Cornelia Funke - Inkspell

"Mmph?" Fenoglio nearly choked on his wine with surprise. "Dustfinger? Yes, of course, the fire-eater."

"The best there's ever been." The Prince cast a quick glance at Sootbird, but he was just showing the physician a sore tooth. "He was thought to be dead," the Prince went on, lowering his voice. "No one's heard anything of him for over ten years. There were countless tales of how and where he died, but luckily none of them seem to be true. However, Dustfinger's not the only man the boy and girl are looking for. The girl was also asking about an old man, a writer with a face like a tortoise. You, by any chance?"

Fenoglio couldn't find a word in his head that would do for an answer. Saying no more, the Prince took his arm and pulled him to his feet. "Come along!" he added, as the bear lumbered along behind them, grunting. "The two of them were half-starved, said something about being deep in the Wayless Wood. The women are just feeding them now."

A boy and a girl… Dustfinger… Fenoglio's thoughts were racing, although unfortunately his head was not at its clearest after two goblets of wine.

More than a dozen children were squatting in the grass under a lime tree on the outskirts of the camp. Two women were ladling out soup for them. The children greedily spooned the thin brew up from the wooden bowls that had been put into their dirty hands.

"See how many they've rounded up again!" the Prince whispered to Fenoglio. "We shall all go hungry because of their soft hearts."

Fenoglio just nodded as he looked at the thin faces. He knew how often the Black Prince himself picked up hungry children. If they turned out to have any talent for juggling, standing on their heads, or other tricks that would bring a smile to people's faces and lure a few coins out of their pockets, then the Motley Folk took them in and let them join the company of the strolling players, going from market to market, from town to town.

"There they are." The Prince pointed to two heads bending particularly low over their bowls. When Fenoglio moved toward them, the girl raised her head as if he had called her name. Incredulously, she stared at him – and put down her spoon.

Meggie.

Fenoglio returned her gaze with such astonishment that she had to smile. Yes, it really was Meggie. He remembered that smile very well, even if she hadn't often had reason to show it when they were imprisoned together in Capricorn's house.

She leaped up, pushed past the other children, and flung her arms around his neck. "Oh, I knew you were still here!" she cried, between laughter and tears. "Did you really have to write those wolves into your story? And then the Night-Mares and the Redcaps – they threw stones at Farid and went for his face with fingers like claws. It was a good thing Farid could make a fire, but still…"

Fenoglio opened his mouth – and closed it again, helplessly. His head was full of a thousand questions. How did she get here? What about Dustfinger? Where was her father? And what about Capricorn? Was he dead? Had her plan worked? If so, why was Basta still alive? The questions drowned each other out like humming insects, and Fenoglio dared not ask any of them while the Black Prince stood there, never taking his eyes off him.

"I see you know these two," he remarked.

Fenoglio just nodded. Yes, where had he seen the boy sitting beside Meggie before? Wasn't he with Dustfinger on that strange day when, for the first time, he met one of his own creations face-to-face?

"Er… they're relations of mine," he stammered. What a pitiful lie for a storyteller!

The Prince's mocking eyes sparkled. "Relations… well, imagine that! I must say they don't look very like you."

Meggie unwound her arms from Fenoglio's neck and stared at the Prince.

"Meggie," said Fenoglio, "may I introduce the Black Prince?"

With a smile, the Prince made her a bow.

"The Black Prince! Oh yes." Meggie repeated his name almost reverently. "And that's his bear! Farid, come here. Look!"

Farid, of course. Fenoglio remembered him now. Meggie had often talked about him. The boy stood up, but not before hastily swallowing the very last of the soup in his bowl. He kept well behind Meggie, at a safe distance from the bear.

"She absolutely insisted on coming!" he said, wiping his greasy mouth on his arm. "Really! I didn't want to bring her, but she's as obstinate as a camel."

Meggie was obviously about to make some sharp retort, but Fenoglio put his arm around her shoulders. "My dear boy," he told Farid, "you have no idea how glad I am to see Meggie here! I could almost say she's all I needed in this world to make me happy!"

He hastily took his leave of the Prince and drew Meggie and Farid away with him. "Come with me!" he whispered, as they made their way past the tents. "We have a great deal to talk about, a very great deal, but we can do it better in my room without strange ears to overhear us. It's getting late, anyway, and the guard at the gate won't let us back into the city after midnight."

Meggie just nodded abstractedly and looked at the hurry and bustle all around her, wide-eyed, but Farid pulled his arm away from Fenoglio's grasp. "I can't come with you. I have to look for Dustfinger!"

Fenoglio looked disbelievingly at him. So it was really true? Dustfinger was -

"Yes, he's back," said Meggie. "The women said Farid might find him at the house of the minstrel woman he once lived with. She has a farm up there on the hill."

"Minstrel woman?" Fenoglio looked the way Meggie's finger was pointing. The hill she meant was only a black outline in the moonlit night. Of course! Roxane. He remembered her. Was she really as wonderful as he had described her?

The boy was shifting impatiently from foot to foot. "I have to go," he told Meggie. "Where can I find you?"

"In Cobblers' and Saddlers' Alley," replied Fenoglio, answering for Meggie. "Just ask for Minerva's house."

Farid nodded. He went on looking at Meggie.

"It's not a good idea to start a journey by night," said Fenoglio, although he had a feeling that this boy wasn't interested in his advice. "The roads here aren't what you'd call safe. Particularly not at night. There are robbers, vagabonds…"

"I can look after myself." Farid took a knife from his belt. "Take care, Meggie." He reached for her hand, then turned abruptly and disappeared among the strolling players. It did not escape Fenoglio that Meggie turned to look back at him several times.

"Heavens, poor lad!" he growled, shooing a couple of children out of the way as they came flocking up to beg him for a story again. "He's in love with you, am I right?"

"Oh, don't!" Meggie let go of his hand, but he had made her smile.

"All right, I'll hold my tongue! Does your father know you're here?"

That was the wrong question. Her guilty conscience was plain to see in her face.

"Dear me! Very well, you must tell me all about it. How you came here, what all this talk of Basta and Dustfinger means,

everything! You've grown! Or have I shrunk? My God, Meggie, I'm so glad you're here! Now we can get this story back under control! With my words and your voice -"

"Under control? What do you mean?" She suspiciously examined his face. She had often seen him look just like that in the past, when they were Capricorn's prisoners – his brow wrinkled, his eyes as clear as if they could look straight into your heart. But this wasn't the place for explanations.

"Later!" whispered Fenoglio and drew her on. "Later, Meggie. There are too many ears here. Damn it, where's my torchbearer now?"