his creation. ‘Although I wonder where he gets those chameleon eyes. I never wrote a word about them! Never mind, it makes him look … well, interesting. Perhaps I ought to write a few more giants like him here. It’s a shame they hide away in the mountains now.’
The robbers did not appear to agree with him. They were still climbing the ropes as hastily as if the Milksop’s men were after them. By now only the Black Prince and his bear stood at the foot of the tree.
‘What’s the Prince doing still down there?’ Fenoglio leant so far forward that Meggie instinctively grabbed his tunic. ‘For heaven’s sake, why doesn’t he leave the damn bear alone? These giants don’t have particularly good eyesight. He’ll be trodden underfoot if the giant stumbles just once!’
Meggie tried to haul the old man back. ‘The Black Prince would never leave the bear alone, you know he wouldn’t!’
‘But he must!’ She had seldom seen Fenoglio so concerned. Obviously he really was fonder of the Prince than most of his characters.
‘Come on up!’ he called down to him. ‘Come on, Prince!’
But the Black Prince went on talking to his bear as if the animal were a sulky child, while the giant stood there staring up at the children. Several women shrieked when he reached out his hand. They pulled the children away, but however far the giant stretched, his mighty fingers couldn’t reach the nests, just as Fenoglio had said.
‘Made to measure!’ the old man whispered. ‘See that, Meggie?’ Yes, this time he obviously had thought of everything.
The giant looked disappointed. He reached up once more, and then took a step to one side. His heel missed the Black Prince by no more than a twig’s breadth. The bear roared and stood up on his hind legs – and the giant, in surprise, looked down at what was there between his feet.
‘Oh, no!’ faltered Fenoglio. ‘No, no, no!’ he shouted down to his creation. ‘Not him! Leave the Prince alone. That’s not what you’re here for! Go after the Milksop. Take some of his men, if you want anyone! Go on, go away!’
The giant raised his head, looking to see who was shouting like that, but then he bent and picked up the Prince and the bear with as little ceremony as Elinor picking caterpillars off her roses.
‘No!’ stammered Fenoglio. ‘What’s going on now? What went wrong this time? He’ll break every bone in the Prince’s body!’
The robbers hung from their ropes, frozen rigid. One of them threw his knife down at the giant’s hand. The giant pulled it out with his lips like a thorn and dropped the Black Prince as he might have dropped a toy. Meggie flinched as he struck the ground and lay there without moving. She heard Elinor scream, while the giant hit out at the men on the ropes as if they were wasps trying to sting him.
Everyone was shouting in confusion. Battista ran to one of the ropes to go to the Prince’s aid. Farid and Doria followed him, and even Elinor ran after him, while Roxane stood there, horrified, with her arms around two crying children. As for Fenoglio, he was shaking at the ropes hanging from the tree in helpless fury.
‘No!’ he shouted down once more. ‘No, you just can’t do that!’
And suddenly one of the ropes tore away and he fell into the void below. Meggie tried to grab him, but she arrived too late. Fenoglio was falling, with an expression of surprise on his wrinkled face, and the giant caught him in mid-air like a ripe fruit dropping from the tree.
The children had stopped screaming. The women and the robbers were silent too as the giant sat down at the foot of the tree and examined his catch. He put the bear carelessly on the ground, but as he did so his glance fell on the unconscious Prince, and he picked him up again. Roaring, the bear went to his master’s aid, but the giant just flicked him away with his hand. Then he rose to his feet, looked up at the children one last time, and strode away with Fenoglio in his right hand and the Black Prince in his left.
59
The Bluejay’s Angels
I ask you:
What would you do if you were me? Tell me. Please tell me!
But you’re far from this. Your fingers turn the strangeness of these pages that somehow connect my life to yours. Your eyes are safe. The story is just another few hundred pages of your mind. For me, it’s here. It’s now.
Markus Zusak,
I Am the Messenger
Orpheus had seen Violante for the first time at one of the Milksop’s banquets, and even then he had wondered what it would be like to rule Ombra at her side. All his maids were more beautiful than the Adderhead’s daughter, but Violante had something that they did not possess: arrogance, ambition, the lust for power. All of that appealed to Orpheus, and when the Piper led her into the Hall of a Thousand Windows his heart beat faster as he saw how high she still held her head, even though she had staked everything on a single card and lost.
Her gaze passed over them all as if they were the losers – her father, Thumbling, the Piper. She had only a fleeting glance for Orpheus, but never mind. How was she to know what a prominent part he would play in the future? The Adderhead would still be stuck in the mud with a broken wheel if he hadn’t read him four new coach wheels on the spot. How everyone had stared! Even Thumbling had learnt to respect him.
The Hall of a Thousand Windows had no windows any more. Thumbling had had them draped with black cloth, and only half a dozen torches gave light in the darkness, just enough of it to show the Adderhead the face of his worst enemy.
When they pushed Mortimer in, Violante’s haughty mask cracked, but she quickly pulled herself together. Orpheus saw, with satisfaction, that they had not treated the Bluejay particularly gently, but he could still stand, and the Piper had certainly made sure his hands were unharmed. They could have cut out his tongue, though, thought Orpheus, thus putting an end to all the fulsome praise of his voice once and for all. But then it occurred to him that Mortimer still had to tell him where Fenoglio’s book was, since Dustfinger hadn’t given its whereabouts away.
The torchlight fell only on Mortimer. The Adderhead sat in darkness. He clearly didn’t want to give his prisoner the satisfaction of seeing his bloated body. Anyone could smell it, though.
‘Well, Bluejay? Did my daughter describe this meeting of ours rather differently to you? Very likely.’ The Adderhead’s breath rattled in his throat like an old man’s. ‘I was very glad when Violante suggested this castle as our meeting place, although the journey here wasn’t easy. The castle gave me happiness once before, if not for very long. And I was sure that her mother hadn’t told her about the secret passage. She told her daughter a great deal about this castle, but little of it had anything to do with reality.’
Violante’s face remained expressionless. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Father,’ she said. What an effort she was making not to look at Mortimer. Touching.
‘No, you don’t know anything, that’s the point.’ The Adderhead laughed. ‘I often had people posted to overhear what your mother told you in the Old Chamber. All the stories about her happy childhood days, the sweet lies told to make her ugly little daughter dream of a place so different from the castle where she really grew up. Reality isn’t usually much like what we say about it, but you always confused the words with the truth. Just the same as your mother – you could never distinguish between what you want and the way things really are, could you?’
Violante did not reply. She simply stood there, as upright as ever, staring into the darkness where her father was concealed.
‘When I met your mother for the first time in this hall,’ the Adderhead went on in his hoarse voice, ‘she wanted nothing but to get away from here. She’d have tried to run away if her father had given her any chance. Did she tell you that one of her sisters fell to her death climbing out of one of these windows? Or that she herself was almost drowned by the water-nymphs when she tried swimming across the lake? Presumably not. Instead, she made out that I forced her father to give me her hand in marriage, and took her away from here against her will. Who knows, perhaps she even be
lieved that story herself in the end?’
‘You’re lying.’ Violante was trying very hard to sound composed. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’
‘But hear it you will,’ said the Adderhead, unmoved. ‘It’s time you stopped hiding behind pretty stories and heard the facts. Your grandfather was only too inclined to make sure that any suitors of his daughters disappeared. So your mother showed me the tunnel – the one that enabled the Piper to get into the castle entirely unnoticed. She was madly in love with me at the time, whatever she may have said to you.’
‘Why are you telling me these lies?’ Violante still held her head high, but her voice was trembling. ‘It wasn’t my mother who showed you the tunnel. It must have been one of your spies. And she never loved you, either.’
‘Believe what you like. I assume you don’t know very much about love.’ The Adderhead coughed, and rose from the chair where he was sitting with a groan. Violante retreated as he stepped into the torchlight.
‘Yes, see what your noble robber has done to me,’ said the Adderhead as he slowly approached Mortimer. It was getting more and more painful for him to walk, Orpheus had seen that often enough on the endless journey to this bleak castle, but the Silver Prince still stood as straight as his daughter.
‘But let’s not discuss the past any more,’ he said, when he was so close to Mortimer that his prisoner had the full benefit of the odour he gave off, ‘or about the way my daughter may have envisaged this bargain. Convince me that it really doesn’t make sense for me to flay you alive at once – and do the same to your wife and daughter. Yes, you left them with the Black Prince, but I know about the cave where they’re hiding. I assume that my useless brother-in-law has captured them by now and will be taking them to Ombra.’
Ah, that really got through to Mortimer. Guess who told the Adderhead about the cave, noble robber, thought Orpheus, smiling broadly when Mortimer looked at him.
‘So now …’ The Adderhead drove his gloved fist into his prisoner’s chest just where Mortola had wounded him. ‘What are the prospects? Can you reverse your own trick? Can you cure the Book you so craftily used to deceive me?’
Mortimer hesitated for only a moment. ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘If you give it to me.’
Very well. Orpheus had to admit that Mortimer’s voice still sounded impressive, even in these dire straits (although his own sounded far, far better). But the Adderhead wasn’t to be beguiled this time. He struck Mortimer in the face so hard that he fell to his knees.
‘Do you seriously expect to fool me again?’ he snarled. ‘How stupid do you think I am? No one can cure this book! Dozens of your fellow craftsmen have died to give me that information. No, it’s past saving, which means that my flesh will rot for all eternity, and every day I’ll be tempted to write the three words in it myself and put an end to all this. But I have thought of a better solution, and I’ll require your services for it once more after all, which is why I am truly grateful to my daughter for taking such good care of you. After all,’ he added, glancing at the Piper, ‘I know what a hot temper my silver-nosed herald has.’
The Piper was going to say something, but the Adderhead merely raised his hand impatiently and turned back to Mortimer.
‘What kind of solution?’ The famous voice sounded hoarse. Was the Bluejay afraid now after all? Orpheus felt like a boy enjoying a particularly exciting passage in a book. I hope he’s afraid, he thought. And I hope this is one of the last chapters he appears in.
Mortimer’s face twisted when the Piper pressed his knife against his ribs. Oh yes, he’s obviously made the wrong enemies in this story, thought Orpheus. And the wrong friends. But that was high-minded heroes for you. Stupid.
‘What kind of solution?’ The Adderhead scratched his itching flesh. ‘You’ll bind me another book, what else? But this time you won’t go unobserved for a single second. And once this new book with its spotlessly white pages protects me from Death again, we’ll write your name in the other one – so that you can know for a while how it feels to be rotting alive. After that I’ll tear it to pieces, page by page, and watch as you feel your flesh tearing and you beg the White Women to come for you. Doesn’t that sound like a solution satisfactory to all parties?’
Ah. A new White Book. Not a bad idea, thought Orpheus. But my name would suit its brand-new pages so much better! Stop dreaming, Orpheus, he told himself.
The Piper had his knife to Mortimer’s throat. ‘Well, what’s your answer, Bluejay? Want me to carve it into you with my knife?’
Mortimer said nothing.
‘Answer!’ the Piper snarled at him. ‘Or shall I do it for you? There’s only one answer, anyway.’
Mortimer still said nothing, but Violante appointed herself to speak for him. ‘Why should he help you if you’re going to kill him in any case?’ she asked her father.
The Adderhead shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘I could let him die in a rather less painful way, or just send his wife and daughter to the mines instead of killing them. After all, we’ve bargained for those two once before.’
‘But this time they’re not in your hands.’ Mortimer’s voice sounded as if he were very far away. He’s going to say no, thought Orpheus in astonishment. What a fool.
‘Not yet, but they soon will be.’ The Piper let his knife slide down Mortimer’s chest, and its point traced a heart over the place where the real one beat. ‘Orpheus has given us a very detailed description of the place where they’re hiding. You heard. The Milksop is presumably taking them to Ombra at this very moment.’
For the second time Mortimer looked at Orpheus, and the hatred in his eyes was sweeter than the little cakes that Oss was sent to buy for him in Ombra market every Friday. Well, there’d be no more Oss now. Unfortunately the Night-Mare had eaten him when it slipped out of Fenoglio’s words – it had taken Orpheus some time to get it under control. But he could always find a new bodyguard.
‘You can get down to work at once. Your noble patroness, very usefully, has made sure everything you’ll need is here!’ spat the Piper, and this time blood flowed when he pressed his knife against Mortimer’s throat. ‘Obviously she wanted to provide every last detail to make us think you were really still alive only to cure the Book. What a farce. Ah, well, she always had a weakness for strolling players.’
Mortimer ignored the Piper as if he were invisible. He looked only at the Adderhead. ‘No,’ he said. The word hung heavily in the dark hall. ‘I will not bind you another book. Death would not forgive me a second time for that.’
Violante instinctively took a step towards Mortimer, but he took no notice of her.
‘Don’t listen to him!’ she told her father. ‘He’ll do it! Just give him a little time.’ Oh, so she really was fond of the Bluejay. Orpheus frowned. One more reason to wish him to the devil.
The Adderhead looked thoughtfully at his daughter. ‘Why would you want him to do it?’
‘Well, you …’ For the first time Violante’s voice betrayed uncertainty. ‘He’ll make you well again.’
‘So?’ The Silver Prince was breathing heavily. ‘You want to see me dead. Don’t deny it. I like that! It shows that my blood flows in your veins. Sometimes I think I really should put you on the throne of Ombra. You’d certainly fill the position better than my silver-powdered brother-in-law.’
‘Of course I would! I’d send six times as much silver to the Castle of Night, because I wouldn’t be squandering it on banquets and hunting parties. But for that you must leave me the Bluejay – once he’s done what you want.’
Impressive. She was actually still making conditions. Oh yes, I like her, thought Orpheus. I like her very much. She just has to have her weakness for lawless bookbinders driven out of her. But then … what possibilities!
Obviously the Adderhead was appreciating his daughter more and more as well. He laughed louder than Orpheus had ever heard him laugh before. ‘Look at her!’ he cried. ‘Bargaining with me even though she stands there empty-hand
ed! Take her to her room,’ he ordered one of his soldiers. ‘But watch her carefully. And send Jacopo to her. A son should be with his mother. You, however,’ he said, turning to Mortimer, ‘will finally agree to my demand, or I’ll have my bodyguard torture a ‘yes’ out of you.’
The Piper, aggrieved, lowered his knife when Thumbling stepped out of the darkness. Violante cast him an uneasy glance, and resisted when the soldier dragged her away with him – but Mortimer still remained silent.
‘Your Grace!’ Orpheus took a respectful step forward (at least, he hoped it looked respectful). ‘Let me get him to consent!’
A whispered name (for you just have to call the creatures by their right names, like dogs), and the Night-Mare emerged from Orpheus’s shadow.
‘Not the Night-Mare!’ the Piper said forcefully. ‘You want to see the Bluejay dead on the spot, like the Fire-Dancer? No.’ He had Mortimer hauled to his feet again.
‘Didn’t you hear? I’m dealing with this, Piper.’ Thumbling took off his black gloves.
Orpheus tasted disappointment like bitter almonds on his tongue. What a chance to show the Adderhead how useful he was! If he’d only had Fenoglio’s book so that he could use it to write the Piper right out of this world. And that Thumbling fellow too.
‘My lord! Please, listen to me!’ He stepped in front of the Adderhead. ‘May I ask for the answer to an additional question to be extracted from the prisoner in the course of what, I’m sure, he will find a rather uncomfortable process? You’ll remember the book I told you about, the book that can change this world in any way you like! Please get him to say where it is!’
But the Adderhead just turned his back. ‘Later,’ he said, and dropped back, with another groan, into the chair where the shadows hid him. ‘We’re talking about only one book now, a book with white pages. You can start, Thumbling,’ said his gasping voice in the darkness. ‘But take care of his hands.’
When Orpheus felt the sudden chill on his face, he thought at first that the night wind was blowing through the black-draped windows. But there they were, standing beside the Bluejay, as white and terrible as they had been in the graveyard of the strolling players. They surrounded Mortimer like flightless angels, their limbs made of mist, their faces white as bleached bone. The Piper stumbled back so hastily that he fell and cut himself on his own knife. Even Thumbling’s face lost its look of indifference. And the soldiers who had been guarding Mortimer flinched back like frightened children.
It couldn’t be true! Why were they protecting him? As thanks to him for tricking them more than once? For stealing Dustfinger away from them? Orpheus felt the Night-Mare cower like a beaten dog. So even the Night-Mare feared them? No. No, for heaven’s sake! This world really must be rewritten. And he was the man to do it. Yes, indeed. He’d find a way.
What were they whispering?
The pale light spread by the daughters of Death drove away the shadows where the Adderhead was concealed, and Orpheus saw the Silver Prince fighting for breath in his dark corner, putting his shaking hands over his eyes. So he was still afraid of the White Women, even though he had killed so many men in the Castle of Night to prove that he wasn’t. All lies. The Adderhead, in his immortal body, was breathless with fear.
But Mortimer stood among Fenoglio’s angels of death as if they were a part of him – and smiled.
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