Inkdeath

Mortola gave another pitiful cry, while swords were plunged into the bodies below her. These helpers had been no use at all. Now she had no one left but Orpheus, with his ink-magic and his velvety voice.



The hawk-faced man wiped his sword on a dead robber’s cloak and looked around.



Mortola instinctively ducked, but her magpie form stared greedily down at the glittering weapons, at the rings and belt buckles. How pretty they’d look in her nest, shining bright enough to bring down the stars from the sky by night! None of the robbers was left standing. Even Snapper was on his knees by now. The hawk-faced man made a sign to his soldiers, and they dragged Snapper over to him. Die now, fool, thought Mortola bitterly. And the old woman you planned to strike down will watch you die!



The hawk-faced man asked Snapper something, hit him in the face, asked again.



Mortola put her head on one side so as to hear them better and fluttered a few branches farther down, staying under cover of the needles.



"He was dying when we set out." Snapper’s voice still sounded defiant, but it was also hoarse with fear. The Black Prince. They were talking about him. I did it, Mortola wanted to cackle. I, Mortola, poisoned him! Ask the Adderhead if he remembers me!



She flew lower still. Was the lean killer talking about children? He knew about the cave, did he? How? If only her stupid head could think straight!



One of the soldiers drew his sword, but the hawk-faced leader told him brusquely to sheathe it again. He stepped back, signaling to his men to do so, too. Snapper, still on his knees among his dead companions, raised his head in surprise. But the Magpie, who had been about to fly down to pull rings off dead fingers and peck at silver buttons, froze on her branch and shook with fear, because something in her stupid bird-brain was crying out: death, death, death! And there it came, mildewed black among the trees, panting like a huge dog, shapeless yet somehow human — a NightMare. Snapper fell to pleading instead of cursing, and the hawk-faced man watched him with his dead eyes as his followers retreated far into the trees. But the NightMare made for Snapper as if night itself were opening a mouth full of a thousand teeth, bringing him the worst of all deaths.



Well, so what? Away with him, thought Mortola as her feathered body shook like an aspen tree. Away with the fool! He was of no use to me. Orpheus must help me now.



Orpheus. . .



Orpheus. It was as if the name took shape the moment it came into her mind.



No, it couldn’t be so. It couldn’t be Orpheus suddenly standing there under the trees, with the Night-Mare cowering like a dog at his foolish smile.



Who told the Adderhead about the robbers, Mortola? Who told Orpheus examined the trees with his glassy eyes. Then he raised his pale, plump hand and pointed to the Magpie, who ducked when his finger swung her way.



Fly, Mortola, she thought. Fly!



The arrow hit her in midair, and pain drove the bird away. She no longer had wings as she fell, falling and falling through the cold air. Human bones broke when she hit the ground. And the last thing she saw was Orpheus’s smile.



CHAPTER 52



THE DEAD MEN IN THE FOREST



On, farther and farther on. Resa was feeling sick again, but she didn’t say so.



Whenever the Strong Man turned to look anxiously at her she smiled, so that he wouldn’t slow down because of her. Snapper had more than half a day’s start on them, and she was trying not to think about the Magpie at all.



Go on, she told herself, go on. It’s only a little sickness. Chew the leaves Roxane gave you and keep going. The forest through which they had been walking for days was darker than the Wayless Wood. She had never been in this part of the Inkworld before. It was like opening a new chapter, one she’d never yet read. "The strolling players call it the Forest Where Night Sleeps," the Strong Man had told her as they were passing through a ravine so dark, even by day, that she could hardly see her hand before her eyes. "But the moss-women have given it the name of the Bearded Forest, because of all the healing lichens growing on the trees." Resa liked that name better. With the frost lying on them, many trees did indeed look like ancient, bearded giants.



The Strong Man was good at reading tracks, but even Resa could have followed the trail left by Snapper and his men. Their footprints had frozen in many places, as if time had stopped. In other places they were obliterated by the rain, as if it had washed away the men themselves at the same time. The robbers hadn’t taken any trouble to conceal their tracks. Why should they? They were the pursuers.



It rained a lot. At night the rain often turned to hail, but luckily there were enough evergreen trees under whose branches they could keep reasonably dry. At sunset it turned bitterly cold, and Resa was very glad of the fur-lined coat that the Strong Man had given her. Thanks to that coat and the coverings of moss that he cut from the trees for them both, she could sleep at night in spite of the cold.



Go on, Resa, she thought, keep going. The Magpie flies fast, and Snapper is quick with his knife. A bird uttered a hoarse cry in the trees above her, and she looked up in alarm, but it was only a crow and not a magpie gazing down at her.



"Caw!" The Strong Man replied to the black bird with a croak of his own (even the owls talked to him), and then suddenly stopped. "What the devil’s that?" he murmured, scratching his shorn head.



Resa, too, stopped, alarmed. "What’s the matter? Have you lost the way?"



"Me? Not in a thousand years, not in any forest in the world! Certainly not this one."



The Strong Man bent down and investigated the tracks on the fallen leaves, now frozen stiff. "My cousin taught me to poach here. He showed me how to talk to the birds and make blankets from the bearded lichen on the trees. And he showed me the Castle in the Lake. No, Snapper’s lost his way, not me. He’s bearing much too far west!"



"Your cousin?" Resa looked at him curiously. "Is he among the robbers, too?"



The Strong Man shook his head. "He joined the fire-raisers" he said, without looking at Resa. "Disappeared when Capricorn did and never came back. He was a tall, ugly fellow, but I was always stronger, even when we were both little boys. I often wonder what’s become of him. He may have been one of those damn fire-raisers, but he was still my cousin, see what I mean?"



Tall and ugly . . . Resa thought back to Capricorn’s men. Flatnose? Oh, Strong Man, Mo’s voice brought him to his death, she thought. Would you still go on protecting Mo jf you knew? Yes he probably would.



"Let’s follow Snapper’s tracks," she said. "I want to know why he strayed from his path!"



They found him and his men very soon, in a clearing brown with withered leaves.



The dead men lay there as if the trees had shed them along with their foliage. Ravens were already pecking at their flesh. Resa shooed the birds away—and stepped back in horror when she saw Snapper’s body.



"What did that?"



"A Night-Mare!" The Strong Man’s reply was barely audible.



"A Night-Mare? But they kill through fear, nothing else. I’ve seen it!"



"Yes, but only if they’re prevented from eating their victims. They eat them, too, if they’re allowed."



Mo had once given her a dragonfly’s cast-off case. Every limb could still be traced under the empty skin it had shed. There wasn’t much more than that left of Snapper.