‘How many men-at-arms are there with him?’ As usual, Snapper sounded brusque. Resa didn’t like his voice. She didn’t like anything about him.
Doria seemed to like the man who had saved his life no better than she did, judging by the look he gave him. ‘A great many. More than us. Far more,’ he added. ‘I don’t know the exact figure. The peasants whose houses they burnt didn’t have time to count them.’
‘Even if they had had time it wouldn’t have been much use, would it?’ replied Snapper. ‘Everyone knows peasants can’t count.’
Gecko laughed, and with him some of the robbers who were always to be found near Snapper: Swindler, Grabber, the Charcoal-Burner, Elfbane, and several more.
Doria’s lips tightened. He and the Strong Man were peasant-born, and Snapper knew it. His own father, apparently, had been a mercenary soldier.
‘Tell them what else you heard, Doria.’ The Black Prince’s voice sounded weary as Resa had seldom heard it before.
The boy glanced at his brother once more. ‘They’re taking a head-count of the children,’ he said. ‘The Piper is drawing up lists of all of them over six years old and no more than five feet tall.’
A murmur rose among the robbers, and Resa saw Mo leaning over to the Prince to whisper something to him. How close to each other they seemed, and how naturally Mo sat there with the ragged robbers. As if he belonged to them as much as to her and Meggie.
The Black Prince straightened up. His hair wasn’t long now, as it had been when Resa had first met him. Three days after Dustfinger’s death he had shaved his head, the custom in this world after the death of a friend. For on the third day, it was said, the souls of the dead entered the realm from which there was no return.
‘We knew the Piper would be coming sometime,’ said the Black Prince. ‘The Adder could hardly have failed to notice that his brother-in-law was keeping most of the taxes he collects for himself. But as you’ve heard, the taxes aren’t the only reason why he’s coming. We all know only too well what they use children for in Argenta.’
‘What do they use them for?’ Meggie’s voice sounded so clear among the voices of all the men. You couldn’t tell from the sound of it that it had already changed this world several times by reading a few sentences.
‘What for? The tunnels in the silver mines are narrow, Bluejay’s daughter,’ replied Snapper. ‘Be glad you’re too large to be any use down there yourself.’
The mines. Resa’s hand went instinctively to the place where her unborn child was growing, and Mo glanced at her as if the same thought had struck him too.
‘Of course. The Adderhead has sent far too many children to the mines already. His peasants are beginning to resist. It seems the Piper has only just put down a revolt.’ Battista’s voice sounded as weary as the Prince’s. There were too few of them to right all these wrongs. ‘The children die quickly down there,’ Battista went on. ‘It’s a marvel the Adder hasn’t thought of taking ours before. Children with no fathers, only defenceless unarmed mothers.’
‘Then we’ll have to hide them!’ Doria sounded as fearless as only a boy of fifteen can. ‘The way you hid the harvest!’
Resa saw a smile appear on Meggie’s lips.
‘Hide them, oh yes, of course!’ Snapper laughed with derision. ‘A fabulous idea. Gecko, tell this greenhorn how many children there are in Ombra alone. He’s a peasant’s son, you know, can’t count.’
The Strong Man was rising to his feet, but Doria cast him a warning glance, and his brother sat down again. ‘I can pick my little brother up with one hand,’ the Strong Man often said, ‘but he’s a hundred times cleverer than me.’
Gecko obviously had not the faintest notion how many children there were in Ombra, quite apart from the fact that he wasn’t too good at counting himself. ‘Well, there are a lot,’ he faltered, while the crow on his shoulder pecked at his hair, presumably hoping to find a few lice. ‘Flies and children — that’s the only two things still in plentiful supply in Ombra.’
No one laughed.
The Black Prince remained silent, and so did everyone else. If the Piper wanted those children, then he would take them.
A fire-elf settled on Resa’s arm. She shook it off, and found herself longing for Elinor’s house so much that her heart hurt as if the elf had burnt it. She longed for the kitchen, always full of the humming of the outsize fridge, for Mo’s workshop in the garden, and the armchair in the library where you could sit and visit strange worlds without getting lost in them.
‘Perhaps it’s just bait!’ said Battista, breaking the silence. ‘You know how the Piper likes to leave bait lying around – and he knows very well that we can’t simply let him take the children. Perhaps,’ he added, glancing at Mo, ‘perhaps he’s hoping to catch the Bluejay that way at last!’
Resa saw Meggie instinctively moving closer to Mo. But his face remained unmoved, as if the Bluejay were someone else entirely.
‘Violante’s already told me the Piper would soon be coming here,’ said Mo. ‘But she said nothing about children.’
The Bluejay’s voice … the voice that had fooled the Adderhead and beguiled the fairies. It did nothing of the kind to Snapper. It merely reminded him that he had once sat where the Bluejay was sitting now – at the Black Prince’s side.
‘You’ve been talking to Her Ugliness? Fancy that! So that’s what took you to Ombra Castle. The Bluejay in conversation with the Adder’s daughter.’ Snapper twisted his coarse face into a grimace. ‘Of course she didn’t tell you anything about the children! Why would she? Quite apart from the fact that we can assume she doesn’t even know about it! Her Ugliness has no more say than a kitchen maid about what goes on at the castle. That’s how it always was, and that’s how it always will be.’
‘I’ve told you often enough, Snapper.’ The Black Prince spoke more sharply than usual. ‘Violante has more power than you think. And more men, too – even if they’re all very young.’ He nodded to Mo. ‘Tell them what happened at the castle. It’s time they knew.’
Resa looked at Mo. What did the Black Prince know that she didn’t?
‘Yes, come on, Bluejay, tell us how you got away unscathed this time!’ Snapper’s voice was so openly hostile now that some of the robbers exchanged uneasy glances. ‘It really does sound like enchantment! First they let you out of the Castle of Night scot-free, now you’re out of Ombra Castle as well. Don’t say you made the Milksop immortal too in order to get away!’
Some of the robbers laughed, but their laughter sounded uncomfortable. Resa was sure that many of them really did take Mo for some kind of enchanter, one of those men whose names were best spoken only in whispers, because they were said to know dark arts and could bewitch ordinary mortals with no more than a glance. How else was it possible for a man who had arrived as if from nowhere to be able to handle a sword better than most of them? And he could read and write as well.
‘Folk say the Adderhead’s immortality doesn’t bring him much joy!’ objected the Strong Man.
Doria sat down beside him, his eyes fixed darkly on Snapper. No, the boy certainly didn’t like his rescuer much. His friend Luc, on the other hand, followed Snapper and Gecko like a dog.
‘So how does that help us? The Piper is looting and murdering worse than ever.’ Snapper spat. ‘The Adder is immortal. The Milksop, his brother-in-law, hangs at least one of us almost every day. And the Bluejay rides to Ombra and comes back unharmed.’
All was very, very quiet once more. Many of the robbers felt that the deal the Bluejay had done with the Adderhead in the Castle of Night was more than uncanny, even if ultimately Mo had tricked the Silver Prince. But the Adderhead was immortal all the same. Again and again he enjoyed giving a sword to some man the Piper had captured and making him thrust it through his body – only to follow that up by wounding the attacker with the same sword and giving him enough time to die to attract the White Women. That was the Adderhead’s way of proclaiming that he no longer feared the daughter
s of Death, although it was also said that he still avoided getting too close to them. ‘Death Serves the Adder’ was the inscription he had had placed in silver lettering above the gates of the Castle of Night.
‘No. I was not required to make the Milksop immortal.’ Mo’s voice sounded cold as he replied to Snapper, very cold. ‘It was Violante who got me safely out of the castle. After asking me to help her kill her father.’
Resa placed her hand on her belly as if to keep the words away from her unborn child. But in her mind there was room for only one thought: he’s told the Black Prince what happened in the castle, but he didn’t tell me. He didn’t tell me …
She remembered how hurt Meggie had sounded when Mo finally told them what he had done to the White Book before giving it to the Adderhead. ‘You moistened every tenth page? But you can’t have done! I was with you the whole time! Why didn’t you say anything?’ Although Mo had kept her mother’s whereabouts a secret from her all those years, Meggie still believed that in the last resort he couldn’t really have any secrets from her. Resa had never felt that. All the same, it hurt that he had told the Black Prince more than he told her. It hurt badly.
‘Her Ugliness wants to kill her father?’ Battista sounded incredulous.
‘What’s so surprising about that?’ Snapper raised his voice as if to speak for them all. ‘She’s the Adder’s spawn. What reply did you give her, Bluejay? Did you say you must wait until your damn book doesn’t protect him from death any more?’
He hates Mo, thought Resa. He really hates him! But the look that Mo turned on Snapper was just as hostile, and Resa wondered, not for the first time, whether she simply used to overlook the anger in him, or whether it was as new as the scar on his chest.
‘The Book will protect Violante’s father for a long time yet.’ Mo sounded bitter. ‘The Adderhead has found a way to save it.’
Yet again there was murmuring among the robbers. Only the Black Prince didn’t seem surprised. So Mo had told him that too. Had told him, and not her. He’s turning into a different man, thought Resa. The words are changing him. This life is changing him. Even if it’s only a game. If it’s a game at all …
‘But that’s impossible. If you left the pages damp it will go mouldy, and you’ve always said yourself that mould kills books as certainly as fire.’
Meggie sounded so reproachful. Secrets … nothing eats away at love faster.
Mo looked at his daughter. That was in another world, Meggie, said his eyes. But his mouth said something else. ‘Well, the Adderhead has taught me better. The Book will go on protecting him from death – only if its pages stay blank.’
No, thought Resa. She knew what was coming next, and she felt like putting her hands over her ears, although she loved nothing in the world more than Mo’s voice. She had almost forgotten his face in all those years in Mortola’s service, but she had always remembered his voice. Now, however, it no longer sounded like her husband’s. It was the voice of the Bluejay.
‘It doesn’t take long to write three words.’ Mo did not speak loudly, but the whole Inkworld seemed full of his voice. It seemed to have belonged here for ever – among the tall, towering trees, the ragged men, the drowsy fairies in their nests. ‘The Adderhead still believes that only I can save the Book. He’ll give it to me if I go to him promising to cure it, and then … some ink, a pen, it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to write three words. Suppose Violante can gain those few seconds for me?’
His voice painted the scene in the air, and the robbers listened as if they could see the whole thing before their eyes. Until Snapper broke the spell.
‘You’re out of your mind! Totally out of your mind!’ he said hoarsely. ‘I suppose by now you believe everything the songs say about you – how you’re invulnerable! The invincible Bluejay! Her Ugliness will sell you, and her father will skin you alive if he gets his hands on you again. That won’t take him much more than a few seconds! But your liking for playing the hero will cost all the rest of us our lives too!’
Resa saw Mo’s fingers close around the hilt of his sword, but the Black Prince laid a hand on his arm. ‘Maybe he’d have to play the hero less frequently if you and your friends did it more often, Snapper,’ he said.
Snapper rose to his feet menacingly slowly, but before he could say anything the Strong Man spoke up, quick as a child trying to settle his parents’ quarrel. ‘Suppose the Bluejay is right? Perhaps Her Ugliness really does want to help. She’s always been good to us strolling players! She even used to come and visit our camp. And she feeds the poor and sends for the Barn Owl to come to the castle when the Milksop’s had some unfortunate fellow’s hand or foot chopped off!’
‘Yes, very generous of her, isn’t it?’ Gecko made a mocking face, as he so often did when the Strong Man said anything, and the crow on his shoulder uttered a croak of derision. ‘What’s so generous about giving away kitchen scraps and clothes no one wants any more? Does Her Ugliness go around in rags like my mother and my sisters? No! I expect Balbulus has run out of parchment, and she wants to buy more with the price on the Bluejay’s head!’
Once again some of the robbers laughed. As for the Strong Man, he looked uncertainly at the Black Prince. His brother whispered something to him, and scowled at Gecko. Please, Prince! thought Resa. Tell Mo to forget what Violante said. He’ll listen to you. And help him to forget the Book he bound for her father! Please!
The Black Prince glanced at her as if he had heard her silent pleading. But his dark face remained inscrutable. She often found Mo’s face impossible to read these days.
‘Doria!’ the Prince said. ‘Do you think you can get past the castle guards and ask around among Violante’s soldiers? One of them may have heard more about what the Piper is here for.’
The Strong Man opened his mouth as if to protest. He loved his brother and did all he could to protect him, but Doria was at an age when a boy doesn’t want protection any more.
‘Of course. Easy,’ he said with a smile that showed how happy he was to do as the Prince asked. ‘I’ve known some of them ever since I could walk. Mostly they aren’t much older than me.’
‘Good.’ The Black Prince stood up. His next words were for Mo, although he didn’t look at him. ‘As for Violante’s offer, I agree with Gecko and Snapper. Violante may have a soft spot for strolling players and feel sorry for her subjects, but she’s still her father’s daughter, and we ought not to trust her.’
All eyes went to the Bluejay.
But Mo said nothing.
To Resa, that silence spoke louder than words. She knew it, just as Meggie did. Resa saw the fear on her daughter’s face as she began talking earnestly to Mo. Yes, by now Meggie too probably felt what a hold this story had taken on her father. The letters were drawing him deeper and deeper down, like a whirlpool made of ink, and once again the terrible thought that had haunted Resa with increasing frequency these last few weeks came to her: that on the day when Mo had lain wounded in Capricorn’s burnt-out fortress, close to death, perhaps the White Women really did take a part of him away with them to the place where Dustfinger had gone, and she would see that part of him again only there. In the place where all stories end.
15
Loud Words, Soft Words
When you go, space closes over like water behind you,
Do not look back: there is nothing outside you,
Space is only time visible in a different way,
Places we love we can never leave.
Ivan V. Lalic,
Places We Love
‘Please, Mo! Ask him!’
At first Meggie thought she had heard her mother’s voice only in a dream, one of the dark dreams that sometimes came to her out of the past. Resa sounded so desperate. But when Meggie opened her eyes she could still hear her voice. And when she looked out of the tent she saw her parents standing among the trees only a short way off, little more than two shadows in the night. The oak against which Mo was leaning was huge, an oak such
as Meggie had never seen outside the Inkworld, and Resa was clutching his arm as if to force him to listen to her.
‘Isn’t that what we’ve always done? When one of us didn’t like a story any more, we closed the book! Mo, have you forgotten how many books there are? Let’s find another to tell us its story, a book with words that will stay words and not make us a part of them!’
Meggie glanced at the robbers lying under the trees only a little way off. Many of them were sleeping in the open, although the nights were already very cold, but her mother’s despairing voice didn’t seem to have woken any of them.
‘If I remember correctly, I was the one who wanted to close this book long ago.’ Mo’s voice sounded as cool as the air making its way in through the tent’s ragged fabric. ‘But you and Meggie wouldn’t hear of another one.’
‘How was I to know what this story would turn you into?’ Resa’s voice sounded as if she hardly knew how to hold back her tears.
Go back to sleep, Meggie told herself. Leave the two of them alone. But she stayed where she was, freezing in the cold night air.
‘What are you talking about? What’s it supposed to have made me into?’
Mo spoke softly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the silence of the night, but Resa seemed to have forgotten where she was.
‘What’s it made you into?’ Her voice was rising with every word. ‘You wear a sword at your belt! You hardly sleep, you’re out all night. Do you think I can’t tell the cry of a real bluejay from a human imitation? I know how often Battista or the Strong Man came to fetch you when we were at the farm … and the worst of it is, I know how happy you are to go with them. You’ve found you have a taste for danger! You went to Ombra although the Prince warned you not to. And now you come back, after they almost caught you, and act as if it were all a game!’
‘What else is it?’ Mo was still speaking so softly that Meggie could hardly hear him. ‘Have you forgotten what this world is made of?’
‘I couldn’t care less what it’s made of. You can die in it, Mo. You know that better than I do. Or have you forgotten the White Women? No, you even talk about them in your sleep. Sometimes I almost think you miss them.’
Mo did not reply, but Meggie knew Resa was right. Mo had talked to her about the White Women only once. ‘They’re made of nothing but longing, Meggie,’ he had said. ‘They fill your heart to the brim with longing, until you just want to go with them, wherever they take you.’
‘Please, Mo!’ Resa’s voice was shaking. ‘Ask Fenoglio to write us back again! He’ll try to do it for you. He owes you that!’
One of the robbers coughed in his sleep, another moved closer to the fire … and Mo said nothing. When at last he did reply he sounded as if he were talking to a child. Even to Meggie he didn’t speak like that. ‘Fenoglio isn’t writing at all these days, Resa. I’m not even sure whether he still can.’
‘Then go to Orpheus! You’ve heard what Farid says. Orpheus has