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"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.

"The arena for Capricorn's ceremonies and festivities is on the other side of that fence,"

whispered Dustfinger. "I suppose the village children once played football there, but these days

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it's the scene of Capricorn's diabolical celebrations: bonfires, brandy, a few shots fired into the

air, fireworks, blackened faces — that's their idea of fun."

They put on their shoes before following Dustfinger into the parking lot. Meggie kept looking at

the wire fence. Diabolical celebrations. She could almost see the bonfires, the blackened faces . . .

"Come on, Meggie!" urged Mo, leading her on. The sound of rushing water could be heard

somewhere in the darkness, and Meggie remembered the bridge they had crossed on the way

here. Suppose a guard was stationed there this time?

There were several cars in the lot, including Elinor's, which was parked a little way from the

others. They all kept looking around anxiously as they ran toward it. Behind them the church

tower rose high above the rooftops, and there was nothing now to shield them from the sentry's

eyes. Meggie couldn't see him at this distance, but she was sure he was still there. From such a

height they must look like black beetles crawling over a table. Did he have a pair of binoculars?

"Come on, Elinor!" whispered Mo. It seemed to be taking her forever to unlock the car door.

"All right, all right!" she growled back. "I just don't have such nimble hands as our light-fingered

friend."

Mo put his arm around Meggie's shoulders as he looked around, but apart from a few stray cats

he could see nothing moving in the parking lot or among the houses. Reassured, he made Meggie

get into the backseat. The boy hesitated for a moment, examining the car as if it were some

strange animal and he couldn't be sure whether it was kindly disposed or would swallow him

alive, but finally he got in, too. Meggie scowled at him and moved as far away from him as

possible. Her knee still hurt.

"Where's the matchstick-eater?" whispered Elinor. "Damn it, don't tell me the man's

disappeared again."

Meggie was the first to spot him. He was stealing over to the other cars. Elinor clutched the

steering wheel as if resisting only with difficulty the temptation to drive off without him.

"What's he up to this time?" she hissed.

None of them knew the answer. Dustfinger was gone for an excruciatingly long time, and when

he came back he was closing a switchblade.

"What was the idea of that?" Elinor snapped when he squeezed into the backseat next to the boy.

"Didn't you say we must hurry? And what were you doing with that knife? Not cutting someone

open, I hope!"

Is my name Basta?" inquired Dustfinger, annoyed, as he forced his legs in behind the driver's

seat. "I was slitting their tires, that's all. Just to be on the safe side." He was still holding the knife.

Meggie looked at it uneasily. "That's Basta's knife," she said.

Dustfinger smiled as he put it in his pants pocket. "Not anymore. I'd like to have stolen his silly

amulet, too, but he wears it around his neck even at night, and that would have been too

dangerous."

Somewhere a dog began to bark. Mo wound down his window and put his head out, looking

concerned.

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"Believe it or not, it's only toads making all that racket," said Elinor. But what Meggie suddenly

heard echoing through the night was nothing like the croaking of toads, and when she looked in

alarm through the back window a man was climbing out of one of the parked vehicles, a dusty,

dirty-white delivery van. It was one of Capricorn's men. Meggie had seen him in the church. He

looked around him with a face still dazed by sleep.

Before Meggie could stop her, Elinor started the engine, and the man snatched a shotgun from

his back and stumbled toward the car. For a moment Meggie almost felt sorry for him — he

looked so sleepy and baffled. What would Capricorn do to a guard who fell asleep on duty? But

then he aimed the gun and fired it. Meggie ducked her head well below the back of the seat, and

Elinor pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator.

"Damn it all!" she shouted at Dustfinger. "Didn't you see that man when you were slinking

around between the cars?"

"No, I didn't!" Dustfinger shouted back. "Now, drive! Not that way! It's over there. We must get

to the road!"

Elinor wrenched the steering wheel around. The boy was huddled down beside Meggie. At every

shot he had closed his eyes tight and put his hands over his ears. Were there any puns in his

story? Probably not, no more than there were cars. His and Meggie's heads knocked together as

Elinor's car bumped over the stony track. When it finally reached the road things weren't much

better.

"This isn't the road we came along!" cried Elinor. Capricorn's village loomed over them like a

fortress. The houses simply refused to get any smaller.

"Oh yes, it is! But Basta met us farther down when we arrived." Dustfinger was clinging to the

seat with one hand and to his backpack with the other. A furious chattering came from the bag,

and the boy cast it a terrified glance.

Meggie thought she recognized the place where Basta had met them when they drove past it —

it was the hill from which she had seen the village for the first time. Then the houses suddenly

disappeared, engulfed by the night, as if Capricorn's village had never existed.

There was no guard posted on the bridge, nor at the rusty barrier across the road cutting off the

way to the village. Meggie looked back at it until the darkness had swallowed it up. It's over, she

thought. It really is all over.

The night was clear. Meggie had never seen so many stars. The sky stretched above the black

hills like a cloth embroidered with tiny beads. The whole world seemed to consist of hills, like a

cat arching its back at the face of the night — no human beings, no houses. No fear.

Mo turned around and stroked the hair back from Meggie's forehead. "Everything all right?" he

asked.

She nodded and closed her eyes. Suddenly, all Meggie wanted to do was sleep — if only the

pounding of her heart would let her.

"It's a dream," murmured a toneless voice beside her. "Only a dream. It's just a dream. What else

can it be?"

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Meggie turned to the boy, who wasn't looking at her. "It has to be a dream!" he repeated,

nodding vigorously as if to encourage himself. "Everything looks wrong, false, weird, like in

dreams, and now," he murmured, turning his head to indicate the surroundings outside, "now

we're flying. Or the night is flying past us. Or something."

Meggie could almost have smiled. She wanted to tell him it wasn't a dream, but she was just too

tired to explain the whole complicated story. She looked at Dustfinger. He was patting the fabric

of his pack, probably trying to soothe his angry marten.

"Don't look at me like that!" he said, when he saw Meggie watching him. "You can't expect me to

explain. Your father will have to do that. After all, the poor lad's nightmare is his fault."