Inkheart (33 page)

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"Let go of him!" Meggie snapped at Basta, although her voice shook. "You're hurting him."

"Am I indeed?" Basta looked down at Pippo's pale face. "Not very nice of me, is it, especially since he showed us where you were hiding?" With these last words he squeezed Pippo's neck even more firmly.

"Do you know how long we lay in that filthy hovel?" he snarled at Meggie.

She took a step backward.

"A
very
long time!" Basta emphasized the word, putting his foxy face so close to Meggie's she could see herself reflected in his eyes. "Isn't that right, Flatnose?"

"Those damn rats almost nibbled off my toes," growled the giant. "Wouldn't I just love to twist this little witch's nose until it's pointing the wrong way around!"

"Later, maybe." Basta pushed Meggie into the dark bedroom. "Where's your father?" he asked.

"This little lad," he said, letting go of Pippo's throat and prodding him in the back so roughly that he stumbled against Meggie, "told us he's gone out. Gone out where?"

"Shopping." Meggie could hardly breathe, she was so frightened. "How did you find us?" she whispered but instantly knew the answer. Dustfinger. Of course. Who else? But why had he betrayed them this time?

"Dustfinger," replied Basta as if he had read her thoughts. "It's just too easy to find that fellow.

There aren't so many crazy jugglers in this world who go around breathing fire and who have a tame marten, not to mention one with horns. So we only had to ask around a little, and once we were on Dustfinger's trail we were also on your father's, of course. We arrived just in time to see you drive away from the hotel parking lot, and we'd certainly have paid you a visit before now if this fool," he said, digging his elbow so hard into Flatnose's stomach he let out a grunt of pain,

"hadn't lost sight of you on our way here. We searched almost a dozen villages, wore out our voices asking questions, ran ourselves off our feet, until we finally got here, and one of those old fellows who spends all day staring out to sea remembered Dustfinger's scarred face. Where is he? Is he — er — out shopping, too?" asked Basta, with a scornful twist of his mouth.

Meggie shook her head. "He went away," she replied tonelessly. "Ages ago." So Dustfinger hadn't given them away after all. Not this time.
And
he'd slipped through Basta's fingers. Meggie could almost have smiled.

"You burned Elinor's books!" she said, holding Pippo close. He was still speechless with terror,

"You'll be sorry you did that."

"Oh, will we?" Basta smiled unpleasantly. "I wonder why. As far as I know Cockerell had a lot of fun with those books. But that's enough talk. We don't have forever. That boy," he said, pointing at Pippo, who retreated as if Basta's forefinger were a knife, "has told us some strange stories about a grandfather who writes books and a book in which your father took a particular interest."

Meggie swallowed. Stupid Pippo. Stupid, talkative little Pippo.

"Lost your tongue?" asked Basta. "Should I squeeze the boy's skinny neck again?"

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Pippo began crying and buried his face in Mo's sweater. Meggie stroked his curly head comfortingly.

"His grandfather doesn't have the book you're thinking of anymore," she told Basta. "You and your friends stole it long ago!" Her voice sounded hoarse with hatred, and her own thoughts sickened her. She wanted to kick Basta, hit him, stab him in the stomach with his own knife, the brand-new knife he wore stuck in his belt.

"Stole it. Just imagine!" Basta grinned at Flatnose. "I think we'd better make sure of that for ourselves, don't you?"

Flatnose nodded distractedly, looking around him. "Hey, hear that?"

There was a scratching sound under the bed. Flatnose knelt down, pushed the hanging edge of the sheet aside, and poked around under the bed with the barrel of his gun. Spitting, the gray cat shot out of hiding, and when Flatnose tried to grab it the cat raked his ugly face with its claws.

He leaped to his feet with a yelp of pain. "I'll wring its neck!" he bellowed. "I'll break that cat's neck!"

Meggie was about to stand in his way as he lunged for the cat, but Basta got in first. "You'll do no such thing!" he spat at Flatnose as the gray cat disappeared under the dresser. "Killing cats is unlucky. How often do I have to tell you?"

"Nonsense! Superstitious garbage! I've wrung several of the brutes' necks already!" said Flatnose angrily, pressing one hand to his bleeding cheek. "And has my luck been worse than yours? You could drive a man crazy, the way you carry on. Don't walk in that shadow, it's unlucky; oh, watch out, you put your left boot on first, that's unlucky; oh my, someone yawned

— mercy me, that means I'll fall down dead tomorrow!"

"Shut up!" snapped Basta. "If anyone around here is talking nonsense it's you. Get those children to the door!"

Pippo clung to Meggie as Flatnose forced them out into the corridor. "Why are you bawling like that?" he growled at the little boy. "We're off to see your grandfather now."

Pippo never let go of Meggie's hand once as they stumbled after Flatnose. He was clutching it so hard his stubby fingernails dug into her skin. Oh, she thought, why didn't Mo listen to me? We could have gone home. It was still raining heavily. Raindrops ran over Meggie's face and down her neck. The streets were empty; there was no one around to help them. Basta was walking just behind her, and she heard him quietly cursing the rain. When they reached Fenoglio's house Meggie's feet were wet through, and Pippo's curls were plastered to his head. Perhaps he won't be at home, Meggie hoped. She was just thinking about what Basta would do then, when the red door opened and Fenoglio stood facing them.

"What on earth do you children think you're doing, running around in weather like this?" he said angrily. "I was just going out to look for you. Come on in, and hurry up."

"May we come in, too?"

Basta and Flatnose had been standing on either side of the door with their backs to the wall so that Fenoglio wouldn't see them immediately, but now Basta moved up behind Meggie and put his hands on her shoulders. Fenoglio stared at him in surprise as Flatnose stepped forward and
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planted a foot in the open doorway. Pippo scurried past him, nimble as a weasel, and disappeared into the house.

"Who are these people?" Fenoglio looked at Meggie as crossly as if she had brought the two strangers there of her own free will. "Friends of your father's?"

Meggie mopped the rain off her face and looked back at him with equal reproach. "You ought to know them better than I do!" she said. Basta's fingers were digging into her shoulders.

"Know them?" Fenoglio looked at her blankly. Then he studied Basta. His face froze. "Great heavens above!" he murmured. "I don't believe it!"

Paula peered out from behind his back. "Pippo's crying!" she announced. "He's hidden in the cupboard."

"Well, you go back to him," said Fenoglio, never taking his eyes off Basta. "I'll be with you in a minute."

"How much longer are we going to stand out here, Basta?" growled Flatnose. "Until we shrink in this rain?"

"Basta!" repeated Fenoglio without stepping aside.

"Yes, that's my name, old man." Basta's eyes always narrowed when he smiled. "We're here because you have something that interests us a great deal — a book."

Of course. Meggie almost burst out laughing. He didn't know! Basta didn't know who Fenoglio was. How could he? How could he know that this old man had invented him, made him up out of paper and ink, made up his face, his knife, his evil nature?

"That's enough talk!" growled Flatnose. "The rain's running into my ears." He brushed Fenoglio aside like a troublesome fly as he pushed past him into the house. Basta followed with Meggie.

Pippo was still sobbing inside the kitchen cupboard. Paula was standing in front of it, talking to him soothingly through the closed door. When Fenoglio came into the kitchen with the strangers she spun around and looked at Flat-nose's face nervously. It was as dark and dismal as ever.

Sitting down at the table, Fenoglio beckoned Paula over without a word.

"Well, where is it?" Basta was looking around, scanning the room, but Fenoglio was too deeply absorbed in the sight of his two creations to reply. He couldn't take his eyes off Basta in particular, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"I told you: There's no copy of it here!" Meggie replied for him.

Basta acted as if he hadn't heard her and gestured impatiently to Flatnose. "Look for it!" he ordered. Grumbling, Flatnose obeyed. Meggie heard him trampling up the narrow wooden staircase that led to the attic.

"Right, little witch, how did you and your father find the old man?" Basta prodded her in the back. "How did you know he still has a copy?"

Meggie cast Fenoglio a warning glance, but unfortunately he was as ready to talk as Pippo, who had so willingly told Basta all about her and his grandfather.

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"How did they find me? I wrote the book!" announced the old man proudly. Perhaps he expected that Basta would instantly fall on his knees before him, but Basta only gave a pitying smile.

"Oh yes, of course you did!" he said, taking the knife from his belt.

"He really did write it!" Meggie couldn't resist saying so. She wanted to see the fear that had turned Dustfinger pale when he heard about Fenoglio appear on Basta's face, too, but Basta just smiled again and began carving notches in Fenoglio's kitchen table.

"Who thought up
that
story?" he asked. "Your father? You think I look stupid? Everyone knows that stories in books are as old as the hills and were written by people dead and buried long ago." He jabbed the blade of the knife into the wood, pulled it out, and jabbed it in again.

Flatnose was trampling around overhead.

"Dead and buried. How interesting." Fenoglio sat Paula on his lap. "Did you hear that, Paula?

This young man believes all books were written in the distant past by dead people who picked up the stories from heaven knows where. Plucked straight from the air, maybe?" Paula couldn't help giggling. It had grown very quiet in the cupboard. Pippo was probably listening at the door, holding his breath.

"What's so funny about that?" Basta reared up like a snake when someone has trodden on its tail. Fenoglio ignored him. Smiling, he looked down at his hands — as if remembering the day when they had begun to write Basta's story. Then he looked straight at him.

"You always wear long sleeves, don't you?" he said. "Should I tell you why?"

Basta narrowed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. "Damn it all, why is it taking that idiot so long to find a book?"

Fenoglio looked at him, his arms folded. "Easy: He can't read!" he said quietly. "You can't read either — unless you've learned by now? None of Capricorn's men can read, any more than Capricorn himself can."

Basta drove the knife so far into the surface of the table that he had difficulty pulling it out again.

"Of course he can read. What are you going on about?" He leaned threateningly over the table. "I don't like the way you talk, old man. Why don t I carve a few more wrinkles in your face?"

Fenoglio smiled. Perhaps he thought Basta couldn't hurt him because he, Fenoglio, had made him up. Meggie wasn't so sure of that. "You wear long sleeves," Fenoglio continued very slowly, as if giving Basta time to take in every single word, "because your master likes playing with fire.

You burned both arms right up to the shoulders when you obeyed his orders and set fire to the house of a man who had dared to refuse his daughter to Capricorn. Ever since then, someone else has set the fire and you confine yourself to playing games with knives."

Basta jumped up so suddenly that Paula slid off Fenoglio's lap and hid under the table. "Like to make yourself out to be clever, do you?" he growled, holding his knife under Fenoglio's chin.

"When all you've done is read the wretched book. Well?"

Fenoglio looked him in the eye. The knife under his chin didn't seem to scare him half as much as it did Meggie. "Oh, I know all about you, Basta," he said. "I know you'd give your life for Capricorn any day, and you're always hungry for his praise. I know you were younger than Meggie when his men picked you up, and ever since you've loved him like a father. But shall I tell
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you something? Capricorn thinks you're stupid and despises you for it. He despises you all, his devoted black-clad sons, although it's his own doing that you're still so ignorant. And he wouldn't hesitate to set the police on to any one of you if it was to his advantage. Are you quite clear about that?"

"Hold your filthy tongue, old man!" Basta's knife came alarmingly close to Fenoglio's face and, for a moment, Meggie thought he would slit his nose. "You don't know anything about Capricorn.

Only what you read in the stupid book. I think I ought to cut your throat — now!"

"Wait!"

Basta whirled around to look at Meggie. "And you keep out of this! I'll deal with you later, you little toad," he said.

Fenoglio's hands were pressed to his own throat. He was staring blankly at Basta, having at last realized he was by no means safe from the man's knife.

"But you can't kill him. Really you can't!" cried Meggie. "If you do —"

Basta's thumb stroked the blade of his knife. "If I do, then what?"

Desperately, Meggie searched for the right words. What should she say? Oh, what? "Because . . .

because Capricorn would die, too," she managed. "Yes. That's it. You'd all die, you and Flatnose and Capricorn. If you kill this old man you'll
all
die, because he made you up."

Basta's lips twisted in a scornful smile, but he lowered his knife and, for a moment, Meggie even thought she saw a hint of fear in his eyes.

Fenoglio cast her a relieved glance.

Basta stepped back, examined the blade of his knife closely as if he had discovered a mark on it, then rubbed it clean on the hem of his black jacket. "I don't believe a word of it!" he said. "But this is such a weird story, I think Capricorn might like to hear it, too. So," he added, giving the shiny blade a last polish before snapping the knife shut and putting it back in his belt, "we won't take only the book and the girl, we'll take you, too, old man."