Inkspell ti-2

by Cornelia Funke

  And before Meggie knew it, one of the soldiers took her roughly by the shoulder. The last thing she saw before she stumbled into the stable after the moss-woman was the expression of alarm on Farid's face.

  42. A FAMILIAR FACE

  Believe me. Sometimes when life looks to be at its grimmest, there's a light hidden at the heart of things.

  Clive Barker, Abarat

  Mo was conscious as the moss-woman kneeled down beside him. He sat leaning back against the damp wall, his eyes searching all the prisoners crouching in the dimly lit stable, looking for Resa's face. He didn't see Meggie until the little woman impatiently beckoned her over. Of course he realized at once that even a smile would have given her away, but it was so hard for him not to take her in his arms, so hard to hide the joy and fear that struggled for his heart at the sight of her.

  "What are you standing around for?" the old woman snapped at Meggie. "Come here, you stupid thing!" Mo could have shaken her, but Meggie just kneeled down quickly beside her and took the bloodstained bandages that the old woman was none too gently cutting away from his chest. Don't stare at her, thought Mo, forcing his eyes to look anywhere else: at the old woman's hands, at the other prisoners, not at his daughter. Had Resa seen

  her, too? She's all right, he thought. Yes, definitely. She wasn't any thinner than usual, and she didn't seem to be sick or injured, either. If only he could at least have exchanged a word with her!

  "By fairy spit, what's the matter with you?" asked the little woman roughly as Meggie almost spilled the water she was handing her. "I might just as well have taken one of the soldiers." She began feeling Mo's injuries with her barklike fingers. It hurt, but he clenched his teeth so that Meggie wouldn't notice.

  "Are you always so hard on her?" he asked the old woman.

  The little moss-woman muttered something incomprehensible without looking at him, but Meggie ventured a quick glance, and he smiled at her, hoping she wouldn't notice the concern in his eyes, his alarm at seeing her again in this of all places, among all the soldiers. Be careful, Meggie, he tried to tell her with his eyes. How her lips were quivering, probably with all the words that she couldn't say aloud, any more than he could! But it was so good to see her. Even in this place. In all those days and nights of fever, he had so often felt sure that he would never see her face again!

  "Hurry up, can't you?" Suddenly, Firefox was standing right behind Meggie, and at the sound of his voice she quickly bowed her head and held out the bowl of water to the little old woman again.

  "This is a nasty wound!" remarked the moss-woman. "I'm surprised you're still alive."

  "Yes, strange, isn't it?" Mo was as much aware of Meggie's glance as if it were the pressure of her hand. "Perhaps the fairies whispered a few words of healing in my ear."

  "Words of healing?" The moss-woman wrinkled up her nose. "What kind of words would those be? Fairies' gossip is as stupid and useless as fairies themselves."

  "Well, then someone else must have whispered them to me."

  Mo saw how pale Meggie turned as she helped the moss-woman rebandage his wound, the wound that hadn't killed him. It's nothing, Meggie, he wanted to say, I'm fine – but all he could do was look at her again, only in passing, as if her face meant no more to him than any other.

  "Believe it or not," he told the old woman, "I did hear the words. Beautiful words. At first I thought it was my wife's voice, but then I realized it was my daughter's. I heard her voice as clearly as if she were sitting here beside me."

  "Yes, yes, folk hear all kinds of things in a fever!" replied the moss-woman brusquely. "I've heard of those who swore the dead spoke to them. The dead, angels, demons… A fever will summon up whole troops of them." She turned to Firefox. "I have an ointment that will help him," she said, "and I'll brew up something for him to drink. I can't do any more." When she turned her back on them, Meggie quickly put her hand on Mo's fingers. No one noticed, nor did they notice the gentle pressure he gave her hand in return. He smiled at her again, and only when the moss-woman turned again did he quickly look aside. "You ought to look at his leg, too!" he said, nodding toward the strolling player lying asleep beside him on the straw, exhausted.

  "No, she oughtn't!" Firefox interrupted. "It's all one to me whether he lives or dies. You're different."

  "Oh, I see! You still think I'm that robber." Mo leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. "I suppose it's no good if I tell you yet again that I'm not?"

  By way of answer, Firefox just cast him a contemptuous glance. "Tell the Adderhead. Perhaps he'll believe you," he said. Then he pulled Meggie roughly to her feet. "Go on, off with you both! That'll do!" he shouted at her and the moss-woman. His

  Ombra, too, and singing one of his songs, drunk with blood and the intoxication of killing. The presence of the man with the silver nose was yet another reason why he had to stay out of sight. Meggie and Farid were waiting behind the stables, as agreed, but they were arguing in such loud voices that Dustfinger came up behind the boy and put his hand over his mouth.

  "What do you think you're doing?" he said angrily, his voice low. "Do you want them to put you two in with the others?"

  Meggie bowed her head. She had tears in her eyes again.

  "She wants to go into the stable!" Farid whispered. "She thinks they'll all be asleep! As if -"

  Dustfinger closed the boy's mouth with his hand again. Voices rang out over the yard. Obviously, someone had brought the guards outside the stable something to eat. "Where's the Black Prince?" he whispered, when all was still again.

  "Between the bakehouse and the main building. Tell her she can't go back into that stable! There are at least fifteen soldiers in there."

  "How many guarding the Prince?"

  "Three."

  Three. Dustfinger glanced up at the sky. No moon. It was hidden behind the clouds, and the darkness was black as a cloak.

  "Are you going to free him? Three aren't many!" Farid sounded excited. Not a trace of fear in his voice. That fearlessness would be the death of him yet. "We can cut their throats before they make a sound. It'll be easy." He often said such things. Dustfinger kept wondering if it was just talk, or if he'd actually done something of the kind in the past.

  "I can tell you're ready for anything!" he said softly. "But you know very well I'm no good at cutting throats. How many prisoners are there?"

  "Eleven women, three children, nine men not counting Silvertongue."

  "How is he?" Dustfinger looked at Meggie. "Have you seen him? Can he walk?"

  She shook her head.

  "What about your mother?" She cast him a quick glance. She didn't like it when he mentioned Resa. "Come on, is she all right?"

  "I think so." She put one hand to the stable wall, as if she could feel her parents behind it. "But I didn't get a chance to talk to her. Please!" How pleadingly she was looking at him! "I'm sure they're all asleep. I'll be very careful!"

  Farid cast a despairing glance up at the stars, as if such stupidity would make them break their eternal silence.

  "The guards won't sleep," said Dustfinger. "So think up a good lie for them. Do you have anything to write with?"

  Meggie looked at him incredulously, and for a moment Dustfinger saw her mother's eyes. Then she quickly put her hand into the bag that she carried with her. "I have some paper with me, "she whispered, hastily tearing a page out of her little marbled notebook.

  Like mother, like daughter. Never without the means of writing.

  "You're letting her do it?" Farid looked at him in astonishment.

  "Yes."

  Meggie looked at him expectantly.

  "Write that there'll be a fallen tree lying across the road they take tomorrow. When it catches fire, everyone strong and young enough must run into the forest to the left. To the left: That's important! Write that we'll be waiting there to hide them. Did you get that down?"

  Meggie nodded. Her pencil hurried over the paper. He could only hope that Resa would be
able to decipher the tiny handwriting in the darkness of the stable, because he wouldn't be there to make fire for her.

  "Have you thought what you're going to tell the guards?" he asked.

  Meggie nodded. For a moment she looked almost like the little girl she had still been not much more than a year ago, and Dustfinger wondered whether it was a mistake, after all, to let her go – but before he could change his mind she was off. She raced over the yard and disappeared into the inn. When she came back, she was carrying a jug.

  "Please, the moss-woman sent me!" they heard her clear voice telling the guards. "I'm to take the children milk."

  "Look at that. Clever as a jackal!" whispered Farid as the guards moved aside. "And brave as a lioness." There was so much admiration in his voice that Dustfinger couldn't help smiling. The boy was definitely in love.

  "Yes, she's probably cleverer than both of us put together," he whispered back. "And certainly braver, at least as far as I'm concerned."

  Farid just nodded. He was staring at the open stable door – and smiled with relief when Meggie came out again.

  "See that?" she whispered to him when she was back beside Farid. "It was perfectly easy."

  "Good!" said Dustfinger, beckoning Farid over to his side. "Then let's cross our fingers and hope that what we have to do now is as easy. What about it, Farid? Do you feel like playing with fire?"

  The boy carried out his task with as cool a head as Meggie. Apparently lost to the world but in a spot where the men guarding the Prince had a clear view of him, he began making fire dance as naturally as if he were standing in some peaceful marketplace, not in front of an inn that sheltered Firefox and the piper. The guards nudged each other, laughed, glad of something to pass the time this sleepless night. Seems that I'm the only one here whose heart is beating faster, thought Dustfinger as he stole past heaps of stinking offal and rotting vegetables. It looked as if the fat landlord's cooks simply threw everything they couldn't serve to the guests out here behind the house. A few rats scurried off when they heard Dustfinger's footsteps, and the hungry eyes of a brownie glowed among the bushes. They had tied up the Prince next to a mountain of carcasses, and his bear just far enough away to keep him from reaching the bones. He squatted there, snorting unhappily through his muzzle, which was bound, now and then uttering a miserably muted howl.

  The guards had stuck a torch in the ground not far away, but the flame went out at once when the wind carried Dustfinger's quiet voice to it. Nothing was left but a faint glow – and the Black Prince raised his head. He knew at once who must be slinking around in the dark when the fire so suddenly died down. A few more quick and silent steps, and Dustfinger took cover behind the bear's furry back.

  "That boy's really good!" whispered the Prince without turning around. A sharp knife would soon deal with the ropes binding him.

  "Yes, very good. And afraid of nothing, unlike me." Dustfinger examined the padlocks on the bear's chains. They were rusty but not particularly difficult to open. "What do you say to a little walk in the forest? But the bear must be quiet, quiet as an owl. Can he do it?" He ducked when one of the guards turned, but the man had obviously just heard the maid who was coming out of the kitchen to tip a bucket of refuse onto the garbage heaps behind the building. She disappeared again, with a curious look at the bound Prince – and took with her the noise that had come spilling out of the doorway.

  "What about the others?"

  "Four guards outside the stable, another four told off by Firefox to guard Silvertongue, and there must be ten more guarding the other prisoners. It's unlikely that we can distract the attention of all of them, certainly not for long enough to get the injured and crippled to safety."

  "Silvertongue?"

  "Yes, the man they were looking for in your camp. What do you call him?" A padlock sprang open. The bear growled; perhaps Jink was making him uneasy. The second chain had better stay where it was for now, or he'd probably eat the marten. Dustfinger set about cutting the ropes tying up the Black Prince. He had to hurry, for they must be gone before Farid's arms tired. The second padlock clicked. Another quick glance at the boy… By the fire of the elves! thought Dustfinger. He throws the torches almost as high as I do now! But just as the Prince was throwing off his ropes, a fat man marched up to Farid with a maid and a soldier behind him. He shouted at the boy and pointed indignantly to the flames. Farid just smiled, skipped back while Gwin leaped around his legs, and went on juggling the burning torches. Oh yes, he was as clever as Meggie! Dustfinger signed to the Prince to go with him. The bear groped his way along after them, following his master's low voice. A pity he really was only a bear and not a Night-Mare. There'd have been no need to tell one of those to keep quiet. But at least he was black, as black as his master, and the night swallowed them up as if they were a part of it.

  "We'll meet down on the road by the fallen tree." The Prince nodded and disappeared into the darkness. As for Dustfinger, he set off in search of the boy and Resa's daughter.

  The soldiers were all shouting in confusion in the yard now that it was clear that the Black Prince had escaped; even the Piper had come out of the inn. But neither Farid nor the girl could be seen. The soldiers began searching the outskirts of the forest and the slope behind the house, carrying torches. Dustfinger whispered words into the night until the fire felt sleepy, and torch after torch was extinguished as if the slight breeze had blown them out. The men stopped in the middle of the road, feeling uneasy, and looked around with eyes full of fear – fear of the dark, fear of the bear, fear of everything else that roamed the woods by night.

  None of them dared go as far as the place where the fallen tree was blocking the road. The forest and the hills were as quiet as if no human foot had ever trodden there, Gwin was perched on the tree trunk, and Farid and Meggie were waiting on the other side under the trees. The boy had a bleeding lip, and the girl had laid her head wearily against his shoulder. Embarrassed, she straightened up as Dustfinger emerged in front of them.

  "Is he free?" asked Farid.

  Dustfinger put a hand under his chin and looked at the split lip. "Yes. Whatever happens tomorrow, the Prince and his bear will lend us a hand. How did you do that?" The two martens scurried past him and disappeared into the forest side by side.

  "Oh, it's nothing. One of the soldiers tried to grab me, but I got away. Well, tell me, was I good?" As if he didn't know the answer.

  "So good that I'm beginning to worry. If you carry on like this I'll soon be out of a job."

  Farid smiled. How sad Meggie looked, though. She seemed as lost as the child they had found in the looted camp. It wasn't difficult to imagine how she was feeling, even if, like Dustfinger himself, you had never known your parents. Acrobats, some of the women among the strolling players, a traveling physician… he had had many substitutes for them. Any of the Motley Folk who looked after abandoned children were like their parents. Well, say something to her, Dustfinger, anything, he thought. You often used to cheer up her mother. Though usually it was just for a short time… stolen time.

  "Listen." He kneeled down in front of Meggie and looked at her. "If we really manage to free some of them tomorrow, the Black Prince will take them to safety – but the three of us will follow the others."

  She looked at him as distrustfully as if he were a worn tightrope that she must walk high in the air.

  "Why?" she asked quietly. When she spoke in a low tone you didn't guess at the power that her voice could exert. "Why do you want to help them?" She didn't have to spell it out: Last time you didn't. Back in Capricorn's village. What could he say? That it was easier to stand by and watch in a strange world than in your own?

  "Let's say I may have something to make up for," he said at last. He knew he didn't have to explain what he meant. They both remembered that night, in another tale, when he had betrayed her to Capricorn. And there's something else, too, he almost added, I think your mother has been a captive long enough. But he didn't say that. He knew that
Meggie wouldn't have liked it.

  A good hour later the Black Prince joined them, uninjured and with his bear.

  43. THE BURNING TREE

  Do you see the tongues of fire Darting, flickering higher and higher? Do you see the flames all dancing. Flaring, off the dry wood glancing?

  James Kriiss, "Fire"

  Resa's feet were bleeding. The road was stony and wet with the morning dew. They all had their hands bound again, except the children. She had been terrified that the soldiers wouldn't let them walk with the other prisoners but would load them onto the cart instead. "Cry if they try to make you get up there!" she had whispered to the little ones. "Cry and scream until they let you walk with us." But luckily that hadn't been necessary. How scared the three children looked – two girls and a boy, not counting the baby still inside Mina's belly.

  The elder girl, who was just six, was walking between Resa and Mina. Whenever Resa glanced at her she wondered what Meggie had looked like at that age. Mo had shown her photographs, wonderful photographs taken in all the years she herself had missed, but those weren't her own memories but his. And Meggie’s.

  Brave Meggie. Resa's heart still contracted when she remembered how her daughter had passed her the sheet of paper in the stable. Where was she now? Was she watching them from somewhere in the forest?

  Only when the hue and cry over the Black Prince had broken out had she been able to read the note, by the light of the torch left burning overnight in the stable. None of the others could read, so she had been able to pass on Dustfinger's news to the women sitting near her only in whispers. After that, there had been no chance to tell the men, too, but the ones who could walk would run, anyway. Resa was to look after the children, and they knew what they were to do.