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No smoke yet showed above the rooftops, so, reassured, all the faces turned back to Capricorn,

who was saying something about deceit and falsehood, discipline and negligence, but Elinor only

half heard him. She kept looking at the houses of the village, though she knew it was dangerous

to do so.

"So much for the prisoners we have here!" cried Capricorn. "Now for those who got away."

Cockerell picked up a sack that had been lying behind Capricorn's chair and gave it to him.

Smiling, Capricorn put his hand into it and held something up: a piece of fabric from a shirt or

dress, torn and bloodstained.

"They are dead!" called Capricorn to his audience. "I'd rather have seen them here, of course, but

unfortunately there was nothing for it: They were trying to escape and had to be shot. Well, no

one will miss the treacherous little fire-eater — almost all of you knew him — and fortunately

Silvertongue has left us his daughter, who has inherited his gifts."

Teresa looked at Elinor, her eyes glazed with horror.

"He's lying!" Elinor whispered to her, although she, too, could not take her eyes off the

bloodstained rags. "He's using my lies, my tricks! That's not blood, it's paint, or some kind of

dye." But she saw her niece did not believe her. She believed in the bloodstained cloth, just as

her daughter did. Elinor could read this on Meggie's face, and she longed to call out to her that

Capricorn was lying, but she wanted him to believe his own story for a little longer — to believe

they were all dead, and that no one would come to disturb his festivities.

"That's right, boast of a bloodstained rag, you miserable fire-raiser!" she shouted through the

bars. "That's really something to be proud of. Why do you need another monster? You're all

monsters! Every one of you sitting there! You murder books, you abduct children! ..."

No one took any notice of her. A couple of the Black Jackets laughed. Teresa moved closer to the

bars, clutching their cold metal with her fingers, never taking her eyes off Meggie.

Capricorn left the bloodstained fabric lying over the arm of his chair. I know that rag, thought

Elinor. I've seen it somewhere before. They're not dead. Who else would have started the fire?

The matchstick-eater, something inside her whispered, but she refused to listen. No, the story

must have a happy ending. It wouldn't be right otherwise! She had never liked sad stories.

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Chapter 56 – The Shadow

My heavens are brass my earth is iron my moon a clod of clay

My sun a pestilence burning at noon & a vapour of death in the night.

– William Blake, Enion's Second Lament from Vala, or the Four Zoas

In books hatred is often described as hot, but at Capricorn's festivities Meggie discovered it was

cold — an ice-cold hand that stops the heart and presses it like a clenched fist against the ribs.

Hatred made her freeze, in spite of the mild air wafting around her, telling her that the world

was a good, safe place. She knew it was not — as the bloody cloth on which the smiling

Capricorn had laid his ringed hand showed all too clearly. "Well, so much for that!" he cried.

"And now for the real reason we are all gathered here tonight. Not only are we about to punish

the traitors but we're also going to celebrate a reunion with an old friend. Some of you may

remember him, and as for the others, I promise that once you have met him you will never

forget him."

Cockerell twisted his thin face into a sour smile. He was obviously not looking forward to the

reunion and, at Capricorn's words, alarm showed on several other faces.

"But that's enough talking. Now, let's hear something read aloud to us."

Capricorn leaned back in his chair and nodded to the Magpie. Mortola clapped her hands, and

Darius came hurrying across the arena with the casket Meggie had last seen in the Magpie's

room. He clearly knew what it contained. His face was even more haggard than usual as he

opened the casket and held it out to the Magpie, his head bowed humbly. The snakes seemed to

be drowsy, and this time Mortola did not put on a glove before she lifted them out. She even

draped them over her shoulders while she took the book out of its hiding place. Then she put the

snakes back as carefully as if they were precious jewels, closed the lid, and handed the casket

back to Darius. He stayed on the rostrum, looking awkward. Meggie caught him looking

sympathetically at her as the Magpie made her sit down on the chair and placed the book on her

lap.

Here it was again, the unlucky thing, in its brightly colored paper jacket. What color was the

binding under it? Raising the dust jacket with her finger, Meggie saw the dark red cloth, as red as

the flames surrounding the ink-black heart. Everything that had happened had begun between

the pages of this book, and only the words of its author could save them now. Meggie stroked its

binding as she always did before opening a book. She had seen Mo doing the same. Ever since

she could remember she had known that movement — the way he would pick up a book, stroke

the binding almost tenderly, then open it as if he were opening a box full to the brim with

precious things. Of course, the marvels you hoped to find might not be waiting inside the covers,

so then you closed the book, sorry that its promise had not been kept. But Inkheart was not a

book of that kind. Badly told stories never come to life. There are no Dustfingers in them, nor

even a Basta.

"I am told to tell you something!" The Magpie's dress smelled of musty lavender, its fragrance

enveloping Meggie in a suffocating threat. "Should you fail to do what Capricorn asks, should it

occur to you to stumble over the words on purpose, or distort them so the guest Capricorn is

expecting does not come, then ..." Mortola paused and Meggie felt the old woman's breath on her

cheek. "Cockerell will cut the old man's throat. Capricorn may not give the order himself,

because he believes the stupid lies the old man told him, but I don't, and Cockerell will do as I

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say. Understand me, my little cherub?" She pinched Meggie's cheek with her bony fingers.

Meggie shook off her hand and looked at Cockerell. He moved up behind Fenoglio, smiled at her,

and ran a finger across the old man's throat. Fenoglio pushed him away and looked at Meggie as

if one look could convey everything he wanted to say to her and give her: encouragement,

comfort, and maybe even amusement in the face of all the horrors surrounding them.

Whether or not their plan worked depended on him and his words — and Meggie's reading.

Meggie felt the paper in her sleeve, scratching her skin. Her hands seemed like the hands of a

stranger as she leafed through the pages of the book. The place where she was to begin was no

longer marked by a folded corner. A bookmark as black as charred wood lay between the pages.

"Push your hair back from your forehead," Fenoglio had told her. "That will be the signal to me."

But just as she raised her left hand the crowd on the benches became restless again.

Flatnose was back, with soot marks on his face. He hurried to Capricorn's side and whispered

something to him. Capricorn frowned and looked toward the houses. Now Meggie saw two

plumes of smoke rising into the sky from behind beside the church tower.

Capricorn rose quickly from his chair. He tried to sound composed, ironic, like a man amused at

some childish prank, but his face told a different story. "I am sorry to have to spoil the fun for a

few more of you, but tonight the red rooster is crowing here, too. A feeble little rooster, but its

neck must be wrung all the same. Flatnose, take another ten men back with you." Flatnose

obeyed and marched off with his reinforcements. The benches now looked a good deal emptier.

"And don't any of you show your faces back here before you've found the fire-raiser!" Capricorn

called after them. "Whoever it is, we'll teach him not to start fires in the devil's own domain —

we'll teach him a lesson, right here and now!"

Someone laughed, but most of those who had stayed behind were looking uneasily in the

direction of the village. Some of the maids had actually risen to their feet, but the Magpie called

their names in a sharp voice, and they were quick to sit back down with the others, like

schoolchildren unfairly slapped on the hand. Nonetheless, the restlessness persisted. Scarcely

anyone was looking at Meggie; almost all the members of her audience had turned their backs to

her and were pointing at the smoke and whispering to one another. A red glow was creeping up

the church tower, and gray smoke formed a dense cloud above the rooftops.

"What is all this? Why are you staring at that little wisp of smoke?" There was no missing the

anger in Capricorn's voice now. "A bit of smoke, a few flames — so what? Are you going to let

that spoil our festivities? Fire is our best friend, have you forgotten?"

Meggie saw the doubting faces turn back toward him. Then she heard a name. Dustfinger. A

woman's voice had called it out.

"What does that mean?" Capricorn's voice was so sharp that Darius almost dropped the casket of

snakes. "There is no Dustfinger anymore. He's lying up there in the hills with his mouth full of

earth and that marten of his on his breast. I never want to hear his name again. He is forgotten as

if he had never been —"

"That's not true."

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Meggie's voice rang out over the arena so loud and clear that she herself was alarmed. "He's

here!" She held up the book. "Never mind what you do to him. Everyone who reads this story

will see him — you can even hear his voice, and see the way he laughs and breathes fire."

All went perfectly quiet. A few feet scraped uneasily on the red, rough surface of the old football

field — then, suddenly, Meggie heard something behind her. It was a ticking like the sound of a

clock, yet not quite the same, it sounded like a human tongue imitating a clock: tick-tick- tick-

tick- tick-tick. The sound was coming from among the cars parked behind the wire fence with

their dazzling headlights on. Meggie couldn't help it — she looked around, in spite of the Magpie

and all the suspicious eyes turned on her. She could have kicked herself for being so stupid.

Suppose they had seen it, too — the thin figure rising among the cars and quickly ducking down

again.

But no one seemed to have noticed her glance any more than the ticking.

"A very fine speech!" said Capricorn slowly. "But you're not here to make funeral orations for

dead traitors. You're here to read aloud, and I am not going to tell you so again."

Meggie forced herself to look at Capricorn. She mustn't look at the cars again. Suppose that

really had been Farid? Suppose she hadn't imagined the ticking?

The Magpie was watching her suspiciously. Perhaps she had heard it, too, that soft, harmless

ticking, nothing but a tongue clicking against someone's teeth. What did it mean, unless you

knew the story of Captain Hook and his fear of the crocodile with the ticking clock inside it? The

Magpie wouldn't have read it, but Mo knew Meggie would understand his signal. He had woken

her up often enough with that ticking sound, right beside her ear, so close that it tickled.

"Breakfast time, Meggie!" he used to whisper. "The crocodile's here!"

That was it. Mo knew she would recognize the ticking that helped Peter Pan to go aboard

Captain Hook's ship and rescue Wendy. He couldn't have given her a better signal.

Wendy, thought Meggie. What had happened next? For a moment she almost forgot where she

was, but the Magpie reminded her. She slapped Meggie's face with the flat of her hand.

"Start reading, will you, little witch!" she hissed.

And so Meggie obeyed.

Hastily, she removed the black bookmark from the pages where it lay. She must hurry, she must

read before Mo did anything silly. He didn't know what she and Fenoglio were planning to do.

"I'm going to start now, and I don't want anyone disturbing me!" she cried. "Anyone! Isthat

understood?" Oh please, let Mo understand, she thought, please!

A few of Capricorn's remaining men laughed, but Capricorn himself leaned back and folded his

arms in anticipation. "Yes, just you take heed of what the girl said!" he called. "Anyone who

disturbs her will be given to the Shadow to welcome him here."

Meggie put two fingers up her sleeve. There they were, Fenoglio's words. She looked at the

Magpie. "Well, she's disturbing me!" she said out loud. "I can't read with her standing so close

behind me."

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Capricorn gestured impatiently to the Magpie. Mortola's face looked sour, as if he had told her to

eat a bar of soap, but she took two or three reluctant steps back. That would have to do.

Meggie raised her hand and pushed the hair back from her forehead.

The signal for Fenoglio.

He instantly launched into his performance. "No, no, no! She's not to read!" he cried, moving

toward Capricorn before Cockerell could stop him. "I can't allow it! I am the author of this story,