Inkdeath

"Indeed." Orpheus cleared his throat. "As you know, I have important clients, influential friends. News comes to my ears that doesn’t even reach castles. This time it is alarming news, and I want to make sure that your brother-in-law hears of it."



"And what might this news be?"



Careful, Orpheus!



"As to that, Your Grace.. ." He really was taking great pains to sound regretful. "I would rather tell it only to the Adderhead himself. After all, it concerns his daughter."



"Whom he will hardly feel like discussing at present!" The Milksop adjusted his wig.



"Sly, ugly creature!" he uttered. "Abducts my prisoner to steal the throne of Ombra from me! Threatens to kill him if her own father doesn’t follow her into the mountains like a dog! As if it hadn’t been difficult enough to catch that puffed-up Bluejay! But why do I bother to tell you all this? I suppose because you brought me the unicorn. The best hunt of my life." In a melancholy mood, he stared at Orpheus with eyes almost as pale as his face. "The more beautiful the game the greater the pleasure of killing it, don’t you agree?"



"Words of wisdom, Your Highness, words of wisdom!" Orpheus bowed again. The Milksop loved people to bow to him.



Glancing nervously at the guards, he now leaned down to Orpheus. "I would so much like another unicorn!" he whispered "It was a huge success with all my friends. Do you think you can get me another? Maybe a little larger than the last one?"



Orpheus gave the Milksop a confident smile. What a talkative, empty-headed fool he was, but then—every story needed such characters. They usually died quite early on.



It was to be hoped that this general rule held good for the Adderhead’s brother-in-law.



"Naturally, Your Highness! That ought not to be any problem," murmured Orpheus, choosing every word with care, even though this princely fool wasn’t worth the trouble. "But first I must speak to the Silver Prince. Rest assured that my information really is of the utmost importance. And you," he added, giving the Milksop a crafty smile, "will receive the throne of Ombra. Get me an audience with your immortal brother-in-law, and the Bluejay will meet his well-deserved end at last. Violante will be punished for her deceitfulness, and for your triumphal celebrations I’ll get you a Pegasus, which will surely impress your friends even more than the unicorn. You could hunt it with both crossbows and hawks!"



The Milksop’s pale eyes widened with delight. "A Pegasus!" he breathed as he impatiently waved over one of the guards. "Fabulous indeed! I’ll get you your audience, but let me advise you," and here he lowered his voice to a whisper, "not to go too close to my brother-in-law. The stink coming off him has already killed two of my dogs!"



The Adderhead kept Orpheus waiting another hour. It passed as painfully slowly as few hours had before in his whole life. The Milksop asked him about other creatures that might be hunted, and Orpheus promised basilisks and six-legged lions while his mind put the right words together for the Silver Prince. Every one of them must ring true. After all, the lord of the Castle of Night was as famous for his clever mind as for his cruelty. Orpheus had done a great deal of thinking since Mortola visited him, and he always came to the same conclusion: He could make his dreams of wealth and influence come true only at the Adderhead’s side. Even in a state of physical decay, the Silver Prince still played the leading part here. With his help, Orpheus might perhaps get back the book that had made this world such a wonderful toy before Dustfinger stole it. Not to mention the other Book, the one enabling its owner to play with that toy for all eternity.



"How modest you are, Orpheus," he had whispered to himself when the idea first took shape in his mind. "Two books, that’s all you ask! Just two books and one of them full of blank pages and in rather poor condition!"



Ah, what a life he could lead. Orpheus the all-powerful, Orpheus the immortal, hero of the world he had loved even as a child!



"He’s coming! Bow low!" The Milksop jumped up so hastily that his wig slipped down over his receding forehead, and Orpheus came out of his delightful daydreams with a start.



A reader doesn’t really see the characters in a story; he feels them. Orpheus had discovered that for the first time when, aged nearly eleven, he had tried describing or drawing characters from his favorite books. As the Adderhead came toward him out of the darkness, it was exactly like the day when he first encountered him in Fenoglio’s book: He felt fear and admiration, he sensed the evil that surrounded the Silver Prince like black light, and an abundance of power that made it difficult to breathe. But Orpheus had imagined the Silver Prince very much taller. And of course Fenoglio’s description had said nothing about that devastated face, the pale and puffy flesh, the swollen hands. Every step the Adderhead took seemed to hurt him. His eyes were bloodshot under their heavy lids. They watered even in the sparse candlelight, and the stench given off by his bloated body made Orpheus want desperately to cover his own mouth and nose.



The Adderhead didn’t deign to look at him as he walked past, breathing heavily.



Only when he was sitting on the throne did those reddened eyes turn to his visitor. A lizard’s eyes, so Fenoglio had described them. Now they were inflamed slits under swollen lids, and the red jewels that the Adderhead wore in both nostrils were sunk deep, like nails driven into the white flesh.



"You want to tell me something about my daughter and the Bluejay?" He struggled for breath after every other word, but that made his voice no less menacing. "What is it? That Violante loves power as much as I do, so she’s stolen it from me? Is that what you want to tell me? If so, then say good-bye to your tongue, because I’ll have it torn out. I greatly dislike having my time wasted however much of it I now have at my disposal."



His tongue torn out. . . Orpheus gulped. Not a nice idea at all but he still had it at the moment. Even if the stench wafting down from the throne made speaking almost impossible.



"My tongue could come in very useful to you, Your Grace," he replied, with difficulty suppressing an urge to retch. "But of course you’re free to tear it out at any time."



The Adderhead’s mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. Pain carved fine lines around his lips. "What a delightful offer. I see you take me seriously. Very well, what do you have to say?"



Curtain up, Orpheus, he thought. On you go, this is your big scene!



"Your daughter Violante"— Orpheus let the name die away for effect before he went on —"wants more than just the throne of Ombra. She wants yours, too. Which is why she is planning to kill you."



The Milksop clutched his chest, as if giving the lie to those who claimed that he had a dead partridge there instead of a heart. However, the Adderhead merely stared at Orpheus with his inflamed eyes.



"Your tongue is in great danger," he said. "Violante can’t kill me, have you forgotten that? No one can.



Orpheus felt the sweat running down his nose. The fire behind the Adderhead crackled as if it were calling Dustfinger. Oh, devil take it, he was so frightened. But then wasn’t he always frightened? Look him straight in the eye, Orpheus, and trust your voice!



Those eyes were terrible. They stripped the skin from his face. And the swollen fingers lay on the arms of the throne like dead flesh.