Inkspell

“Well, be that as it may, one of them took me to Ombra, ragged and destitute as I was. But luckily I had a ring that I could sell. A goldsmith gave me enough for it to allow me to rent this room from Minerva, and all seemed to be going well. Very well indeed, in fact. I thought up stories, and stories about stories, better than any I’d made up for a long time. The words came pouring out of me, but when I’d only just made my name with the first songs I wrote for the Laughing Prince, when the strolling players had just begun to find that they liked my verses, Firefox goes and burns down a few farms by the river – and Cosimo the Fair sets out to put an end to Firefox and his gang once and for all. Good, I thought, why not? How was I to guess that he’d get himself killed? I had such plans for him! He was to be a truly great prince, a blessing to his subjects, and my story was going to give them a happy ending when he freed this world from the Adderhead.



But instead he gets himself killed by a band of fire-raisers in the Way less Wood!” Fenoglio sighed.



“At first his father wouldn’t believe he was dead. For Cosimo’s face was badly burned, like those of all the other dead who were brought back. The fire had done its work, but when months passed, and still he didn’t return .. ” Fenoglio sighed again, and once more looked in the chest where the moth-eaten robe lay. He handed Meggie two long, pale blue woollen stockings, a couple of leather straps, and a much-washed, dark blue dress. “I’m afraid this will be too big for you – it belongs to Minerva’s second daughter, and she’s the same size as her mother,” he said,



“but what you’re wearing now urgently needs a wash. You can keep the stockings up with those garters – not very comfortable, but you’ll get used to it. Good Lord, you really have grown, Meggie,” he said, turning his back to her as she changed her clothes. “Rosenquartz! You turn around, too!”



It was true that the dress didn’t fit particularly well, and Meggie suddenly felt almost glad that Fenoglio had no mirror. At home she had been studying her reflection quite often recently. It was odd to watch your own body changing, as if you were a butterfly coming out of its chrysalis.



“Ready?” asked Fenoglio, turning around. “Ah well, that’ll do, although such a pretty girl really deserves a prettier dress.” He looked down at himself and sighed. “I think I’d better stay as I am; at least this robe doesn’t have any holes in it. And what does it matter? The castle will be swarming with entertainers and fine folk today, so no one will take any notice of the two of us.”



“Two? What do you mean?” Rosenquartz put down the blade he had been using to sharpen a pen. “Aren’t you going to take me with you?”



“Are you crazy? Just for me to carry you back in pieces? No. Anyway, you’d have to listen to that bad poem I’m taking to the prince.”



Rosenquartz was still grumbling as Fenoglio closed the door behind them. The wooden staircase that Meggie had hardly been able to climb last night, exhausted as she was, led down to a yard surrounded by houses, with pigsties, woodsheds, and vegetable plots competing for what little space was left. A narrow little stream wound its way through the yard, two children were shooing a pig away from the vegetable beds, and a woman with a baby in her arms was feeding a flock of skinny hens.



“A wonderful morning, isn’t it, Minerva?” Fenoglio called to her, as Meggie hesitantly followed him down the last steep steps.



Minerva came to the foot of the stairs. A girl of perhaps six was clinging to her skirt and stared suspiciously at Meggie. She stopped, feeling unsure of herself. Perhaps they can see it, she thought, perhaps they can see I don’t belong here…



“Watch out!” the little girl called, but before Meggie realized what she meant, something was pulling her hair. The little girl threw a clod of earth, and a fairy fluttered away empty-handed, scolding crossly.



“Good heavens, where are you from?” asked Minerva, helping Meggie down from the steps.



“Aren’t there any fairies there? They’re crazy for human hair, particularly when it’s as pretty as yours. If you don’t pin it up you’ll soon be bald. And anyway, you’re too old to wear it loose, not unless you want to be taken for one of the strolling players.”



Minerva was small and stocky, not much taller than Meggie. “My word, how thin you are!” she said. “That dress is almost slipping off your shoulders. I’ll take it in for you this evening. Has she had any breakfast?” she asked and shook her head at the sight of Fenoglio’s baffled expression.



“Dear Lord, surely you didn’t forget to give the girl something to eat?”



Fenoglio helplessly raised his hands. “I’m an old man, Minerva!” he cried. “I do forget things!



What’s the matter with everyone this morning? I was in such a good mood, but you all keep going on like this. Rosenquartz has already been infuriating me.”



By way of answer Minerva dumped the baby in his arms and led Meggie off with her.



“And whose baby is this?” inquired Fenoglio, following her. “Aren’t there enough children running around the place already?”



“It’s my eldest daughter’s,” was all Minerva replied, “and you’ve seen it a couple of times before.



Are you getting so forgetful that I’ll have to introduce my own children to you?”



Minerva’s younger children were called Despina and Ivo; Ivo was the boy who had been carrying Fenoglio’s torch last night. He smiled at Meggie as she and his mother came into the kitchen.



Minerva made Meggie eat a plate of polenta and two slices of bread spread with a paste that smelled of olives. The milk she gave her was so rich that Meggie’s tongue felt coated with cream after the first sip. As she ate, Minerva pinned up her hair for her. Meggie scarcely recognized herself when Minerva pushed a bowl of water over to her so that she could see her reflection.



“Where did you get those boots?” asked Ivo. His sister was still inspecting Meggie like some strange animal that had lost its way and wandered into their kitchen. Where indeed? Meggie hastily tried to pull down the dress to hide her boots, but it was too short.



“Meggie comes from far away,” explained Fenoglio, who had noticed her confusion. “Very far away. A place where there are people with three legs and others whose noses grow on their chins.”



The children stared first at him and then at Meggie.



“Oh, stop it! What nonsense you do talk!” Minerva lightly cuffed the back of his head. “They believe every word you say. One of these days they’ll be setting off to look for all the crazy places you tell them about, and I’ll be left childless.”



Meggie almost choked on the rich milk. She had quite forgotten her homesickness, but Minerva’s words brought it back – and her guilty conscience, too. She had been away from home five days now, if she’d been keeping count correctly. “You and your stories!” Minerva handed Fenoglio a mug of milk. “As if it wasn’t enough for you to keep telling them those robber tales. Do you know what Ivo said to me yesterday? When I’m grown-up I’m going to join the robbers, too! He wants to be like the Bluejay! What do you think you’re doing, pray? Tell them about Cosimo for all I care, tell them about the giants, or the Black Prince and his bear, but not another word about that Bluejay, understand?”