Inkdeath (8 page)

They weren’t lucky. The guards stopped them, and Meggie felt like clinging to Mo when one of the soldiers gestured to him to dismount and brusquely asked to see a sample of his craft. While the guard looked at the book of her mother’s drawings, Meggie Wondered in alarm whether she already knew the face under the Open helmet from her imprisonment in the Castle of Night, and whether he would find the knife hidden in Mo’s belt. They might kill him just for that knife. No one was allowed to carry weapons except the occupiers from Argenta, but Battista had made the belt so well that even the suspicious hands of the guard at the gate could find nothing wrong with it.

Meggie was glad Mo had the knife with him as they rode through the ironbound gates, past the lances of the guards, and into the city that now belonged to the Adderhead.

She hadn’t been in Ombra since she and Dustfinger first set out for the secret camp of the Motley Folk. It seemed an eternity ago that she had run through the streets with Resa’s letter telling her that Mortola had shot her father. For a moment she pressed her face against Mo’s back, so happy that he was back with her, alive and well. At last she would be able to show him what she’d told him so much about: Balbulus’s workshop and the Laughing Prince’s books. For one precious moment she forgot all her fears, and it seemed as if the Inkworld belonged only to him and her.

Mo liked Ombra. Meggie could see it in his face, from the way he looked around, reining in his horse again and again to look down the streets. Although it was impossible to ignore the mark left on the city by the occupying forces, Ombra was still what the stonemasons had made of it when they first carved its gates, columns, and arches. Their works of art couldn’t be carried away and broken up —for then they’d be worth no more than the paving stones in the street. So stone flowers still grew under the windows and balconies of Ombra, tendrils twined around columns and cornices, and faces stuck tongues out of grotesquely distorted mouths from the sand-colored walls, weeping stony tears. But the Laughing Prince’s coat of arms was defaced everywhere, and you could recognize the lion on it only from what was left of its mane.

"The street on the right leads to the marketplace!" Meggie whispered to Mo, and he nodded like a sleepwalker. Very likely be was hearing, in his mind, the words that had once told him about the scene now surrounding him as he rode on. Meggie had heard about the Inkworld only from her mother, but Mo had read Fenoglio’s book countless times as he tried again and again to find Resa among the words.

"Is it the way you imagined it?" she asked him quietly.

"Yes," Mo whispered back. "Yes and no.

There was a crowd of people in the marketplace, just as if the peace-loving Laughing Prince still ruled Ombra —except that there were hardly any men to be seen, and you could stop and watch entertainers again. For the Milksop allowed strolling players into the city, although only it was whispered if they were prepared to spy for him.

Mo rode his horse past a crowd of children. There were many children in Ombra, even though their fathers were dead. Meggie saw a torch whirling through the air above the small heads two, three, four torches — and sparks fading and going out in the cold air. Farid? she wondered although she knew he’d done no more fire-eating since Dustfinger’s death. But Mo suddenly pulled his hood down over his forehead, and then she, too, saw the familiar well-oiled face with its constant smile.

Sootbird.

Meggie’s fingers closed on Mo’s cloak, but her father rode on, as if the man who had betrayed him once already wasn’t there at all. More than a dozen strolling players had lost their lives because Sootbird had revealed the whereabouts of the secret camp, and M0 himself had almost been among the dead. Everyone in Lombrica knew that Sootbird went in and out of the Castle of Night, that he’d been paid for his treachery in silver by the Piper himself and was now also on excellent terms with the Milksop, yet there he stood in Ombra’s marketplace, smiling, unrivaled now that Dustfinger was dead and Farid had lost his enthusiasm for fire-eating.

Oh yes, Ombra certainly had new masters. Nothing could have made that clearer to Meggie than Sootbird’s smug, masklike face. It was said that the Adderhead’s alchemists had taught him certain things, and that what he played with now was dark fire, wily and deadly like the powders he used to tame it. The Strong Man had told Meggie that its smoke beguiled the senses, making Sootbird’s spectators think they were watching the greatest fire-eater on earth.

Whatever the truth of that was, the children of Ombra clapped. The torches didn’t fly half as high in the air as they had for Dustfinger or Farid, but for a while the show made them forget their sad mothers and the work waiting at home.

"Mo, please!" Meggie quickly turned her face away as Sootbird looked in her direction. "Let’s turn back! Suppose he recognizes you?"

They were going to close the gates, then the two of them would be hunted through the streets like rats in a trap!

But Mo just shook his head very slightly as he reined in his horse behind one of the market stalls. "Don’t worry, Sootbird is far too busy keeping the fire away from his pretty face!" he whispered to Meggie. "But let’s dismount. We won’t be so conspicuous on foot."

The horse shied when Mo led it into the crowd, but he soothed it in a quiet voice.

Meggie saw a juggler who had once followed the Black Prince among the stalls.

Many of the strolling players had changed sides now that the Milksop was filling their pockets. These were not bad times for them, and the market traders did good business, too. The women of Ombra couldn’t afford any of the wares for sale, but with the money they had extorted, the Milksop and his friends bought costly fabrics, jewelry, weapons, and delicacies with names that Fenoglio himself might not know.

You could even buy horses here.

Mo looked around at the bustling, colorful throng as if he didn’t want to miss a single face or any of the wares offered for sale, but finally his gaze turned to the towers rising high above the tiled rooftops and lingered there. Meggie’s heart constricted.

He was still determined to go to the castle, and she cursed herself for ever telling him about Balbulus and his art.

She almost stopped breathing when they passed a "Wanted" poster for the Bluejay, but Mo just cast a glance of amusement at the picture and ran his hand through his dark hair, which he now wore short like a peasant. Perhaps he thought his carefree attitude would soothe Meggie, but it didn’t. It frightened her. When he acted like that, he was the Bluejay, a stranger with her father’s face.

Suppose one of the soldiers who had guarded him in the Castle of Night was here?

Wasn’t that one staring at them? And the minstrel woman over there — didn’t she look like one of the women who had gone out through the gates of the Castle of Night with them? Move away, Mo! she thought, willing him to walk on with her through one of the arches, into a street — any streetjust to be out of sight of all those eyes. Two children clutched her skirt and held out their dirty hands, begging. Meggie smiled at them helplessly. She didn’t have any money, not a coin. How hungry they looked! A soldier made his way through the crush and roughly pushed the beggar children aside. If only we Were in there with Balbulus, thought Meggie —and stumbled into Mo as he abruptly stopped.

Beside the stall of a physician who was praising his miracle medicine at the top of his voice, a few boys were standing around a pillory. There was a woman in it, her hands and head wedged in the wood, helpless as a doll. Rotting vegetables stuck to her face and hands, fresh dung, anything the children could find among the stalls.

Meggie had seen such things before, in Fenoglio’s company, but Mo stood there as if he had forgotten what he’d come to Ombra for. He was almost as pale as the woman, whose tears mingled with the dirt on her face, and for a moment Meggie was afraid he was going to reach for the knife hidden in his belt.

"Mo!" She took his arm and quickly led him on, away from the gawping children who were already turning to look at him, and into the street going up to the castle.

"Have you seen anything like that before?" The way he was looking at her! As if he couldn’t believe she had been able to control herself so well at such a sight.

His glance made Meggie feel ashamed. "Yes," she said awkwardly. "Yes, a few times. They put people in the pillory during the Laughing Prince’s rule, too."

Mo was still looking at her. "Don’t tell me you can get used to such sights."

Meggie bent her head. The answer was yes. Yes, you could.

Mo took a deep breath, as if he had forgotten about breathing when he saw the weeping woman. Then he walked on in silence. He didn’t say a word until they reached the castle forecourt.

There was another pillory right beside the castle gates, with a boy in it. Fire-elves had settled on his bare skin. Mo handed Meggie the horse’s reins before she could stop him, and went over to the boy. Ignoring the guards at the gateway, who were staring at him, and the women passing by who turned their heads away in alarm, he shooed the fire-elves off the boy’s skinny arms. The boy just looked at him incredulously. There was nothing to be seen on his face but fear, fear and shame.

And Meggie remembered a story that Farid had told her, of how Dustfinger and the Black Prince had once been in the pillory together, side by side, when they were not much older than the lad now looking at his protector in such alarm.

"Mortimer!"

Meggie recognized the old man dragging Mo away from the pillory only after a second glance. Fenoglio’s gray hair came almost down to his shoulders, his eyes were bloodshot, his face unshaven. He looked old — Meggie had never considered Fenoglio old before, but now it was all she could think of.

"Are you out of your mind?" he snapped at her father in a low voice. "Hello, Meggie," he added abstractedly, and Meggie felt the blood shoot into her face as Farid appeared behind him.

Farid.

Keep very cool, she thought, but a smile had already stolen to her lips. Make it go away! But how, when it was so good to see his face? Jink was sitting on his shoulder, and sleepily flicked his tail when he saw her.

"Hello, Meggie. How are you?" Farid stroked the marten’s bushy coat.

Twelve days. Not a sign of life from him for twelve whole days. Hadn’t she firmly resolved not to say a word when she saw him again? But she just couldn’t be angry with him. He still looked so sad. Not a sign of the laughter that once used to be as much a part of his face as his black eyes. The smile he gave her now was only a sad shadow of it.

"I’ve been wanting to come and see you so often, but Orpheus just wouldn’t let me go out!" He was hardly listening to his own words. He had eyes only for Meggie’s father. The Bluejay.

Farid had led Mo away with him — away from the Pillory, away from the soldiers.

Meggie followed them. The horse was restless, but Farid calmed it. Dustfinger had taught him how to talk to animals. He was close beside Meggie, so near and yet so far away.

"What was the idea of that?" Fenoglio was still holding Mo firmly, as if afraid he might go back to the pillory. "Do you want to put your own head in that thing, too?

Or—no, very likely they’d impale it on a pike right away!"

"Those are fire-elves, Fenoglio! They’ll burn his skin." Mo’s voice was husky with rage.

"You think I don’t know that? I invented the little brutes. The boy will survive. I imagine he’s a thief. I don’t want to know any more.

Mo moved away, turning his back on Fenoglio abruptly, as if to keep himself from striking the old man. He scrutinized the guards and their weapons, the castle walls and the pillory, as if trying to think of a way to make them all disappear. Don’t look at the guards, Mo! Meggie thought. That was the first thing Fenoglio had taught her in this world: not to look any soldier in the eye — any soldier, any nobleman —

anyone who was allowed to carry a weapon.

"Shall I spoil their appetite for his skin, Silvertongue?" Farid came up between Mo and Fenoglio.

Jink spat at the old man, as if detecting him as the cause of all that was wrong in his world. Without waiting for Mo’s answer Farid went up to the pillory, where the elves had settled on the boy’s skin again. With a snap of his fingers he sent sparks flying to singe their shimmering wings and send them swirling through the air and away, with an angry buzz. One of the guards picked up his lance, but before he could move, Farid painted a fiery basilisk on the castle wall with his finger, bowed to the guards who were staring incredulously at their master’s burning emblem and strolled back casually to Mo’s side.

"Very audacious, dear boy!" growled Fenoglio disapprovingly, but Farid took no notice of him.

"Why did you come here, Silvertongue?" he asked, lowering his voice. "This is dangerous!" But his eyes were shining. Farid loved dangerous ventures, and he loved Mo for being the Bluejay.

"I want to look at some books."

"Books?" Farid was so bewildered that Mo couldn’t help smiling.

"Yes, books. Very special books." He looked up at the tallest of the castle towers.

Meggie had told him exactly where Balbulus had his workshop.

"What’s Orpheus up to?" Mo glanced at the guards. At this moment they were searching a butcher’s deliveries—though what for, they didn’t seem to know. "I’ve heard he’s growing richer and richer."

"Yes, he is." Farid’s hand stroked Meggie’s back. When Mo was with them he always confined himself to caresses that weren’t too obvious. Farid felt great respect for fathers. But Meggie’s rosy blush certainly didn’t escape Mo’s attention. "He’s growing richer, but he hasn’t written anything to rescue Dustfinger yet! He thinks of nothing but his treasures, and what he can sell to the Milksop: wild boars with horns, golden lapdogs, spider moths, leaf-men, and anything else he can dream up.

"Spider moths? Leaf-men?" Fenoglio looked at Farid in alarm, but Farid didn’t seem to notice.

"Orpheus wants to talk to you!" he whispered to Mo. "About the White Women.

Please do meet him! Maybe you know something that could help him to bring Dustfinger back!"