"Those were interesting words that you had hidden in your clothing," Mortola said to her, low-voiced. "The Adderhead was particularly interested in the part about three very special words. Oh, see how pale she's gone around her pretty little nose! Yes, the Adderhead knows about your plans, little pigeon, and he knows now that Mortola isn't as stupid as he thought. But unfortunately he still wants the book you promised him. The fool really does believe that you two can keep his death imprisoned in a book." The Magpie wrinkled her nose at such princely stupidity and came yet closer to Meggie. "Yes, he's a gullible fool, like all princes!" she whispered. "We both know that, don't we? For the words you carried with you also say that Cosimo the Fair will conquer this castle and kill the Adderhead, with the aid of the book your father is to bind for him. But how can that be so? Cosimo is dead, and for good this time. Oh, how alarmed you look, you little witch!" Her bony fingers pinched Meggie's cheeks hard. Mo went to strike her hand away, but Basta faced him with the knife. "Your tongue has lost its magic power, my little darling!" said the Magpie. "The words are only words. The book your father is to bind for the Adderhead will be nothing but a blank book – and once the Silver Prince finally realizes that, nothing will save you two from the hangman. And Mortola will be avenged at last."
"Leave her alone, Mortola!" Mo reached for Meggie's hand in spite of Basta's knife, and Meggie clasped his fingers firmly in hers as thoughts raced through her mind in confusion. Cosimo was dead? For the second time? What did that mean? Nothing, she thought. Nothing at all, Meggie. Because you never read the words that were to protect him.
Mortola seemed to notice her relief, for the Magpie's eyes became as narrow as her lips. "Ah, so that doesn't trouble you? Do you think I'd lie to you? Or do you believe in that book of immortality yourself? Let me tell you something." The Magpie's thin fingers dug into Meggie's shoulder. "It's a book, no more, and I am sure you and your father remember what my son used to do with books! Capricorn would never have been fool enough to entrust his life to one, even if you'd promised him immortality for it! And furthermore… those three words that it seems must not be written in the book… I know them now, too."
"What do you mean by that, Mortola?" asked Mo quietly. "Do you by any chance dream of putting Basta here on the Adderhead's throne? Or even yourself?"
The Magpie cast a quick glance at the guard outside the cell door, but he had his back to them, and she turned to Mo again, her face expressionless. "Whatever I intend to do, Silvertongue," she hissed at him, "you won't live to see it. This story is over for you. Why isn't he in chains?" she snapped at the Piper. "He's still a prisoner, isn't he? At least tie his hands while you move him."
Meggie was about to protest, but Mo cast her a warning glance.
"Believe me, Silvertongue," said Mortola in a low voice as the Piper roughly tied Mo's hands behind his back, "even if the
Adderhead sets you free after you've made him his book, you won't get far. And Mortola's word is worth more than the words of a poet. Take the pair of them to the Old Chamber!" she ordered as she went to the door again. "But watch them closely, and make sure that not a single book falls into their hands."
The Old Chamber lay in the most remote part of the Castle of Night, far from the halls where the Adderhead held court. The corridors down which Basta and the Piper led them were dusty and deserted. No silver adorned the columns and doors here, there was no glass in the draughty windows. The room whose door the Piper finally opened, with a mocking bow to Mo, seemed to have been unoccupied for a long time. The pink fabric of the bed hangings was moth-eaten. The bunches of flowers standing in pitchers in the window niches were long dried up; dust was caught in the withered blossoms, and lay thick and dirty white on the chests that stood under the windows. In the middle of the chamber there was a table: a long wooden surface laid on trestles. A man stood behind it, as pale as paper, with white hair and inkstains on his fingers. He gave Meggie only a quick glance, but he studied Mo as thoroughly as if someone had asked him to deliver an expert opinion on him.
"Is this the man?" he asked the Piper. "He looks as if he'd never held a book in his hand in his life, let alone had the faintest idea how to bind one."
Meggie saw a smile steal over Mo's face. Without a word he went over to the table and examined the tools lying on it.
"My name is Taddeo, and I am the librarian here," the stranger went on, sounding annoyed. "I don't suppose that a single one of these objects means anything to you, but I can assure you that the paper you see there alone is worth more than your wretched robber's life. The finest product of the best paper mill for a thousand miles around, enough to bind more than two books of five hundred pages. Although a genuine bookbinder, of course, would prefer parchment to any paper, however good."
Mo held out his bound hands to the Piper. "There could be two opinions about that," he said, as the silver-nosed minstrel, his expression sullen, undid his bonds. "You should be glad I asked for paper. Parchment for this book would cost a fortune. Quite apart from the hundreds of goats that would have to give their lives for it. And as for the quality of these sheets, it's by no means as good as you claim. The texture is coarse, but if there's no better available it will have to do. I hope at least it's well sized. As for the rest of this" – Mo's expert fingers passed over the tools lying ready – "it looks serviceable."
Knives and bone folders, hemp, strong thread and needles to stitch the pages, glue and a pot to heat it in, beechwood for the back and front covers, leather to go over them – Mo picked them all up, as he did in his own workshop, before he set to work. Then he looked around. "What about the press and the sewing frame? And what am I going to heat the glue with?"
"You… you'll have everything you need before evening," replied Taddeo, in some confusion.
"The clasps are all right, but I shall need another file, and leather and linen for the tapes."
"Of course, of course. Anything you say." The librarian nodded, very ready to oblige now, while an incredulous smile spread over his pale face.
"Good." Mo leaned on the table, supporting himself with both hands. "I'm sorry, but I'm not very strong on my legs yet. I hope the leather is more flexible than the parchment, and as for the glue," he added, picking up the pot and sniffing, "well, we'll see if it's good enough. And bring me some paste, too. I'll use glue only for the covers. Bookworms like the flavor too much."
Meggie relished the sight of the surprised faces. Even the Piper was staring at Mo in disbelief. Only Basta remained unmoved. He knew that he had brought the librarian a bookbinder, not a robber.
"My father needs a chair," said Meggie, with an imperious glance at the librarian. "Can't you see he's injured? Is he supposed to work standing up?"
"Standing up? No… no, of course not! By no means. I'll have an armchair brought at once," answered the librarian distractedly. He was still staring at Mo. "You… er… you know a remarkable amount about books for a highwayman."
Mo gave him a smile. "Yes, don't I?" he said. "Perhaps the highwayman was once a bookbinder? Don't they say that all kinds of professions are to be found among the outlaws? Farmers, cobblers, physicians, minstrels -"
"Never mind what he once was," the Piper interrupted. "He's a murderer, anyway, so don't fall for his soft voice, bookworm. He kills without batting an eyelid. Ask Basta if you don't believe me."
"Yes, very true!" Basta rubbed his burned skin. "He's more dangerous than a nest of vipers. And his daughter's no better. I hope those knives won't give you any silly ideas," he said to Mo. "The guards will be counting them regularly, and they'll cut off one of your daughter's fingers for every knife that goes missing. And the same applies to any other stupid tricks you try. Do you understand?"
Mo did not answer him, but he looked at the knives as if to count them for safety's sake. "Oh, do get him a chair!" said Meggie to the librarian impatiently as Mo leaned on the table again.
"Yes, of course! At once!" Taddeo hurried away, but the Piper gave an ugly laugh
.
"Listen to the little witch! Ordering people around like a prince's brat! Well, not surprising, is it, since she claims to be the daughter of a man who can keep Death a prisoner between two wooden covers! What about you, Basta? Do you believe her story?"
Basta put his hand to the amulet hanging around his neck. It was not a rabbit's paw, as he had worn in Capricorn's service, but something that looked suspiciously like a human finger bone. "Who knows?" he muttered.
"Yes, who knows?" agreed Mo, without turning to look at the two of them. "But I can summon Death, anyway, can't I, Basta? So can Meggie."
The Piper cast Basta a swift glance.
Basta had pale blotches on his burned skin. "All I know," he growled, his hand still on his amulet, "is that you should have been dead and buried long ago, Silvertongue. And the Adderhead would do better to listen to Mortola instead of your witchy daughter. He ate out of her hand, did the Silver Prince. He fell for her lies."
The Piper straightened his back, as ready to attack as the viper on his master's coat of arms. "Fell for her lies?" he said, in his curiously strained voice. He was a good head taller than Basta. "The Adderhead falls for nothing anyone says. He is a great ruler, greater than any other. Firefox sometimes forgets that, and so does Mortola. Don't go making the same mistake. And now get out. The Adderhead's orders are that no one who ever worked for Capricorn is to be on guard in this room. Could that mean that he doesn't trust you?"
Basta's voice turned to a hiss. "You worked for Capricorn once yourself, Piper!" he said through compressed lips. "You'd be nothing but for him."
"Oh yes? You see this nose?" The Piper stroked his silver nose. "I once had a nose like yours, an ordinary nose of flesh and blood. It hurt losing it, but the Adderhead had a better one made for me, and since then I don't sing for drunken fire-raisers, I sing only for him – a real prince whose family is older than the towers of this castle. If you don't want to serve him, then go back to Capricorn's fortress. Maybe his ghost is haunting those burned-out walls – oh, but you're afraid of ghosts, aren't you, Basta?"
The two men were standing so close that the blade of Basta's knife wouldn't have fitted between them.
"Yes, I am afraid of ghosts," he hissed. "But at least I don't spend every night on my knees, whimpering because I'm afraid the White Women might fetch me away, like your fine new master."
The Piper struck Basta in the face so hard that his head hit the door frame. Blood ran down his burned cheek in a trail of red. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Take care to avoid dark corridors, Piper!" he whispered. "You don't have a nose anymore, but one can always find something else to cut off."
When the librarian came back with the chair Basta had gone, and the Piper left, too, after posting two guards outside the door. "No one comes in or goes out except the librarian!" Meggie heard him ordering brusquely before he left. "And check up regularly to make sure the Bluejay is working."
Taddeo smiled awkwardly at Mo as the Piper's footsteps died away outside, as if he felt he should apologize for the soldiers guarding the door. "Excuse me," he said quietly, placing the chair at the table for him, "but I have a few books that are showing strange signs of damage. Could you maybe take a look at them?"
Meggie had to suppress a smile, but Mo acted as if the librarian had asked him the most natural question in the world. "Of course," he said.
Taddeo nodded and glanced at the door. One of the guards was pacing up and down outside, looking sullen. "But Mortola mustn't know, so I'll come back when it's dark," he whispered to Mo. "Luckily, she goes to bed early. There are wonderful books in this castle, but sad to say no one here can appreciate them. It was different in the past, but the past is over and forgotten. I've heard matters aren't much better at the Laughing Prince's castle these days, but at least they have Balbulus there. We were all very sorry when the Adderhead gave his daughter our best illuminator to take with her as her dowry! Since then I'm not allowed to employ more than two scribes and one illuminator of only average talent. The only copies I can commission are of manuscripts about the Adderhead's ancestors, the mining and working of silver, or the art of war. Last year, when wood ran short again, Firefox even heated the small banqueting hall with my finest books." Tears came to Taddeo's clouded eyes.
"Bring me the books whenever you like," said Mo.
The old librarian passed the hem of his dark blue tunic over his eyes. "Oh yes!" he murmured. "Oh yes, I will. Thank you."
Then he was gone. Sighing, Mo sat down in the chair that Taddeo had brought him. "Very well," he said. "Let's get down to work. A book to keep Death at bay – what an idea! It's just a pity it's for this butcher. You'll have to help me, Meggie, with the folding and stitching, the pressing…" She just nodded. Of course she would help him. There were few things she liked doing better.
It felt so familiar, watching Mo at work again – setting the paper straight, folding it, cutting and stitching it. He worked more slowly than usual, and his hand kept going to his chest and the place where Mortola had wounded him. But Meggie could tell that carrying out the familiar movements did him good, even if some of the tools were not like those he was used to. The actions had been the same for hundreds of years, in both this world and the other one.
After only a few hours the Old Chamber had something curiously familiar about it, like a refuge and not just another prison. When twilight began to fall outside, the librarian and a servant brought them a couple of oil lamps. The warm light almost made the dusty room look full of life, for the first time in ages.
"It's a long while since any lamps were lit in this room," said Taddeo, putting a second one on the table for Mo.
"Who lived in this room last?" asked Mo.
"Our first princess," replied Taddeo. "Her daughter Violante married the Laughing Prince's son. I wonder if Violante knows that Cosimo has died for the second time." He looked sadly out the window. A moist wind was blowing in, and Mo weighted the paper down with a piece of wood. "Violante came into the world with a birthmark that disfigured her face," the librarian went on, in an abstracted voice, as if he were telling this story not to them but to some distant hearer. "Everyone said it was a punishment, a curse from the fairies because her mother had fallen in love with a minstrel. The Adderhead had her mother banished to this part of the castle as soon as the baby was born, and she lived here with her daughter until she died… died very suddenly."
"That's a sad story," said Mo.
"Believe me," replied Taddeo bitterly, "if all the sad stories these walls have seen were written down in books, we could fill every room in the castle with them."
Meggie looked around as if she could see all those books of sad stories. "How old was Violante when she was betrothed to Cosimo and sent to Ombra?" she asked.
"Seven. And the daughters of our present princess were only six when they were betrothed and sent away. We all hope she'll have a son this time!" Taddeo let his eyes linger on the paper that Mo had cut to size, the tools… "It's good to see life in this room again," he said quietly. "I'll come back with the books as soon as I'm sure that Mortola is asleep."
"Six, seven years old – my God, Meggie," said Mo when Taddeo had gone, "here you are, thirteen already, and I still haven't sent you away, let alone betrothed you to anyone!"
It felt good to laugh, even if the sound echoed strangely in this high-ceilinged room.
Taddeo did not come back until hours later. Mo was still working, although he put his hand to his chest more and more often, and Meggie had already tried persuading him once or twice to lie down and sleep. "Sleep?" was all he said. "I haven't slept properly for a single night in this castle. And anyway, I want to see your mother again, and I won't be able to do that until this book is finished."
The librarian brought him two volumes. "Look at this!" he whispered, pushing the first over to Mo. "See those places where the binding is eaten away? And inside it looks almost as if the ink were rusting. These are holes in the parchment. You can
hardly read some of the words now. What can have caused it? Worms, beetles? I never used to concern myself with these things. I had an assistant who knew all about these sicknesses that books suffer, but one morning he disappeared. They say he joined the robbers in the forest."
Mo picked up the book, opened it, and passed his hand over the pages. "Good heavens!" he said. "Who painted this? I've never seen such beautiful illuminations."
"Balbulus," replied Taddeo. "The illuminator who was sent away with Violante. He was very young when he painted this book. Look, his script was still a little awkward, but now his mastery is impeccable."
"How do you know?" asked Meggie.
The librarian lowered his voice. "Violante has a book sent to me now and then. She knows how much I admire the craftsmanship of Balbulus, and she knows there's no one else left in the Castle of Night who loves books. Not since her mother died. Do you see the chests there?" He pointed to the heavy, dusty wooden chests by the door and under the windows. "Violante's mother kept her books in them, hidden among her clothes. She would take them out only in the evening and show them to the little girl, although I suppose the child hardly understood a word of what her mother read her at the time. But then, soon after Capricorn had disappeared, Mortola came here. The Adderhead had asked her to train the maids in the kitchen – no one said what exactly they were to be trained to do. Then Violante's mother asked me to hide her books in the library, because Mortola had her room searched at least twice a day – she never found out what for. This," he said, pointing to the book that Mo was still leafing through, "was one of her favorites. The little girl would point to a picture and then her mother told her a story about it. I was going to give it to Violante when they sent her away, but she left it behind in this room. Perhaps because she didn't want to take any memories of this sad place to her new life with her. All the same, I'd like to save it as a memento of her mother. You know, I think that a book always keeps something of its owners between its pages."
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