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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."

Meggie heard Fenoglio draw in a sharp breath. She herself was so scared she wasn't sure if her

heart was beating at all. Take them away. Basta was going to take them away. No, she thought,

oh please, no!

"Take us away where?" asked Fenoglio.

"Ask the girl here!" Basta pointed mockingly at Meggie. "She and her father have had the honor

of being our guests already. Bed and board thrown in."

"But this is nonsense!" cried Fenoglio. "I thought it was the book you wanted."

"Then you thought wrong. We didn't even know there was supposed to be another copy. No, we

were just sent to bring Silvertongue back. Capricorn doesn't like his guests to leave without

saying good-bye, and Silvertongue's a very special guest, isn't that right, sweetheart?" Basta

winked at Meggie. "But he isn't here, and I have better things to do than hang around waiting for

him. So I'll take his daughter — and he'll come chasing after her of his own accord." Basta went

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up to Meggie and pushed her hair back behind her ears. "She makes pretty bait, wouldn't you

say?" he asked. "Oh yes, old man, take it from me: If we have this little creature we'll have her

father, too. He'll come like a dancing bear led by a ring in his nose."

Meggie struck his hand aside, trembling with fury.

"Don't you do that again!" Basta whispered in her ear.

Meggie was glad that Flatnose came trudging downstairs at this moment. He appeared in the

kitchen doorway, breathless and with several books under his arm. "Here!" he said, dumping

them on the table. "They all begin with this single upright stroke followed by the three up-and-

down lines. Just the way you drew it." He put a stained piece of paper down beside the books.

The letters I and N were clumsily traced on it, and it looked as if the hand that set them down

had found the task very difficult.

Basta spread the books out on the table and pushed them apart from one another with his knife.

"These are no good," he said, pushing two off the table so that they landed on the floor with

crumpled pages. "Nor are these." Two more landed on the floor, and finally Basta swept the rest

off the table, too. "Are you quite sure there isn't another one beginning like that?" he asked

Flatnose angrily.

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"You'd better not be wrong. Because I do assure you, you'll be the one to pay for it, not me!"

Flatnose cast a worried look over the books at his feet.