Inkheart (36 page)

"I'll think of something!" he whispered to Meggie. "After all, I invented these villains. It'll be an odd thing if I can't get rid of them. Your father had an idea, but. ."

Meggie raised her face, wet with tears, and looked at him hopefully, but the old man shook his head. "Later. Now, tell me what makes Capricorn so interested in your father. Is it something to do with the way he reads aloud?"

Meggie nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes. "He wants Mo to read aloud to him here, to bring someone out of a book, an old friend."

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Fenoglio gave her a handkerchief. A few crumbs of tobacco fell from it when she blew her nose.

"A friend? Capricorn has no friends." The old man frowned. Then Meggie felt him suddenly take a deep breath.

"Who is it?" she asked, but Fenoglio just mopped a tear off her cheek.

"Someone I hope you'll never meet except between the covers of a book," he said evasively. Then he turned and began pacing up and down. "Capricorn will be back soon," he added. "I must think how best to confront him."

But Capricorn did not come. Darkness fell outside, and still no one had fetched them from their prison. They weren't even brought anything to eat. It grew cold when the night air came in through the hole in the wall, and they huddled side by side on the hard floor to keep warm.

"Is Basta still very superstitious?" Fenoglio asked at some point in the night.

"Yes, very," replied Meggie. "Dustfinger likes taunting him about it."

"Good," murmured Fenoglio. But he would say no more.

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Chapter 33 – Capricorn’s Maid

As I never saw my father or my mother ... my first fancies regarding what they were like,
were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my
father's gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man with curly black hair.

From the character and turn of the inscription "Also Georgiana Wife of the Above" I drew
a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly.

– Charles Dickens,
Great Expectations

Dustfinger set out when the night could grow no darker. The sky was overcast with not a single star shining. Only the moon showed occasionally between the clouds, as thin as a slice of lemon.

Dustfinger was glad of such darkness, but the boy jumped whenever a twig brushed his face.

"For heaven's sake, I should have left you with the marten after all!" Dustfinger snapped as Farid clutched his arm in fright yet again. "You'll give us away yet with your teeth chattering like that.

Look ahead of you. That's what ought to scare you — guns, not ghosts."

Before them, only a little way off now, lay Capricorn's village. The new floodlights poured light as bright as day over the gray houses.

"And they say this electricity of theirs is a blessing!" whispered Dustfinger as they skirted the parking area. A bored-looking guard was strolling around among the parked vehicles. Yawning, he leaned against the truck, which Cockerell had used to bring the goats back that afternoon, and put on a pair of headphones.

"Excellent! An army could march up now and he wouldn't hear it!" muttered Dustfinger. "If Basta were here he'd discipline the man for that — shut him up in Capricorn's cowsheds for three days with nothing to eat."

"Why don't we go over the rooftops?" All the fear had gone from Farid's face. The guard with his shotgun didn't alarm the boy half as much as his imaginary ghosts. Dustfinger could only shake his head over such foolishness. But the rooftop idea wasn't stupid. A vine that hadn't been pruned for years grew up one of the houses beside the parking area. As soon as the guard wandered over to the other side of the area, swaying in time to the music that was filling his ears, Dustfinger clambered up its woody branches. The boy climbed even better than he did and proudly offered him a hand once he was up on the roof. They moved on stealthily like stray cats, past chimneys, aerials, and Capricorn's floodlights, which were angled downward and left everything behind them in the cover of darkness. Once, a shingle came loose under Dustfinger's boots, but he managed to catch it just in time, before the terra-cotta tile could fall and break in the street below.

When they reached the square where the church and Capricorn's house stood they let themselves down from a gutter. For a few breathless moments Dustfinger ducked behind a stack of empty fruit crates, looking out for guards. Both the square itself and the narrow alley to one side of Capricorn's house were bathed in light. A black cat was sitting on the edge of the well outside the church. Basta's heart would probably have missed a beat at the sight of it, but Dustfinger was much more concerned about the guards outside Capricorn's house. Two of them were lounging by the entrance. It was one of these, a small, sturdy man, who had found Dustfinger four years ago in a town up in the north, just as he was about to give his last show. He
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and two companions had dragged the fire-eater back here, where Capricorn had, in his own characteristic way, questioned him about Silvertongue and the book.

The two guards were arguing, and as they were so absorbed, Dustfinger plucked up his courage, took a few rapid steps, and disappeared down the alley beside Capricorn's house. Farid followed him, as soundless as his own shadow come to life. Capricorn's house was a large, bulky building, which might once have been the village hall, a disused monastery, or a school. All the windows were dark, and there were no other guards to be seen in the alley. But Dustfinger remained watchful. He knew the guards liked to lurk in dark doorways, invisible as ravens at night in their black suits. Indeed, Dustfinger knew almost everything about Capricorn's village. He had walked these streets often enough since Capricorn brought him here to look for Silvertongue and the book. Whenever he felt the sharp pangs of homesickness he had come back here to his old enemies, where he didn't feel quite so out of place. Even his fear of Basta's knife couldn't keep him away.

Dustfinger picked up a flat stone, beckoned Farid to his side, and threw the stone down the alley.

Nothing moved. As he had hoped, the guard was doing his rounds. Dustfinger hurried to the high wall behind which Capricorn's garden lay: vegetable beds, fruit trees, and herbs, protected by the wall from the cold wind that sometimes blew from the nearby mountains. Dustfinger had often entertained the maids as they hoed the beds. There were no floodlights in the garden, no guards either — who'd steal vegetables? — and only a door with a grating over it, a door that was locked at night, led from the yard into the house. The dog kennels lay beyond the wall, too, but when Dustfinger swung himself up and over they were empty. The dogs had not come back from the hills. They'd shown more sense than Dust-finger expected, and Basta obviously hadn't gotten new dogs yet. Stupid of him. Stupid Basta.

Dustfinger signaled to the boy to follow him and stole past the carefully tended beds until he had reached the back door with the grating. The boy looked at him questioningly when he saw the solid bars, but Dustfinger just laid a finger to his lips and looked up at one of the windows on the second floor. The shutters, black as night, were open. Dustfinger mewed in so lifelike a fashion that several cats answered, but nothing moved behind the window. Dustfinger cursed under his breath, listened to the sounds of the night for a moment, then imitated the shrill cry of a bird of prey. Farid jumped and pressed close to the wall of the house. This time, something did move behind the upstairs window. A woman leaned out of it. When Dustfinger waved to her she waved back — then quickly disappeared.

"Don't look like that!" whispered Dustfinger, seeing Farid's anxious glance. "We can trust her.

Quite a few of the women aren't too fond of Capricorn and his men — many of them didn't even come here of their own free will. But they're all afraid of him: afraid they'll lose their jobs, afraid he'll burn the roofs over the heads of their families if they talk about what goes on here, or perhaps send Basta to call on them with his knife. Resa doesn't have to worry about that kind of thing. She has no family." Not anymore, he added to himself silently.

The door behind the grating opened, and Resa's anxious face appeared behind the bars. It looked pale beneath her dark blond hair.

"How are you?" Dustfinger went over to the grating and put his hand through the bars. Smiling, Resa pressed it and nodded at the boy.

"This is Farid." Dustfinger lowered his voice. "You could say he's adopted me. But you can trust him. He doesn't care for Capricorn any more than we do."

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Resa nodded, looked at him reproachfully, and shook her head.

"Yes, I know it wasn't sensible to come back. You heard what happened?" Dustfinger couldn't prevent something like pride from creeping into his voice. "They thought I'd put up with anything, but they were wrong. There's still one copy of the book left, and I'm going to get my hands on it. Don't look at me like that. Do you know where Capricorn keeps it?"

Resa shook her head. There was a rustling behind them and Dustfinger spun around, but it was only a mouse scurrying over the quiet yard. Resa took a pencil and a piece of paper out of her dressing-gown pocket. She wrote slowly and neatly, knowing that Dustfinger found it easier to read capital letters. She had taught him to read and write so they could communicate with one another.

As usual, it took some time for the letters to make sense to Dustfinger. He felt a fresh sense of pride every time those spindly symbols finally fitted together into words and he could get their secret out of them.
"I'll look around,"
he read softly. "Good. But be careful. I don't want you risking your pretty neck." He bent over the paper again. "What do you mean,
The Magpie has
Basta's keys
note?"

He gave her the note back. Farid watched Resa writing, as spellbound as if he were watching someone work magic. "I think you'll have to teach him, too!" Dustfinger whispered through the bars. "See how he's staring at you?"

Resa looked up and smiled at Farid. Awkwardly, he looked away. Resa passed her finger around her face.

"You think he's a nice boy?" Dustfinger twisted his mouth in a teasing smile, while Farid felt so embarrassed he didn't know where to look. "And what about me? Beautiful as the moon, am I?

Hmm, what am I to make of that as a compliment? You mean I have almost as many craters?"

Resa pressed her hand over her lips. It was easy to amuse her; she laughed like a young girl. That was the only time you could hear her voice.

Shots rang out in the night. Resa clung to the bars, and Farid, terrified, crouched down at the foot of the wall. Dustfinger pulled him to his feet again. "It's nothing!" he whispered. "Just the guards taking potshots at cats. They always do that when they're bored."

The boy looked at him with disbelief, but Resa went on writing.
"She took the keys away to punish
him,"
Dustfinger read. "Basta won't like that at all. The way he acted with those keys you'd have thought he was looking after Capricorn's most treasured possession."

Resa mimed taking a knife from her belt, looking so grim that Dustfinger almost laughed out loud. He quickly glanced around, but the yard was silent as the grave between its high walls. "Oh yes, I can well imagine that Basta's furious," he whispered. "In that mood he'll do anything to please Capricorn— slit throats, gash open faces, anything."

Resa reached for the paper again, and once more it took him a painfully long time to decipher her clear, neat writing. "Oh, so you've heard about Silvertongue. You want to know who he is?

Well, but for me he'd still be locked up in Capricorn's sheds. What else? Ask Farid. Silvertongue plucked the boy out of his own story, too, like a ripe apple. Luckily, he didn't bring out any of the ghouls the boy keeps carrying on about. Yes, he reads aloud very well indeed, much better than
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Darius. As you can see, Farid doesn't limp, his face probably always looked the way it does now, and he still has his voice, too — even if you might not think so at the moment."

Farid cast him an angry glance.

"What does Silvertongue look like? Well, I can at least tell you that Basta hasn't decorated
his
face yet."

A shutter creaked above them. Dustfinger pressed close to the grating. Only the wind, he thought, nothing but the wind. Farid was staring at him, eyes wide with fear. No doubt the creaking sounded to him like a demon, but the figure who leaned out of the window above them was a creature of flesh and blood: Mortola, or the Magpie as she was secretly nicknamed. She was in charge of all the maids, and nothing was safe from the Magpie's eyes and ears, not even the secrets the women whispered to each other in their bedrooms by night. Even Capricorn's strongboxes had better accommodations than his maidservants. They all slept in his house, four to a room, crammed in like sardines (except for those who had struck up a relationship with one of his men and moved to another house).

The Magpie leaned over the windowsill and breathed in the cool night air. She stayed there for what seemed to be endless time, so long that Dustfinger could happily have wrung her neck, but finally she appeared to have filled every inch of her body with fresh air and closed the window.

"I must go, but I'll be back tomorrow evening. Maybe you'll have found out something about the book by then." Dustfinger squeezed Resa's hand. Her fingers were rough from laundry work and cleaning. "I know I've said it before, but all the same — be careful, and keep away from Basta,"

Resa shrugged her shoulders. How else could she respond to such unnecessary advice? Almost all the women in the village kept away from Basta, but he didn't keep away from them.

Dustfinger waited outside the grating until Resa was back in her room. She signaled to him through the window with a candle.

The guard in the parking lot still had his headphones on. Deep in his own thoughts, he was dancing among the cars, shotgun in his outstretched arms as if he were dancing with a girl. By the time he finally looked their way, the night had already swallowed up Dustfinger and Farid.