Inkspell

“I don’t know,” was all Dustfinger said as he began looking for a way down the slope, keeping in the cover of the trees. “I thought one of you might have some idea, since you were so keen to come along.”



The route he took led downhill so steeply that Meggie could hardly keep her footing, but then she suddenly saw the road stony and rutted with channels where water had once flowed down from the hills. On the other side were the stables and the house she had seen from the top of the hill. Dustfinger waved her over to a place by the roadside where the undergrowth would shield her from curious eyes.



“No, they don’t seem to be here yet, but they must arrive soon!” he said quietly. “They may even stay the night, fill their bellies, and get drunk to forget the terrors of the forest. I can’t show my face over there while it’s still light. Given my luck, one of Capricorn’s fire-raisers who’s working for the Adderhead now will cross my path. But you,” he said, placing a hand on Farid’s shoulder,



“you can go over there safely. If anyone asks where you’re from, just say your master’s sitting in the inn drinking. Count the soldiers, count the prisoners, and see how many children are among them. Understand? Meanwhile I’ll take a look farther along the road. I have a kind of idea.”



Farid nodded and lured Gwin over to him.



“I’ll go with him!” Meggie expected Dustfinger to forbid her to go with Farid, but he just shrugged his shoulders.



“As you like. I can’t keep you here. I just hope your mother doesn’t give herself away when she recognizes you. And another thing!” He took hold of Meggie’s arm as she was about to follow Farid.



“Don’t take it into your head that we can do anything for your parents. Perhaps we can free the children, even a few of the adults if they run fast enough. But your father won’t be able to run, and your mother will stay with him. She won’t leave him on his own, any more than she would leave you behind that other time. We both remember it, don’t we?”



Meggie nodded and turned her face away, so that he wouldn’t see her tears. But Dustfinger gently turned her around and wiped them from her cheeks. “You really are very like your mother,” he said softly. “She never wanted anyone to see her cry, either however good her reasons for tears.” His face looked strained as he scrutinized the two of them again. “Well, you’re dirty enough,” he commented. “Anyone would take you for a stable boy and a kitchen maid. We’ll meet behind the stables as soon as it’s dark. Now, off you go.”



They didn’t have long to wait.



Meggie and Farid had been hanging around the stables for barely an hour when they saw the procession of prisoners come down the road – women, children, old men, hands tied behind their backs and soldiers on both sides of them. These men were not armed, no helmets hid their sullen features, but they all wore their master’s snake emblem on their breasts, silvergray cloaks, and swords at their belts. Meggie recognized their leader at once: It was Firefox. And judging by his face, he didn’t seem to like traveling on foot very much.



“Don’t stare at them like that!” whispered Farid, as Meggie stood there rooted to the spot. He dragged her behind one of the carts standing around the yard. “Your mother’s not hurt. Did you see her?” Meggie nodded. Yes, Resa was walking between two other women, one of them pregnant. But where was Mo?



“Hey!” bellowed Firefox, as his men drove the prisoners into the yard. “Whose are those carts?



We need more room.”



The soldiers pushed the carts aside, handling one of them so roughly that its load of sacks slipped off. A man hurried out of the inn – probably the cart’s owner – a protest already on his lips, but when he saw the soldiers he bit it back and shouted at the grooms, who quickly righted the cart again. Traders, farmers, servants – more and more people came crowding out of the stables and the main building to see the cause of all the noise in the yard. A fat, perspiring man made his way through the turmoil to Firefox, faced him with a hostile expression, and let fly a torrent of angry words.



“All right, all right!” Meggie heard Firefox growl. “But we need space. Can’t you see we have prisoners with us? Would you rather we drove them into your stables?”



“Yes, yes, use one of the stables!” cried the fat man in relief, beckoning to a couple of his servants who were standing there staring at the prisoners, some of whom had fallen to their knees just where they were, their faces pale with exhaustion and fear.



“Come on!” Farid whispered to Meggie, and side by side they pushed their way past the muttering farmers and traders, past the servants still clearing the burst sacks out of the yard, past the soldiers casting hopeful glances at the inn. No one seemed to be taking very much notice of the prisoners, but it was hardly necessary: None of them looked as if they still had the strength to escape. Even the children, whose legs might have been fast enough for them to run, were clinging to their mothers’ skirts, empty-eyed, or staring in fear at the armed men who had brought them here. Resa was supporting the pregnant woman. Yes, her mother was uninjured; Meggie could see that much, although she avoided coming too close to her, in case Dustfinger was right to fear that Resa would give herself away if she recognized her. How desperately she was looking around! She took the arm of a soldier, whose beardless face made him look only a boy, and then



“Farid!” Meggie couldn’t believe it. Resa was talking. Not with her hands but with her mouth. Her voice could hardly be heard in all this noise, but it was her voice. How could it be possible? The soldier didn’t listen to her but pushed her roughly away, and Resa turned. The Black Prince and his bear were pulling a cart into the yard. They had been harnessed to it like oxen. A chain was wound around the bear’s black muzzle, another around his throat and chest. But Resa had eyes for neither the bear nor the Prince – she kept looking at the cart, and Meggie immediately realized what that meant.



Without a word, she took off. “Meggie!” Farid called after her, but she wasn’t listening. No one could stop her. The cart was a ramshackle thing. First she saw only the man with the injured leg, one of the strolling players holding a child on his lap. Then she saw Mo.



She thought her heart would never beat again. He was lying there with his eyes closed, under a dirty blanket, but all the same Meggie saw the blood. His shirt was soaked in it, the shirt he liked best to wear, although the sleeves had worn thin. Meggie forgot everything: Farid, the soldiers, Dustfinger’s warning, where she was, why she was here. She just stared at her father and his still face. The world was suddenly an empty place, very empty, and her heart was a cold, dead thing.



“Meggie!” Farid reached for her arm. He hauled her away with him, ignoring her resistance, and held her close when she began to sob.



“He’s dead, Farid! Did you see him? Mo .. he’s dead!” She kept stammering that terrible word.



Dead. Gone. Forever.



She pushed Farid’s arm away. “I must go to him.” Bad luck clings to this book, Meggie, nothing but bad luck, even if you don’t believe me. Hadn’t he told her that in Elinor’s library? How much every one of those words hurt now. Death had been waiting in the book. His death.