Cornelia Funke - Inkspell

"How could I ever have believed that anything would stop you from chasing after me?" Farid felt Dustfinger's hand raise his chin, and when he looked up, he saw at last what he had been hoping for in Dustfinger's eyes: joy. "Where have you been hiding? I called you at least a dozen times, I looked for you… The fire-elves must have thought me crazy!" He was scrutinizing Farid's face anxiously, as if he wasn't sure whether there was some change in it. It was so good to feel his concern. Farid could have danced for joy, the way the fire had danced for Dustfinger just now.

"Well, you seem to be the same as ever!" said Dustfinger at last. "A skinny dark-eyed little devil. But wait – you're so quiet! It didn't cost you your voice, did it?"

Farid smiled. "No, I'm all right!" he said, glancing quickly at the woman, who was still standing behind Dustfinger. "But it wasn't Cheeseface who brought me here. He simply stopped reading the moment you were gone! Meggie read me here, using Cheeseface's words."

"Meggie? Silvertongue's daughter?"

"Yes, but what about you? You're all right, aren't you?"

Dustfinger's mouth twisted into the wry smile that Farid knew so well. "As you can see, the scars are still there. But there's no more damage done, if that's what you mean." He turned around and looked at the woman in a way that Farid didn't like at all.

Her hair was black, and her eyes were almost as dark as his own. She really was very beautiful, even if she was old – well, much older than Farid – but he didn't like her. He didn't like either her or the boy. After all, he hadn't followed Dustfinger to his own world just to share him.

The woman came up beside Dustfinger and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Who's this?" she asked, sizing up Farid in much the same way as he had looked at her. "One of your many secrets? A son I don't know about?"

Farid felt the blood rise to his face. Dustfinger's son. He liked the idea. Unobtrusively, he stole a look at the strange boy. Who was his father?

"My son?" Dustfinger affectionately caressed the woman's face. "What an idea! No, Farid's a fire-eater. He was my apprentice for a while, and now he thinks I can't manage without him. Indeed, he's so sure of it that he follows me everywhere, however far he has to go."

"Oh, stop it!" Farid's voice sounded angrier than he had intended. "I'm here to warn you! But I can go away again if you like."

"Take it easy!" Dustfinger held him firmly by the arm as he turned to go. "Heavens above, I forgot how quickly you take offense. Warn me? Warn me of what?"

"Basta."

The woman's hand flew to her mouth when he said that name – and Farid began to tell his story, describing everything that had happened since Dustfinger disappeared from that remote road in the mountains as if he had never existed. When he had finished, Dustfinger asked just one question. "So Basta has the book?"

Farid dug his toes into the hard earth and nodded. "Yes," he muttered ruefully. "He put his knife to my throat. What was I to do?"

"Basta?" The woman reached for Dustfinger's hand. "He's still alive, then?"

Dustfinger just nodded. Then he looked at Farid again. "Do you believe he's here now? Do you think Orpheus has read him here?"

Farid shrugged helplessly. "I don't know! When I got away from him he shouted after me that he'd be revenged on Silvertongue, too. But Silvertongue doesn't believe it, he says Basta was just in a rage…"

Dustfinger looked at the gate, which was still standing open. "Yes, Basta says a lot of things when he's in a rage," he murmured. Then he sighed and trod out a few sparks that were still glowing on the ground in front of him.

"Bad news," he said softly. "Nothing but bad news. All we need now is for you to have brought Gwin with you."

Thank heaven it was dark. Lies weren't nearly as easily spotted in the dark as by day. Farid did his best to sound as surprised as possible. "Gwin? Oh no! No, I didn't bring him with me. You said he was to stay there. And Meggie said so, too – she said I mustn't bring him."

"Clever girl!" Dustfinger's sigh of relief went to Farid's heart.

"You left the marten behind?" The woman shook her head, as if she couldn't believe it. "I always thought you loved that little monster more than any other living creature."

"Oh, you know my faithless heart!" replied Dustfinger, but his lighthearted tone of voice couldn't deceive even Farid. "Are you hungry?" he asked the boy. "How long have you been here?"

Farid cleared his throat; his lie about Gwin was like a splinter lodged in it. "For four days," he managed to say. "The strolling players gave us something to eat, but I'm still hungry, all the same…"

"Us?" Dustfinger's voice suddenly sounded distrustful.

"Silvertongue's daughter. Meggie. She came with me."

"She's here?" Dustfinger looked at him in astonishment. Then he groaned and pushed the hair back from his forehead. "Oh, how pleased her father will be! Not to mention her mother. Did you by any chance bring anyone else, too?"

Farid shook his head.

"Where is she now?"

"With the old man." Farid jerked his head back the way he had come. "He's living near the castle. We met him in the strolling players' camp. Meggie was very glad to see him. She was going to look for him, anyway, to get him to take her back. I think she's homesick…"

"What old man? Who the devil are you talking about now?"

"Well, that writer! The one with the face like a tortoise – you remember, you ran away from him back then in -"

"Yes, yes, all right!" Dustfinger put his hand over Farid's mouth as if he didn't want to hear another word, and stared toward the place where, somewhere in the darkness, the walls of Ombra lay hidden. "Heavens above, what next?" he murmured.

"Is that… is it more bad news?" Farid hardly dared to ask.

Dustfinger looked away, but all the same Farid had seen his smile. "Oh yes," he said. "I suppose there never was a boy who brought so much bad news all at once. And in the middle of the night, too. What do we do with bearers of bad tidings, Roxane?"

Roxane. So that was her name. For a moment Farid thought she would suggest sending him away. But then she shrugged. "We feed them, what else?" she said. "Even if this one doesn't look too starved."

Evening drew on, night fell, and no one came to unlock Elinor's cellar. They sat there in silence among tubes of tomato puree, cans of ravioli, and all the other provisions stacked on the shelves around them – trying not to see the fear on one another's faces.

"My house isn't all that large!" said Elinor once, breaking the silence. "By now even that fool Basta should have realized that Meggie really isn't here."

No one replied. Resa was clinging to Mortimer as if that would protect him from Basta's knife, and Darius was cleaning his already spotless glasses for the hundredth time. By the time footsteps finally approached the cellar door, Elinor's watch had stopped. Memories flooded into her weary mind as she rose, with difficulty, from the container of olive oil on which she had been sitting – memories of blank, windowless walls and musty straw. Her cellar was a more comfortable prison than Capricorn's sheds, let alone the crypt under his church, but the same man opened the door – and Elinor was just as much afraid of Basta in her own house.

When she had last seen him, he had been a prisoner himself, shut up in a cage by the master he adored. Had he forgotten that? How had Mortola persuaded him to serve her again in spite of it? The stupid idea of asking Basta didn't even cross Elinor's mind. She gave herself the answer: because a dog needs a master.