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"Just like you, Dustfinger!" he said. "You think you could drown your fears in drink, but a whole

cask of wine wouldn't be enough for that."

Dustfinger shrugged his shoulders. "It was worth a try."

Perhaps he looked a little too pleased when he said that, for Basta frowned and looked

thoughtfully at his scarred face. "On the other hand," he said slowly, "you always were a crafty

dog. And there are a lot of letters there just for a bottle of wine. What about it, sweetheart?" He

held the note in front of Meggie again. "Are you going to read it to me now, or should I show it to

the Magpie?"

Meggie snatched the note from him so fast that she had crumpled it behind her back while Basta

was still wondering where it had gone.

"Give it here, you little brat!" he hissed at her. "Give me that note or I'll cut it out of your fingers."

But Meggie retreated from him until her back was up against the grating. "No!" she said, clinging

to the bars with one hand and pushing the note through them with the other. Dustfinger caught

on at once. She felt him taking the paper from her fingers.

Basta hit her in the face so hard that her head struck the grating. Immediately a hand stroked

her hair, and when she looked around, dazed, she was gazing into her mother's face. He'll notice

any moment, she thought, he'll understand it all, but Basta had eyes only for Dustfinger, who

was waving the note back and forth behind the grating as if he were brandishing a worm in front

of a hungry bird's beak.

"Well, how about it?" inquired Dustfinger, taking a step back. "Do you dare come in here with

me, or would you rather go on hitting little girls?"

Basta stood there motionless, like a child whose ears have suddenly and unexpectedly been

boxed. Then he seized Meggie's arm and dragged her toward him. She felt something cold on her

throat. She didn't have to see it to know what it was. Her mother screamed and pulled at

Dustfinger's hand, but he only held the note higher in the air. "I knew it!" he said. "What a

coward you are, Basta! You'd rather put a knife to a child's throat than venture in here. Of course

if Flatnose were here to back you up, too, with his broad back and his great fat fists — but he

isn't. Come along, you're the one with the knife! I've got nothing but my hands, and you know

how I hate to misuse them for fighting."

Meggie felt Basta's grip relax. The blade was no longer pressing into her skin. She swallowed and

put a hand to her throat. She almost expected to feel warm blood, but there was none. Basta

pushed her away so hard that she stumbled and fell on the damp, cold floor. Then he put his

hand into his pants pocket and brought out a bunch of keys. He was panting with rage like a man

who had run too far and too fast. Fingers trembling, he put a key into the lock of the cell.

Dustfinger watched him, his face impassive. He gestured to Meggie's mother to step back from

the grating and retreated himself, nimble as a dancer. You couldn't tell from his scarred face

whether he was afraid or not, but the scars looked darker than usual.

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"What's that for?" he said, when Basta came into the cell and held out his knife. "You might as

well put it away. If you kill me you'll spoil Capricorn's fun. He won't forgive you for that in a

hurry."

Yes, he was afraid. Meggie could hear it in his voice. The words were spilling out of his mouth a

little too fast.

"Who said anything about killing?" growled Basta as he closed the cell door behind him.

Dustfinger retreated as far as the stone coffin. "Ah, you were thinking of adding a few more

decorations to my face?" He was almost whispering. There was something else in his voice now

— hatred, scorn, rage. "Don't expect it to be so easy this time," he said softly. "I've learned a few

useful tricks since then."

"Have you indeed?" Basta was standing barely a pace away from him. "And what may they be?

Your friend fire isn't here to help you. You don't even have that stinking marten."

"It was words I had in mind." Dustfinger placed a hand on the coffin. "You see, the fairies have

taught me how to lay a curse on someone. They were sorry for my cut face, and they knew how

bad I am at fighting. So ... I curse you, Basta — I curse you by the bones of the dead man lying in

this coffin. I'll bet there's no old priest in it now, but someone you disposed of. Isn't that right?"

Basta did not answer, but his silence was more eloquent than any words.

"Of course. An old coffin like this makes a wonderful hiding place." Dustfinger caressed the

cracked lid with his fingers as if trying to call the dead back to life with the warmth of his hand.

"May his spirit haunt you, Basta!" he said in a solemn voice. "May he breathe my name in your

ear at every step you take, may he —"

Meggie saw Basta's hand leap to his rabbit's foot.

"That thing won't help you!" Dustfinger's hand was still on the coffin. "Poor Basta! Are you

feeling hot already? Do your limbs begin to tremble?"

Basta lunged at him with the knife, but Dustfinger, light on his feet as he was, avoided the blade.

"Fire is faster than you, Basta!" he whispered. "Much faster."

"Give me the note you handed her!" Basta screamed in his face.

Dustfinger just put the note in his pants pocket.

Meggie stood motionless as a doll. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother put her hand

in the pocket of her dress. When she brought it out again she was holding a stone in it, a gray

stone not much bigger than a bird's egg.

Dustfinger passed his hands over the lid of the coffin, then held them out to Basta. "Shall I touch

you?" he asked. "What happens when you touch a murdered man's coffin? Tell me. You know all

about such things."

He took another step aside, like a dancer circling around his partner.

"I'll cut your filthy fingers off if you try to touch me!" yelled Basta, his face red with rage. "Every

one of them, and your tongue into the bargain." He lunged with the knife again, cutting through

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the air with the bright blade, but Dustfinger avoided it. He was leaping around Basta faster and

faster, ducking, retreating, advancing, but suddenly he found that his fearless dance had trapped

him. He had only the bare wall behind him now, and the grating cutting off his retreat to the

right — and Basta was coming straight at him.

At that moment Meggie's mother raised her hand. The stone hit Basta on the head. Astonished,

he spun around, looked at her as if trying to remember who she was, and put his hand to his

bleeding face. She never knew how Dustfinger did it, but suddenly he had Basta's knife in his

hand. Basta was staring at its familiar blade in amazement, as if he couldn't grasp the fact that

the faithless thing was pointing at his own chest.

"Well, how's this, then?" Dustfinger slowly brought the tip of the knife close to Basta's stomach.

"Do you feel how soft your flesh is? The human body is a fragile thing, and you can't get a new

one. What is it you and your friends do to cats and squirrels? Flatnose likes describing it —"

"I don't hunt squirrels." Basta's voice cracked. He was trying not to look at the blade, now

scarcely a hand's breadth from his snow-white shirt.

"No, so you don't. I remember now. It doesn't amuse you as much as it does the others."

Basta's face was white. All the furious red had ebbed out of it. Fear is not red. Fear is pale as a

dead man's face. "What are you going to do now?" he gasped. He was breathing hard, as if he

were drowning. "You don't think you'll get out of this village alive, do you? They'll shoot you

down before you're across the square."

"Well, I'd prefer that to a meeting with the Shadow," replied Dustfinger. "Anyway, none of you

are very good shots."

Meggie's mother came up to him and mimed writing with her finger in the air. Dustfinger put his

hand in his pants pocket and gave her the note. Basta followed the paper with his eyes as if the

strength of his gaze would draw it to him. Resa wrote something on it and handed it back to

Dustfinger, who read what she had written, frowning. "Wait until dark? No, I won't wait. But

perhaps the girl had better stay here." He looked at Meggie. "Capricorn won't harm her. After all,

she's his new Silvertongue, and sometime her father will try to get her." Dustfinger put the note

away again and ran the tip of the knife down Basta's shirt buttons. They clinked as the metal

touched them. "You go to the stairs, Resa," he said. "I'll finish off this business, and then we'll

stroll across Capricorn's square and walk away like an innocent pair of lovers."

Cautiously, Resa opened the cell door. She came out past the grating and took Meggie's hand.

Her fingers were cold and rather rough, a stranger's fingers, but her face was familiar, although

it had looked younger and less anxious in the photograph.

"Resa! We can't take her with us!" Dustfinger seized Basta's arm and forced him back against the

wall. "Her father will murder me if she gets shot out there. Now, turn around and cover her eyes,

unless you want her to watch. ..." The knife was trembling in his hand. Resa looked at him,

horrified, and shook her head vigorously, but Dustfinger acted as if he didn't see her.

"You must thrust hard, Dirtyfingers!" hissed Basta as he pressed his hands against the stone

behind him. "Killing isn't easy. You have to practice to do it well."

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"Nonsense!" Dustfinger grabbed him by the jacket and held the knife under his chin, the way

Basta had pulled his knife on Mo that time in the church. "Any fool can kill. It's easy — as easy as

throwing a book on the fire, breaking down a door, or frightening a child."

Meggie began to tremble; she didn't know why. Her mother took a step back toward the grating,

but when she saw Dustfinger's stony face she stopped. Then she turned, drew Meggie's face

against her breast, put her arms around her, and held her tight. Her smell seemed familiar to

Meggie, like something long forgotten; she closed her eyes and tried not to think of anything, not

Dustfinger or the knife or Basta's white face. And then, for a terrible moment, there was only one

thing in the world she wanted — to see Basta lying dead on the floor, limp as a doll thrown

away, an ugly, stupid toy that always seemed a little scary.

The knife was barely a finger's breadth from Basta's white shirt, but suddenly Dustfinger

plunged his hand into Basta's pants pocket, took out the keys to the cells, and stepped back. "No,

you're right, I don't know much about killing," he said as he made his way backward out of the

cell, "and I'm not about to learn just for you."

A scornful smile spread over Basta's face, but Dustfinger paid no attention. He locked the barred

door, took Resa's arm, and led her to the stairs. " Let go of her!" he begged, when he saw she was

still holding Meggie tightly. "Believe me, nothing will happen to her, and we can't take her with

us!"

But Resa just shook her head and put her arm around Meggie's shoulders.

"Hey, Dustfinger!" called Basta. "I knew you couldn't do it. Give me my knife back. You don't

know what to do with it anyway!"

Dustfinger ignored him. "They'll kill you if you stay," he told Resa, but he let go of her hand.

"Hey, you up there!" bellowed Basta. "Help! Help! The prisoners are escaping!"

Meggie looked at Dustfinger in alarm. "Why didn't you gag him?"

"What with, princess?" asked Dustfinger. Resa held Meggie close and stroked her hair.

"They'll shoot you, they'll shoot you!" Basta's voice rang out. "Hey there! Help!" he shouted

again, shaking the bars of the grating.

Footsteps were heard overhead. Dustfinger swore quietly, cast Resa one last glance, then turned

and ran up the worn steps. Meggie couldn't hear whether or not he got the door open at the top.

She could hear nothing but Basta's shouting, and she ran back toward him, helpless but wanting

to strike him through the bars, right in his bellowing face. Once again, she heard footsteps

overhead, muffled cries. What were they to do? Someone came crashing down the stairs. Was

Dustfinger coming back? No, it wasn't his face but Flatnose's that emerged from the darkness.

Another of Capricorn's men was stumbling down the stairs behind him. He looked very young,

round-faced, and beardless, but he immediately pointed his gun at Meggie and her mother.

"Hello there, Basta! What are you doing behind those bars?" asked Flatnose, surprised.

"Open up, you damn fool!" snapped Basta through the grating. "Dustfinger's gone."

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"Dustfinger?" Flatnose wiped his face on his sleeve. "Then the lad here was right. Came to me