第 54 页

she could wonder about that anymore Mortola put the book on her lap.

"A word about this to anyone here, or indeed anywhere else," hissed the Magpie, "and I

personally will prepare your next meal. A little extract of monkshood, a few shoots of yew or

perhaps a couple of hemlock seeds in the sauce—how do you fancy that? I can assure you you'd

find it a hard meal to digest. Now, start reading."

Meggie stared at the book on her lap. When Capricorn held it up in the church she hadn't been

able to make out the picture on the jacket. Now she had a chance to see it at close range. There

was a landscape in the background that looked like a slightly different version of the hills

surrounding Capricorn's village. But the foreground showed a heart, a black heart surrounded

by red flames.

"Go on, open it!" snapped the Magpie.

Meggie obeyed. She opened the book at the page beginning with the N and the horned marten

perched on it. How long ago was it since she had stood in Elinor's library looking at the same

page? An eternity, a whole lifetime?

"Wrong page. Go on," the Magpie told her. "Find the page with the corner turned down."

Wordlessly, Meggie obeyed. There was no picture on that page or the one opposite it. Without

thinking she smoothed out the corner with her thumbnail. Mo hated to see dog-eared pages.

"What's the idea? Do you want to make it difficult for me to find the place again?" hissed the

Magpie. "Begin with the second paragraph, but mind you don't read aloud. I don't want to find

the Shadow here in my room."

"How far should I go? I mean, how far am I to read this evening?"

"How should I know?" The Magpie leaned over and rubbed her left leg. "How long does it usually

take you to read your fairies and tin soldiers and so forth out of their stories?"

Meggie lowered her head. Poor Tinker Bell. "I can't say," she murmured. "It depends. Sometimes

it happens soon, sometimes not until after many pages, or not at all."

"Well, read the whole chapter, that ought to be enough! And you can leave out the 'not at all'

business." The Magpie rubbed her other leg. They were both wrapped in bandages that could be

seen through the dark stockings she wore. "What are you staring at?" she snapped at Meggie.

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"Can you read me something out of a book to do my legs good? Do you know a story with a cure

for old age and death in it, little witch that you are?"

"No," whispered Meggie.

"Then don't gawp so stupidly, look at the book. Mind you notice every word. I don't want to hear

you stumble once tonight, no stammering, no mispronunciations, understood? This time

Capricorn is to get exactly what he wants. I will see to that."

Meggie let her eyes wander over the letters. She wasn't taking in a word of what she read; she

could think of nothing but Mo and the shots fired in the night. But she pretended to be reading,

on and on, while Mortola never took her eyes off her. Finally, she raised her head and closed the

book. "Finished," she said.

"What, already?" The Magpie looked at her suspiciously.

Meggie did not reply. She glared at Basta. He was leaning on Mortola's armchair looking bored.

"I'm not going to read that aloud this evening," she said. "You shot my father last night. Basta

told me. I won't read a word."

The Magpie turned to Basta. "What was the idea of that?" she asked angrily. "Do you think the

child will read better if you break her silly heart? Tell her you missed him and get on with it."

Basta lowered his head like a boy caught doing wrong by his mother. "I did tell her, well. . .

almost," he growled. "Cockerell's a terrible shot. Your father didn't suffer so much as a scratch."

Meggie closed her eyes with relief. She felt warm and wonderful. Everything was all right, or at

least what wasn't all right soon would be.

Happiness made her bold. "There's something else," she said. Why should she be afraid? They

needed her. She was the only one who could read their wretched Shadow out of the book for

them; no one else could do it — except Mo, and they hadn't caught him yet. They would never

catch him now, ever.

"What is it?" The Magpie smoothed her sternly pinned-up hair. What had she looked like when

she was Meggie's age? Had her lips been so mean even then?

"I will read only if I can see Dustfinger again. Before he ..." She did not end the sentence.

"What for?"

Because I want to tell him we're going to try to save him and because I think my mother is with

him, thought Meggie, but naturally she did not say so out loud. "I want to tell him I'm sorry," she

replied instead. "After all, he helped us."

Mortola's mouth twisted mockingly. "How touching!" she said.

I only want to see her once, close-up, thought Meggie. Perhaps it isn't her after all. Perhaps . . .

"Suppose I say no?" The Magpie was watching her like a cat playing with a young and

inexperienced mouse.

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But Meggie had been expecting that question. "Then I will bite my tongue!" she said. "I will bite it

so hard that it swells right up and I won't be able to read aloud this evening."

The Magpie leaned back in her chair and laughed. "Hear that, Basta? The child is no fool!" Basta

only grunted. But Mortola studied Meggie, almost benevolently. "I'll tell you something: Yes, you

can have your silly little wish. But about this evening: Before you read, I want you to have a good

look at my photographs."

Meggie glanced around.

"Look at them closely. Do you see all those faces? Every one of those people made an enemy of

Capricorn, and none of them was ever heard from again. The houses you see in the photographs

are no longer standing either, not one of them, they have all been burned down. Think of those

photos when you're reading, little witch. Should you stumble over the words, or get any silly

notions about simply holding your tongue, then your face will soon be looking out of one of

these pretty gold frames, too. But if you do well we'll let you go back to your father. Why not?

Read like an angel tonight, and you'll see him again! I've been told that his voice clothes every

word in silk and satin, turns it into flesh and blood. And that's how you are to read aloud, not

uncertainly and stammering like that fool Darius. Do you understand?"

Meggie looked at her. "I understand!" she said quietly, although she knew for certain that the

Magpie was lying.

They would never let her go back to Mo. He would have to come and get her.

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Chapter 49 – Basta’s Pride and Dustfinger’s Cunning

"Still, I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We're in one, of course; but I

mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out of a great big book with

red and black letters, years and years afterwards. And people will say: 'Let's hear about

Frodo and the Ring!' And they'll say: 'Yes, that's one of my favorite stories.'"

– J. R. R. Tolkien, The Two Towers from The Lord of the Rings

Basta was grumbling to himself nonstop as he escorted Meggie over to the church. "Bite her

tongue, would she? Since when has the old woman fallen for that kind of thing? And who has to

take this little madam to the crypt? Basta, of course! What am I supposed to be — the only male

maidservant in the place?"

"Crypt?" Meggie had thought the prisoners were still in the nets, but she could see no trace of

them when she and Basta entered the church, and Basta had impatiently pushed her past the

columns.

"Yes, the crypt," he spat. "Where we put the dead and those who soon will be. Down here. Get on

with it. I've got better things to do today than baby-sit Miss Silvertongue."

The stairs to which he was pointing were steep and led down into darkness. The treads were

worn and so uneven that Meggie stumbled at every other step. Down below it was so dark that

at first she didn't realize the staircase had come to an end, and she was feeling for the next step

with her foot when Basta pushed her roughly forward. "What's the idea now?" she heard him

say with a curse. "Why's the damn lantern out again?" A match flared, and Basta's face appeared

out of the darkness.

"Visitor for you, Dustfinger," he announced derisively as he lit the lantern. "Silvertongue's little

girl wants to say goodbye. Her father brought you into this world and his daughter will make

sure you leave it again tonight. I wouldn't have let her come, but the Magpie's going soft in her

old age. The child actually seems fond of you. It can hardly be your pretty face, can it?" Basta's

laugh echoed unpleasantly back from the damp walls.

Meggie went up to the grating behind which Dustfinger stood. She looked at him only briefly,

then gazed over his shoulder. Capricorn's maid was sitting on a stone coffin. The lantern Basta

had lit gave only a dim light, but it was enough for Meggie to recognize her face. It was the face

from Mo's photograph, except that the hair surrounding it was darker now, and there was no

sign of any smile.

As Meggie came closer to the grating her mother lifted her head and was now looking at her as if

nothing else in the world existed.

"Mortola let her come here?" said Dustfinger. "That's hard to believe."

"The girl threatened to bite her own tongue." Basta was still standing on the stairs, playing with

the rabbit's foot he wore around his neck as a lucky charm.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry." Meggie was speaking to Dustfinger, but as she spoke she looked at

her mother, who was still sitting on the stone coffin.

"What for?" Dustfinger smiled his strange smile.

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"For what I must do this evening. For reading aloud from the book." If only she could have let the

two of them know Fenoglio's plan.

"Right, now you've said your piece!" barked Basta impatiently. "Come on, the air down here

could make your voice hoarse."

But Meggie did not turn. She clung to the bars of the grating as firmly as she could. "No," she

said, "I want to stay a bit longer." Perhaps she could think of some way to tell them, some

apparently innocent remark. "I read something else out of a story," she told Dustfinger. "A tin

soldier."

"Did you, though?" Dustfinger was smiling again. It was odd, but this time his smile seemed to

her neither mysterious nor supercilious. "Well, nothing can go wrong this evening, then, can it?"

He was looking at her thoughtfully, and Meggie tried to tell him with her eyes: We're going to

rescue you. It won't work out the way Capricorn expects, believe me! Dustfinger was still looking

at her, trying to understand. He raised his eyebrows inquiringly and then turned to Basta.

"And how's that fairy, Basta?" he asked. "Still alive, is she, or has your company done her in?"

Meggie saw her mother get up and come toward her, walking tentatively, as if she were treading

on broken glass.

"She's still alive," said Basta sullenly. "Tinkling all the time. I can't get a wink of sleep. If she

carries on like that I'm going to tell Flatnose to wring her neck, the way he does the pigeons

when they poo on his car." Meggie saw her mother take a piece of paper from the pocket of her

dress and surreptitiously press it into Dustfinger's hand.

"That would mean at least ten years' bad luck for you both," said Dustfinger. "Take my word for

it — I know about fairies. Oh, watch out, what's that in front of you?"

Basta leaped back as if something had bitten his toes. Quick as a flash, Dustfinger's hand came

through the grating and gave Meggie the note.

"Damn it, there's nothing there!" swore Basta. "Don't try that again, you hear me?" He turned

just as Meggie's fingers were closing around the paper. "A note, eh? Well, well!"

Meggie tried in vain to keep her hand closed, but it was easy enough for Basta to pry her fingers

apart. Then he stared at her mother's tiny writing.

"Read it, go on!" he growled, holding the note in front of her eyes.

Meggie shook her head.

"Read it!" Basta's voice was dangerously low. "Or do you want me to carve a pretty pattern on

your face like your friend's here?"

"Go on, read it, Meggie," said Dustfinger. "He knows I like a good drop of wine anyway."

"Wine?" Basta laughed. "You wanted the child to get you some wine? How did you think she'd do

that?"

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Meggie stared at the real note. She concentrated on every word until she knew it by heart. Nine

years is a long time. I celebrated all your birthdays. You're even lovelier than I imagined you. She

heard Basta laughing.