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it for fifteen years, but it just costs too much money. Far too much."

Sighing, she closed her catalog, dropped it on the rug, and swung her legs out of bed. To Meggie's

surprise, she was wearing a long floral nightdress. She looked younger in it, almost like a girl

who has woken up one morning to find her face wrinkled. "Ah, well, you'll probably never be as

crazy as I am!" she muttered, putting a thick pair of socks on her bare feet. "Your father's not

inclined to be crazy, and your mother never was either. Quite the opposite — I never knew

anyone with a cooler head. My father, on the other hand, was at least as mad as me. I inherited

over half my books from him, and what good did they do him? Did they keep him alive? Far from

it. He died of a stroke at a book auction. Isn't that ridiculous?"

With the best will in the world, Meggie didn't know what to say to that. "My mother?" she asked,

instead. "Did you know her well?"

Elinor snorted as if she had asked a silly question. "Of course I did. It was here that your father

met her. Didn't he ever tell you?"

Meggie shook her head. "He doesn't talk about her much."

"Well, probably better not. Why probe old wounds? And you re not particularly like her. She

painted that sign on the library door. Come on, then, or you'll miss this show of yours."

Meggie followed Elinor down the unlit corridor. For a moment she had the odd feeling that her

mother might step out of one of the many doors, smiling at her. There was hardly a light on in

the whole vast house, and once or twice Meggie bumped her knee on a chair or a little table that

she hadn't seen in the gloom. "Why is it so dark everywhere here?" she asked as Elinor felt

around for the light switch in the entrance hall.

"Because I'd rather spend my money on books than unnecessary electricity," replied Elinor,

looking at the light she had turned on as if she thought the stupid thing should go easy on the

power. Then she made her way over to a metal box fixed to the wall near the front door and

hidden behind a thick, dusty curtain. "I hope you switched your light off before you knocked on

my door?" she asked as she opened the box.

"Of course," said Meggie, although it wasn't true.

"Turn around!" Elinor told her before setting to work on the alarm system. She frowned.

"Heavens, all these knobs! I hope I haven't done something wrong again. Tell me as soon as the

show's over — and don't even think of seizing your chance to slink into the library and take a

book off the shelves. Remember that I sleep right next door, and my hearing is keener than a

bat's."

Meggie bit back the answer on the tip of her tongue. Elinor opened the front door. Without a

word, Meggie pushed past her and went outside. It was a mild night, full of strange scents and

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the chirping of crickets. "Were you always as nice as this to my mother?" she asked as Elinor was

about to close the door behind her.

Elinor looked at her for a moment as if turned to stone. "Oh yes, I think so," she said. "Yes, I'm

sure I was. And she was always as cheeky as you, too! Have fun with your fire-eater!" Then she

shut the door.

As Meggie was going through the dark garden behind the house she suddenly heard unexpected

music. It filled the night air as if it had been only waiting for Meggie's footsteps: strange music, a

carnival mixture of bells, pipes, and drums, both boisterous and sad. Meggie wouldn't have been

surprised to find a whole troupe of fairground entertainers waiting for her on the lawn behind

Elinor's house, but only Dustfinger stood there.

He was waiting where Meggie had found him that afternoon. The music came from a cassette

recorder on the grass beside the wooden deck chair. Dustfinger had placed a garden bench on

the edge of the lawn for his audience. Lighted torches were stuck into the ground to the right

and left of it, and two more were burning on the lawn, casting quivering shadows in the night.

The shadows danced across the grass like servants conjured up by Dustfinger from some dark

world for this occasion. He himself stood there bare-chested, his skin as pale as the moon, which

was hanging in the sky right above Elinor's house as if it, too, had turned up especially for

Dustfinger's show.

When Meggie emerged from the darkness Dustfinger bowed to her. "Sit down, pretty lady!" he

called over the music. "We were all just waiting for you."

Shyly, Meggie sat down on the bench and looked around her. The two dark glass bottles she had

seen in Dustfinger's bag were standing on the deck chair. Something whitish shimmered in the

bottle on the left, as if Dustfinger had filled it with moonlight. A dozen torches with white

wadding heads were wedged between the wooden rungs of the chair, and beside the cassette

recorder stood a bucket and a large, big-bellied vase, which if Meggie remembered correctly

came from Elinor's entrance hall.

For a moment, she let her eyes wander to the windows of the house. There was no light in Mo's

bedroom — he was probably still working — but one floor below Meggie saw Elinor standing at

her lighted window. The moment Meggie looked her way she drew the curtain, as if she had felt

Meggie watching her, but she still stayed at the window. Her shadow was a dark outline against

the pale yellow curtain.

"Do you hear how quiet it is?" Dustfinger switched off the recorder. The silence of the night fell

on Meggie's ears, muffled as if by cotton wool. Not a leaf moved; there was nothing to be heard

but the torches crackling and the chirping of the crickets.

Dustfinger switched the music back on. "I had a private word with the wind," he said. "There's

one thing you should know: If the wind takes it into its head to play with fire then even I can't

tame the blaze. But it gave me its word of honor to keep still tonight and not spoil our fun."

So saying, he picked up one of the torches from Elinor's deck chair. He sipped from the bottle

with the moonlight in it and spat something whitish out into the big vase. Then he dipped the

torch he was holding into the bucket, took it out again, and held its dripping head of wadding to

one of its burning sisters. The fire flared up so suddenly it made Meggie jump. However,

Dustfinger put the second bottle to his lips, filling his mouth until his scarred cheeks were

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bulging. Then he took a deep, deep breath, arched his body like a bow, and spat whatever was in

his mouth out into the air above the burning torch.

A fireball hung over Elinor's lawn, a bright, blazing globe of fire. It ate away at the darkness like

a living thing. And it was so big, Meggie felt sure everything around it would go up in flames: the

grass, the deck chair, and Dustfinger himself. But he just spun around and around on the spot,

exuberant as a dancing child, breathing out more fire. He made the fire climb high in the air, as if

to set the stars alight. Then he lit a second torch and ran its flame over his bare arms. He looked

as happy as a child playing with a pet animal. The fire licked his skin like something living, a

darting, burning creature that he had befriended, a creature that caressed him and danced for

him and drove the night away. He threw the torch high in the air where the fireball had just been

blazing, caught it as it came down, lit more, juggled with three, four, five torches. Their fire

whirled around him, danced with him but never hurt him: Dustfinger the tamer of flames, the

man who breathed sparks, the friend of fire. He made the torches disappear as if the darkness

had devoured them, bowed to the speechless Meggie with a smile, before once more spitting fire

out into the night's black face.

Afterward, she could never say what had distracted her attention from the whirling torches and

the showers of sparks, making her look up once more at the house and its windows. Perhaps you

feel the presence of evil on your skin like sudden heat or cold ... or perhaps it was just that the

light now seeping through the library shutters caught her eye, the light falling on the

rhododendron bushes where their leaves pressed close to the wood. Perhaps.

She thought she heard voices rising above Dustfinger's music, men's voices, and a terrible fear

rose inside her, as dark strange as the terror she had felt on the night when she first saw

Dustfinger standing out in the yard. As she jumped up, a burning torch slipped from his hands

and fell on the grass. He quickly trod out the fire before it could spread any further, then

followed the direction of Meggie's eyes, and he, too, looked at the house without a word.

Meggie began to run. Gravel crunched under her feet as she raced toward the house. The front

door stood ajar, there was no light in the entrance hall, but Meggie heard loud voices echoing

down the corridor that led to the library. "Mo?" she called, and there was the fear back again,

digging its curved beak into her heart, taking her breath away.

The library door was open, too, Meggie was about to rush in when two strong hands grasped her

by the shoulders.

"Quiet!" breathed Elinor, pulling her into her bedroom. Meggie saw that her fingers were

shaking as she locked the door.

"Don't!" Meggie dragged Elinor's hand away and tried to turn the key. She wanted to shout that

she must help her father, but Elinor put a hand over her mouth and pulled her away from the

door, hard as Meggie struggled, hitting and kicking. Elinor was strong, much stronger than

Meggie.

"There are too many of them!" Elinor whispered as Meggie tried to bite her fingers. "About four

or five, big strong men, and they're armed." She hauled the struggling Meggie over to the wall by

the bed. "I've told myself a hundred times — oh, a thousand times! — I ought to buy a revolver!"

she muttered, pressing her ear to the wall.

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"Of course it's here!" The voice carried through the wall without Meggie having to strain to hear

it, rasping like a cat's tongue. "Should we get your little daughter from the garden to show us just

where? Or would you rather find it for us yourself?"

Meggie tried to pull Elinor's hand away from her mouth. "Stop it, for goodness sake!" Elinor

hissed in her ear. "You'll only put him in more danger, do you understand?"

"My daughter! What do you know about my daughter?" That was Mo's voice.

Meggie sobbed aloud, and Elinor's fingers were instantly back over her face. "I tried to call the

police," she whispered in Meggie's ear. "But the lines are all down."

"Oh, we know all we need to know." The other voice again. "So where's the book?"

"I'll give it to you!" Mo's voice sounded weary. "But I'm going with you, because I want that book

back as soon as Capricorn has finished with it."

Going with them? What did he mean? He couldn't leave just like that! Meggie tried making for

the door again, but Elinor held her fast. Meggie did her best to push her away, but Elinor simply

wrapped her strong arms around her and pressed her fingers to Meggie's lips once more.

"All the better. We were told to bring you anyway," said a second voice. It had a broad, coarse

accent. "You have no idea how Capricorn longs to hear your voice. He's got great faith in your

abilities, Capricorn has."

"That's right — the replacement Capricorn found for you makes a terrible hash of it." The

rasping voice again. "Look at Cockerell there." Meggie heard feet scraping on the floor. "He's

limping, and Flatnose's face has seen better days. Not that he was ever much of a beauty."

"Don't just stand there talking, Basta, we haven't got forever. How about it — do we take the kid

as well?" Another voice. That one sounded as if the speaker's nose were being pinched.

"No!" Mo snapped at him. "My daughter stays here or I won't give you the book!"

One of the men laughed. "Oh yes, Silvertongue, you'd give it to us all right, but don't worry. We

weren't told to bring her. A child would just slow us down, and Capricorn's been waiting for you

long enough already. So where's that book?"

Meggie pressed her ear against the wall so hard that it hurt. She heard footsteps and then a

sound like something being pushed aside. Elinor, beside her, held her breath.

"Not a bad hiding place!" said the catlike voice. "Wrap it up, Gockerell, and take good care of it.

After you, Silver-tongue. Let's go."

They left the library. Meggie tried desperately to wriggle out of Elinor's arms. She heard the

sound of the library door closing and then steps moving away, getting fainter and fainter. After

that, all was still. Quite suddenly, Elinor let go of her. Meggie rushed to the door, unlocked it,

sobbing, and ran down the corridor to the library. It was deserted. No Mo. The books stood

ranged tidily on their shelves, except in one place where there was a wide, dark gap. Meggie

thought she saw a hinged flap, well hidden, standing open among the books.

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"Incredible!" she heard Elinor saying behind her. "They really were after just that one book." But