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storyteller never writes down everything he knows about his characters. There's no need for

readers to know everything. Some of it is better kept secret between the author and his

creations. Take him, for instance," he added, pointing to Basta. "I always knew he was a very

unhappy boy before you picked him up. As it says in another very fine book, it's terribly easy to

persuade children that they are worthless. Basta was convinced of it. Not that you taught him

any better, oh no! Why would you? But suddenly here was someone to whom he could devote

himself, someone who told him what to do — he'd found a god, Capricorn, and if you treated him

badly, well, who says that all gods are kindly? Most of them are stern and cruel, wouldn't you

agree? I didn't write all this in the book. I knew it, that was enough. But never mind Basta now,

let's move on to you."

Capricorn's eyes did not move from Fenoglio. His face was as rigid as if it had turned to stone.

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"Capricorn." Fenoglio's voice sounded almost tender as he spoke the name. He gazed over

Capricorn's shoulder as if he had forgotten that the man he was talking about was standing right

in front of him and no longer existed only in an entirely different world between the covers of a

book. "He has another name, too, of course, but even he doesn't remember it. He has called

himself Capricorn since he was fifteen, after the star sign under which he was born. Capricorn

the unapproachable, unfathomable, insatiable, who likes to play God or the devil as the fancy

takes him. The devil doesn't have a mother, though, does he?" Fenoglio then looked Capricorn in

the eye. "Butyou do."

Meggie looked up at the Magpie. She had come to the edge of the steps, listening, her bony hands

clenched into fists.

"You like to spread the rumor that she was of noble birth," Fenoglio went on. "Indeed, it

sometimes even pleases you to say she was a king's daughter, and your father, you claim, was an

armorer at her father's court. A very nice story, too. Shall I tell you my version?"

For the first time, Meggie saw something like fear on Capricorn's face, a nameless fear without

beginning or end, and behind it hatred rose like a vast black shadow.

Meggie felt sure Capricorn wanted to strike Fenoglio to the ground, but his fear was too strong,

leaving him helpless to act.

Did Fenoglio see that, too?

"Go on, tell your story. Why not?" Capricorn's eyes were unblinking, like a snake's.

Fenoglio smiled as mischievously as one of his grandsons. "Very well, let's go on. The tale of the

court armorer was all lies, of course." Meggie still had a feeling that the old man was enjoying

himself enormously. He might have been teasing a kitten. Did he know so little about his own

creation? "Capricorn's father was an ordinary blacksmith," he went on, refusing to let the cold

rage in Capricorn's eyes distract him. "He made his son play with hot coals, and sometimes he

beat him almost as hard as he beat the iron he forged. There were blows if the boy ever showed

pity, and more blows for shedding tears, and for every time the lad said, 'I can't' or ‘I’ll never do

it.' Power is all that counts,' he taught his son. 'Rules are made by the strongest, so be sure that

you're the one who makes them.' Capricorn's mother thought that was the only real truth in the

world, and she told her son day in, day out that one day he would be the strongest of all. She was

no princess but a serving maid, with coarse hands and roughened knees, and she followed her

son like a shadow, even when he began to be ashamed of her and invented a new mother and

new father for himself. She admired him for his cruelty; she loved to see the terror he spread

abroad. And she loved his ink-black heart. Your heart is a stone, Capricorn, a black stone with

about as much human sympathy as a lump of coal, and you are very, very proud of that."

Capricorn went on playing with his cufflink, turning it around and looking at it as intently as if

he were giving all his attention not to Fenoglio's words but to the little red piece of metal. When

the old man fell silent, Capricorn carefully pulled the sleeve of his jacket down over his wrist and

brushed a speck of fluff off his arm. With it, he seemed to have brushed off his anger — his pale,

indifferent eyes no longer showed rage, hatred, or fear.

"That really is an amazing story, old man," he said in a quiet voice. "I like it. You're a born liar, so

I shall keep you here — for the time being — until I tire of your stories."

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"Keep me here?" Fenoglio stood very straight. "I've no intention of staying here! What on earth

—"

But Capricorn put a hand over his mouth. "Not another word!" he hissed. "Basta has told me

about your three grandchildren. If you give me any trouble, or tell your lies not to me but to my

men, I shall get Basta to gift wrap a few young vipers and leave them outside your

grandchildren's door. Do I make myself clear, old man?"

Fenoglio's head drooped as if Capricorn had broken his neck with nothing but a few softly

spoken words. When he looked up again, fear showed in every wrinkle of his face.

With a satisfied smile, Capricorn put his hands in his pants pockets. "Yes, you all love something,

softhearted as you are," he said. "Children, grandchildren, brothers and sisters, parents, dogs,

cats, canary birds . . . There are no exceptions: farmers, shopkeepers, even policemen have

families or at least keep a dog. You have only to look at her father!" Capricorn pointed at Meggie

so suddenly, she jumped. "He'll come here even though he knows I won't let him go again, any

more than I will let his daughter go. He'll come all the same. Isn't this world an amazing place?"

"Amazing indeed," murmured Fenoglio, and for the first time he looked at his creation with

revulsion rather than admiration. Capricorn seemed to prefer that.

"Basta!" he called, beckoning him. Basta strolled over deliberately slowly. He was still looking

sulky. "Take the old man to the room where we once locked Darius," Capricorn ordered. "And

post a guard outside the door."

"You want me to take him intoyour house?" Basta sounded surprised.

"Yes, why not? After all, he claims to be almost like a father to me. Anyway, his tales amuse me."

Basta shrugged and grasped Fenoglio's arm. Meggie looked at the old man, horrified. She would

soon be all alone with nothing but the windowless walls and a locked door. But Fenoglio reached

for her hand before Basta could haul him away. "Leave the girl with me," he said to Capricorn.

"You can't shut her up in that hole again all by herself. And I promised her father I'd look after

her."

Capricorn turned his back, looking indifferent. "As you like. Her father will be here soon in any

case."

Yes, Mo would come. Meggie could think of nothing else as Fenoglio led her away with him, his

arm around her shoulders as if he really could protect her from Capricorn and Basta and all the

others. But he couldn't. Would Mo be able to protect her? Of course not. He mustn't come, she

thought. Please. Perhaps he won't be able to find the way again! He mustn't come. Yet there was

nothing she wanted more, nothing in the whole wide world.

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Chapter 35 – Different Aims

Faber sniffed the book. "Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a

foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy."

– Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

It was Farid who saw the car. Dustfinger was lying under the trees as it came along the road. He

was trying to think clearly, but since learning that Capricorn was back he couldn't pull his

thoughts together. He still didn't know where to look for the book. The leaves of the trees cast

shadows on his face, the sun sent white-hot needles down through the branches, and his

forehead felt feverish. Basta and Flatnose were back, too, of course. What had he expected? Had

he thought they'd stay away forever? "Why get so agitated, Dustfinger?" he whispered up at the

leaves. "You didn't have to come back here. You knew it would be dangerous." Then he heard

footsteps approaching, rapidly.

"A gray car!" Farid had run so fast he was gasping for breath as he flung himself down on the

grass beside Dustfinger. "I think it's Silvertongue!"

Dustfinger jumped up. The boy knew what he was talking about. He really could tell those

stinking metal beetles apart from one another. He himself had never got the knack of it.

He quickly followed Farid to where there was a view of the bridge. The road wound away from it

toward Capricorn's village like a slow-moving snake. They didn't have much time if they wanted

to stop Silvertongue. At top speed, they stumbled down the hillside. Farid was the first to reach

the road. Dustfinger had always been proud of his own agility, but the boy was far nimbler, fast

as a deer and with legs just as agile. And he was getting better at playing with fire now, too, as

fascinated as a boy with a puppy.

Silvertongue braked sharply when he saw Dustfinger and Farid in the road. He looked tired, as if

he had slept badly for the last few nights. Elinor was in the car beside him. Where had she

sprung from? Hadn't she gone home to her book-lined tomb? And where was Meggie?

Silvertongue's face darkened when he saw Dustfinger. As he got out of the car he was rigid with

anger. "Of course! You told them!" he cried, coming toward him. "You told them where we were!

Who else? What did Capricorn promise you this time?"

"I told who what?" Dustfinger retreated. "I never told anyone anything! Ask the boy."

But Silvertongue didn't so much as glance at Farid. The bookworm woman had gotten out, too.

She stood beside the car looking grim.

"The only person who told anyone anything was you!" Dustfinger accused him. "You told the old

man about me even though you promised you wouldn't."

Silvertongue stopped in his tracks. It was so easy to make him feel guilty.

"Better hide the car under the trees there." Dustfinger pointed to the side of the road. "One of

Capricorn's men could pass at any time, and they don't like to see strange cars here."

Silvertongue turned and looked down the road.

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"Surely you don't believe him?" cried Elinor. "Of course he's given you away, who else could?

The man starts telling lies the moment he opens his mouth."

"Basta took Meggie away." Silvertongue sounded hoarse, quite unlike himself, as if when he'd

lost his daughter he had lost the sound of his voice, too. "They took Fenoglio as well — yesterday

morning when I went to meet Elinor at the airport. We've been looking for the wretched village

ever since. I had no idea how many deserted villages there are in these hills. It wasn't until we

came to the barrier over the road that I felt sure we were on the right track at last."

Dustfinger said nothing but looked up at the sky. A few birds as black as Capricorn's men were

flying south. He had not seen them bringing the girl in, but then he hadn't spent the whole day

watching that accursed village.

"Basta was gone for several days. I thought he must be looking for the two of you," he said.

"You're lucky he didn't get hold of you, too."

"Lucky?" Elinor was still standing beside the car. "Tell him to get out of the way!" she told

Silvertongue. "Or I'll run him down myself! He's been hand in glove with those miserable fire-

raisers all along."

Silvertongue was still looking at Dustfinger as if he couldn't decide whether or not to believe

him. "Capricorn's men broke into Elinor's house," he said at last. "They took all the books from

her library into the garden and burned them."

Dustfinger had to admit that for a split second he felt something almost like satisfaction. What

had the silly bookworm woman expected? Did she think Capricorn would simply forget her? He

shrugged his shoulders and looked at Elinor, his face unreadable. "Only to be expected," he said.

"Only to be expected!" Elinor's voice almost cracked. Belligerent as a bull terrier, she marched

up to him. Farid tried to bar her way, but she pushed him aside so roughly that he fell on the hot

asphalt of the road. "Maybe you can fool the boy with your fire breathing and your colored balls,

matchstick-eater!" she snapped at Dustfinger. "But it won't work with me! There's nothing left of

the books in my library but a load of ash. The police were full of admiration for what those

villains had done. 'At least they didn't burn your house down, Signora Loredan! Even your

garden is all right except for the scorch mark on the lawn.' What do I care for the house? What

do I care for the wretched lawn? They burned my most valuable books!"

Dustfinger saw the tears in her eyes, although she quickly turned her face aside, and suddenly

something like sympathy did awake in him. Perhaps she was more like him than he'd thought: