Inkheart (42 page)

Fenoglio fell silent. And Meggie, her heart beating fast, gazed out at the night.

"Yes, Meggie," Fenoglio said at last in a low voice. "I think Capricorn wants you to bring him the Shadow. And God have mercy on us if you succeed. There are many monsters in this world, most of them human and all of them mortal. I wouldn't like to have an immortal monster on my conscience, a monster spreading fear and terror here for all time. Your father had an idea when he came to see me — I've already mentioned it to you, and it may be our only chance, but I just don't know how it will work yet. I must think hard. We don't have much time and you ought to get some sleep now. When did you say this is to happen — the day after tomorrow?"

Meggie nodded. "As soon as dusk falls," she whispered.

Fenoglio passed a weary hand over his face. "Don't worry about the woman," he said. "You may not want to hear this but I don't think she can possibly be your mother, much as you may wish she were. How could she have come here?"

"It was Darius!" Meggie buried her face in Mo's sweater. "The stupid man who can't read aloud well enough. Capricorn said so: He read her back out of
Inkheart
and she lost her voice coming out of the book. She's back, I'm sure she is, and Mo doesn't know! He thinks she's still stuck in the story."

"Well, if you're right, then I wish she really were still there," muttered Fenoglio, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders again with a sigh. "I still think you're wrong, but believe what you like! And now go to sleep."

But of course Meggie couldn't sleep. She lay there with her face to the wall, listening to her own heart. Worry and joy mingled there like two colors running into each other. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw the nets and the two faces there among the cords, Dustfinger's and the other face, blurred as an old photograph. Hard as she tried to see it more clearly, it always faded again.

Dawn was breaking outside by the time she finally fell asleep, but the nightmares hadn't finished with her yet. They grew especially fast in the gray time between night and day, spinning an eternity out of seconds. One-eyed ogres and giant spiders stole into Meggie's sleep, hounds of hell, witches who ate children, all the bugbears she had ever met in stories. They crept out of the box that Mo had made her and jumped from the pages of her favorite books. Even the monsters came out of the picture books that Mo had given her before she knew the alphabet. They danced
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through Meggie's dream, brightly colored and shaggy, their wide mouths smiling, baring their pointed little teeth. There was the Cheshire Cat she had always been so afraid of, and here came the Wild Things that Mo liked so much he had hung a picture of them in his workshop. How huge their teeth were! Dustfinger would be crunched between those fangs like a cracker. But just as one of them was stretching out his claws, the one with eyes as big as saucers, a new figure came out of the gray void, hissing like a flame, ashen-gray and faceless, seized the Wild Thing, and tore it into scraps of paper.

"Meggie!"

The monsters vanished, and the sun was shining on Meggie's face. Fenoglio was standing beside her bed. "You were dreaming."

Meggie sat up. The old man's face looked as if he hadn't closed his eyes all night and he had several new wrinkles. "Where's my father, Fenoglio?" she asked. "Oh, why doesn't he come?"

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Chapter 41 – Farid

Ali Baba .. was surprised to see a well-lighted and spacious chamber ... filled with all sorts
of provisions, rich bales of silks, embroideries, and valuable tissues, piled upon one
another, gold and silver ingots in great heaps, and money in bags. The sight of all these
riches made him suppose that this cave must have been occupied for ages by robbers,
who had succeeded one another.

–
"The Story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves", from
The Arabian Nights' Entertainments,

translated by Edward William Lane

Farid stared at the dark until his eyes hurt, but Dustfinger did not return. Sometimes Farid thought he saw his scarred face among the low-growing branches. Sometimes he thought he heard his almost silent footsteps on the dead leaves, but he was always wrong. Farid was used to listening to the sounds of the night. He had spent endless hours doing so back in his other life, when the world around him was not green but brown and yellow. His eyes had often let him down, but he had always been able to rely on his ears.

All the same, Farid listened in vain that night, the longest night of his life. Dustfinger didn't come back. When day began to dawn above the hills Farid went to the two captives, gave them water, a little of the dry bread they still had left, and a few olives.

"Come on, Farid, untie us!" said Silvertongue as Farid put the bread in his mouth. "Dustfinger should have been back by now, you know he should have."

Farid said nothing. He loved to hear Silvertongue's voice. It had lured him out of his old, wretched life, but it seemed that Dustfinger didn't like it anymore, he didn't know why — and Dustfinger had told him to keep watch on the prisoners. He had said nothing about untying them.

"Look, you're a clever lad," said the woman, "so use your head for a moment, will you? Are you going to sit here until Capricorn's men come and find us? What a sight we'll be: a boy watching two captives who can't lift a finger to help him. They'll fall over laughing."

What was she called again? Eli-nor. Farid had difficulty remembering the name. It was awkward as a pebble on his tongue, and sounded like the name of an enchantress from a far distant land.

He thought her unnatural; she looked at him as a man might look, without timidity or fear, and her voice could be very loud and as angry as a lion's roar.

"We have to get down to the village, Farid!" said Silver-tongue. "We must find out what's happened to Dustfinger — and where my daughter is."

Yes, the girl — the girl with the clear, bright eyes, little pieces of sky fallen to the earth and caught in her dark lashes. Farid poked the ground with a stick. An ant was carrying a bread crumb bigger than itself past his toes.

"Perhaps he doesn't understand what we're saying," said Elinor.

Farid raised his head and cast her a glance of annoyance. "Yes, I do. I understand everything."

And so he had, from the first moment, as if he had never heard any other language. He remembered the red church. Dustfinger had explained that it was a church, although Farid had
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never seen such a building before. He also remembered the man with the knife. There had been a great many such men in his old life. They loved their knives and did terrible things with them.

"You'll run off if I untie you." Farid looked uncertainly at Silvertongue.

"No, I won't. Do you think I'd leave my daughter down there with Basta and Capricorn?"

Basta and Capricorn. Yes, those had been the names. The knife man and the man with the eyes as colorless as water. A robber, a murderer . . . Farid knew all about him. Dustfinger had told him a great deal as they sat together by the fire in the evening. They had exchanged sad stories, although both of them longed for one with a happy ending.

Now this story was growing darker with each day that passed, too.

"It'll be better if I go alone." Farid dug the stick so hard into the ground that it broke in his fingers. "I'm used to slinking into strange villages, strange palaces, and houses — it was my job in the old days. If you know what I mean."

Silvertongue nodded.

"They always sent me," Farid went on. "Who'd be afraid of a thin young boy? I could sniff around everywhere without arousing suspicion. When did the guards change? Which was the best way of escape? Where did the richest man in the village live? If all went well they gave me enough to eat. If it didn't they beat me like a dog."

"They?" asked Elinor.

"The thieves," replied Farid.

The two adults fell silent. And Dustfinger still wasn't back. Farid looked toward the village and saw the first rays of the sun rising above its rooftops.

"Very well. You may be right," said Silvertongue. "You go down alone and find out what we need to know, but first untie us. If you don't we won't be able to help you if they do catch you. And I don't fancy sitting here tied up like this when the first snake wriggles past."

The woman looked as frightened as if she already heard it rustling through the dead leaves. But Farid looked thoughtfully at Silvertongue's face, trying to decide whether his eyes could trust him as his ears already did. Finally, he stood up without a word, took the knife Dustfinger had given him from his belt, and cut them both free.

"My God, I'm never letting anyone tie me up like that again!" said Elinor, rubbing her arms and legs. "I feel as numb as a rag doll. How are you, Mortimer? Can you still feel your feet?"

Farid looked at her curiously. "You don't look like his wife. Are you his mother?" he asked, nodding in Silvertongue's direction.

Elinor's face came out in more red blotches than a toadstool. "Good Lord above, no! What makes you think that? Do I really look so old?" Glancing down at herself, she sighed.

"Yes, I probably do. All the same, I'm not his mother. I'm not Meggie's mother either, in case that's your next question. My children were all made of paper and printer's ink, and that man,"

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she said, pointing to the rooftops of Capricorn's village shining through the trees, "that man down there destroyed a great many of them. Believe me, he'll regret it."

Farid looked at her doubtfully. He couldn't imagine Capricorn being afraid of a woman, certainly not one who got out of breath when she climbed a hill and was scared of snakes. No, if the man with the pale eyes feared anything it would be what most people feared — death. And Elinor didn't look as if she knew much about killing. Nor did Silvertongue.

"The girl . . ." Farid hesitated before asking, "Where is her mother?"

Silvertongue went over to the cold fireplace and took a piece of the bread lying among the soot-blackened stones. "She went away long ago," he said. "Meggie was just three. What about your own mother?"

Farid shrugged his shoulders and looked up at the sky. It was as blue as if the night had never been. "I'd better go now," he said, putting his knife away and picking up Dustfinger's backpack.

Gwin was sleeping close to it, curled up between the roots of a tree. Farid picked him up and put him in the pack. The marten sleepily protested, but Farid tickled his head and strapped up the pack.

"Why are you taking that marten?" asked Elinor in surprise. "The smell of him could give you away."

"He may be useful," replied Farid, pushing the tip of Gwin's bushy tail into the backpack, too.

"He's clever. Cleverer than a dog or a camel, anyway. He understands what you say to him, and maybe he'll find Dustfinger."

"Farid." Silvertongue was searching his pockets and took out a piece of paper. "I don't know if you'll be able to find out where they're keeping Meggie prisoner," he said, hastily scribbling something with the stump of a pencil, "but if possible can you try to see that she gets this note?"

Farid took the piece of paper and looked at it. "What does it say?" he asked.

Elinor took the note from his hand. "Heavens above, Mortimer, what's this?" she asked.

Silvertongue smiled. "Meggie and I have often sent secret messages in this writing — she's much better at it than I am. Don't you recognize it? It comes from a book.
We're not far away,
it says.

Don't
worry. We'll soon get you out. Mo, Elinor, and Farid.
Meggie will be able to read the message, but no one else will."

"Aha!" murmured Elinor, giving Farid the note back. "Yes, if it falls into the wrong hands it's better that way. After all, perhaps some of those fire-raisers can read."

Farid folded the note until it was about the size of a coin, then put it in his pants pocket. "I'll be back when the sun is above those hills at the latest," he said. "Or if I'm not—"

"If you're not, I'll come and look for you," Silvertongue ended the sentence.

"And so will I, of course," added Elinor, looking fierce.

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Farid did not think that was a good idea, but he didn't say so. He left, going the same way that Dustfinger had gone the night before, disappearing as if the ghosts who lurked in the darkness had eaten him alive.

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Chapter 42 – A Furry Face on the Windowsill

"It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards."

–
Lewis Carroll,
Alice in Wonderland

Flatnose brought Meggie and Fenoglio their breakfast, and this morning it was more than bread and a few olives. He put a basket of fruit on the table for them, and a plate of small, sweet cakes.

But Meggie didn't at all like the smile he served up at the same time.

"All for you, princess!" he grunted, pinching her cheek with his clumsy fingers. "To strengthen your little voice. There's been a lot of excitement since Basta told us about the execution. Well, like I always said, there has to be more to life than hanging up a few dead roosters and shooting cats."

Meggie exchanged a glance with Fenoglio. The old man was staring at Flatnose with an expression of disgust that suggested he couldn't believe such a creature had slipped from his pen.

"Yes, to be sure, it's been a terribly long time since we had a nice execution!" continued Flatnose, on his way back to the door. "It'd attract too much attention, they always said. And when someone really had to disappear — well, the word was to go carefully! Make it look like an accident. Is that any fun? You bet it isn't. Not like it used to be, a good execution with eating and drinking and dancing and music, that's the way to do it in style! And so we will this time —just like we did back in the good old days!"

Fenoglio took a sip of the black coffee that Flatnose had brought him and choked.

"Don't you fancy that kind of thing, grandpa?" Flatnose looked at him sneeringly. "Take my word for it, Capricorn's executions are something to remember!"