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"The point is that Blodeuedd didn't do what was expected of her. And that's our own plan: Your

voice and my words, beautiful, brand-new words, will see to it that Capricorn's Shadow does not

do what's expected of him!" Fenoglio looked as pleased as a tortoise who has found a fresh

lettuce leaf somewhere entirely unexpected.

"Then what exactly is he to do?"

Fenoglio wrinkled his brow. His satisfaction was all gone. "I'm still working on that," he said

crossly, tapping his forehead. "In here. It takes time."

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Voices were raised outside — men's voices. They came from the other side of the wall. Meggie

slipped quickly off her bed and ran to the open window. She heard footsteps, rapid, stumbling,

fleeing footsteps — then shots. She leaned out of the window so far she almost fell out, but she

could see nothing. The noise seemed to come from the square outside the church.

"Careful!" whispered Fenoglio, grasping her shoulders. More shots were heard. Capricorn's men

were calling to one another. Their voices sounded angry and excited — oh, why couldn't she

make out what they were saying? She looked at Fenoglio, her eyes full of fear. Perhaps he had

been able to understand some of the shouting — words, names?

"I know what you're thinking, but it certainly wasn't your father," he soothed her. "He wouldn't

be crazy enough to creep into Capricorn's house at night!" Gently, he drew her back from the

window. The voices died away. The night became still again as if nothing had happened.

Her heart beating fast, Meggie went back to bed. Fenoglio helped her up.

"Make him kill Capricorn!" she whispered. "Make the Shadow kill him." Her own words

frightened her, but she did not take them back.

Fenoglio rubbed his forehead. "Yes, I suppose I must, mustn't I?" he murmured.

Meggie took Mo's sweater and held it close. Doors slammed somewhere in the house; the sound

of footsteps echoed up to them. Then all was silent again. It was a menacing silence. A deathly

silence, thought Meggie. The word kept going through her mind.

"Suppose the Shadow doesn't obey you?" she asked. "Like the flower maiden. Then what?"

"We had better not even think of that," replied Fenoglio slowly.

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Chapter 47 – Alone

"Why, O why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole!" said poor Mr. Baggins bumping up and

down on Bombur's back.

– J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

When Elinor heard the shots she jumped up so fast that she stumbled over her blanket in the

dark and fell full length in the coarse grass. It pricked her hands as she got up. "Oh God, oh God,

they've caught them!" she stammered, groping around in the night looking for the stupid dress

the boy had stolen for her. It was so dark she could scarcely see her own feet. "Oh, it serves them

right," she kept repeating to herself. "Why didn't they take me with them, the stupid idiots? I

could have kept watch, I'd have been on the alert." But when she finally found the dress and

pulled it over her head with trembling fingers she suddenly stood still.

How quiet it was. Deathly quiet.

They've shot them, something whispered inside her. That's why it's so quiet. They're dead. Dead

as mutton. They're lying bleeding on that square outside the house, both of them, oh, my God!

Now what? She sobbed. No, Elinor, no tears now. What use are tears? You must look for them,

come on. She stumbled off. Was she going the right way?

"No, you can't come, too, Elinor," Mortimer had said. He had looked so different in the black suit

Farid had stolen for him — like one of Capricorn's men, which of course was the point of the

masquerade. The boy had even found him a shotgun.

"Why not?" she had replied. "I'll even put that silly dress on!"

"A woman would be conspicuous, Elinor! You've seen for yourself — there are never any women

in the streets at night. Only the guards. Ask the boy."

"I don't want to ask him! Why didn't he steal a suit for me, too? Then I could have disguised

myself as a man."

They had no answer to that.

"Elinor, please, we need someone to stay with our things!"

"Our things? You mean Dustfinger's dirty backpack?" She was so angry she had kicked it. How

clever they'd thought themselves, but their disguise had done them no good! Who had

recognized them? Basta, Flatnose, the man with the limp? "We'll be back by dawn, Elinor, with

Meggie," Mo had said. Liar! She could tell from his voice he didn't believe it himself. Elinor

stumbled over a tree root, grabbed at something prickly, and fell to her knees sobbing.

Murderers! Murderers and fire-raisers. What had she to do with people like that? She should

have known better when Mortimer suddenly turned up at her door, asking her to hide the book.

Why hadn't she just said no? Hadn't she thought instantly that the matchstick-eater looked like

someone with the word trouble written all over him in red? But the book — ah, the book. Of

course she hadn't been able to resist the book.

They took that stinking marten with them, she thought as she picked herself up again, but not

me. And now they're dead. "Let's go to the police!" How often she'd said that! But Mortimer had

always given the same answer. "No, Elinor, Capricorn would get Meggie well out of the way as

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soon as the first police officer set foot in the village. And believe me, Basta's knife is faster than

all the police in the world." As he spoke she had seen that little frown above his nose, and she

knew him well enough to know what that meant.

What was she going to do? She was alone, after all.

Don't make such a fuss, Elinor, she told herself. You've always been alone, remember. Now, use

your head. Whatever's happened to her father, you must help the girl — get her out of this

thrice-accursed village. There's no one left but you to do it. If you don't, she'll end up as one of

those timid maidservants who scarcely dare to raise their heads and whose only purpose is to

clean and cook for their ghastly master. Perhaps she'll be allowed to read aloud to Capricorn

now and then, when he feels like it, and then, when she's older . . . she's a pretty little thing.

Elinor felt sick. "I need a shotgun," she whispered, "or a knife, a big sharp knife. I'll slip into

Capricorn's house with it. Who's going to recognize me in this unspeakable dress?" Mortimer

had always thought she couldn't cope with the world except between the covers of a book, but

she'd show him!

Just how will you do that? asked the little whispering voice inside. He's gone, Elinor, gone like

your books.

She wept, so loudly that she even alarmed herself and put a hand to her mouth. A twig cracked

under her feet, and the light went out behind one of the windows in Capricorn's village. She had

been right. The world was a terrible place, cruel, pitiless, dark as a bad dream. Not a good place

to live in. Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness — and love. Books loved anyone

who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn't ask anything in return; they

never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly. Love, truth, beauty, wisdom, and

consolation against death. Who had said that? Someone else who loved books; she couldn't

remember the author's name, only the words. Words are immortal — until someone comes

along and burns them.

She stumbled on, getting closer all the time. Pale light seeped from Capricorn's village, like milky

water running into the night. Three of the murderers were standing among the vehicles in the

parking lot with their heads together. "Talk away!" whispered Elinor. "Boast, why don't you,

with your bloodstained fingers and black hearts — you'll be sorry yet for killing them." Would it

be better to go down right away or wait until daylight? Both were mad ideas; she wouldn't get

beyond the third house in the village. One of the three men looked around, and for a moment

Elinor thought he could see her. She scrambled back, slipped, and grabbed at a branch before

she lost her footing again. Then came a rustling behind her, and a hand covered her mouth

before she could turn around. She wanted to scream, but the fingers were pressing so hard on

her lips she couldn't utter a sound.

"So here you are. Any idea how long I've been looking for you?"

It couldn't be true. She had been so sure she would never hear that voice again.

"Mortimer!"

"Sorry, but I knew you'd scream! Come on!" Mortimer took his hand away from her mouth and

gestured to her to follow him. She wasn't sure which she wanted to do most, fling her arms

around his neck or hit him hard enough to hurt.

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Only when the houses of Capricorn's village were almost out of sight behind the trees did he

stop. "Why didn't you stay at the camp? Staggering around here in the dark — have you any idea

how dangerous it is?"

This was too much. He had walked so fast Elinor was still gasping for breath. "Dangerous?" In

her fury, she found it difficult to keep her voice down. "You're a fine one to talk about danger! I

thought you were both dead! I thought they'd stabbed you or shot you or ..."

He rubbed a weary hand over his face. "Some of them are pretty poor shots," he said. "Luckily."

His calm tone made Elinor want to shake him. "Really? And what about the boy?"

"He's all right, too, except for a scratch on his forehead. When they started firing the marten ran

away and Farid went after him. That's when a ricochet caught him. I've left him up at the camp."

"The marten? Is that all you can think about, that vicious, stinking animal? Tonight has aged me

by ten years!" Elinor's voice was rising again, and she forced herself to lower it. "I put on this

horrible dress," she hissed. " And I could see you in my mind's eye, lots of blood and terrible

wounds . . . Oh, must you look at me like that?" she snapped. "It's a wonder you're not both dead.

I should never have listened to you. We should have gone to the police. This time they must

believe us, they —"

"It was bad luck, Elinor, that's all," Mo interrupted.

"Honestly. It just happened to be Cockerell on guard outside the house. The others wouldn't

have recognized me."

"And what about tomorrow? Perhaps it'll be Basta or Flat-nose then. How's it going to help your

daughter if you're dead?"

Mo turned his back to her. "But I'm not dead, Elinor," he said evenly. "And I'm going to get

Meggie out of there before she has to play the leading role at an execution."

When they reached their camp Farid was asleep. The bloodstained bandage Mortimer had tied

around his head looked almost like the turban he had been wearing when he first appeared

among the columns of Capricorn's church.

"It looks worse than it is," Mo whispered. "But if I hadn't held him back he'd have chased halfway

around the village after that marten. And if they hadn't caught us I expect he'd have slipped into

the church, too, to see how Dustfinger was doing."

Elinor only nodded and wrapped her blanket around her. It was a mild night; anywhere else it

could have been called peaceful.

"How did you shake them off?" she asked.

Mortimer sat down beside the boy. Only now did Elinor see that he was carrying the shotgun

that Farid had stolen for him. He took it off his shoulder and put it down in the grass beside him.

"They didn't follow us for long," he said. "Why bother? They know we'll be back. All they have to

do is wait."

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And this time Elinor would be with them, she promised herself. She never again wanted to feel

as utterly deserted as she had this night. "What are you planning to do next?" she asked.

"Farid's idea was to start a fire. I thought that would be too dangerous, but we're running short

of time."

"Fire?" Elinor felt as if the word would burn her tongue. Ever since she had found the ashes of

her books, the mere sight of a matchstick had caused her to panic.

"Dustfinger's taught the boy something about handling fire, and anyway, as we know, even the

biggest fool can start one. If we were to send Capricorn's house up in flames —"

"Are you crazy? Suppose it spreads to the hills?"

Mo bowed his head and stroked his hand over the barrel of the gun. "I know," he said, "but I

can't see any other way. The fire will create a diversion, Capricorn's men will be kept busy

putting it out, and in all the confusion I'll try to get through to Meggie while Farid releases

Dustfinger."

"You're mad!" This time Elinor couldn't help her voice rising. Farid muttered something in his