Inkheart (22 page)

And now the tears did come, hard as Elinor tried to keep them back. Angrily, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I think you're doing splendidly, Elinor." Mo was still lying with his face to the wall. "You're both doing splendidly. And I could wring my own neck for dragging you two into all this."

"Nonsense. If anyone around here needs his neck wrung it's Capricorn," said Elinor. "And that man Basta. My God, I'd never have thought the idea of strangling another human being would give me such enormous satisfaction. But I'm sure if I could just get my hands around that Basta's neck, I —"

On seeing the shock in Meggie's eyes she fell guiltily silent, but Meggie just shrugged her shoulders.

"I feel the same," she murmured and began scratching an M on the wall with the key of her bicycle lock. Weird to think she still had that key in her pants pocket — like a souvenir of another life.

Elinor ran her finger down one of the runs in her stockings, and Mo turned on his back and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm so sorry, Meggie," he said suddenly. "I'm so sorry I let them take the book away from me."

Meggie scratched an E into the wall. "It doesn't make any difference," she said, stepping back.

The Gs in her name looked like nibbled Os. "You probably couldn't have read her back out of it again anyway."

"No, probably not," murmured Mo and went on staring at the ceiling.

"It's not your fault," said Meggie. She wanted to add: The main thing is you're with me. The main thing is for Basta never to put his knife to your throat again. I mean, I hardly remember my mother. I only know her from a couple of photographs. But Meggie said none of that, for she knew it wouldn’t t comfort Mo; it would probably just make him sadder than before. For the first time, Meggie had some idea of how much he missed her mother. And for one crazy moment she felt jealous. She scratched an I in the plaster — that was an easy letter — then she lowered the key.

Footsteps were approaching outside. Elinor put her hand to her mouth when they stopped.

Basta pushed open the door, and there was someone behind him- Meggie recognized the old woman she had seen in Capricorn's house. With a dour expression on her face, she pushed past Basta and put a mug and a thermos jug on the floor. "As if I didn't have enough to do!" she
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muttered, before going out again. "So now we have to feed our fine guests, too! They might at least be put to work if you have to keep them here."

"Tell that to Capricorn," was all Basta replied. Then he drew his knife, smiled at Elinor, and wiped the blade on his jacket. It was getting dark outside, and his snow-white shirt shone in the gathering twilight.

"Enjoy your tea, Silvertongue," he said, relishing the discomfort on Elinor's face. "Mortola's put so much honey in the jug your mouth will probably gum up with the first sip you take, but your throat will be as good as new tomorrow."

"What have you done with the boy?" asked Mo.

"Oh, I think he's next door to you. Capricorn hasn't decided what's to become of him yet.

Cockerell will try him out with a little ordeal by fire tomorrow, and then we'll know if he's of any use to us."

Mo sat up. "Ordeal by fire?" he asked, his voice both bitter and mocking. "Well, you can't have passed that one yourself. You're even afraid of Dustfinger's matches."

Watch your tongue!" Basta hissed at him. "One more and I'll cut it out, however precious it may be."

"Oh no, you won't," said Mo, standing up. He took his time filling the mug with steaming tea.

"Maybe not." Basta lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard. "But your little daughter has a tongue, too, and hers isn't as valuable as yours."

Mo flung the mug of hot tea at him, but Basta closed the door so quickly the mug smashed into the wood. "Sweet dreams!" he called from outside as he shot the bolts. "See you in the morning."

None of them said a word when he was gone, not for a long, long time. "Mo, tell me a story,"

Meggie whispered at last.

"What story do you want to hear?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"Tell me the one about us being in Egypt," she whispered, "and we're looking for treasure and surviving sandstorms and scorpions and all the scary ghosts rising from their tombs to watch over their precious grave goods."

"Oh, that story," said Mo. "Didn't I make it up for your eighth birthday? It's rather a gloomy tale, as far as I remember."

"Yes, very!" said Meggie. "But it has a happy ending. Everything turns out all right, and we come home laden with treasure."

"I wouldn't mind hearing that one myself," said Elinor, her voice unsteady. She was probably still thinking of Basta's knife.

So Mo began to tell his story, without the rustle of pages, without the endless labyrinth of letters.

"Mo, nothing ever came out of a story you were just
telling,
did it?" asked Meggie at one point, suddenly feeling anxious.

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"No," he said. "For that to happen, it seems that printer's ink is necessary and someone else needs to have made up the story." Then he continued, and Meggie and Elinor listened until his voice had carried them far, far away. Finally, they all went to sleep.

A sound woke them all. Someone was fiddling with the lock of the door. Meggie thought she heard a muffled curse.

"Oh no!" breathed Elinor. She was the first on her feet. "They're coming to take me away! That old woman's persuaded them! Why feed us? You, maybe," she said, looking frantically at Mo,

"but why me?"

"Go over to the wall, Elinor," said Mo as he moved Meggie behind him. "Both of you keep well back from the door."

The lock sprang open with a muffled little click, and the door was pushed just far enough open for someone to squeeze through it. Dustfinger. He cast a last anxious glance outside, then pulled the door shut behind him and leaned against it.

"So, I hear you've done it again, Silvertongue!" he said, lowering his voice. "They say the poor boy still hasn't uttered a sound. I don't blame him. I can tell you, it's a horrible feeling suddenly landing in someone else's story."

"What are you doing here?" snapped Elinor. But the sight of Dustfinger had actually filled her with relief.

"Leave him alone, Elinor," said Mo, moving her aside and going over to Dustfinger. "How are your hands?" he asked.

Dustfinger shrugged. "They put cold water on them in the kitchen, but the skin's still almost as red as the flames that licked at it."

"Ask him what he wants!" hissed Elinor. "And if he's just come to tell us he can't do anything about the mess we're in, then you might as well wring his lying neck!"

"By way of answer, Dustfinger tossed her a bunch of keys. Do you think I'm here?" he grumbled back, switching off the light. "Stealing the car keys from Basta wasn't easy, and a word of thanks might not be out of place, but we can think about that later. We don't want to hang around any longer —-let's get out of here." Cautiously, he opened the door and listened. "There's a sentry posted up in the church tower," he whispered, "but the guards are keeping watch on the hills, not the village. The dogs are in their kennels, and even if we do have to deal with them, luckily they like me better than Basta."

"Why should we suddenly trust him?" whispered Elinor to Mo. "Suppose there's some other devilry behind this?"

"I want you to take me with you. That's my only motive!" snapped Dustfinger. "There's nothing here for me anymore. Capricorn's let me down. He's sent the only scrap of hope I still had up in smoke! He thinks he can do what he likes with me. Dustfinger's only a dog you can kick without fearing he may bite back, but he's wrong there. He burned the book, so I'm taking away the reader I brought him. And as for you," he said, jabbing his burnt finger into Elinor's chest, "you can come because you have a car. No one gets out of this village on foot, not even Capricorn's men, not with the snakes that infest these hills. But I can't drive, and so . . ."

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"I knew it!" Elinor almost forgot to keep her voice down. "He just wants to save his own skin.

That's why he's helping us! He doesn't have a guilty conscience, oh no. Why should he?"

"I don't care why he's helping us, Elinor," Mo interrupted her impatiently. "We have to get away from here, that's what matters. But we're going to take someone else with us, too."

"Someone else? Who?" Dustfinger looked at him uneasily.

"The boy. The one I condemned yesterday to the same fate
as
you," replied Mo, making his way past Dustfinger and out of the door. "Basta said he's next door to us, and a lock is no obstacle to your clever fingers."

"I burned those clever fingers today!" muttered Dustfinger angrily- "Still, just as you please. Your soft heart will be the ruin of us yet."

When Dustfinger knocked on the door bearing the number 5 a faint rustling could be heard on the other side of it. "Seems like they were going to let him live," he whispered as he got to work on the lock. "They put people condemned to death in the crypt under the church. Ever since I told Basta for a joke that a White Lady haunts the stone coffins down there, he turns white as a sheet whenever Capricorn sends him into the crypt." He chuckled quietly at the memory, like a schoolboy who has just played a particularly good practical joke.

Meggie looked across at the church. "Do they often condemn people to death?" she asked quietly.

Dustfinger shrugged. "Not as often as they used to. But it does happen."

"Stop telling her such stories!" whispered Mo. He and Elinor never took their eyes off the church tower. The sentry was posted high up on the wall beside the belfry. It made Meggie dizzy just to look up there.

"Those are no stories, Silvertongue, it's the truth! Don't you recognize the truth when you meet it anymore? The truth's not pretty, of course. No one likes to look it in the face." Dustfinger stepped back from the door and bowed. After you. I've picked the lock, you can bring him out."

Even with his burnt fingers it hadn't taken him long.

"You go in," Mo whispered to Meggie. "He'll be less afraid of you."

It was pitch dark on the other side of the door, but Meggie heard a rustle as she stepped into the room, as if an animal were moving somewhere in the straw. Dustfinger put his arm through the doorway and handed her a flashlight. When Meggie switched it on, the beam of light fell on the boy's dark face. The straw they had given him seemed even moldier than the pile on which Meggie had slept, but the boy looked as if he hadn't closed his eyes since Flatnose had locked him in anyway. His arms were tightly clasped around his legs, as if they were all he could rely on.

Perhaps he was still waiting for his nightmare to end.

"Come with us!" whispered Meggie, reaching out a hand to him. "We want to help you! We'll take you away from here!"

He didn't move, just stared at her, his eyes narrow with distrust.

"Hurry up, Meggie!" breathed Mo through the door.

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The boy glanced at him and retreated until his back was right up against the wall.

"Please!" whispered Meggie. "You must come! The people here will do bad things to you."

He was still looking at her. Then he stood up, cautiously, never taking his eyes off her. He was taller than she was by almost a hand's breadth. Suddenly, he leaped forward, making for the open door. He pushed Meggie aside so roughly that she fell over, but he couldn't get past Mo.

"Here, take it easy!" Mo said under his breath. "We really do want to help you, but you must do as we say, understand?"

The boy glared at him with dislike. "You're all devils!" he whispered. "Devils or demons!" So he did understand their language, and why not? His own story was told in every language in the world.

She got up and rubbed her knee. She must have grazed it
on
the stone floor. "If you want to see some real devils then all you have to do is stay here!" she hissed at the boy as she nushed her way past him. He flinched away as if she were a witch.

Mo drew the boy to his side. "See that man on watch up there?" he whispered, pointing to the church tower. "If he sees us they'll kill us."

The boy looked up at the man on guard.

Dustfinger went over to him. "Hurry up, will you!" he said quietly. "If the lad doesn't want to go with us then he can just stay here. And the rest of you take your shoes off," he added, glancing at the boy's bare feet, "or you'll make more noise than a flock of goats."

Elinor grumbled something in a cross voice, but she obeyed, and the boy did follow them, if hesitantly. Dustfinger hurried on ahead as if trying to outstrip his own shadow. The alley down which he led them sloped so steeply that Meggie kept stumbling, and every time Elinor stubbed her toes on the bumpy cobblestones she uttered a quiet curse. It was dark between the close-set houses. Masonry arches stretched from one side of the street to the other, as if to prevent the walls from collapsing. The rusty streetlights cast ghostly shadows. Every noise sounded threatening, every cat scurrying out of a doorway made Meggie jump. But Capricorn's village was asleep. They passed only one guard, leaning on the wall in a side street and smoking. Two tomcats were fighting somewhere on the rooftops, and the guard bent to pick up a stone to throw at them. Dustfinger took advantage of the moment. Meggie was very glad he had made them take off their shoes. They slipped soundlessly past the guard, whose back was still turned, but Meggie dared not breathe again until they were around the next corner. Once again, she noticed the many empty houses, the blank windows, the dilapidated doors. What had wrecked these homes? Just the course of time? Had the people who once lived here run away from Capricorn, or was the village already abandoned before he and his men took up residence?

Hadn't Dustfinger said something like that?

He had stopped. He raised his hand in a warning gesture and put a finger to his lips. They had reached the outskirts of the village. Only the parking lot still lay ahead. Two streetlights illuminated the surface of the cracked asphalt, and a tall wire-netting fence rose to their left.