"Oh, indeed. And why, may I ask?"
Dustfinger winked at Meggie. "Well, I've promised to put on a little show for this young lady,” he said. "It begins about an hour before midnight. "
"Oh yes?" Elinor dabbed some sauce off her lips with her napkin. "A little show. Why not in daylight? After all, the young lady's only twelve years old. She should be in bed at eight o'clock."
Meggie tightened her lips. She hadn't been to bed as early as eight since her fifth birthday, but she wasn't going to the trouble of explaining that to Elinor. Instead, she admired the casual way Dustfinger reacted to Elinor's hostile gaze.
"Ah, but you see the tricks I want to show Meggie wouldn't look so good by day," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm afraid I need the black cloak of night. Why don't you come and watch, too? Then you'll understand why it all has to be done in the dark."
"Go on, accept his offer, Elinor!" said Mo. "You'll enjoy the show. And then perhaps you won't think fire's so sinister. "
"It's not that I think it's sinister. I don't like it, that's all," remarked Elinor, unmoved.
"He can juggle!" Meggie burst out. "With eight balls. "
"Eleven,” Dustfinger corrected her. "But juggling is more of a daylight skill. "
Elinor retrieved a string of spaghetti from the tablecloth and glanced first at Meggie and then at Mo. She looked cross. "Oh, very well. I don't want to be a spoilsport," she said. "I will go to bed with a book at nine-thirty as usual and put the alarm on first, but when Meggie tells me she's going out for this private performance I'll switch it off again for an hour. Will that be time enough?"
"Ample time,” said Dustfinger, bowing so low to her that the tip of his nose collided with the rim of his plate.
Meggie bit back her laughter.
It was five to eleven when she knocked at Elinor's bedroom door.
"Come in!" she heard Elinor call, and when she put her head around the door she saw her aunt sitting up in bed, poring over a catalog as thick as a telephone directory. "Oh, too expensive, too expensive!" she murmured. "Take my advice, Meggie: Never develop a passion you can't afford. It'll eat your heart away like a bookworm. Take this book here, for instance." Elinor tapped her finger on the left-hand page of her catalog so hard that it wouldn't have surprised Meggie if she had bored a hole in it. "What a fine edition – and in such good condition, too! I've been wanting it for fifteen years, but it just costs too much money. Far too much."
Sighing, she closed her catalog, dropped it on the rug, and swung her legs out of bed. To Meggie's surprise, she was wearing a long floral nightdress. She looked younger in it, almost like a girl who has woken up one morning to find her face wrinkled. "Ah, well, you'll probably never be as crazy as I am!" she muttered, putting a thick pair of socks on her bare feet. "Your father's not inclined to be crazy, and your mother never was either. Quite the opposite – I never knew anyone with a cooler head. My father, on the other hand, was at least as mad as me. I inherited over half my books from him, and what good did they do him? Did they keep him alive? Far from it. He died of a stroke at a book auction. Isn't that ridiculous?"
With the best will in the world, Meggie didn't know what to say to that. "My mother?" she asked, instead. "Did you know her well?"
Elinor snorted as if she had asked a silly question. "Of course I did. It was here that your father met her. Didn't he ever tell you?"
Meggie shook her head. "He doesn't talk about her much. "
"Well, probably better not. Why probe old wounds? And you're not particularly like her. She painted that sign on the library door. Come on, then, or you'll miss this show of yours. "
Meggie followed Elinor down the unlit corridor. For a moment she had the odd feeling that her mother might step out of one of the many doors, smiling at her. There was hardly a light on in the whole vast house, and once or twice Meggie bumped her knee on a chair or a little table that she hadn't seen in the gloom. "Why is it so dark everywhere here?" she asked as Elinor felt around for the light switch in the entrance hall.
"Because I'd rather spend my money on books than unnecessary electricity,” replied Elinor, looking at the light she had turned on as if she thought the stupid thing should go easy on the power. Then she made her way over to a metal box fixed to the wall near the front door and hidden behind a thick, dusty curtain. "I hope you switched your light off before you knocked on my door?" she asked as she opened the box.
"Of course,” said Meggie, although it wasn't true.
"Turn around!" Elinor told her before setting to work on the alarm system. She frowned. "Heavens, all these knobs! I hope I haven't done something wrong again. Tell me as soon as the show's over – and don't even think of seizing your chance to slink into the library and take a book off the shelves. Remember that I sleep right next door, and my hearing is keener than a bat's. "
Meggie bit back the answer on the tip of her tongue. Elinor opened the front door. Without a word, Meggie pushed past her and went outside. It was a mild night, full of strange scents and the chirping of crickets. "Were you always as nice as this to my mother?" she asked as Elinor was about to close the door behind her.
Elinor looked at her for a moment as if turned to stone. "Oh yes, I think so,” she said. "Yes, I'm sure I was. And she was always as cheeky as you, too! Have fun with your fire-eater!" Then she shut the door.
As Meggie was going through the dark garden behind the house she suddenly heard unexpected music. It filled the night air as if it had been only waiting for Meggie's footsteps: strange music, a carnival mixture of bells, pipes, and drums, both boisterous and sad. Meggie wouldn't have been surprised to find a whole troupe of fairground entertainers waiting for her on the lawn behind Elinor's house, but only Dustfinger stood there.
He was waiting where Meggie had found him that afternoon. The music came from a cassette recorder on the grass beside the wooden deck chair. Dustfinger had placed a garden bench on the edge of the lawn for his audience. Lighted torches were stuck into the ground to the right and left of it, and two more were burning on the lawn, casting quivering shadows in the night. The shadows danced across the grass like servants conjured up by Dustfinger from some dark world for this occasion. He himself stood there bare-chested, his skin as pale as the moon, which was hanging in the sky right above Elinor's house as if it, too, had turned up especially for Dustfinger's show.
When Meggie emerged from the darkness Dustfinger bowed to her. "Sit down, pretty lady!" he called over the music. "We were all just waiting for you. "
Shyly, Meggie sat down on the bench and looked around her. The two dark glass bottles she had seen in Dustfinger's bag were standing on the deck chair. Something whitish shimmered in the bottle on the left, as if Dustfinger had filled it with moonlight. A dozen torches with white wadding heads were wedged between the wooden rungs of the chair, and beside the cassette recorder stood a bucket and a large, big-bellied vase, which if Meggie remembered correctly came from Elinor's entrance hall.
For a moment, she let her eyes wander to the windows of the house. There was no light in Mo's bedroom – he was probably still working but one floor below Meggie saw Elinor standing at her lighted window. The moment Meggie looked her way she drew the curtain, as if she had felt Meggie watching her, but she still stayed at the window. Her shadow was a dark outline against the pale yellow curtain.
"Do you hear how quiet it is?" Dustfinger switched off the recorder. The silence of the night fell on Meggie's ears, muffled as if by cotton wool. Not a leaf moved; there was nothing to be heard but the torches crackling and the chirping of the crickets.
Dustfinger switched the music back on. "I had a private word with the wind," he said. "There's one thing you should know: If the wind takes it into its head to play with fire then even I can't tame the blaze. But it gave me its word of honor to keep still tonight and not spoil our fun."
So saying, he picked up one of the torches from Elinor's deck chair. He sipped from the bottle with the moonlight in it and spat something wh
itish out into the big vase. Then he dipped the torch he was holding into the bucket, took it out again, and held its dripping head of wadding to one of its burning sisters. The fire flared up so suddenly it made Meggie jump. However, Dustfinger put the second bottle to his lips, filling his mouth until his scarred cheeks were bulging. Then he took a deep, deep breath, arched his body like a bow, and spat whatever was in his mouth out into the air above the burning torch.
A fireball hung over Elinor's lawn, a bright, blazing globe of fire. It ate away at the darkness like a living thing. And it was so big, Meggie felt sure everything around it would go up in flames: the grass, the deck chair, and Dustfinger himself. But he just spun around and around on the spot, exuberant as a dancing child, breathing out more fire. He made the fire climb high in the air, as if to set the stars alight. Then he lit a second torch and ran its flame over his bare arms. He looked as happy as a child playing with a pet animal. The fire licked his skin like something living, a darting, burning creature that he had befriended, a creature that caressed him and danced for him and drove the night away. He threw the torch high in the air where the fireball had just been blazing, caught it as it came down, lit more, juggled with three, four, five torches. Their fire whirled around him, danced with him but never hurt him: Dustfinger the tamer of flames, the man who breathed sparks, the friend of fire. He made the torches disappear as if the darkness had devoured them, bowed to the speechless Meggie with a smile, before once more spitting fire out into the night's black face.
Afterward, she could never say what had distracted her attention from the whirling torches and the showers of sparks, making her look up once more at the house and its windows. Perhaps you feel the presence of evil on your skin like sudden heat or cold… or perhaps it was just that the light now seeping through the library shutters caught her eye, the light falling on the rhododendron bushes where their leaves pressed close to the wood. Perhaps.
She thought she heard voices rising above Dustfinger's music, men's voices, and a terrible fear rose inside her, as dark and strange as the terror she had felt on the night when she first saw Dustfinger standing out in the yard. As she jumped up, a burning torch slipped from his hands and fell on the grass. He quickly trod out the fire before it could spread any further, then followed the direction of Meggie's eyes, and he, too, looked at the house without a word.
Meggie began to run. Gravel crunched under her feet as she raced toward the house. The front door stood ajar, there was no light in the entrance hall, but Meggie heard loud voices echoing down the corridor that led to the library. "Mo?" she called, and there was the fear back again, digging its curved beak into her heart, taking her breath away.
The library door was open, too. Meggie was about to rush in when two strong hands grasped her by the shoulders.
"Quiet!" breathed Elinor, pulling her into her bedroom. Meggie saw that her fingers were shaking as she locked the door.
"Don't!" Meggie dragged Elinor's hand away and tried to turn the key. She wanted to shout that she must help her father, but Elinor put a hand over her mouth and pulled her away from the door, hard as Meggie struggled, hitting and kicking. Elinor was strong, much stronger than Meggie.
"There are too many of them!" Elinor whispered as Meggie tried to bite her fingers. "About four or five, big strong men, and they're armed." She hauled the struggling Meggie over to the wall by the bed. "I've told myself a hundred times – oh, a thousand times! – I ought to buy a revolver!" she muttered, pressing her ear to the wall.
"Of course it's here!" The voice carried through the wall without Meggie having to strain to hear it, rasping like a cat's tongue. "Should we get your little daughter from the garden to show us just where? Or would you rather find it for us yourself?"
Meggie tried to pull Elinor's hand away from her mouth. "Stop it, for goodness sake!" Elinor hissed in her ear. "You'll only put him in more danger, do you understand?"
"My daughter! What do you know about my daughter?" That was Mo's voice.
Meggie sobbed aloud, and Elinor's fingers were instantly back over her face. "I tried to call the police," she whispered in Meggie's ear. "But the lines are all down."
"Oh, we know all we need to know. " The other voice again. "So where's the book?"
"I'll give it to you!" Mo's voice sounded weary. "But I'm going with you, because I want that book back as soon as Capricorn has finished with it."
Going with them? What did he mean? He couldn't leave just like that! Meggie tried making for the door again, but Elinor held her fast. Meggie did her best to push her away, but Elinor simply wrapped her strong arms around her and pressed her fingers to Meggie's lips once more.
"All the better. We were told to bring you anyway,” said a second voice. It had a broad, coarse accent. "You have no idea how Capricorn longs to hear your voice. He's got great faith in your abilities, Capricorn has."
"That's right – the replacement Capricorn found for you makes a terrible hash of it. " The rasping voice again. "Look at Cockerell there. " Meggie heard feet scraping on the floor. "He's limping, and Flatnose's face has seen better days. Not that he was ever much of a beauty."
"Don't just stand there talking, Basta, we haven't got forever. How about it – do we take the kid as well?" Another voice. That one sounded as if the speaker's nose were being pinched.
"No!" Mo snapped at him. "My daughter stays here or I won't give you the book!"
One of the men laughed. "Oh yes, Silvertongue, you'd give it to us all right, but don't worry. We weren't told to bring her. A child would just slow us down, and Capricorn's been waiting for you long enough already. So where's that book?"
Meggie pressed her ear against the wall so hard that it hurt. She heard footsteps and then a sound like something being pushed aside. Elinor, beside her, held her breath.
"Not a bad hiding place!" said the catlike voice. "Wrap it up, Cockerell, and take good care of it. After you, Silver tongue. Let's go. "
They left the library. Meggie tried desperately to wriggle out of Elinor's arms. She heard the sound of the library door closing and then steps moving away, getting fainter and fainter. After that, all was still. Quite suddenly, Elinor let go of her. Meggie rushed to the door, unlocked it, sobbing, and ran down the corridor to the library. It was deserted. No Mo. The books stood ranged tidily on their shelves, except in one place where there was a wide, dark gap. Meggie thought she saw a hinged flap, well hidden, standing open among the books.
"Incredible!" she heard Elinor saying behind her. "They really were after just that one book. " But Meggie pushed her aside and ran along the corridor.
"Meggie!" Elinor called after her, "Wait!"
But what was there to wait for? For the strangers to take her father away? She heard Elinor running after her. Elinor's arms might be stronger, but Meggie's legs were faster.
There was still no light in the entrance hall. The front door stood wide open, and a cold wind blew in Meggie's face as she stumbled breathlessly out into the night.
"Mo!" she shouted.
She thought she saw car headlights come on where the drive disappeared into the trees, and an engine started. Meggie ran that way. She tripped and fell, grazing her knee on the gravel, which was wet with dew. Warm blood trickled down her leg but she took no notice. She ran on and on, limping and sobbing, until she had reached the big wrought iron gate. The road beyond it was empty. Mo was gone.
7. WHAT THE NIGHT HIDES
A thousand enemies outside the house are better than one within.
Arab proverb
Dustfinger was hiding behind a chestnut tree when Meggie ran past him. He saw her stop at the gate and look down the road. He heard her calling her father's name in a desperate voice. Her cries, as faint as the chirping of a cricket in the vast black night, were lost in the darkness. And when she gave up it was suddenly very quiet, and Dustfinger saw Meggie's slim figure standing there as if she would never move again. All her strength seemed to have forsaken her, as if the next
gust of wind might blow her away.
She stood there so long that Dustfinger eventually closed his eyes so as not to have to look at her, but then he heard her weeping and his face turned hot with shame. He stood there without a sound, his back to the tree trunk, waiting for Meggie to go back to the house. But still she didn't move. At last, when his legs were quite numb, she turned like a marionette with some of its strings cut and went back toward the house. She was no longer crying as she passed Dustfinger but she was wiping the tears from her eyes, and for a terrible moment he felt an urge to go to her, comfort her, and explain why he had told Capricorn everything. But Meggie had already passed him and had quickened her pace as if her strength were returning. Faster and faster she walked, until she had disappeared among the black trees.
Only then did Dustfinger come out from behind the tree, put his backpack on his back, pick up the two bags containing all his worldly goods, and stride off toward the gate, which was still open.
The night swallowed him up like a thieving fox.
8. ALONE
"My darling," she said at last, "are you sure you don't mind being a mouse for the rest of your life?"
"I don't mind at all," I said. "It doesn't matter who you are or what you look like so long as somebody loves you."
Roald Dahl, The Witches
Elinor was standing in the brightly lit doorway of the house when Meggie came back. She had put on a coat over her nightdress. The night was warm, but a cold wind was blowing from the lake. How desperate the child looked – and lost. Elinor remembered the feeling. There was nothing worse.
"They've taken him away!" Meggie's voice almost choked in her helpless rage. She glared angrily at Elinor. "Why did you hold me back? We could have helped him!" Her fists were clenched as if she wanted to hit out blindly.
Elinor remembered that feeling, too. Sometimes you wanted to lash out at the whole world, but it did no good, none at all. The grief remained. "Don't talk such nonsense!" she said bluntly. "How could we have helped him? They'd just have taken you, too, and how would your father have liked that? Would it have done him any good? No. So don't stand around here any longer – come indoors."
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