking around. For a moment Finn wanted to call him over, and then caution set in. This was his secret. He needed to keep it.

"I have to go," he said hurriedly. "1'll try and speak to you again ... now we know... that is, if you want to. But you have to," he added urgently. "You have to help me."

The girl's answer surprised him. "How can I help you? What can be wrong in a perfect world?"

Finn's hand tightened as the blue light faded. Desperately he whispered, "Please. You have to help me Escape." 

13

Finn's voice. As she pulled on the gauntlet and flexed the foil, his voice whispered again inside her mask.

You have to help me Escape...

"En garde, please, Claudia." The swordmaster was a small gray man who sweated profusely. His sword crossed hers; he gave signals with the tiny precise movements of a skilled fencer. Automatically she responded, practicing lunges, parries—sixte, septime, octave—as she had done since she was six.

There had been something familiar about the boy's voice. Inside the warm darkness of the mask she bit her lip, attacked, took quarte, riposted, hitting the maestro's padded jacket with a satisfying thud.

The accent, the slightly slow vowels. It was how they spoke at Court.

"Feint of straight thrust, disengage, please."

She obeyed, hot now, the glove already softened with sweat, the foil whipping, the small clicks of the familiar exercise comforting, the control of the sword forcing her mind to speed.

You have to help me Escape.

Fear. Fear in the whispering, of being overheard, of saying what he said. And the word

Escape like a holy thing, forbidden, full of awe.

"Quarte counter quarte, please, Claudia. And keep your hand high."

She took the parries absently, the blades of the foils sliding past her body. Behind the maestro Lord Evian came out of the main door into the courtyard and stood on the steps, taking snuff. He watched her, elegantly poised.

Claudia frowned.

She had so much to think about. The fencing lesson was her own escape. In the house it was chaos; her clothes being packed, the last measurements for the wedding dress, the books she refused to leave behind, the pets she insisted came with her. And now this.

One thing—Jared would have to carry the Key. It wouldn't be safe in her baggage.

They were fighting now. She let all thoughts go, concentrated on the hits, the clicked parries, the bending of the foil as she hit once, again, again.

Until finally he stepped back. "Very good, my lady. Your point control remains excellent."

Slowly she took off her mask and shook his hand. Close up, he looked older, and a little sad.

"I'll be sorry to lose such a pupil."

Her hand clenched on his. "Lose?"

He stepped back. "I... it seems... after your wedding ..."

Claudia restrained her anger. She released his hand and drew herself up. "After my marriage I will still require your services. Please disregard anything my father has said about this. You will travel with us to the Court."

He smiled, and bowed. His doubt showed; as she turned away and took the cup of water from Alys, she felt the heat of humiliation scorch her face.