But you once saw it quite differently, Elinor! she reminded herself, wiping the tears from her eyes. So what? Wasn't she old enough to change her mind, to bury an old love that had betrayed her miserably? They had not let her in. All the others were between their pages now, but she wasn't. Poor Elinor, poor, lonely Elinor! She sobbed so loudly that she had to put her hand over her mouth.
Darius cast her a sympathetic glance and hesitantly came to her side. Well, at least he was still with her, that was one good thing. And of course he could read her thoughts in her face, as always. But he couldn't help her, either.
I want to be with them, she thought despairingly. They're my family: Resa and Meggie and Mortimer. I want to see the Wayless Wood and feel a fairy settle on my hand again, I want to meet the Black Prince even if it means smelling his bear, I want to hear Dustfinger talking to fire even if I still can't stand the man! I want, I want, I want…
"Oh, Darius!" sobbed Elinor. "Why didn't the wretched fellow take me, too?" But Darius just looked at her with his wise, owl-like eyes.
"Hey, where did he go? That bastard still owed me money!" Sugar went to the place where Orpheus had disappeared and looked all around him, as if Orpheus might be stuck among the bookshelves somewhere. "Damn it, what does he think he's doing, just vanishing like that?" He bent down and picked up a sheet of paper.
The sheet of paper that Orpheus had been reading from! Had he taken the book with him but left behind the words that had opened the door for him? If so, then all was not lost after all… With determination, Elinor snatched the sheet of paper from Sugar's hand. "Give me that!" she demanded, clutching it to her breast just as Orpheus had clutched the book. The wardrobe-man's face darkened.
Two very different feelings seemed to be struggling with each other on his face: anger at Elinor's boldness, and fear of the written words that she was pressing to her breast so passionately. For a moment Elinor wasn't sure which would get the upper hand. Darius came up behind her, as if he seriously intended to defend her if necessary, but luckily Sugar's face cleared again, and he began to laugh.
"Well, fancy that!" he mocked her. "What do you want that scrap of paper for? Do you want to disappear into thin air, too, like Orpheus and the Magpie and your two friends? Feel free, but first I want the wages Orpheus and the old woman still owe me!" And he looked around Elinor's library as if he might see something in it that would do instead of payment.
"Your wages, yes, of course, I understand!" said Elinor quickly, leading him to the door. "I still have some money hidden in my room. Darius, you know where it is. Give it to him, all that's left, just so long as he goes away."
Darius did not look very enthusiastic, but Sugar gave such a broad smile that you could see every one of his bad teeth. "Well, that sounds like sense at last!" lie grunted and stomped after Darius who, resigned to this development, led him to Elinor's room.
But Elinor stayed behind in the library.
How quiet it suddenly was there. Orpheus had indeed sent all the characters he had read out of their books back into them again. Only his dog was still there, tail drooping as it sniffed the spot where its master had been standing only a few minutes before.
"So empty!" Elinor murmured. "So empty." She felt desolate. Almost more so than on the day when the Magpie had taken Mortimer and Resa away. The book into which they had all disappeared was gone. What happened to a book that disappeared into its own story?
Oh, forget the book, Elinor! she thought as a tear ran down her nose. How are you ever going to find, them again now?
Orpheus's words. They swam before her eyes as she looked at the paper. Yes, they must have taken him over there, what else? Carefully, she opened the glass case on which the paper had been lying before Orpheus disappeared, took out the book inside it – a wonderfully illustrated edition of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales signed by the author himself – and put the sheet of paper in its place.
76. A NEW POET
The joy of writing
The power of preserving,
Revenge of a mortal hand.
Wislawa Szymborska, "The Joy of Writing,"
View with a Grain of Sand
At first Orpheus could hardly be seen in the shadows filling the gallery like black breath. He stepped hesitantly into the light of the oil lamp by whose light Meggie had been reading. She thought she saw him put something under his jacket, but she couldn't make out what it was. Perhaps a book.
"Orpheus!" Farid ran to him, still holding Dustfinger's backpack in his arms.
So he was really here. Orpheus. Meggie had imagined him very differently… as much more impressive. This was just a man who was rather too stout, still very young, in an ill-fitting suit, and he looked as out of place in the Inkworld as a polar bear or a whale. In addition, he seemed to have lost his tongue. He stood there in a daze, looking at Meggie, at the dark gallery down which he had come, and finally at Farid, who had obviously entirely forgotten that the man he now greeted with such a radiant smile had stolen from him and betrayed him to Basta at their last meeting. Orpheus didn't even seem to recognize Farid, but when he finally did it brought back his voice.
"Dustfinger's boy! How did you get here?" he faltered. And yes, Meggie had to admit that his voice was impressive, much more impressive than his face. "Well, never mind that. This must be the Inkworld!" he went on, taking no more notice of Farid. "I knew I could do it! I knew I could!" A self-satisfied smile spread over his face. Gwin leaped up, hissing, as he almost trod on his tail, but Orpheus didn't even notice the marten. "Fantastic!" he murmured as he ran the palm of his hand over the gallery walls. "I suppose this is one of the passages that lead to the princely tombs under the castle of Ombra."
"No, it's not," said Meggie coldly. Orpheus – in league with Mortola – a magic-tongued deceiver. How empty his round face looked! No wonder, she thought with great dislike, as she rose from the place where Dustfinger had slept. He has no conscience, no sympathy, no heart. Why had she brought him here? As if there weren't enough of his sort in the Inkworld. I did it for Farid, replied her heart, for Farid…
"How are Elinor and Darius? If you've done anything to them…" Meggie didn't finish her sentence. If he had, then what?
Orpheus turned, with as much surprise as if he hadn't seen her at all before. "Elinor and Darius? Oh, are you that girl who apparently read herself here?" His eyes became watchful. Obviously, he remembered what he had done to her parents.
"My father almost died because of you!" Meggie was angry with herself for the way her voice shook.
Orpheus blushed childishly red, whether in annoyance or embarrassment Meggie couldn't have said, but whichever it was he quickly recovered. "Well, how can I help it if Mortola had a score to settle with him?" he replied. "And from what you say I take it that he's still alive, so there's nothing to get upset about, is there?" Shrugging, he turned his back to Meggie. "Strange!" he murmured, glancing at the rubble at the end of the gallery, the narrow ladders and the props supporting the roof. "Will someone explain exactly where I am? This looks almost like a mine, but I didn't read anything about a mine…"
"Never mind what you read. I'm the one who brought you here."
Meggie's voice was so sharp that Farid cast her a glance of alarm.
"You?" Orpheus turned and examined her so condescendingly that the blood rushed to Meggie's face. "You obviously don't know who you're talking to. But why am I bothering with you, anyway? I'm tired of looking at this unattractive mine. Where are the fairies? The men-at-arms? The strolling players?" He roughly pushed Meggie aside and went to the ladder, but Farid barred his way.
"You stay where you are, Cheeseface!" he snapped. "Do you want to know why you're here? Because of Dustfinger."
"Oh yes?" There was derision in Orpheus's laughter. "Haven't you found him yet? Well, perhaps he doesn't want to be found, or not by a persistent fellow like you…"
"He's dead," Farid interrupted brusquely. "Dustfinger is dead, and the only reason why Meg
gie read you here is for you to write him back!"
"She – did – not – read – me – here! How many more times do I have to tell you?" Orpheus made for the ladder again, but Farid simply took his hand without a word and led him over to the place where Dustfinger was.
Roxane had hung his cloak in front of the gallery where he was still lying, motionless, as if the earth had crushed him. She and Resa had placed burning candles around him – dancing fire instead of the flowers usually laid beside corpses.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Orpheus when he saw him lying there. "Dead! He really is dead! But this is terrible!"
Meggie was amazed to see that there were tears in his eyes. His fingers shook as he took his misted-up glasses off his nose and polished them on his jacket. Then, hesitantly, he went up to Dustfinger, bent, and touched his hand.
"Cold!" he whispered and retreated. His eyes blurred with tears, he looked at Farid. "Was it Basta? Come on, tell me! No, wait, how did it go? Was Basta even there? 'Some of Capricorn's men,' yes, that was it, they were going to kill the marten and Dustfinger tried to save him! I wept my eyes out when I read that chapter, I threw the book at the wall! And now I get here at last and -" He was struggling for breath. "I only sent him back because I thought he'd be safe here now! Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God! Dead!" Orpheus sobbed – and then fell silent. He bent over Dustfinger's body again. "Wait a moment. Stabbed. Stabbed, that's what it says in the book. So where's the wound? 'Stabbed for the marten's sake,' yes, that's what it said." He turned abruptly and stared at Gwin, who was perched on Farid's shoulders, hissing at him. "He left the marten behind. He left him and you both behind. So how is it possible that -"
Farid said nothing, as the marten affectionately licked his ear. Meggie felt so sorry for him, but when she put out her hand he drew back.
"What's that marten doing here? Tell me! Have you lost your tongue?" There was a metallic edge to Orpheus's beautiful voice.
"He didn't die for Gwin," whispered Farid.
"No? Who did he die for, then?"
"For me."
This time Farid did not withdraw his hand when Meggie took it. But before he could tell Orpheus any more, they heard another voice behind them. Abrupt and angry.
"Who's this? What is a stranger doing here?"
Orpheus spun around as if caught in some guilty act. There stood Roxane, with Resa beside her. Orpheus stared at her in amazement. "Roxane!" he whispered. "The beautiful minstrel woman! May I introduce myself? My name is Orpheus. I was a – a friend of Dustfinger's. Yes, I think one could say that."
"Meggie!" said Resa in a faltering voice. "How did he get here?"
Meggie instinctively hid the notebook containing Fenoglio's words behind her back.
"So how is Elinor?" Resa asked Orpheus sharply. "And Darius? What have you done to them?"
"Nothing!" replied Orpheus. In his confusion he obviously didn't notice that the woman who had been able to speak only with her fingers had a voice again. "Far from it. I went to a lot of trouble to help them feel more relaxed about books. They keep them like butterflies pinned in a case, each in its own place, imprisoned in their cells! But books want to breathe and sing, they want to feel air between their pages and a reader's fingers tenderly stroking them -"
Roxane took Dustfinger's cloak from the prop over which she had draped it. "You don't look like a friend of Dustfinger's to me," she interrupted Orpheus. "But if you want to say good-bye to him, do it now, because I'm going to take him with me."
"Take him with you? What do you mean?" Farid barred her way. "Orpheus is here to bring him back!"
"Get out of my sight!" Roxane snapped at him. "The very first time I saw you coming to my farm, I knew you brought bad luck. You ought to be dead, not Dustfinger. That's how it is and that's how it stays."
Farid flinched as if Roxane had struck him. He did not resist as she pushed him aside, and stood there with his shoulders drooping as she bent over Dustfinger.
Meggie couldn't think of any way to comfort him, but her mother kneeled down beside Roxane. "Listen!" she said quietly. "Dustfinger brought Farid back from the dead by making the words of a story come true. Words, Roxane! In this world they make strange things happen, and Orpheus knows a lot about words."
"Oh yes, I do!" Orpheus quickly went to Roxane's side. "I made him a door of words so that he could come back to you. Did he never tell you?"
Roxane looked at him disbelievingly, but the magic of his voice worked on her, too. "Yes, believe me, I did it!" Orpheus went on. "And I'll write something to bring him back from the dead. I'll find words as precious and intoxicating as the scent of a lily, words to beguile Death and open the cold fingers he has closed around Dustfinger's warm heart!" A delighted smile lit up his face, as if he were already relishing his great achievements to come.
But Roxane just shook her head, as if to free herself from the magic of his voice, and blew out the candles standing around Dustfinger. "Now I understand," she said, covering Dustfinger with his cloak. "You're an enchanter. I only went to an enchanter once. After our younger daughter died. People who go to enchanters are desperate, and they know it. They live on false hopes like ravens preying on carrion. His promises sounded just
as wonderful as yours. He promised me what I most desperately wanted. They all do. They promise to bring back what's lost forever: a child, a friend – or a husband." She drew the cloak over Dustfinger's still face. "I'll never believe such promises again. They only make the pain worse. I'll take him back to Ombra with me and find a place there where no one will disturb him, not the Adderhead, not the wolves, not even the fairies. And he will still look as if he were only sleeping long after my hair is white, for I know from Nettle how you go about preserving the body even when the soul is long gone."
"You'll tell me where that is, won't you?" Farid's voice trembled, as if he knew Roxane's answer already. "You'll tell me where you're taking him?"
"No," said Roxane. "You least of all."
77. WHERE NOW?
The Giant rested back in his chair. "You've some stories left," he said. "I can smell them on your skin."
Brian Patten, The Story Giant
Farid watched as they laid the injured on litters under cover of night. The injured and the dead. Six robbers were standing among the trees listening for any sound that might mean danger. Only the tops of the silver towers were to be seen in the distance, bright in the starlight, yet it seemed to them all as if the Adderhead could see them. Could he sense it up in his castle when they stole soft-footed over Mount Adder? Who could tell what the Adderhead might be able to do now? Now that he was immortal and as invincible as Death itself?
But the night was still, as still as Dustfinger, who was to be taken back to Ombra on a cart drawn by the Black Prince's bear. Meggie was going there, too, for the time being, to the other side of the forest, with Silvertongue and her mother. The Black Prince had told them of a village too poor and remote from any road to interest princes. He would hide them there, or on one of the nearby farms.
Should he go with them?
Farid saw Meggie looking at him. She was standing with her mother and the other women. Silvertongue was with the robbers, and hanging from his belt was the sword with which he had apparently killed Basta – and not just Basta. Almost a dozen men had died at his hands, so several of the robbers had told Farid, their voices lowered in respect. Amazing. Back in the hills around Capricorn's village, Silvertongue couldn't have killed a blackbird when they were in hiding together, let alone a human being. On the other hand, how had he himself learned to kill? The answer was not hard to find. Fear and rage. And there was enough of those in this story.
Roxane was with the robbers, too. She turned her back on Farid when she noticed him looking at her. She treated him like air – as if he had never returned to the land of the living, as if he were only a ghost, an ill-intentioned ghost who had devoured her husband's heart. "What was it like being dead, Farid?" Meggie had asked him. But he couldn't
remember. Or perhaps he didn't want to remember.
Orpheus was standing barely two paces away from him, shivering in the thin shirt he wore. The Prince had told him he must change his light-colored suit for a dark cloak and woolen trousers. But in spite of the clothes he still looked like a cuckoo among sparrows. Fenoglio was watching Orpheus like an old tomcat keeping a wary eye on a young one who has invaded his territory. "He looks a fool!" Fenoglio had whispered this comment to Meggie just loud enough for everyone to hear it. "Look at him. A callow youth, knows nothing about life, how is he going to be able to write? It might well be best to send him straight back, but never mind. There's no saving this wretched story now, anyway."
He was probably right. But why hadn't he at least tried to write Dustfinger back? Didn't he care anything for the characters he had created? Was he just moving them like pawns in a game of chess, enjoying their pain?
Farid clenched his fists in helpless anger. I would have tried, he thought. A hundred times, a thousand times, for the rest of my life. But he couldn't even read those strange little signs! The few that Dustfinger had taught him would never be enough to bring him back from where he was now. Even if he wrote his name in letters of fire on the walls of the Castle of Night, Dustfinger's face would remain as terribly still as when he last saw it.
No, only Orpheus could try it. But he hadn't written a single word since Meggie read him here. He just stood there – or paced up and down, up and down, while the robbers watched him suspiciously. The glances Silvertongue cast him were not very friendly, either. He had turned pale when he saw Orpheus again. For a moment Farid had thought he would seize Cheeseface and beat him to a pulp, but Meggie had taken his hand and drawn him away. Whatever the two of them had said to each other, she wasn't telling Farid. She had known that her father would not approve if she read Orpheus here, but she had done it all the same. For him. Was Orpheus interested in any of that? Oh no. He was still acting as if his own voice, not Meggie's, had brought him here. Stuck-up, thrice-accursed son of a bitch!
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