Inkspell

The Adderhead made a sign to the Piper, and the silver -nosed man stepped commandingly toward Mo. He found it hard to put the book into the man’s gloved hands. After all, there was nothing else that could save them now. The Piper noticed his reluctance, smiled scornfully at him – and took the book up the steps to his master. Then, with a brief glance at Firefox, he stationed himself right beside the throne with an arrogant air, as if there were no more important man in the hall.



“Beautiful. Beautiful indeed!” The Adderhead caressed the white pages of the book. “Whether or not he’s a robber, he knows something about bookbinding, don’t you agree, Firefox?”



“There are men of many trades among the robbers,” was all that Firefox replied. “Why not an accursed bookbinder, too?”



“How true, how true. Did you all hear that?” The Adderhead looked at his colorfully clad retinue, inviting approval. “It seems to me that my herald still thinks I’d have let a little girl trick me. Yes, he believes I’m a credulous fool by comparison with his old master, Capricorn.”



Firefox was about to protest, but the Adderhead silenced him with a gesture. “Do not speak!”



was all he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “In spite of my very obvious folly, I have thought of a way to prove which of the two of us is wrong.” With a nod of the head, he summoned Taddeo to his side. Eager to oblige, the librarian approached him, taking pen and ink from the folds of his flowing robe.



“It’s perfectly simple, Firefox!” You could tell that the Adderhead liked the sound of his own voice. “You, and not I, will be the first to write your name in this book! Taddeo here has assured me that the letters can be removed again with a scraper that Balbulus once designed specially for that purpose, leaving no trace. No one will be able to see even a shadow of your writing on the pages. So you write your name – which I know you are able to do – we give the Bluejay a sword, and he runs it through your body. Isn’t that a fabulous idea? Won’t it prove beyond doubt whether or not this book can do what his daughter promised me?”



A game. Mo saw fear spread over Firefox’s face like a rash.



“Well, come along!” the Adderhead derided him, opening the book and leafing through the blank pages, as if lost in thought. “Why do you suddenly look so pale? Isn’t such a game precisely to your taste? Come along, write your name in it. Not the name you’ve given yourself, but the one you were born with.”



Think. Mo saw one of the guards surrounding him and Meggie draw his sword. What are you going to do? What? He felt Meggie’s horrified gaze, felt her fear like a chill beside him.



Firefox looked around as if searching for a face that might offer help, but no one stepped forward, not even Mortola. She stood there with her lips compressed so tightly that they were almost white, and if her glance could have killed as her poisons often did, the book would not have helped the Adderhead. As it was, however, he just smiled at her and put the pen in his herald’s hand. Firefox stared at the sharpened quill as if he were not sure what to do with it.



Then he dipped it ceremoniously in the ink – and wrote.



“Excellent!” The Piper took the book from his hand the moment he had finished. The Adderhead waved to one of the servants waiting with dishes full of fruit and cakes at the foot of the silver columns. “Well, what are you waiting for, Firefox? Try your luck!” Honey dripped from his fingers as he pushed one of the cakes between his lips.



Firefox, however, stood there, still staring at the Piper, whose long arms were wound around the book as if he were holding a baby. He responded to Firefox’s glance with a nasty smile. Firefox abruptly turned his back to him and the Adderhead and came down the steps.



Mo removed Meggie’s hand from his arm and pushed her gently aside, although she resisted.



The men-at-arms standing around retreated, with incredulity on their faces, as if clearing a stage. Except for the one who had drawn his sword and now held it out to Mo. Was this still Fenoglio’s game? It would be like him. When Mo had entered the hall just now he’d have given one of his eyes for a sword, but he didn’t want this one. He wanted it as little as the roles some other people wanted him to play, whether Fenoglio or the Adderhead. He had always hated games like this, games played by the strong with someone weaker, the cat with the helpless mouse. . He hated them, even when the mouse was a murderer and fire-raiser.



When Firefox stopped at the foot of the steps, hesitating as if he were wondering whether there might not be some way out for him after all, one of the men-at-arms went up to him and took his sword from its sheath.



“Here, Bluejay, take it.” The soldier who was holding his sword out to Mo was getting impatient, and Mo remembered the night when he had picked up Basta’s sword and chased him and Capricorn out of his house. He still remembered just how heavy the weapon had felt in his hand, how the bright blade caught the light. .



“No, thank you,” Mo said, stepping back. “Swords are not among the tools of my trade. I thought I’d proved that with the book.”



The Adderhead wiped the honey off his fingers, removed a few cake crumbs from his lips, and looked him up and down. “Oh, come on, Bluejay!” he said in a tone of mild surprise. “You heard.



We don’t expect any great skill in swordplay. All you have to do is run it through his body. It really isn’t difficult!”



Firefox was staring at Mo. His eyes were clouded with hatred. Look at him, you fool, Mo told himself. He’d run you through with that sword on the spot, so why don’t you do it to him? Meggie understood why not. He saw it in her eyes. Perhaps the Bluejay might take that sword, but not her father.



“Forget it, Adder,” he said out loud. “If you have an account to settle with your bloodhound, see to it yourself. Ours is a different agreement.”



The Adderhead looked at him with as much interest as if some exotic animal had wandered into his hall. Then he laughed. “I like your answer!” he cried. “Indeed I do. And do you know something? It finally shows me I’ve caught the right man. You are the Bluejay, without any doubt. He’s said to be a sly fox. But all the same I’ll keep my bargain.”



And so saying, he nodded to the man-at-arms who was still offering Mo the sword. Without hesitation, the man turned and thrust the long blade through the body of his master’s herald, so fast that Firefox did not even manage to flinch back.



Meggie screamed. Mo drew her close and hid her face against his chest. But Firefox stood there, staring in bewilderment at the sword sticking out of his body as if it were a part of him.



With a self-satisfied smile, the Adderhead looked around, enjoying the silent horror in the hall around him. Firefox took the sword sticking out of his body and pulled out the blade very slowly, his face distorted, but without swaying on his feet. And the great hall became as still as if all present had stopped breathing.



As for the Adderhead, he applauded. “Well, look at that!” he cried. “Is there anyone here in this hall who thinks he could have survived that sword stroke? He’s just a little pale, that’s all – am I right, Firefox?”



His herald did not reply, but just stood there staring at the bloodstained sword in his hands.



But the Adderhead went on, in a voice of high good humor, “Well, I think that proves it! The girl wasn’t lying, and the Adderhead is not a gullible fool who fell for a child’s fairy tale, is he?”