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Then he hung up.

Fenoglio could not conceal his curiosity. He scented a new story in the offing. "What was all that

about?" he asked impatiently as Mo just stood there staring at the telephone. Rico was clinging

to Fenoglio's back like a little monkey. It was Saturday, but the other two children hadn't turned

up yet. "What's the matter, Mortimer? Aren't you talking to us anymore? Look at your father,

Meggie! Standing there like a stuffed dummy!"

"That was Elinor," said Mo. "Meggie's mother's aunt. I told you about her. Capricorn's men broke

into her house. They swept the books off the shelves all over the house and trampled on them,

and the books in Elinor's library ..." He hesitated for a moment before going on. "Her most

valuable books — they took them out into the garden and burned them. All she found in her

library was a dead rooster."

Fenoglio let his grandson slide off his back. "Rico, go and look for the kittens," he said. "This is

not for your ears." Rico protested, but his grandfather pushed him out of the room and closed

the door after him. "What makes you so sure Capricorn is behind this?" he asked, turning back to

Mo.

"Who else would do such a thing? Anyway, as far as I remember the red rooster is his emblem.

Forgotten your own story, have you?"

Fenoglio was looking downcast. "No, no, I remember that," he murmured.

"What about Elinor?" Meggie's heart beat anxiously as she waited for Mo's answer.

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"Luckily, she wasn't back yet when it happened. She took her time going home. Thank heavens.

But you can imagine how she feels. Her finest books — my God!"

Fenoglio was picking up some toy soldiers from his rug with trembling fingers. "Yes, Capricorn

likes fire," he said huskily. "If it was really his doing, your friend can think herself fortunate he

didn't burn her, too."

"I'll tell her." Mo picked up a matchbox lying on Fenoglio's writing desk, opened it, and slowly

closed it again.

"What about my books?" Meggie hardly dared to ask. "My book box — I hid it under the bed."

Mo put the matchbox back on the desk. "That's the one piece of good news," he said. "No one

touched your book box. It's still under the bed. Elinor looked."

Meggie took a deep breath. Was it Basta who had set fire to the books? No, Basta was afraid of

fire; she remembered only too well how Dustfinger had mocked him for it. But in the last resort

it made no difference which of the Black Jackets it had been. Elinor's treasures were gone, and

not even Mo could bring them back.

"Elinor is flying back down here. I'm supposed to pick her up at the airport," said Mo. "She's

taken it into her head to set the police on Capricorn. I told her I didn't think she'd have much

luck. Even if she had evidence that it was his men who broke into her house, how can she prove

he gave the order? But you know Elinor."

Meggie nodded gloomily. Oh yes, she knew Elinor — and she understood her rage only too well.

But Fenoglio laughed. "The police! You don't get anywhere by setting the police on Capricorn!"

he said. "He makes his own rules, his own laws —"

"Oh, be quiet! This isn't a book you're writing!" Mo interrupted him. "Very likely it's amusing to

invent a character like Capricorn, but believe you me, it's not in the least bit funny to cross his

path. I'm off to the airport. I'll leave Meggie here. Look after her."

And he was out of the door before Meggie could protest. She ran after him, but Paula and Pippo

met her coming down the street. They caught hold of her, trying to make her go with them. They

wanted her to be a cannibal, a witch, a six-armed monster — the characters from their

grandfather's stories with which they populated their games. By the time Meggie had finally

managed to shake off their little hands, Mo had long since gone. The place where he had parked

the rental car was empty, and Meggie stood in the square, alone with the war memorial and a

few old men gazing out to sea with their hands in their pants pockets.

Restlessly, she wandered over to the steps in front of the memorial and sat down. She didn't feel

like chasing Fenoglio's grandchildren around his house or playing hide-and-seek with them. She

just wanted to sit there and wait for Mo's return. The hot wind that had blown through the

village overnight had left fine sand on all the windowsills. The air was cooler than it had been for

the last few days. The sky above the sea was still clear, but gray clouds were forming above the

hills and every time the sun disappeared behind them a shadow fell over the village rooftops,

making Meggie shiver.

A cat stalked toward her, stiff-legged, tail erect. It was a thin little creature with ticks in its gray

fur and ribs showing through its thin coat like stripes. Meggie enticed it over, speaking to it

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gently, until it put its head under her arm and purred, asking to be petted. It didn't look as if it

belonged to anyone: no collar, not an ounce of fat on it, nothing to suggest it had a caring owner.

Meggie scratched its ears and chin and stroked its back as she looked down the road that went

around a sharp bend as it left the village and disappeared from sight beyond the houses.

How far was it to the nearest airport? Meggie propped her chin on her hands. The clouds above

her were massing more and more ominously. They loomed overhead, becoming closely packed

and gray with rain.

The cat rubbed against her knee, and as Meggie's fingers stroked its dirty fur an awful thought

suddenly occurred to her. Suppose Elinor's house wasn't all Dustfinger had told Capricorn

about? Suppose he'd also told him where she and Mo had been living? Would they find a heap of

ashes waiting for them at the farmhouse? No, she wouldn't think about that. He doesn't know,

she whispered. He has no idea! Dustfinger didn't tell him. She kept whispering it like a magic

charm.

After a while she felt a raindrop on her hand, then another. She looked up at the sky. There

wasn't so much as a speck of blue to be seen. How quickly the nearby sea could make the

weather change! All right, I'll just wait in the apartment, she thought. We might even have some

milk there for the cat. The poor thing weighed no more than a small damp towel. Meggie was

afraid of breaking something when she picked it up.

It was pitch dark in the apartment. Mo had closed the shutters that morning so the sun wouldn't

make it too hot. Meggie was shivering and wet from the fine drizzle when she entered the cool

bedroom. She put the cat down on her unmade bed, slipped on Mo's sweater, which was much

too big for her, and went into the kitchen. The milk carton was almost empty, but if she diluted

what was left with a little warm water there was just enough for a saucerful.

The cat jumped down so quickly when Meggie put the milk on the floor beside the bed that it

almost fell over its own paws. Rain was falling harder and harder outside. Meggie listened to it

drumming on the paving stones. She went over to the window and opened the shutters. The

narrow strip of sky visible between the rooftops was as dark as if the sun were about to set.

Meggie went over to Mo's bed and sat down on it. The cat was still licking the saucer, its little

tongue greedily rasping over the flower-patterned china, hoping for a last delicious drop. Meggie

heard footsteps out in the street and then a knock at the door. Who was that? Mo couldn't

possibly be back yet. Or had he forgotten something? The cat had disappeared, probably to hide

under the bed. "Who's there?" called Meggie.

"Meggie!" a child's voice called back. Of course, Paula or Pippo. Yes, it must be Pippo. They

probably wanted to go looking for ants with her again, even though it was raining. A gray paw

emerged from under the bed and patted her shoelace. Meggie went out into the tiny hall. "I don't

have time to play just now!" she called through the closed door.

"Please, Meggie!" begged Pippo's voice.

Sighing, Meggie opened the door — and found herself looking straight into Basta's face.

"Well, well, who do have we here?" he asked in a menacingly soft voice, his fingers around

Pippo's thin little neck. "What do you say to that, Flatnose? She doesn't have time to play." Basta

pushed Meggie roughly aside and came through the door with Pippo, followed, of course, by

Flatnose, whose broad shoulders would hardly fit through the doorway.

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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