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the house or, if a farmer has been particularly stubborn, in his children's bedroom. We almost all

have something we love dearly."

The men were leading the goats into the village. Dustfinger knew by his limp that one of them

was Cockerell. He had often wondered whether Capricorn knew about all the little deals his men

did, or whether they were working for themselves on the side now and then.

Farid caught a grasshopper in the hollow of his hand and watched it through his fingers. "I'm

going with you all the same," he said.

"No."

"I'm not afraid!"

"That makes it worse."

Capricorn had had floodlights installed after the escape of his captives — outside the church, on

the roof of his house, and in the parking area. They didn't exactly make it easier to walk the

streets unobserved. The first night after their arrival here Dustfinger had stolen into the village,

his scarred face blackened with soot because it was too easily recognizable. Capricorn had also

reinforced the guards on sentry duty, probably because of all the treasure Silvertongue had

brought him. By now, of course, that treasure had disappeared into the cellar of his house and

was carefully locked in the heavy safes that Capricorn had fitted there. He didn't care to spend

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money; like the dragons of legend, he hoarded it. Sometimes he placed a ring on his finger or put

a necklace around the neck of a maid who happened to take his fancy.

"Who are you going to meet?"

"None of your business."

The boy let the grasshopper go again. It hopped rapidly away on its spindly olive-green legs.

"A woman," said Dustfinger. "One of Capricorn's maids. She's helped me a couple of times

before."

"The one in the photo in your backpack?"

Dustfinger lowered his binoculars. "How do you know what's in my backpack?"

The boy hunched his head down between his shoulders, like someone used to being beaten for

every thoughtless remark. "I was looking for matches."

"If I catch you with your fingers in my pack again I'll tell Gwin to bite them off." '

The boy grinned. "Gwin never bites me."

He was right. The marten was crazy about Farid.

"Where is that faithless animal anyway?" Dustfinger peered through the branches. "I haven't

seen him since yesterday."

"I think he's found a female." Farid picked up a stick and Poked at the dead leaves that lay

everywhere under the trees. By night the rustling leaves would give away anyone trying to steal

up to their camp in silence. "If you don't take me with you tonight," said the boy, without looking

at Dustfinger, "I’ll just follow you anyway."

"If you follow me I will beat you black and blue."

Farid lowered his head and gazed inscrutably at his bare toes. Then he glanced at the ruined

walls where they had made their camp.

"And don't start on about the old woman's ghost again!" said Dustfinger crossly. "How often do I

have to tell you? All the danger is over in those houses. Light a fire in the hollow if you're afraid

of the dark."

"Ghosts don't fear fire." The boy's voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Sighing, Dustfinger clambered down from his lookout post. The boy was almost as bad as Basta.

He wasn't afraid of curses, ladders, or black cats, but he saw ghosts everywhere, and not just the

ghost of the old woman now sleeping buried somewhere in the hard ground. Farid saw other

ghosts and spirits, too, whole armies of them: malignant, all-powerful beings who tore the hearts

out of poor mortal boys and ate them. He refused to believe it when Dustfinger told him they

hadn't come with him, he had left them behind in a book along with the thieves who used to beat

and kick him. He might well die of fear if he stayed here alone all night. "Oh, very well then,

you'd better come," said Dustfinger. "But not a squeak out of you, understand? The men down

there aren’t t ghosts. They're real people, and they have knives and guns.'

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Gratefully, Farid flung his thin arms around him.

"Yes, all right, that'll do!" said Dustfinger, pushing him away. "Come on, let's see if you can stand

on one hand yet.

The boy immediately obeyed. Bright red in the face, he balanced first on his right hand and then

on his left, bare legs up in the air. After three wobbly seconds he landed in the prickly leaves of a

rockrose, but he promptly got up, pulled a few thorns out of his foot, and tried again.

Dustfinger sat down under a tree.

It was high time to get rid of the boy, but how? You could throw stones at a dog, but a boy . . .

Why hadn't he stayed with Silvertongue, who knew more about looking after young people? And

it was Silvertongue, after all, who had brought him here. But no, the boy had to run after him,

Dustfinger.

"I'm going to look for Gwin," said Dustfinger, getting to his feet.

Without a word Farid trotted after him.

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Chapter 32 – Back Again

She spoke to the King, hoping he would forbid his son to go, but he said: "Well, dear, it's

true that adventures are good for people even when they are very young. Adventures can

get into a person's blood even if he doesn't remember having them."

– Eva Ibbotson, The Secret of Platform 13

Capricorn's village didn't look like a dangerous place on the gray rainy day when Meggie set

eyes on it again. The houses standing among the green hills were a miserable sight with not a

ray of sunlight to brighten their ruins. Meggie could hardly believe these same houses had

looked so menacing on the night of their escape.

"Interesting," whispered Fenoglio as Basta drove into the parking lot. "Do you know, this village

is very like one of the settings I thought up for Inkheart Well, there's no fortress, but the

landscape around is similar, and the age of the village would be about right. Did you know that

Inkheart is set in a world not unlike our own medieval times? Of course I added some things —

the fairies and the giants." Meggie wasn't really listening to them now. She remembered how,

after their flight from the sheds where Capricorn had held them captive, she had stumbled

toward Elinor's car, and the man had shot at them. She had hoped she would never again have to

see this parking lot, the church, and these hills.

"Come on, get moving!" grunted Flatnose, opening the car door. "I expect you remember the

way."

Oh yes, Meggie could remember — even though it did all seem rather different today. Fenoglio

looked around the gloomy alleys like a tourist, staring at windows and open doors as if he'd paid

for entry. "I know this village!" he whispered to Meggie. "I mean, I've heard of it. There's more

than one sad story about the place. That earthquake in the last century, and then in the last war

there was —"

"Save your tongue for later, scribbler!" Basta interrupted. "I don't like whispering."

Fenoglio shot him an angry glance but fell silent and did not utter another sound until they had

reached the church.

"Well, go on, open the door. What are you waiting for?" growled Flatnose.

With Fenoglio's help, Meggie opened the heavy wooden door. The cool air that met them smelled

as musty as on the day she had entered the church with Mo and Elinor. Nothing much had

changed inside. The red walls looked even more threatening on this overcast day and the

expression on the doll-like face of Capricorn's statue seemed even more malevolent than before,

if that were possible. The braziers in which the books had been burned still stood in the same

place, but there was no sign of Capricorn's chair at the top of the steps. Two of his men were just

carrying a new chair up them. The old woman who looked like a magpie and who Meggie didn't

really like to remember was standing beside them, impatiently giving directions.

Basta pushed aside two women who were kneeling in the middle of the nave cleaning the floor

and strode toward the altar steps. "Where's Capricorn, Mortola?" he called to the old woman as

he approached. "I have news for him. Important news."

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The old woman didn't even turn toward him. "Farther to the right, you fools!" she ordered the

two men who were still struggling with the heavy armchair. "Yes, there, that'll do." Then she

turned toward Basta, her face expressionless.

"We expected you back before this," she said.

"What do you mean?" Basta had raised his voice, but Meggie caught the uncertainty it revealed.

It sounded almost as if he were afraid of the old woman. "Do you know how many villages there

are down this damn coast? And we weren't even sure whether Silvertongue was still in the area.

But I can rely on my nose, and as you see," he said, nodding in Meggie's direction, "I've done the

job."

"You have?" The Magpie looked past Basta to where Meggie and Fenoglio were standing with

Flatnose. "All I see is the girl and an old man. Where's her father?"

"He wasn't there, but he'll come after her. The girl's the best bait we could have."

"And how will he know she's here?"

"I left him a message."

"Since when can you write?"

Meggie saw Basta's shoulders tense with anger. "I left him my name. He won't need more than

that to know where to find his precious little daughter. Tell Capricorn I'm shutting her in one of

the cages." With these words he turned on his heel and stalked back to Meggie and Fenoglio.

"Capricorn's not here and I don't know when he'll be back!" Mortola called after him. "But I'm in

charge until then, and in my view you haven't been doing your job recently as well as we

expect."

Basta swung around as if he had been bitten on the back of the neck, but Mortola continued

unmoved.

"First, you let Dustfinger steal a set of keys from you, then you lose our dogs and we have to

send a search party out into the mountains for you, and now this! Give me your keys." The

Magpie put out her hand.

"What?" Basta went white, like a boy being punished in front of the whole class.

"You heard. I'm going to look after them: the keys to the cages, the crypt, and the fuel store.

Bring them here."

Basta didn't move. "You've no right to them!" he snapped. "Capricorn gave them to me, and he's

the only one who can take them away again." He turned around once more.

"And so he will!" Mortola called after him. "And he'll expect your report as soon as he gets back.

Maybe he'll understand better than I do why you didn't bring Silvertongue."

Basta did not reply. Seizing Meggie and Fenoglio by the arms, he hauled them toward the church

door. Mortola the Magpie called something after him, but Meggie couldn't make out what it was.

And Basta did not turn back this time.

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He locked her and Fenoglio in the shed marked number 5, the one where Farid had been

imprisoned. "OK, you can wait here till your father arrives!" he said before pushing Meggie

inside.

She felt as if this were a nightmare and she was dreaming it all over again. Only here there

wasn't even musty straw to sit on, and the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling didn't work.

Although a little daylight did come in through a narrow hole in the wall.

"Oh, wonderful!" said Fenoglio, sitting down on the cold floor with a sigh. "A cowshed. How

unimaginative. I really would have expected Capricorn to at least have a proper dungeon for his

prisoners."

"Cowshed?" Meggie leaned her back against the wall. She heard the rain pattering against the

locked door.

"Well, yes, what did you think it was? They always built houses like this in the old days: room for

the livestock on the ground floor and living quarters for the family above them. They still keep

their goats and donkeys like that in many mountain villages. Haven't you noticed when they've

driven the animals out to pasture in the morning there are steaming heaps of dung left lying in

the streets, and you tread in them when you go to buy your breakfast rolls?" Fenoglio plucked a

hair from one nostril, looked at it as if he couldn't believe anything quite so bristly grew in his

nose, and flicked it away. "This is really rather uncanny," he murmured. "That's exactly how I

imagined Capricorn's mother — that nose, the eyes set close together, even the way she folds

her arms and her chin juts forward."

Meggie looked at him incredulously. "Capricorn's mother! The Magpie?"

"Magpie! Is that what you call her?" Fenoglio laughed softly. "She has exactly the same nickname

in my story. How amazing. Be careful of her. She's not a very pleasant character.

"I thought she was his housekeeper."