第 50 页

He could make it impenetrable, a shield to keep his heart from prying eyes. What business was it

of anyone else to know what was in his heart?

Resa bent over the paper again and began to write.

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Hear and attend and listen; for this befell and behappened and became and was, O my Best

Beloved, when the Tame animals were wild, she wrote.

Dustfinger smiled. "The Dog was wild," he whispered. "And the Horse was wild, and the Sheep was

wild, and the Pig was wild — as wild as wild could be — and they walked in the Wet Wild Woods

by their wild lones. But the wildest of all wild animals was the Cat. He walked by himself, and all

places were alike to him."

Resa always knew what story he needed at any given moment. She was a stranger in this world,

just like him. It couldn't be that she belonged to Silvertongue.

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Chapter 44 – Farid’s Report

"All right," said Spiff. "Now this is what I say, anyone who thinks they've got a better plan

can say so afterwards."

– Michael de Larrabeiti, The Borribles Go for Broke

When Farid came back Silvertongue was waiting for him. Elinor was asleep under the trees, her

face flushed by the midday heat, but Silvertongue was still standing where Farid had left him.

Relief spread over his face as he saw the boy coming up the hill.

"We heard shots!" he called. "I thought we'd never see you again."

"They were shooting at cats," replied Farid, letting himself drop on to the grass. Silvertongue's

concern made Farid feel awkward. He wasn't used to people being concerned for his safety.

What kept you? Where have you been all this time? That was the kind of reception he was used to.

Even Dustfinger's face had always been closed to him, as uncommunicative as a barred door. But

with Silvertongue's face it was different.

Anxiety, joy, anger, pain, love — it was all plain to see, written on his brow, even when he tried

to hide it, just as he was now trying not to ask the question that must have been on the tip of his

tongue ever since he saw Farid approaching.

"Your daughter's all right," said Farid. "And she got your message, though she's shut up on the

top floor of Capricorn's house. But Gwin is a wonderful climber, even better than Dustfinger, and

that's saying something." He heard Silvertongue breathe a sigh of relief, as if all the cares in the

world had lifted from his shoulders.

"I've even brought an answer." Farid took Gwin out of the backpack, held him firmly by the tail,

and untied Meggie's note from his collar. Silvertongue unfolded the paper as carefully as if he

feared his fingers might wipe away the words. "An endpaper," he murmured. "She must have

torn it out of a book."

"What does she say?"

"Have you tried to read it?"

Farid shook his head and took a piece of bread out of his pants pocket. Gwin had earned a

reward. But the marten had disappeared, probably to catch up on his long-overdue daytime

sleep.

"You can't read, is that it?"

"No."

"Well, not many people could read this anyway. It's the same secret writing that I used. As you

saw, not even Elinor can decipher it." Silvertongue smoothed out the paper. It was a dull yellow

like desert sand. He read — and then suddenly raised his head. "Good heavens!" he murmured.

"Imagine that!"

"Imagine what?" Farid bit into the bread he had been keeping for the marten. It was stale; they'd

have to steal some more soon.

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"Meggie can do it, too!" Silvertongue shook his head incredulously and stared at the note in his

hand.

Farid propped one elbow on the grass. "I know. They're all talking about it — I heard them. They

say she can work magic like you, and now Capricorn doesn't have to wait for you anymore. He

doesn't need you now."

Silvertongue looked at him as if this idea hadn't yet crossed his mind. "True," he murmured.

"Now they'll never let her go. Not of their own accord." He stared at the words his daughter had

written on the paper. To Farid they looked like the tracks left by snakes slithering across the

sand.

"What else does she say?"

"They've caught Dustfinger and Meggie's to read someone out of the book to come . . . and kill

him. Tomorrow, when it gets dark." He lowered the note and ran his hand through his hair.

"Yes, I heard about that, too." Farid pulled up a blade of grass and tore it into tiny pieces. "It

seems they've locked him in the crypt under the church. What else is in that note? Doesn't your

daughter say who it is she's to bring out for Capricorn?"

Silvertongue shook his head, but Farid saw that he knew more about it than he was saying.

"Come on, you can tell me! Some kind of executioner, am I right? A man who knows all about

cutting off heads."

Silvertongue acted as if he hadn't heard him.

"I saw something like that once," said Farid, "so it's all right for you to tell me about it. If the

executioner is good with a sword it's all over quite fast."

Silvertongue looked at him for a moment, astonished, and then shook his head. "It's not an

executioner," he said. "At least, not a man with a sword. Not a man at all."

Farid turned pale. "Not a man?"

Silvertongue shook his head. It was some time before he went on. "They call him the Shadow,"

he said in an expressionless voice. "I don't remember the exact words describing him in the

book. All I know is that I pictured him to myself as a figure made completely of burning ashes,

red and gray. And without a face."

Farid stared at him. For a moment he wished he hadn't asked.

"They — they're all looking forward to this execution," he said in a faltering voice. "Those Black

Jackets are in a really good mood. They're going to kill the woman Dustfinger was visiting as

well. Because she tried to find the book for him." He burrowed his bare toes into the earth.

Dustfinger had tried to get him used to wearing shoes because of the snakes, but when you wore

shoes you felt as if someone was pinching your toes, so in the end he'd thrown them on the fire.

"What woman? One of Capricorn's maids?" Silvertongue looked at him with a gleam in his eyes.

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Farid nodded. He rubbed his toes. They were covered with ant bites. "She can't talk. Dumb as a

sand fly. Dustfinger has a photo of her in his backpack. She's probably helped him quite often.

And I think he's in love with her."

It hadn't been difficult for Farid to explore the village. There were lots of boys there no older

than him. They washed the cars for the Black Jackets, cleaned their boots and their guns,

delivered love letters. He'd delivered love letters himself in that other life. He hadn't had to clean

boots, but weapons, yes — and he'd had to shovel camel dung. Polishing cars was much lighter

work.

Silvertongue looked up at the sky. Tiny clouds were drifting by, pale as a heron's feathers,

ruffled like acacia flowers. Clouds often passed across this sky. Farid liked that. The desert sky

he had known before was always empty.

"Tomorrow," murmured Silvertongue. "What am I to do? How am I going to get her out of

Capricorn's house? Perhaps I can get in somehow by night. I'd need one of those black suits the

—"

"I've brought you one." Farid took first the jacket, then the pants out of the backpack. "Stole

them off a clothesline. And a dress for Elinor."

Silvertongue looked at him with such obvious admiration that Farid blushed. "What an

extraordinary fellow you are! Perhaps I should askyou how I'm going to get Meggie out of this

village."

Farid smiled awkwardly and looked at his toes. Ask him? No one had ever asked him for his

ideas before. He had always been the scout, the tracker dog. Others had made the plans for

robberies, raids, revenge. You didn't ask the dog's opinion. You beat the dog if he didn't obey.

"There are only two of us, and there are at least twenty of them down there," he said. "It won't

be easy. ..."

Silvertongue looked over at their campsite and the woman asleep under the trees. "Aren't you

counting Elinor? You should! She's much fiercer than I am, and just at the moment she is very,

very angry."

Farid had to smile. "All right, three!" he said. "Three against twenty."

"Yes, I know, that doesn't sound good." Silvertongue stood up, sighing. "Come on, let's tell Elinor

what you've found out," he said, but Farid stayed where he was in the grass. He picked up one of

the dry branches lying everywhere. First-class firewood. There was any amount of it here. In his

old life people would have gone a long, long way for wood like this. They'd have given good

money for it. Farid looked at the wood rubbed his finger over the rough bark, and looked at

Capricorn's village.

"We could get fire to help us," he said.

Silvertongue looked at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

Farid picked up another stick, and another. He heaped them all up, all the dry twigs and

branches. "Dustfinger showed me how to tame fire. It's like Gwin: It bites if you don't know how

to handle it, but if you treat it properly it does as you want. That's what Dustfinger taught me. If

we use it at the right time, in the right place ..."

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Silvertongue bent down, picked up one of the branches, and weighed it in his hand. "And how

are you going to control it once you've got a fire going? It hasn't rained for ages. The hills will be

ablaze before you know it."

Farid shrugged. "Only if the wind blows the wrong way."

But Silvertongue shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "I won't play with fire in these hills unless

I can't think of anything else. Let's steal into the village tonight. Maybe we can get past the

guards. Maybe they know each other so little they'll think I'm one of them. After all, we managed

to slip through their fingers once, so maybe we can do it again."

"That's a lot of maybes," said Farid.

"I know!" replied Silvertongue. "I know."

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Chapter 45 – Telling Lies to Basta

"If ye see the laird, tell him what ye hear; tell him this makes the twelve hunner and

nineteen time that Jennet Clouston has called down the curse on him and his house, byre

and stable, man, guest and master, wife, miss, or bairn —black, black be their fall."

– Robert Louis Stevenson, Kidnapped

It took Fenoglio only a few words to persuade the guard outside the door that he had to speak to

Basta at once. The old man was a gifted liar. He could spin stories out of thin air faster than a

spider spins its web.

"What do you want, old man?" asked Basta when he was standing in the doorway. He had

brought the tin soldier. "Here, little witch!" he said to Meggie, handing her the soldier. "I'dhave

thrown it on the fire, but nobody here listens to me these days."

The tin soldier started at the wordfire. His mustache bristled, and his eyes looked so alarmed it

touched Meggie's heart. When she put her hands protectively around him she thought she felt

his heart beating. She remembered the end of his story; The soldier melted. The next day when

the maid emptied the stove, she found a little tin heart, which was all that was left of him.

"That's right, no one listens to you anymore. I can see that for myself!" Fenoglio looked

sympathetically at Basta, as a father might look at his son — which in a way he was. "And that's

why I wanted a word with you." He lowered his voice and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm

offering you a deal."

"A deal?" Basta scrutinized him with a mixture of wariness and arrogance.

"Yes, a deal," repeated Fenoglio softly. "I'm bored here! I'm a scribbler, as you so aptly put it, I

need paper to live on much as other people need bread and wine and so forth. Bring me some

paper, Basta, and I'll help you to get those keys back. You remember — the keys that the Magpie

took away from you."

Basta took out his knife. When he snapped it open the tin soldier began trembling so much that

the bayonet slipped from his tiny hands. "How?" asked Basta, cleaning his fingernails with the

tip of the knife.

Fenoglio bent down to him. "I'll write you a magic charm to put a hex on Mortola — a hex that

will keep her in bed for weeks and give you time to show Capricorn you are the rightful keeper

of the keys. Of course, that kind of charm doesn't work instantly, it needs time, but believe you

me, when it does start to take effect..." Fenoglio raised his eyebrows meaningfully.