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where it was pitch dark.

"Did you hear what he said?" Farid had quickly gagged the guard and was expertly tying a rope

around the man's legs. "Dustfinger must have escaped! He said, 'he'll be well away.' He can't

have meant anyone else!"

"Yes, I heard. But my daughter is still here." Silvertongue gave him the backpack and looked

around, but the square was now so deserted and quiet it was as if they were the only people left

in Capricorn's village. Not a sound was heard from the guard up in the church tower. No doubt,

tonight he had eyes for nothing but the events taking place on the brightly lit football field. Farid

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took two torches and the bottle of inflammable liquid from Dustfinger's backpack. He got away,

he was thinking, he got away! He could almost have laughed out loud. Silver-tongue went back to

Capricorn's house, peered into several windows, and finally knocked one of them in, taking off

his jacket and pressing it against the glass to muffle the sound when it broke. Laughter and

music drifted up from the parking lot.

"The matches! I can't find them!" Farid rummaged among Dustfinger's things until Silvertongue

took the backpack from his hand.

"Give it to me!" he whispered. "You get the torches ready."

Farid did as he was told. He carefully soaked the cotton wool in the acrid-smelling spirits.

Dustfinger will come back, he thought, he'll come back to look for Gwin, and then he'll fetch me.

Voices came from one of the alleys. Men's voices. For a few terrible moments they seemed to be

coming closer, but they died away again, swallowed up by the music coming from the parking lot

and filling the night like a foul smell.

Silvertongue was still looking for the matches. "Ugh!" he said, swearing softly and removing his

hand from the backpack. Marten droppings were smeared over his thumb. He wiped them off on

the nearest wall, put his hand in the pack again, and threw Farid a box of matches. Then he took

something else out — the little book that Dustfinger kept in a side pocket he had sewn inside.

Farid had often looked at it. It had pictures stuck in it, cutout pictures of fairies and witches,

trolls and dragons, goblins, nymphs, and ancient trees. Silvertongue flicked through it while

Farid was soaking the second torch. A photograph was lying between the pages — the

photograph of Capricorn's maid, the woman who had tried to help Dustfinger and was to die for

it tonight! Or had she escaped with him? Silvertongue was staring at the photograph and

suddenly it was as if nothing else in the world existed.

"What's the matter?" Farid put the match to the dripping torch. The flame flared up, hissing and

hungry. How beautiful it was! Farid licked his finger and passed it through the flame. "Here, take

this." He held the torch out to Silvertongue. It would be best for him, as the taller of them, to

throw it through the window. But Silvertongue just stood there gazing at the photo.

"That's the woman who helped Dustfinger," said Farid. "The one they caught, too. I think he's in

love with her. Here." Once again he held the burning torch out to Silver-tongue. "What are you

waiting for?"

Silvertongue looked at him as if he had been woken from a dream. "In love ... in love," he

murmured as he took the torch from Farid's hand. Then he put the photograph in the breast

pocket of his shirt, cast another glance at the empty square, and threw the torch through the

broken window into Capricorn's house.

"Give me a leg up! I want to see it burning!" cried Farid. Silvertongue did as he asked. The room

seemed to be some kind of office. Farid saw paper, a desk, a picture of Capricorn on the wall.

Someone here could write after all. The burning torch lay among the sheets of paper covered

with writing, it licked and gulped, it whispered with delight at such a feast, flared up and leaped

on, from the desk to the curtains at the window. Greedily, it consumed the dark fabric. The

whole room was filled with red and yellow. Smoke billowed out of the broken window, stinging

Farid's eyes.

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"I must go!" Silvertongue put him down abruptly. The music had stopped. Suddenly, it was eerily

quiet. Silvertongue ran off along the street leading down to the parking lot. Farid watched him

go. He had something else to do. He waited until the flames were shooting out of the window,

then he began shouting. "Fire! Capricorn's house is on fire!" His voice echoed over the empty

square.

Heart thudding, he ran to the corner of the big house and looked up at the church tower. The

guard there had leaped to his feet. Farid lit the second torch and threw it at the church porch.

The air began to smell of smoke. The guard froze, turned, and — at last — he rang the bell.

And Farid ran off to follow Silvertongue.

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Chapter 55 – Treachery, Loose Talk, and Stupidity

Then he said, "Without a doubt, I must perish; there is no way I can get out of this narrow

prison."

– Tales from the Thousand and One Nights

Elinor thought she was showing considerable courage. Of course she still did not know exactly

what fate awaited her — and if her niece knew more than she did, she hadn't told her — but she

could be sure it would be nothing pleasant. Nor did Teresa give the men who came to take them

up from the crypt the satisfaction of seeing her shed tears. She couldn't curse them or shout at

them anyway; her voice was gone, like a garment she no longer wore. Luckily, she had two

pieces of paper with her, crumpled, dirty scraps, much too small for all the words unspoken over

nine years. She had filled the paper with tiny writing until there wasn't space for a single word

more. She didn't want to say anything about herself and what had happened to her, and just

waved Elinor's whispered questions impatiently away. There were questions of her own she

wanted to ask, question after question about her daughter and her husband. Elinor whispered

the answers into her ear, very quietly so Basta in the adjoining cell would not realize that the

two women who were about to die with him had known each other ever since the younger one

had learned to walk holding onto Elinor's endless bookshelves.

Basta was not in a good way. Whenever they looked at him they saw his hands clinging to the

bars, knuckles white under his suntanned skin. Once, Elinor thought she heard him weeping, but

when they were taken out of the cells his face was as vacant as a dead man's, and when their

guards locked them up in that unspeakable cage he crouched on the floor in a corner and sat as

motionless as a doll that no one wants to play with.

The cage smelled of dogs and raw meat, and indeed it did look like a kennel. Several of

Capricorn's men ran the butts of their shotguns along the silvery gray bars before sitting down

on the benches that had been made ready for them. Basta in particular was the object of enough

scorn and derision for ten men, and from his failure to react at all one could only guess at the

depths of his despair. All the same, Elinor and Teresa kept as far away from him as they could in

the same cage. They also kept away from the bars, from all the fingers poking through, the faces

the men made at them, and the burning cigarettes flicked at them. They stood close together,

both glad and sorry to be with each other.

On the outskirts of the arena, right beside the entrance and carefully segregated from the men,

sat the women who worked for Capricorn. They showed none of the men's ghastly excitement.

Most of their faces were downcast but, again and again, their glances strayed over to Resa with

expressions of pity — and dread.

Capricorn arrived when the long benches were full. There were no seats for the boys, so they

had squatted on the ground in front of the Black Jackets. His face emotionless, Capricorn strode

past them all as if they were nothing but a flock of crows that had assembled at his command.

Only in front of the cage containing his prisoners did he slow his pace to examine each of the

three with a small, satisfied glance. For the fraction of a second life came back into Basta as his

former lord and master stopped by the bars; he raised his head, his eyes pleading silently, like a

dog begging for forgiveness, but Capricorn walked on without a word. When he had seated

himself in his black leather armchair Cockerell placed himself behind it, legs planted wide apart.

Obviously, he was the new favorite now.

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"For heaven's sake, stop looking at him like that!" Elinor snapped at Basta when she realized his

eyes were still following Capricorn. "He's planning to feed you to his friend like a fly to a frog, so

how about a little indignation? You were always so ready with a choice selection of threats: I'll

cut your tongue out, I'll slice you to pieces. . . .' What's happened to all that, then?"

But Basta only bowed his head and stared at the floor beneath his boots. Elinor thought he

looked like an oyster with the flesh and life sucked out of it.

When Capricorn was sitting down, the blaring music fell silent, and they brought Meggie

forward. They had put a horrible dress on her, but she held her head high, and the old woman

who they all called the Magpie had difficulty dragging her up on to the rostrum, which the Black

Jackets had set up in the middle of the field. A single chair stood on the rostrum, looking as

forlorn as if someone had left it there and forgotten it. Elinor thought a gallows and a rope would

have looked more suitable. Meggie looked down at them as the Magpie forced her up the

wooden steps.

"Hello, darling!" called Elinor when Meggie's frightened gaze recognized her. "Don't worry, I'm

only here because I didn't want to miss hearing you read!"

Everything had fallen so still on Capricorn's arrival that her voice echoed over the whole arena.

It sounded brave and fearless. Fortunately, no one could hear how hard her heart was

hammering against her ribs. Nor did anyone notice that she was almost choking with fear, for

Elinor had put on her armor, the impenetrable and extremely useful armor behind which she

had always hidden at times of need. It had become a little harder with every grief she felt, and

lately there had been grief enough in Elinor's life.

One of the Black Jackets laughed at her words, and a faint smile even flitted over Meggie's face.

Elinor put her arm around Teresa's shoulders and held her close. "Look at your daughter," she

whispered. "As brave as ... as ..." She wanted to compare Meggie to a hero from some story, but

all the heroes she could think of were men, and anyway none of them seemed to her brave

enough for a comparison with the girl standing there perfectly straight, scrutinizing Capricorn's

Black Jackets with her chin jutting out defiantly.

The Magpie had brought not only Meggie but an old man. Elinor guessed that this was the writer

who had caused them so much trouble — Fenoglio, the creator of Capricorn, Basta, and all the

other monsters, including the terrible creature Meggie was to bring to life tonight. Elinor had

always thought more of books than their authors, and she looked at the old man without much

goodwill as Flatnose led him past their cage. There was a seat ready for him only a little way

from Capricorn's armchair. Elinor wondered whether that meant Capricorn had found a new

friend, but when Flatnose placed himself behind the grim-faced old man she concluded that

Fenoglio was more likely a prisoner, too.

Capricorn rose as soon as the old man was seated. Without a word, he let his gaze pass slowly

over the long line of his men, as if recalling every one of them, remembering what good and

what bad service each one had done him. The silence in the arena smelled of fear. All the

laughter had died away, and not a whisper could be heard.

"There is no need," Capricorn finally began, raising his voice, "for me to explain to most of you

why the three prisoners you see there are to be punished. For the rest, it is enough for me to say

it is for treachery, loose talk, and stupidity. One may argue, of course, over whether or not

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stupidity is a crime deserving of death. I think it is, for it can have exactly the same

consequences as treachery."

As he said this there was a restless stir on the benches. At first, Elinor thought Capricorn's words

had set it off, but then she heard the bell. Even Basta raised his head as its tolling sounded

through the night. At a sign from Capricorn, Flat-nose beckoned to five men and strode off with

them. Those left behind put their heads together uneasily, and some even jumped up and turned

to look at the village. However, Capricorn raised his hand to quell the murmur that had arisen.

"It is nothing!" he called in so loud and cutting a tone that everything immediately fell still again.

"A fire, that's all. And we know how to deal with fire, don't we?"

There was laughter, but some of the crowd, both men and women, were still looking anxiously at

the houses.

So they'd done it. Elinor bit her lips so hard they hurt. Mortimer and the boy had started a fire.