Inkspell (21 page)

“Take it easy!” Dustfinger held him firmly by the arm as he turned to go. “Heavens above, I forgot how quickly you take offense. Warn me? Warn me of what?” “Basta.”

The woman’s hand flew to her mouth when he said that name – and Farid began to tell his story, describing everything that had happened since Dustfinger disappeared from that remote road in the mountains as if he had never existed. When he had finished, Dustfinger asked just one question. “So Basta has the book?”

Farid dug his toes into the hard earth and nodded. “Yes,” he muttered ruefully. “He put his knife to my throat. What was I to do?”

“Basta?” The woman reached for Dustfinger’s hand. “He’s still alive, then?”

Dustfinger just nodded. Then he looked at Farid again. “Do you believe he’s here now? Do you think Orpheus has read him here?”

Farid shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! When I got away from him he shouted after me that he’d be revenged on Silvertongue, too. But Silvertongue doesn’t believe it, he says Basta was just in a rage. . ”

Dustfinger looked at the gate, which was still standing open.

“Yes, Basta says a lot of things when he’s in a rage,” he murmured. Then he sighed and trod out a few sparks that were still glowing on the ground in front of him.

“Bad news,” he said softly. “Nothing but bad news. All we need now is for you to have brought Gwin with you.”

Thank heaven it was dark. Lies weren’t nearly as easily spotted in the dark as by day. Farid did his best to sound as surprised as possible. “Gwin? Oh no! No, I didn’t bring him with me. You said he was to stay there. And Meggie said so, too – she said I mustn’t bring him.”

“Clever girl!” Dustfinger’s sigh of relief went to Farid’s heart. “You left the marten behind?”

The woman shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe it. “I always thought you loved that little monster more than any other living creature.”

“Oh, you know my faithless heart!” replied Dustfinger, but his light-hearted tone of voice couldn’t deceive even Farid. “Are you hungry?” he asked the boy. “How long have you been here?” Farid cleared his throat; his lie about Gwin was like a splinter lodged in it. “For four days,”

he managed to say. “The strolling players gave us something to eat, but I’m still hungry, all the same. . ”

“Us?” Dustfinger’s voice suddenly sounded distrustful. “Silvertongue’s daughter. Meggie. She came with me.”

“She’s here?” Dustfinger looked at him in astonishment.

Then he groaned and pushed the hair back from his forehead. “Oh, how pleased her father will
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be! Not to mention her mother. Did you by any chance bring anyone else, too?” Farid shook his head.

“Where is she now?”

“With the old man.” Farid jerked his head back the way he had come. “He’s living near the castle.

We met him in the strolling players’ camp. Meggie was very glad to see him. She was going to look for him, anyway, to get him to take her back. I think she’s homesick…”

“What old man? Who the devil are you talking about now?” “Well, that writer! The one with the face like a tortoise – you remember, you ran away from him back then in –”

“Yes, yes, all right!” Dustfinger put his hand over Farid’s mouth as if he didn’t want to hear another word, and stared toward the place where, somewhere in the darkness, the walls of Ombra lay hidden. “Heavens above, what next?” he murmured. “Is t h a t .. is it more bad news?”

Farid hardly dared to ask. Dustfinger looked away, but all the same Farid had seen his smile. “Oh yes,” he said. “I suppose there never was a boy who brought so much bad news all at once. And in the middle of the night, too. What do we do with bearers of bad tidings, Roxane?” Roxane. So that was her name. For a moment Farid thought she would suggest sending him away. But then she shrugged. “We feed them, what else?” she said. “Even if this one doesn’t look too starved.”

Chapter 17 – A Present for Capricorn

“If he has been my father’s enemy, I like him still less!” exclaimed the now really anxious
girl. “Will you not speak to him, Major Heyward, that I may hear his tones? Foolish though
it may be, you have often heard me avow my faith in the tones of the human voice!”

– J. Fenimore Cooper,
The Last of the Mohicans

Evening drew on, night fell, and no one came to unlock Elinor’s cellar. They sat there in silence among tubes of tomato puree, cans of ravioli, and all the other provisions stacked on the shelves around them – trying not to see the fear on one another’s faces.

“My house isn’t all that large!” said Elinor once, breaking the silence. “By now even that fool Basta should have realized that Meggie really isn’t here.”

No one replied. Resa was clinging to Mortimer as if that would protect him from Basta’s knife, and Darius was cleaning his already spotless glasses for the hundredth time. By the time footsteps finally approached the cellar door, Elinor’s watch had stopped. Memories flooded into her weary mind as she rose, with difficulty, from the container of olive oil on which she had been sitting – memories of blank, windowless walls and musty straw. Her cellar was a more comfortable prison than Capricorn’s sheds, let alone the crypt under his church, but the same man opened the door – and Elinor was just as much afraid of Basta in her own house.

When she had last seen him, he had been a prisoner himself, shut up in a cage by the master he adored. Had he forgotten that? How had Mortola persuaded him to serve her again in spite of it?

The stupid idea of asking Basta didn’t even cross Elinor’s mind. She gave herself the answer: because a dog needs a master. Basta had the man built like a wardrobe with him when he came to fetch them. There were four of them, after all, and Basta remembered only too well the day when Dustfinger had escaped him. “Well, Silvertongue, I’m sorry it’s taken some time,” he said in his soft, catlike voice, as he pushed Mortimer down the corridor to Elinor’s library. “But Mortola just couldn’t decide what kind of revenge to take, now that your witchy daughter really has run for it.”

“And what has she thought up?” asked Elinor, although she was afraid of the answer. Basta was only too willing to tell her. “Well, first she was going to shoot you all and sink you in the lake, although we told her just burying you somewhere under the bushes out there would do. But then she decided it would be too merciful to let you die knowing the little witch has gotten away from her. No, Mortola really didn’t fancy that idea.”

“Oh, didn’t she?” Fear made Elinor’s legs so heavy that she stopped walking until the wardrobe-man impatiently pushed her on. But before she could ask what Mortola was planning to do
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instead of shooting them, Basta was already opening the door of her library and ushering them in with an ironic bow.

Mortola was sitting enthroned in Elinor’s favourite armchair. Scarcely a pace away from her lay a dog with running eyes and a head broad enough for you to rest a plate on it. Its forelegs were bandaged, like Mortola’s own legs, and there was a bandage around its belly, too. A dog! In her library!
Elinor tightened her lips. This is probably the least of your worries right now, Elinor,
she told herself.
You’d better just ignore it.

Mortola’s stick was leaning against one of the glass cases in which Elinor kept her most valuable books. The moonfaced man stood beside the old woman. Orpheus – what did the fool think he was doing, claiming such a name for himself? Or had his parents in all seriousness given it to him? At any rate, he looked as if he, too, had passed a sleepless night, which gave Elinor a certain grim satisfaction.

“My son always said revenge was a dish best eaten cold,” observed Mortola, as she looked at her prisoners’ exhausted faces. There was a pleased expression on her own. “I admit I wasn’t in any mood to take that advice yesterday. I’d have liked to see you all dead there and then, but the little witch’s disappearing act has given me time to think, and I’ve decided to postpone my revenge for a while, so that I can enjoy it all the more, and in cold blood.”

“Hear, hear!” muttered Elinor, earning a thrust from the butt of Basta’s rifle. But Mortola turned her birdlike gaze on Mortimer. She seemed to be seeing no one else: not Resa, not Darius, not Elinor, just him.

“Silvertongue!” She spoke the name with scorn. “How many have you killed with your velvet voice? A dozen? Cockerell, Flatnose, and finally, your crowning achievement, my son.” The bitterness in Mortola’s voice was as raw as if Capricorn had died only last night, instead of over a year ago. “And you will die for killing him. You will die as sure as I’m sitting here, and I shall watch, as I had to watch the death of my son. But since I know from personal experience that nothing hurts more, in this or any other world, than the death of one’s own child, I want you to see your daughter die before you die yourself.”

Mortimer stood there and didn’t turn a hair. Usually you could see all his feelings in his face, but at this moment even Elinor couldn’t have said what was going on inside him.

“She’s gone, Mortola,” was all he said, hoarsely. “Meggie’s gone, and I don’t think you can bring her back, or you’d have done it long ago, wouldn’t you?”

“Who said anything about bringing her back?” Mortola’s narrow lips twisted into a joyless smile.

“Do you think I intend to stay in this stupid world of yours any longer now that I have the book?

Why should I? No, I’m going to look for your daughter in my own world, where Basta will catch her like a little bird. And then I’ll give the two of you to my son as a present. There’ll be more festivities, Silvertongue, but this time Capricorn will not die. Oh no. He’ll sit beside me and hold my hand while Death takes first your daughter, and then you. Yes, that’s how it will be!”

Elinor glanced at Darius and saw in his face the incredulous astonishment that she herself felt.

But Mortola was smiling superciliously.

“Why are you staring at me like that? You think Capricorn is dead?” Mortola’s voice almost cracked. “Nonsense. Yes, he died here, but what does that mean? This world is a joke, a
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masquerade such as the strolling players perform in marketplaces.

In our world, the real world, Capricorn is still alive. That’s why I got the book back from that fire-eater. The little witch said it herself, the night you killed him: He’ll always be there as long as the book exists. Yes, I know she meant the fire-eater, but what’s true of him is most certainly true of my son! They’re still there, all of them: Capricorn and Flatnose, Cockerell and the Shadow!”

She looked triumphantly from one to another of them, but they all remained silent. Except for Mortimer. “That’s nonsense, Mortola!” he said. “And you know it better than anyone. You were in the Inkworld yourself when Capricorn disappeared from it, together with Basta and Dustfinger.”

“So? He went away, that’s all.” Mortola’s voice was shrill. “And then he didn’t come back, but that means nothing. My son was always traveling on business. The Adderhead sometimes sent him a messenger in the middle of the night when he needed his services, and then he’d be gone the next morning. But he’s back now. Back and waiting for me to bring his murderer to his fortress in the Wayless Wood.”

Elinor felt a crazy urge to laugh, but fear closed her throat.
There’s no doubt about it
, she thought,
the old Magpie’s lost her wits!
Unfortunately, that didn’t make her any less dangerous. “Orpheus!”

Mortola impatiently beckoned the moonface to her side. Very slowly, as if to show that he obeyed her by no means as willingly as Basta did, he strolled over to her, taking a sheet of paper out of the inside pocket of his jacket as he did so. With a self-important expression, he unfolded it and laid it on the glass case with Mortola’s stick leaning on it. The dog, panting, watched every movement he made.

“It won’t be easy!” observed Orpheus as he leaned over the dog, affectionately patting its ugly head. “I’ve never tried reading so many people over all at once before. Perhaps it would be a better idea to do it one by one –”

“No!” Mortola brusquely interrupted him. “No, you’ll read us all over at once, as we agreed.”

Orpheus shrugged. “Very well, just as you like. As I said, it’s risky because –”

“Be quiet! I don’t want to hear this.” Mortola dug her bony fingers into the arms of the chair. (
I’ll
never be able to sit in it again without thinking of her
, thought Elinor.) “May I remind you of that cell? I was the one who paid for its door to open. A word from me and you’ll end up back there, without books or so much as a single sheet of paper. And, believe me, I’ll make sure you do just that if you fail. After all, you read the fire-eater over without much trouble, according to Basta.”

“Yes, but that was easy, very easy! Like putting something back in its proper place.” Orpheus looked out of Elinor’s window as dreamily as if he were seeing Dustfinger vanish again, this time from the lawn outside. Frowning, he turned back to Mortola. “It’s different with him,” he said, pointing to Mortimer. “It’s not his story. He doesn’t belong in it.”