Meggie was staring at the place where the tin soldier had been. She missed him. "No, " she muttered. "What flower maiden?"
"It's a very old story. I'll tell you the short version. The long one is better, but it will soon be light. Well – there was once a magician called Gwydyon who had a nephew. He loved his nephew better than anything in the world, but his mother had put a curse on the young man."
"Why?"
"It would take too long to tell that part now. Anyway, she cursed him. If he ever touched a woman he would die. This broke the magician's heart – must his favorite nephew be condemned to being sad and lonely forever? No. Was he not a magician? So he shut himself up in the chamber where he worked magic for three days and three nights and made a woman out of flowers – the flowers of oak and broom and meadowsweet, to be precise. There was never a more beautiful woman in the world, and Gwydyon's nephew fell in love with her at first sight. But Blodeuedd, for that was her name, was his undoing. She fell in love with another man, and the two of them killed the magician's nephew. "
"Blodeuedd!" Meggie savored the name like an exotic fruit, "How sad. What happened to her? Did the magician kill her, too, as her punishment?"
"No, Gwydyon turned her into an owl, and to this day all owls sound like a weeping woman."
"That's beautiful! Sad and beautiful, " murmured Meggie, Why were sad stories often so beautiful? It was different in real life, "OK, so now I know the story of the flower maiden, " she said. "But what does it have to do with Capricorn?"
"The point is that Blodeuedd didn't do what was expected of her. And that's our own plan: Your voice and my words, beautiful, brand-new words, will see to it that Capricorn's Shadow does not do what's expected of him!" Fenoglio looked as pleased as a tortoise who has found a fresh lettuce leaf somewhere entirely unexpected.
"Then what exactly is he to do?"
Fenoglio wrinkled his brow. His satisfaction was all gone. "I'm still working on that, " he said crossly, tapping his fore head. "In here. It takes time. "
Voices were raised outside – men's voices. They came from the other side of the wall. Meggie slipped quickly off her bed and ran to the open window. She heard footsteps, rapid, stumbling, fleeing footsteps – then shots. She leaned out of the window so far she almost fell out, but she could see nothing. The noise seemed to come from the square outside the church.
"Careful!" whispered Fenoglio, grasping her shoulders. More shots were heard. Capricorn's men were calling to one another. Their voices sounded angry and excited – oh, why couldn't she make out what they were saying? She looked at Fenoglio, her eyes full of fear. Perhaps he had been able to understand some of the shouting – words, names?
"I know what you're thinking, but it certainly wasn't your father, " he soothed her. "He wouldn't be crazy enough to creep into Capricorn's house at night!" Gently, he drew her back from the window. The voices died away. The night became still again as if nothing had happened.
Her heart beating fast, Meggie went back to bed. Fenoglio helped her up.
"Make him kill Capricorn!" she whispered. "Make the Shadow kill him. " Her own words frightened her, but she did not take them back.
Fenoglio rubbed his forehead. "Yes, I suppose I must, mustn't I?" he murmured.
Meggie took Mo's sweater and held it close. Doors slammed somewhere in the house; the sound of footsteps echoed up to them. Then all was silent again. It was a menacing silence. A deathly silence, thought Meggie. The word kept going through her mind.
"Suppose the Shadow doesn't obey you?" she asked. "Like the flower maiden. Then what?"
"We had better not even think of that," replied Fenoglio slowly.
47 . ALONE
"Why, O why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole!" said poor
Mr. Baggins bumping up and down on Bombur's back.
J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
When Elinor heard the shots she jumped up so fast that she stumbled over her blanket in the dark and fell full length in the coarse grass. It pricked her hands as she got up. "Oh God, oh God, they've caught them!" she stammered, groping around in the night looking for the stupid dress the boy had stolen for her. It was so dark she could scarcely see her own feet. "Oh, it serves them right, " she kept repeating to herself. "Why didn't they take me with them, the stupid idiots? I could have kept watch, I'd have been on the alert. " But when she finally found the dress and pulled it over her head with trembling fingers she suddenly stood still.
How quiet it was. Deathly quiet.
They've shot them, something whispered inside her. That's why it's so quiet. They're dead. Dead as mutton. They're lying bleeding on that square outside the house, both of them, oh, my God! Now what? She sobbed. No, Elinor, no tears now. What use are tears? You must look for them, come on. She stumbled off. Was she going the right way?
"No, you can't come, too, Elinor, " Mortimer had said. He had looked so different in the black suit Farid had stolen for him – like one of Capricorn's men, which of course was the point of the masquerade. The boy had even found him a shotgun.
"Why not?" she had replied. "I'll even put that silly dress on!"
"A woman would be conspicuous, Elinor! You've seen for yourself – there are never any women in the streets at night. Only the guards. Ask the boy. "
"I don't want to ask him! Why didn't he steal a suit for me, too? Then I could have disguised myself as a man."
They had no answer to that.
"Elinor, please, we need someone to stay with our things!"
"Our things? You mean Dustfinger's dirty backpack?" She was so angry she had kicked it. How clever they'd thought themselves, but their disguise had done them no good! Who had recognized them? Basta, Flatnose, the man with the limp? "We'll be back by dawn, Elinor, with Meggie, " Mo had said. Liar! She could tell from his voice he didn't believe it himself. Elinor stumbled over a tree root, grabbed at something prickly, and fell to her knees sobbing. Murderers! Murderers and fire-raisers. What had she to do with people like that? She should have known better when Mortimer suddenly turned up at her door, asking her to hide the book. Why hadn't she just said no? Hadn't she thought instantly that the matchstick-eater looked like someone with the word trouble written all over him in red? But the book – ah, the book. Of course she hadn't been able to resist the book.
They took that stinking marten with them, she thought as she picked herself up again, but not me. And now they're dead. "Let's go to the police!" How often she'd said that! But Mortimer had always given the same answer. "No, Elinor, Capricorn would get Meggie well out of the way as soon as the first police officer set foot in the village. And believe me, Basta's knife is faster than all the police in the world. " As he spoke she had seen that little frown above his nose, and she knew him well enough to know what that meant.
What was she going to do? She was alone, after all.
Don't make such a fuss, Elinor, she told herself. You've always been alone, remember. Now, use your head. Whatever's happened to her father, you must help the girl – get her out of this thrice-accursed village. There's no one left but you to do it. If you don't, she'll end up as one of those timid maidservants who scarcely dare to raise their heads and whose only purpose is to clean and cook for their ghastly master. Perhaps she'll be allowed to read aloud to Capricorn now and then, when he feels like it, and then, when she's older… she's a pretty little thing. Elinor felt sick. "I need a shotgun, " she whispered, "or a knife, a big sharp knife. I'll slip into Capricorn's house with it. Who's going to recognize me in this unspeakable dress?" Mortimer had always thought she couldn't cope with the world except between the covers of a book, but she'd show him!
Just how will you do that? asked the little whispering voice inside. He's gone, Elinor, gone like your books.
She wept, so loudly that she even alarmed herself and put a hand to her mouth. A twig cracked under her feet, and the light went out behind one of the windows in Capricorn's village. She had been right. The world was a terrible place, cruel, p
itiless, dark as a bad dream. Not a good place to live in. Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness – and love. Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn't ask anything in return; they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly. Love, truth, beauty, wisdom, and consolation against death. Who had said that? Someone else who loved books; she couldn't remember the author's name, only the words. Words are immortal – until someone comes along and burns them.
She stumbled on, getting closer all the time. Pale light seeped from Capricorn's village, like milky water running into the night. Three of the murderers were standing among the vehicles in the parking lot with their heads together. "Talk away!" whispered Elinor. "Boast, why don't you, with your bloodstained fingers and black hearts – you'll be sorry yet for killing them. " Would it be better to go down right away or wait until daylight? Both were mad ideas; she wouldn't get beyond the third house in the village. One of the three men looked around, and for a moment Elinor thought he could see her. She scrambled back, slipped, and grabbed at a branch before she lost her footing again. Then came a rustling behind her, and a hand covered her mouth before she could turn around. She wanted to scream, but the fingers were pressing so hard on her lips she couldn't utter a sound.
"So here you are. Any idea how long I've been looking for you?
It couldn't be true. She had been so sure she would never hear that voice again.
"Mortimer!"
"Sorry, but I knew you'd scream! Come on!" Mortimer took his hand away from her mouth and gestured to her to follow him. She wasn't sure which she wanted to do most, fling her arms around his neck or hit him hard enough to hurt.
Only when the houses of Capricorn's village were almost out of sight behind the trees did he stop. "Why didn't you stay at the camp? Staggering around here in the dark – have you any idea how dangerous it is?"
This was too much. He had walked so fast Elinor was still gasping for breath. "Dangerous?" In her fury, she found it difficult to keep her voice down. "You're a fine one to talk about danger! I thought you were both dead! I thought they'd stabbed you or shot you or…"
He rubbed a weary hand over his face. "Some of them are pretty poor shots, " he said. "Luckily. "
His calm tone made Elinor want to shake him. "Really? And what about the boy?"
"He's all right, too, except for a scratch on his forehead. When they started firing the marten ran away and Farid went after him. That's when a ricochet caught him. I've left him up at the camp."
"The marten? Is that all you can think about, that vicious, stinking animal? Tonight has aged me by ten years!" Elinor's voice was rising again, and she forced herself to lower it. "I put on this horrible dress, " she hissed. " And I could see you in my mind's eye, lots of blood and terrible wounds… Oh, must you look at me like that?" she snapped. "It's a wonder you're not both dead. I should never have listened to you. We should have gone to the police. This time they must believe us, they -"
"It was bad luck, Elinor, that's all, " Mo interrupted.
"Honestly. It just happened to be Cockerell on guard outside the house. The others wouldn't have recognized me."
"And what about tomorrow? Perhaps it'll be Basta or Flatnose then. How's it going to help your daughter if you're dead?"
Mo turned his back to her. "But I'm not dead, Elinor, " he said evenly. "And I'm going to get Meggie out of there before she has to play the leading role at an execution."
When they reached their camp Farid was asleep. The bloodstained bandage Mortimer had tied around his head looked almost like the turban he had been wearing when he first appeared among the columns of Capricorn's church.
"It looks worse than it is, " Mo whispered. "But if I hadn't held him back he'd have chased halfway around the village after that marten. And if they hadn't caught us I expect he'd have slipped into the church, too, to see how Dustfinger was doing. "
Elinor only nodded and wrapped her blanket around her. It was a mild night; anywhere else it could have been called peaceful.
"How did you shake them off?" she asked.
Mortimer sat down beside the boy. Only now did Elinor see that he was carrying the shotgun that Farid had stolen for him. He took it off his shoulder and put it down in the grass beside him. "They didn't follow us for long, " he said. "Why bother? They know we'll be back. All they have to do is wait."
And this time Elinor would be with them, she promised herself. She never again wanted to feel as utterly deserted as she had this night. "What are you planning to do next?" she asked.
"Farid's idea was to start a fire. I thought that would be too dangerous, but we're running short of time. "
"Fire?" Elinor felt as if the word would burn her tongue. Ever since she had found the ashes of her books, the mere sight of a matchstick had caused her to panic.
"Dustfinger's taught the boy something about handling fire, and anyway, as we know, even the biggest fool can start one. If we were to send Capricorn's house up in flames -"
"Are you crazy? Suppose it spreads to the hills?"
Mo bowed his head and stroked his hand over the barrel of the gun. "I know, " he said, "but I can't see any other way. The fire will create a diversion, Capricorn's men will be kept busy putting it out, and in all the confusion I'll try to get through to Meggie while Farid releases Dustfinger. "
"You're mad!" This time Elinor couldn't help her voice rising. Farid muttered something in his sleep, put his hand nervously to the bandage around his head, then turned over.
Mo straightened the boy's blanket and leaned back against the tree trunk. "That's our plan, all the same, Elinor, " he said. "Believe me, I've been racking my brains till I thought I'd go crazy. But there's no other way. And if none of that is any use I'll set fire to his damn church as well. I'll melt down his gold and reduce his whole damned village to dust and ashes, but I'll have my daughter back."
Elinor had no answer to that. She lay down and pretended to be asleep even though she couldn't sleep a wink. When day dawned, she persuaded Mortimer to get a little rest himself while she kept watch. Before long he was fast asleep. As soon as his breath sounded peaceful and regular, Elinor took off the stupid dress, got into her own clothes, combed her tousled hair, and wrote him a note. Gone to get help. Back around mid day. Please don't do anything until then. Elinor.
She put the note into his half-opened hand, so that he would see it as soon as he woke up. As she tiptoed past the boy she saw that the marten was back. He was curled up beside Farid, licking his paws. His black eyes stared at Elinor as she bent over the boy to adjust his bandage. Uncanny little beast, she could never take to him, but Farid loved him like a dog. Sighing, she straightened up. "Look after them both, will you?" she whispered, then set off. The car was still where she had hidden it under the trees. It was a good hiding place; the branches hung so low she missed the car herself at first. The engine caught immediately. Elinor listened anxiously to the sounds of the morning for a moment, but there was nothing to be heard apart from the birds, greeting the day as exuberantly as if it were their last.
The nearest village, the last village through which she and Mortimer had driven, was scarcely a half hour's drive away. There was sure to be a police station there.
48. THE MAGPIE
But they woke him with words, their cruel, bright weapons.
T. H. White, The Book of Merlin
It was still quite early when Meggie heard Basta's voice out in the corridor. She hadn't touched the breakfast one of the maids had brought them. When she had asked what had happened last night, what the shots meant, the girl had just stared at her, terrified, shook her head, and scurried out of the door. She probably thought Meggie was a witch.
Fenoglio hadn't eaten any breakfast either. He was writing. He wrote and wrote without stopping, filling sheet after sheet of paper, tearing up what he'd written, beginning again, put ting one sheet aside and starting another, frowning, crumpling up the paper – and starting
once more. Hours and hours passed like this, until there were only three sheets of paper he hadn't torn up. Just three. At the sound of Basta's voice he hastily hid them under his mattress, kicking the crumpled pieces of paper under the bed with his foot. "Quick, Meggie! Help me get them under the bed!" he whispered. "He mustn't find any – not a single one." Meggie obeyed, but all she could think about was why Basta was here. Was he going to tell her something? Did he want to see her face when he told her not to expect Mo anymore?
Fenoglio had sat down at the table again in front of a blank sheet of paper and was rapidly scribbling a few words on it when the door opened.
Meggie held her breath as if that would hold back the words that were about to come out of Basta's mouth and stab her in the heart. Fenoglio put down his pen and went to stand beside her. "What is it?" he asked.
"I'm to fetch her, " said Basta. "Mortola wants to see her. " He sounded angry, as if it were beneath his dignity to carry out such a trivial task.
Mortola? The Magpie? Meggie looked at Fenoglio. What did this mean? But the old man only shrugged his shoulders, at a loss.
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