Inkheart ti-1

by Cornelia Funke

  When Capricorn was sitting down, the blaring music fell silent, and they brought Meggie forward. They had put a horrible dress on her, but she held her head high, and the old woman who they all called the Magpie had difficulty dragging her up on to the rostrum, which the Black Jackets had set up in the middle of the field. A single chair stood on the rostrum, looking as forlorn as if someone had left it there and forgotten it. Elinor thought a gallows and a rope would have looked more suitable. Meggie looked down at them as the Magpie forced her up the wooden steps.

  "Hello, darling!" called Elinor when Meggie's frightened gaze recognized her. "Don't worry, I'm only here because I didn't want to miss hearing you read!"

  Everything had fallen so still on Capricorn's arrival that her voice echoed over the whole arena. It sounded brave and fear less. Fortunately, no one could hear how hard her heart was hammering against her ribs. Nor did anyone notice that she was almost choking with fear, for Elinor had put on her armor, the impenetrable and extremely useful armor behind which she had always hidden at times of need. It had become a little harder with every grief she felt, and lately there had been grief enough in Elinor's life.

  One of the Black Jackets laughed at her words, and a faint smile even flitted over Meggie's face. Elinor put her arm around Teresa's shoulders and held her close. "Look at your daughter, " she whispered. "As brave as… as…" She wanted to compare Meggie to a hero from some story, but all the heroes she could think of were men, and anyway none of them seemed to her brave enough for a comparison with the girl standing there perfectly straight, scrutinizing Capricorn's Black Jackets with her chin jutting out defiantly.

  The Magpie had brought not only Meggie but an old man. Elinor guessed that this was the writer who had caused them so much trouble – Fenoglio, the creator of Capricorn, Basta, and all the other monsters, including the terrible creature Meggie was to bring to life tonight. Elinor had always thought more of books than their authors, and she looked at the old man without much goodwill as Flatnose led him past their cage. There was a seat ready for him only a little way from Capricorn's armchair. Elinor wondered whether that meant Capricorn had found a new friend, but when Flatnose placed himself behind the grim-faced old man she concluded that Fenoglio was more likely a prisoner, too.

  Capricorn rose as soon as the old man was seated. Without a word, he let his gaze pass slowly over the long line of his men, as if recalling every one of them, remembering what good and what bad service each one had done him. The silence in the arena smelled of fear. All the laughter had died away, and not a whisper could be heard.

  "There is no need, " Capricorn finally began, raising his voice, "for me to explain to most of you why the three prisoners you see there are to be punished. For the rest, it is enough for me to say it is for treachery, loose talk, and stupidity. One may argue, of course, over whether or not stupidity is a crime deserving of death. I think it is, for it can have exactly the same consequences as treachery. "

  As he said this there was a restless stir on the benches. At first, Elinor thought Capricorn's words had set it off, but then she heard the bell. Even Basta raised his head as its tolling sounded through the night. At a sign from Capricorn, Flatnose beckoned to five men and strode off with them. Those left behind put their heads together uneasily, and some even jumped up and turned to look at the village. However, Capricorn raised his hand to quell the murmur that had arisen. "It is nothing!" he called in so loud and cutting a tone that everything immediately fell still again. "A fire, that's all. And we know how to deal with fire, don't we?"

  There was laughter, but some of the crowd, both men and women, were still looking anxiously at the houses.

  So they'd done it. Elinor bit her lips so hard they hurt. Mortimer and the boy had started a fire. No smoke yet showed above the rooftops, so, reassured, all the faces turned back to Capricorn, who was saying something about deceit and falsehood, discipline and negligence, but Elinor only half heard him. She kept looking at the houses of the village, though she knew it was dangerous to do so.

  "So much for the prisoners we have here!" cried Capricorn. "Now for those who got away. " Cockerell picked up a sack that had been lying behind Capricorn's chair and gave it to him. Smiling, Capricorn put his hand into it and held something up: a piece of fabric from a shirt or dress, torn and bloodstained.

  "They are dead!" called Capricorn to his audience. "I'd rather have seen them here, of course, but unfortunately there was nothing for it: They were trying to escape and had to be shot. Well, no one will miss the treacherous little fire-eater – almost all of you knew him – and fortunately Silvertongue has left us his daughter, who has inherited his gifts. "

  Teresa looked at Elinor, her eyes glazed with horror.

  "He's lying!" Elinor whispered to her, although she, too, could not take her eyes off the bloodstained rags. "He's using my lies, my tricks! That's not blood, it's paint, or some kind of dye. " But she saw her niece did not believe her. She believed in the bloodstained cloth, just as her daughter did. Elinor could read this on Meggie's face, and she longed to call out to her that Capricorn was lying, but she wanted him to believe his own story for a little longer – to believe they were all dead, and that no one would come to disturb his festivities.

  "That's right, boast of a bloodstained rag, you miserable fire-raiser!" she shouted through the bars. "That's really something to be proud of. Why do you need another monster? You're all monsters! Every one of you sitting there! You murder books, you abduct children!…"

  No one took any notice of her. A couple of the Black Jackets laughed. Teresa moved closer to the bars, clutching their cold metal with her fingers, never taking her eyes off Meggie.

  Capricorn left the bloodstained fabric lying over the arm of his chair. I know that rag, thought Elinor. I've seen it somewhere before. They're not dead. Who else would have started the fire? The matchstick-eater, something inside her whispered, but she refused to listen. No, the story must have a happy ending. It wouldn't be right otherwise! She had never liked sad stories.

  56 . THE SHADOW

  My heavens are brass my earth is iron my moon a clod of clay

  My sun a pestilence burning at noon amp; a vapour of death in the night.

  William Blake, Enion's Second Lament from Vala, or the Four Zoas

  In books hatred is often described as hot, but at Capricorn's festivities Meggie discovered it was cold – an ice-cold hand that stops the heart and presses it like a clenched fist against the ribs. Hatred made her freeze, in spite of the mild air wafting around her, telling her that the world was a good, safe place. She knew it was not – as the bloody cloth on which the smiling Capricorn had laid his ringed hand showed all too clearly.

  "Well, so much for that!" he cried. "And now for the real reason we are all gathered here tonight. Not only are we about to punish the traitors but we're also going to celebrate a reunion with an old friend. Some of you may remember him, and as for the others, I promise that once you have met him you will never forget him."

  Cockerell twisted his thin face into a sour smile. He was obviously not looking forward to the reunion and, at Capricorn's words, alarm showed on several other faces.

  "But that's enough talking. Now, let's hear something read aloud to us."

  Capricorn leaned back in his chair and nodded to the Magpie. Mortola clapped her hands, and Darius came hurrying across the arena with the casket Meggie had last seen in the Magpie's room. He clearly knew what it contained. His face was even more haggard than usual as he opened the casket and held it out to the Magpie, his head bowed humbly. The snakes seemed to be drowsy, and this time Mortola did not put on a glove before she lifted them out. She even draped them over her shoulders while she took the book out of its hiding place. Then she put the snakes back as carefully as if they were precious jewels, closed the lid, and handed the casket back to Darius. He stayed on the rostrum, looking awkward. Meggie caught him looking sympathetically at her as the Magpie made her sit down on the chair
and placed the book on her lap.

  Here it was again, the unlucky thing, in its brightly colored paper jacket. What color was the binding under it? Raising the dust jacket with her finger, Meggie saw the dark red cloth, as red as the flames surrounding the ink-black heart. Everything that had happened had begun between the pages of this book, and only the words of its author could save them now. Meggie stroked its binding as she always did before opening a book. She had seen Mo doing the same. Ever since she could remember she had known that movement – the way he would pick up a book, stroke the binding almost tenderly, then open it as if he were opening a box full to the brim with precious things. Of course, the marvels you hoped to find might not be waiting inside the covers, so then you closed the book, sorry that its promise had not been kept. But Inkheart was not a book of that kind. Badly told stories never come to life. There are no Dustfingers in them, nor even a Basta.

  "I am told to tell you something!" The Magpie's dress smelled of musty lavender, its fragrance enveloping Meggie in a suffocating threat. "Should you fail to do what Capricorn asks, should it occur to you to stumble over the words on purpose, or distort them so the guest Capricorn is expecting does not come, then…" Mortola paused and Meggie felt the old woman's breath on her cheek. "Cockerell will cut the old man's throat. Capricorn may not give the order himself, because he believes the stupid lies the old man told him, but I don't, and Cockerell will do as I say. Understand me, my little cherub?" She pinched Meggie's cheek with her bony fingers. Meggie shook off her hand and looked at Cockerell. He moved up behind Fenoglio, smiled at her, and ran a finger across the old man's throat. Fenoglio pushed him away and looked at Meggie as if one look could convey everything he wanted to say to her and give her: encouragement, comfort, and maybe even amusement in the face of all the horrors surrounding them.

  Whether or not their plan worked depended on him and his words – and Meggie's reading.

  Meggie felt the paper in her sleeve, scratching her skin. Her hands seemed like the hands of a stranger as she leafed through the pages of the book. The place where she was to begin was no longer marked by a folded corner. A bookmark as black as charred wood lay between the pages. "Push your hair back from your forehead, " Fenoglio had told her. "That will be the signal to me. " But just as she raised her left hand the crowd on the benches became restless again.

  Flatnose was back, with soot marks on his face. He hurried to Capricorn's side and whispered something to him. Capricorn frowned and looked toward the houses. Now Meggie saw two plumes of smoke rising into the sky from behind beside the church tower.

  Capricorn rose quickly from his chair. He tried to sound composed, ironic, like a man amused at some childish prank, but his face told a different story. "I am sorry to have to spoil the fun for a few more of you, but tonight the red rooster is crowing here, too. A feeble little rooster, but its neck must be wrung all the same. Flatnose, take another ten men back with you. " Flatnose obeyed and marched off with his reinforcements. The benches now looked a good deal emptier. "And don't any of you show your faces back here before you've found the fire-raiser!" Capricorn called after them. "Whoever it is, we'll teach him not to start fires in the devil's own domain – we'll teach him a lesson, right here and now!"

  Someone laughed, but most of those who had stayed behind were looking uneasily in the direction of the village. Some of the maids had actually risen to their feet, but the Magpie called their names in a sharp voice, and they were quick to sit back down with the others, like schoolchildren unfairly slapped on the hand. Nonetheless, the restlessness persisted. Scarcely anyone was looking at Meggie; almost all the members of her audience had turned their backs to her and were pointing at the smoke and whispering to one another. A red glow was creeping up the church tower, and gray smoke formed a dense cloud above the rooftops.

  "What is all this? Why are you staring at that little wisp of smoke?" There was no missing the anger in Capricorn's voice now. "A bit of smoke, a few flames – so what? Are you going to let that spoil our festivities? Fire is our best friend, have you forgotten?"

  Meggie saw the doubting faces turn back toward him. Then she heard a name. Dustfinger. A woman's voice had called it out.

  "What does that mean?" Capricorn's voice was so sharp that Darius almost dropped the casket of snakes. "There is no Dustfinger anymore. He's lying up there in the hills with his mouth full of earth and that marten of his on his breast. I never want to hear his name again. He is forgotten as if he had never been -"

  "That's not true. "

  Meggie's voice rang out over the arena so loud and clear that she herself was alarmed. "He's here!" She held up the book. "Never mind what you do to him. Everyone who reads this story will see him – you can even hear his voice, and see the way he laughs and breathes fire. "

  All went perfectly quiet. A few feet scraped uneasily on the red, rough surface of the old football field – then, suddenly, Meggie heard something behind her. It was a ticking like the sound of a clock, yet not quite the same, it sounded like a human tongue imitating a clock: tick-tick- tick-tick- tick-tick. The sound was coming from among the cars parked behind the wire fence with their dazzling headlights on. Meggie couldn't help it – she looked around, in spite of the Magpie and all the suspicious eyes turned on her. She could have kicked herself for being so stupid. Suppose they had seen it, too – the thin figure rising among the cars and quickly ducking down again.

  But no one seemed to have noticed her glance anymore than the ticking.

  "A very fine speech!" said Capricorn slowly. "But you're not here to make funeral orations for dead traitors. You're here to read aloud, and I am not going to tell you so again."

  Meggie forced herself to look at Capricorn. She mustn't look at the cars again. Suppose that really had been Farid? Suppose she hadn't imagined the ticking?

  The Magpie was watching her suspiciously. Perhaps she had heard it, too, that soft, harmless ticking, nothing but a tongue clicking against someone's teeth. What did it mean, unless you knew the story of Captain Hook and his fear of the crocodile with the ticking clock inside it? The Magpie wouldn't have read it, but Mo knew Meggie would understand his signal. He had woken her up often enough with that ticking sound, right beside her ear, so close that it tickled. "Breakfast time, Meggie!" he used to whisper. "The crocodile's here!"

  That was it. Mo knew she would recognize the ticking that helped Peter Pan to go aboard Captain Hook's ship and rescue Wendy. He couldn't have given her a better signal.

  Wendy, thought Meggie. What had happened next? For a moment she almost forgot where she was, but the Magpie reminded her. She slapped Meggie's face with the flat of her hand.

  "Start reading, will you, little witch!" she hissed.

  And so Meggie obeyed.

  Hastily, she removed the black bookmark from the pages where it lay. She must hurry, she must read before Mo did anything silly. He didn't know what she and Fenoglio were planning to do.

  "I'm going to start now, and I don't want anyone disturbing me!" she cried. "Anyone! Is that understood?" Oh please, let Mo understand, she thought, please!

  A few of Capricorn's remaining men laughed, but Capricorn himself leaned back and folded his arms in anticipation. "Yes, just you take heed of what the girl said!" he called. "Anyone who disturbs her will be given to the Shadow to welcome him here."

  Meggie put two fingers up her sleeve. There they were, Fenoglio's words. She looked at the Magpie. "Well, she's disturbing me!" she said out loud. "I can't read with her standing so close behind me."

  Capricorn gestured impatiently to the Magpie. Mortola's face looked sour, as if he had told her to eat a bar of soap, but she took two or three reluctant steps back. That would have to do.

  Meggie raised her hand and pushed the hair back from her forehead.

  The signal for Fenoglio.

  He instantly launched into his performance. "No, no, no! She's not to read!" he cried, moving toward Capricorn before Cockerell could stop him. "I ca
n't allow it! I am the author of this story, and I didn't write it to be misused for the purposes of violence and murder!"

  Cockerell tried to put his hand over Fenoglio's mouth, but Fenoglio bit his fingers and sidestepped him with more agility than Meggie would ever have expected of the old man.

  "I invented you!" he bellowed as Cockerell chased him around Capricorn's chair. "And I'm sorry I did, you stinking devil of a villain. " Then he ran off. Cockerell didn't catch up with Fenoglio until he reached the cage containing the prisoners, and in revenge for the mockery and laughter coming from the benches he twisted the old man's arm behind his back so viciously that Fenoglio let out a cry of pain. Yet, when Cockerell dragged him back to Capricorn's side, Fenoglio was looking pleased, because he knew he had given Meggie plenty of time. They had rehearsed it often enough. Her fingers had been shaking as she took the sheet of paper out of her sleeve, but no one noticed anything when she slipped it into the pages of the book. Not even the Magpie.

  "How the old man boasts!" cried Capricorn. "Do I look as if an old fellow like that invented me?"

  There was more laughter. The smoke above the rooftops seemed to have been forgotten. Cockerell put his hand over Fenoglio's mouth.

  "Once again, and I hope this will be the last time, " said Capricorn to Meggie, "start reading! The prisoners have waited long enough for their executioner. "

  Silence fell again, and once more it smelled of fear.

  Meggie bent over the book on her lap. The letters seemed to dance on the pages.

  Come out, thought Meggie, come out and save us! Save us all: Elinor and my mother, Mo and Farid. Save Dustfinger if he's still alive, and save Basta, too, for all I care.

  Her tongue felt like a little animal that had found refuge in her mouth and was now butting its head against her teeth.

  "Capricorn had many men, " she began. "And every one of them was feared in the surrounding towns and villages. They stank of cold smoke, they stank of sulfur and everything that reminds you of fire. Whenever one of them passed by people closed their doors and hid under the stairs with their children. They called them Firefingers and Bloodhounds – Capricorn's men had many names. They were feared by day, and by night they made their way into dreams and poisoned them. But there was one who was feared even more than Capricorn's villains. " Meggie felt as if her voice was growing stronger with every word she read. It seemed to grow until it filled the arena. "Folk called him the Shadow. "