Inkspell

he cried. “I thought all this had happened only because Cosimo wanted to set off too soon, but no! The words, my wonderful words .. Meggie can’t have read them, or everything would have been all right!”



“Nothing would have been all right!” Dustfinger’s voice was so cutting that Fenoglio involuntarily flinched. “Not a man of all these lying here would be dead if you hadn’t brought Cosimo back!”



The Prince and his men stared at Dustfinger, unable to make anything of this. Of course, they had no idea what he was talking about. But obviously Dustfinger knew only too well. Meggie had told him about Cosimo. Or had it been the boy?



“Why are you staring at him like that?” Farid challenged the robbers, ranging himself at Dustfinger’s side. “It was exactly as he says! Fenoglio brought Cosimo back from the dead. I was there myself.”



How the fools flinched away! Only the Black Prince looked thoughtfully at Fenoglio.



“What nonsense!” Fenoglio said. “No one comes back to this world from the dead! Think what a crowd there’d be! I made a new Cosimo, a brand-new one, and everything would have turned out well if Meggie hadn’t been interrupted while she read! My Cosimo would have been a wonderful ruler, a –”



Before he could say any more, the Prince’s black hand came down over his mouth. “That’s enough,” he said. “Enough talking while the dead lie here around us. Your Cosimo is dead, wherever he came from, and the man they take for the Bluejay because of your songs may well be dead soon, too. You seem to enjoy playing with Death, Inkweaver.”



Fenoglio tried to protest, but the Black Prince had already turned to his men. “Go on looking for the wounded!” he told them. “And hurry! It’s time we got off this road.”



They found barely two dozen survivors. Two dozen among hundreds of dead. When the robbers set off again with the wounded men, Fenoglio staggered after them in silence without asking where they were going. “The old man is following us!” he heard Dustfinger tell the Prince.



“Where else would he go?” was all the Prince replied – and Dustfinger said nothing. But he kept well away from Fenoglio, as if he were Death itself.



Chapter 66 – Blank Paper



We make for your sake such things as stand fast,



Through the ages these pages forever will last.



On blank paper the printer sets down what is heard,



Giving life to what’s rife with the power of the word.



– Michael Kongehl, “On the White Art”, Die Weisse und die Schwarze Kunst



When Mortola had Mo’s cell unlocked, Meggie was just telling him about the Laughing Prince’s festivities, the tightrope-walker and the Black Prince and Farid’s juggling with the torches. Mo put his arm protectively around her as the bolts outside were shot back and Mortola came into the cell, flanked by Basta and the Piper. The sunlight falling into the room made Basta’s face look like boiled lobster.



“Look at that, what an idyll! Father and daughter reunited,” sneered Mortola. “Truly touching!”



“Hurry up!” the guard told her through the door, low-voiced. “If the Adderhead hears that I let you in to see him, they’ll put me in the pillory for three days!”



“And if they do I’ve paid you well enough, haven’t I?” was all Mortola replied, while Basta went up to Mo with a vicious smile.



“Well, Silvertongue,” he purred, “didn’t I say you’d all fall into our trap yet?”



“You look more as if it was you who fell into Dustfinger’s trap,” replied Mo, quickly putting Meggie behind him when, by way of answer, Basta snapped open his knife.



“Basta! Stop that!” Mortola snapped at him. “We don’t have time for your games.”



Meggie came out from behind Mo’s back as Mortola moved toward her. She wanted to show the old woman that she wasn’t afraid of her (even if, of course, that was only a brave lie).



“Those were interesting words that you had hidden in your clothing,” Mortola said to her, low-voiced. “The Adderhead was particularly interested in the part about three very special words.



Oh, see how pale she’s gone around her pretty little nose! Yes, the Adderhead knows about your plans, little pigeon, and he knows now that Mortola isn’t as stupid as he thought. But unfortunately he still wants the book you promised him. The fool really does believe that you two can keep his death imprisoned in a book.” The Magpie wrinkled her nose at such princely stupidity and came yet closer to Meggie. “Yes, he’s a gullible fool, like all princes!” she whispered.



“We both know that, don’t we? For the words you carried with you also say that Cosimo the Fair will conquer this castle and kill the Adderhead, with the aid of the book your father is to bind for him. But how can that be so? Cosimo is dead, and for good this time. Oh, how alarmed you look, you little witch!” Her bony fingers pinched Meggie’s cheeks hard. Mo went to strike her hand away, but Basta faced him with the knife. “Your tongue has lost its magic power, my little darling!” said the Magpie. “The words are only words. The book your father is to bind for the Adderhead will be nothing but a blank book – and once the Silver Prince finally realizes that, nothing will save you two from the hangman. And Mortola will be avenged at last.”



“Leave her alone, Mortola!” Mo reached for Meggie’s hand in spite of Basta’s knife, and Meggie clasped his fingers firmly in hers as thoughts raced through her mind in confusion. Cosimo was dead? For the second time? What did that mean? Nothing, she thought. Nothing at all, Meggie.



Because you never read the words that were to protect him.



Mortola seemed to notice her relief, for the Magpie’s eyes became as narrow as her lips. “Ah, so that doesn’t trouble you? Do you think I’d lie to you? Or do you believe in that book of immortality yourself? Let me tell you something.” The Magpie’s thin fingers dug into Meggie’s shoulder. “It’s a book, no more, and I am sure you and your father remember what my son used to do with books! Capricorn would never have been fool enough to entrust his life to one, even if you’d promised him immortality for it! And furthermore .. those three words that it seems must not be written in the book . . I know them now, too.”



“What do you mean by that, Mortola?” asked Mo quietly. “Do you by any chance dream of putting Basta here on the Adderhead’s throne? Or even yourself?”



The Magpie cast a quick glance at the guard outside the cell door, but he had his back to them, and she turned to Mo again, her face expressionless. “Whatever I intend to do, Silvertongue,” she hissed at him, “you won’t live to see it. This story is over for you. Why isn’t he in chains?” she snapped at the Piper. “He’s still a prisoner, isn’t he? At least tie his hands while you move him.”



Meggie was about to protest, but Mo cast her a warning glance.



“Believe me, Silvertongue,” said Mortola in a low voice as the Piper roughly tied Mo’s hands behind his back, “even if the Adderhead sets you free after you’ve made him his book, you won’t get far. And Mortola’s word is worth more than the words of a poet. Take the pair of them to the Old Chamber!” she ordered as she went to the door again. “But watch them closely, and make sure that not a single book falls into their hands.”