Inkspell (14 page)

“Books in beach clothes,” Mo called them, “badly dressed for most occasions but useful when you’re on vacation.” Elinor didn’t have a single paperback on her shelves, but Meggie herself owned a few. In the end she had decided on one that Resa had given her, a collection of stories set near the lake that lay close to Elinor’s house. That way she would be taking a little bit of home with her – for Elinor’s house was her home now, more than anywhere else had ever been.

And who knew, maybe Fenoglio would be able to use the words in it to write her back again, back into her own story. .

Farid had gone to the window. It was open, and a cool wind was blowing into the room, moving the curtains that Resa had made. Meggie shivered in her new dress. The nights were still very
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mild, but what would the season be in the Inkworld?

Perhaps it was winter there. .

“I ought to say good-bye to him, at least,” murmured Farid. “Gwin!” he called softly into the night air, clicking his tongue. Meggie quickly pulled him away from the window. “Don’t do that!” she snapped. “Do you want to wake up everyone? I’ve already told you, Gwin will be fine here. He’s probably found a female marten by now. There are a few around the place. Elinor’s always afraid they’ll eat the nightingale that sings outside her window in the evening.”

Farid looked very unhappy, but he stepped back from the window. “Why are you leaving it open?” he asked. “Suppose Basta .. ” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Elinor’s alarm system works even if there’s an open window,” was all Meggie said, while she put the notebook Mo had given her in her bag. There was a reason why she didn’t want to close the window. One night in a hotel by the sea, not far from Capricorn’s village, she had persuaded Mo to read her a poem. A poem about a moon-bird asleep in a peppermint wind. Next morning the bird was fluttering against the window of their hotel bedroom, and Meggie couldn’t forget how its little head kept colliding with the glass again and again. Her window must stay open.

“We’d better sit close to each other on the sofa,” she said. “And sling your backpack over your back.”

Farid obeyed. He sat down on the sofa as hesitantly as he had on her chair. It was an old, velvet, button-backed sofa with tassels, its pale green upholstery very worn. “You need somewhere comfortable to sit and read,” Elinor had said when she asked Darius to put it in Meggie’s room.

What would Elinor say when she found that Meggie had gone? Would she understand?

She’ll probably swear a lot
, thought Meggie, kneeling beside her schoolbag.
And then she’ll say,

“Damn it, why didn’t the silly girl take me, too?”
That would be Elinor all over. Meggie suddenly wanted to see her again, but she tried not to think of any of them anymore – not Elinor or Resa or Mo. Particularly not Mo, for she might have only too clear an idea of what he’d look like when he found her letter . .
No, stop it
, she told herself.

She quickly reached into her schoolbag and took out her geography book. The sheet of paper that Farid had brought with him was in there, beside her own copy of it, but Meggie took out only the copy in her own handwriting. Farid moved aside as she sat down next to him, and for a moment Meggie thought she saw something like fear in his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Have you changed your mind?”

But he shook his head. “No. It’s just . . it hasn’t ever happened to you, has it?”

“What?” For the first time Meggie noticed that he had a beard coming. It looked odd on his young face.

“Well, what – what happened to Darius.”

Ah, that was it. He was afraid of arriving in Dustfinger’s world with a twisted face, or a stiff leg, or mute like Resa.

“No, of course not!” Meggie couldn’t help the note of injury that crept into her voice. Although –

could she really be sure that Fenoglio had arrived unharmed on the other side? Fenoglio, the Steadfast Tin Soldier . . she had never seen people again after sending them away into the letters on the page. She’d seen only those who came out of the pages. Never mind.
Don’t think so much,
Meggie. Read, or you may lose courage before you even feel the first word on your tongue…

Farid cleared his throat, as if he, and not Meggie, must start reading.

So what was she waiting for? Did she expect Mo to knock on her door and wonder why she had locked it? All had been quiet next door for some time. Her parents were asleep.
Don’t think of
them, Meggie! Don’t think of Mo or Resa or Elinor, just think of the words – and the place where
you want them to take you. A place of marvels and adventures.

Meggie looked at the letters on the page, black and carefully shaped. She tried the taste of the first few syllables on her tongue, tried to picture the world of which the words whispered, the trees, the birds, the strange sky. . Then she began to read. Her heart was thudding almost as violently as it had on the night she had been meant to use her voice to kill. Yet this time she had to do so much less. She had only to open a door, nothing but a door between the words, just large enough for her and Farid to pass through. .

A fresh fragrance rose to her nostrils, the scent of thousands and thousands of leaves. Then everything disappeared: her desk, the lamp beside her, the open window. The last thing that Meggie saw was Gwin, sitting on the windowsill, snuffling and looking at them.

Chapter 10 – The Inkworld

Thus sharply did the terrified three learn the difference between an island of make-believe and the same island come true.

– J. M. Barrie,
Peter Pan

It was bright. Sunlight filtered through countless leaves.

Shadows danced on a nearby pool, and a swarm of tiny red elves was whirring above the dark water.

I can do it!
That was Meggie’s first thought when she sensed that the letters on the page really had let her through and she wasn’t in Elinor’s house anymore, but somewhere very, very different.
I can do it. I can read myself into a story.
She really had slipped through the words, as she’d so often done in her mind.

But this time she wouldn’t have to slip into the skin of a character in the story – no, this time she would be in the story herself, part of it. Her very own self. Meggie. Not even that man Orpheus had done it. He had read Dustfinger home, but he couldn’t read himself into the book, right into it. No one but Meggie had ever done it before, not Orpheus, not Darius, not Mo.

Mo.

Meggie looked around almost as if she hoped he might be standing behind her, as usual when they were in a strange place. But only Farid was there, looking around as incredulously as she was. Elinor’s house was far, far away. Her parents were gone. And there was no way back.

Quite suddenly, Meggie felt fear rise in her like black, brackish water. She felt lost, terribly lost, felt it in every part of her. She didn’t belong here! What had she done?

She stared at the paper in her hand, so useless now, the bait she had swallowed. Fenoglio’s story had caught her. The sense of triumph that had carried her away just now was gone as if it had never been. Fear had extinguished it, fear that she had made a terrible mistake and it could never be put right. Meggie tried desperately to find some other feeling in her heart, but there was nothing, not even curiosity about the world now surrounding her.
I want to go back!
That was all she could think.

But Farid turned to her and smiled.

“Look at those trees, Meggie!” he said. “They really do grow right up to the sky. Look at them!”

He ran his fingers over his face, felt his nose and mouth, looked down at himself, and on realizing
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that he was obviously entirely unharmed began leaping around like a grasshopper. He made his way over the tree roots that wound through the moss that grew thick and soft between them, jumped from root to root – and then turned around and around, laughing, arms outstretched, until he was dizzy and staggered back against the nearest tree. Still laughing, he leaned against its trunk, which was so vast that five grown men with their arms stretched out could hardly have encompassed it, and looked up into the tangle of twigs and branches.

“You did it, Meggie!” he cried. “You did it! Hear that, Cheeseface?” he shouted at the trees.

“She can do it, using your words. She can do what you’ve tried thousands of times! She can do it, and you can’t!” He laughed again, as gleefully as a small child. Until he noticed that Meggie was perfectly silent.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, indicating her mouth in alarm. “You haven’t. . ?”

Lost her voice, like her mother? Had she? Her tongue felt heavy, but the words came out. “No.

No, I’m all right.”

Farid smiled with relief. His carefree mood soothed Meggie’s fears, and for the first time she really looked around her. They were in a valley, a broad, densely wooded valley among hills with trees standing so close together on their slopes that the crowns grew into one another.

Chestnut and oak on the hillsides, ash and poplar farther down, mingling their leaves with the silvery foliage of willows. The Wayless Wood deserved its name. It seemed to have no end and no beginning, like a green sea where you could drown as easily as in the wet and salty waves of its sister the ocean.

“Isn’t this incredible? Isn’t it amazingly wonderful?” Farid laughed so exuberantly that an animal of some kind, invisible among the leaves, snarled angrily down at them. “Dustfinger told me about it, but it’s even better than he said. How can there be so many different kinds of leaves?

And just look at all the flowers and berries! We won’t starve here!” Farid picked a berry, round and blue-black, sniffed it, and put it in his mouth. “I once knew an old man,” he said, wiping the juice from his lips, “who used to tell stories at night by the fire. Stories about paradise. This is just how he described it: carpets of moss, pools of cool water, flowers and sweet berries everywhere, trees growing up to the sky, and the voices of their leaves speaking to the wind above you. Can you hear them?”

Yes, Meggie could. And she could see elves, swarms of them, tiny creatures with red skins. Resa had told her about them. They were swirling like midges above a pool of water, only a few steps away, which reflected the leaves of the trees. It was surrounded by bushes that bore red flowers, and the water was covered with their faded petals.

Meggie couldn’t see any blue fairies, but she did see butterflies, bees, birds, spiders’ webs still silvery with dew although the sun was high in the sky, lizards, rabbits .. There was a rustling and a rushing all around them, a crackling and a scratching and a pulsing; there was a hissing and a cooing and a chirping. This world seemed to be bursting with life, and yet it seemed quiet as well, wonderfully quiet, as if time didn’t exist, as if there were no beginning or end to the present moment.

“Do you think he came here, too?” Farid looked around wistfully, as if hoping that Dustfinger would appear among the trees at any moment. “Yes, of course. Orpheus must have read him to
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this very place, don’t you think? He told me about that pool, and the red elves, and the tree over there with the pale bark where you can find their nests. ‘And then you must follow a stream,’ he said, ‘a stream going north. For in the south lies Argenta where the Adderhead rules, and you’ll be hanged from a gallows there quicker than you can say your name.’ But I’d better take a look from up there!” Quick as a squirrel, he climbed a sapling, and before Meggie knew it he had caught hold of a woody vine and was hauling himself up to the top of a gigantic tree.

“What are you doing?” she called after him. “You can always see more from farther up!”

Farid was hardly visible among the branches now. Meggie folded up the sheet of paper with Orpheus’s words on it and put it in her bag. She didn’t want to see the letters anymore; they seemed to her like poisonous beetles, like Alice in Wonderland’s bottle saying, “Drink me!” Her fingers touched the notebook with its marbled paper cover, and suddenly she had tears in her eyes. “When you come to a charcoal-burner’s hut, Dustfinger said, then you know you’re out of the Wayless Wood.” Farid’s voice came down to her like the sound of a strange bird. “I remember every word he said. If I want them to, words stick in my memory like flies sticking to resin. I don’t need paper to put them on, not me! You just have to find the charcoal-burners and the black patches they leave on the forest floor, he said, and then you know the world of humans isn’t far off. Follow the stream that springs from the water-nymphs’ pool. It will lead you straight to Lombrica and the Laughing Prince’s realm. Soon you’ll see his castle on the eastern slope of a hill, high above a river. It’s gray as a wasp’s nest, and the city is all around it, with a marketplace where you can breathe fire right up to the sky. . ”

Meggie was kneeling among the flowers – violets and purple bellflowers – most of them fading now, but they were still fragrant and smelled so sweet that she felt dizzy. A wasp was zooming around among them – or did it just look like a wasp? How much had Fenoglio copied from his own world and how much had he made up? It all seemed so familiar and yet so strange.