Inkspell

“Meggie!” Fenoglio’s voice sounded worse than merely irritated. “Where are you?” Without a word, she took Farid’s hand and drew him over to the window with her.



A white horse was coming up the narrow alley. Its rider had black hair, and his face was as young and handsome as the face of the statues in the castle, but his eyes were not stony white; instead, they were bright and as dark as his hair. He was looking around as if he had just woken from a dream, and one that didn’t entirely fit in with what he now saw.



“Cosimo!” whispered Farid, bewildered. “The dead Cosimo.” “Not exactly,” Fenoglio whispered back. “First, he isn’t dead, as you can see for yourself, and second, he’s not that Cosimo. He’s a new one, a brand-new one, and Meggie and I have made him between us. Of course no one else will notice.”



“Not even his wife?”



“Well, maybe she will! But who cares about that? She hardly ever leaves the castle.”



Cosimo reined in his horse just a foot or two from Minerva’s house. Instinctively, Meggie stepped back from the window. “What about him?” she whispered. “Who does he himself think he is?”



“What a question! He thinks he’s Cosimo, of course!” replied Fenoglio impatiently. “Don’t get me confused, for heaven’s sake! All we’ve done is make sure the story goes on the way I originally planned it, no more and no less!”



Cosimo turned in his saddle and stared back down the street the way he had come – as if he had lost something but forgotten what it was. Then he clicked his tongue softly and urged his horse on, past Minerva’s husband’s workshop and the narrow house where the physician lived.



Fenoglio often complained of the man’s lack of skill in pulling teeth.



“That’s not a good idea.” Farid retreated from the window as if the Devil himself had gone riding by. “It’s bad luck to summon the dead.”



“He never was dead, damn it all!” snapped Fenoglio. “How often do I have to explain? He was born this very day, from my words and Meggie’s voice, so don’t talk such nonsense. What are you doing here, anyway? Since when do people come visiting decent girls in the middle of the night?”



Farid’s face flushed dark red. Then he turned without a word and went to the door.



“Leave him alone! He can visit me whenever he likes!” Meggie told Fenoglio sharply. The stairs were slippery with rain, and she didn’t catch up with Farid until he had reached the last step. He looked so sad.



“What did you tell Dustfinger? Did you tell him how Gwin followed us?”



“No, I didn’t dare.” Farid leaned against the wall of the house and closed his eyes. “You should have seen his face when he saw the marten. Do you think he’ll have to die now, Meggie?”



She put out her hand and touched his face. He really had been crying. She could feel the dried tears on his skin.



“That’s what Cheeseface said!” She could hardly make out the words he was whispering. “He said I’d bring him bad luck.” “What are you talking about? Dustfinger should be glad to have you!”



Farid looked up at the sky. Rain was still falling. “I must go back,” he said. “That’s why I came. To tell you I must stay with him now. I have to look after him – do you understand? If I keep close by him, then nothing bad will happen. You can visit me, though, at Roxane’s farm! We’re there most of the time. Dustfinger is crazy about her, he hardly ever leaves her side. Roxane this, Roxane that .. ” There was no mistaking the jealousy in his voice.



Meggie knew how he felt. She still clearly remembered those first few weeks back at Elinor’s house, and her troubled heart when Mo spent hours going for walks with Resa and didn’t even ask if she would like to come, too. She remembered what it felt like to stand outside a closed door and hear her father’s laughter on the other side, laughter meant not for her but for her mother. “Why do you look like that?” Elinor had asked once, when she found Meggie watching the two of them in the garden. “Half his heart still belongs to you. Isn’t that enough?” She had felt so ashamed. At least Farid was only jealous of a stranger. She’d been jealous of her own mother.



“Please, Meggie! I must stay with him. Who else is going to look after him? Roxane? She doesn’t know anything about the marten, and anyway .. ”



Meggie turned her head away so that he wouldn’t see her disappointment. Bother Gwin! She traced small circles on the damp ground with her toe.



“You will come, won’t you?” Farid took her hands. “There are wonderful plants growing in Roxane’s fields, and she has a goose who thinks she’s a watchdog, and an old horse. Jehan, that’s her son, says there’s a linchetto living in the stable, don’t ask me what a linchetto is, but Jehan says if you fart at it, it runs away. Well, Jehan’s still just a baby, but I think you’d like him. . ”



“Is he Dustfinger’s son?” Meggie tucked her hair back behind her ear and tried to smile.



“No, but guess what? Roxane thinks I am. Imagine that! Please, Meggie! Come to Roxane’s, do!”



He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her full on her mouth. His skin was wet with rain.



When she didn’t pull away, he took her face between his hands and kissed her again, on her forehead, on her nose, on her mouth once more. “You will come, won’t you? Promise!” he whispered.



Then he ran away, fleet-footed as always, ever since the day Meggie had first set eyes on him.



“You must come!” he called back to her once more, before disappearing into the dark passage leading out to the street. “Maybe you’d better stay with us for a while – Dustfinger and me, I mean! That old man is crazy. You don’t go playing games with the dead!”



Then he had gone, and Meggie was leaning against the wall of Minerva’s house, where Farid had been standing a moment ago. She passed her fingers over her mouth, as if she must make sure that Farid’s kiss had not changed it in some way.



“Meggie?” Fenoglio was standing at the top of the stairs, a lantern in his hand. “What are you doing down there? Has the boy gone? What did he want? Standing around in the dark there with you!”



Meggie did not reply. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to listen to what her bewildered heart was telling her.



Chapter 31 – Elinor



Out in the world not much happened. But here in the special night, a land bricked with paper and leather, anything might happen, always did.



– Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes



Elinor spent a couple of miserable days and nights in her cellar. The man built like a wardrobe brought them something to eat morning and evening – at least, they assumed it was morning and evening, always supposing that Darius’s watch was still keeping time. When the bulky figure first appeared with bread and a plastic bottle of water, she had thrown the bottle at his head. Or rather, she’d tried to, but the colossus ducked just in time and the bottle burst against the wall.



“Never again, Darius!” Elinor whispered when the wardrobe man, grunting contemptuously, had locked them in once more. “I was never going to let myself be locked up again, that’s what I swore back in that stinking cage, when those arsonists walked past the bars with their rifles and flicked burning cigarette butts in my face. And now here I am locked up in my own cellar!”