Cornelia Funke: Inkheart

"This is Gwin," said Dustfinger. "You can tickle him behind the ears if you like. He's very sleepy at the moment, so he won't bite. "

"Does he usually?" asked Meggie.

"Yes," said Mo, getting back behind the wheel. "If I were you I'd keep my fingers away from that little brute. "

But Meggie couldn't keep her hands off any animal, however sharp its teeth. "He's a marten or something like that, right?" she asked.

"Something of that nature. " Dustfinger put his hand in his pants pocket and gave Gwin a piece of dry bread. Meggie stroked his little head as he chewed – and her fingertips found something hard under the silky fur: tiny horns growing beside his ears. Surprised, she took her hand away. "Do martens have horns?"

Dustfinger winked at her and let Gwin climb back into the backpack. "This one does," he said.

Bewildered, Meggie watched him fasten the straps. She felt as if she were still touching Gwin's little horns. "Mo, did you know that martens have horns?" she asked.

"Oh, Dustfinger stuck them on that sharp-toothed little devil of his. For his performances."

"What kind of performances?" Meggie looked inquiringly, first at Mo, then at Dustfinger, but Mo just started the engine and Dustfinger, who seemed to have come far, judging by his bags, took off his boots and stretched out on Mo's bed in the van with a deep sigh. "Don't give me away, Silvertongue," he said before he closed his eyes. "I have my own secrets, you know. And for those I need darkness."

They must have driven fifty kilometers, and Meggie was still trying to figure out what he could possibly have meant.

"Mo?" she asked, when Dustfinger began snoring behind them. "What does this Capricorn want from you?" She lowered her voice before she spoke the name, as if that might remove some of the menace from it.

"A book," replied Mo, without taking his eyes off the road.

"A book? Then why not give it to him?"

"I can't. I'll explain soon, but not now, all right?"

Meggie looked out of the van window. The world they were passing outside already looked unfamiliar – unfamiliar houses, unfamiliar roads, unfamiliar fields, even the trees and the sky looked unfamiliar – but Meggie was used to that. She had never really felt at home anywhere. Mo was her home, Mo and her books, and perhaps the camper van that carried them from one place to the next.

"This aunt we're going to see," she said, as they drove through an endless tunnel. "Does she have any children?"

"No," said Mo, "and I'm afraid she doesn't particularly like children either. But as I said, I'm sure you'll get along well with her."

Meggie sighed. She could remember several aunts, and she hadn't gotten along particularly well with any of them.

They were driving through mountains now, the slopes on both sides of the road rose ever more steeply, and there came a point where the houses looked not just unfamiliar but really different. Meggie tried to pass the time by counting tunnels, but when the ninth swallowed them up and the darkness went on and on she fell asleep. She dreamed of martens in black jackets and a book in a brown-paper cover.

Meggie woke up because it was so quiet. The regular sound of the engine that had lulled her to sleep had stopped. The driver's seat beside her was empty. It took Meggie a little while to remember why she wasn't in bed at home. Tiny dead flies were stuck to the windshield, and the van was parked outside an iron gate. It looked alarming, with sharp ashen-gray spikes, a gate made of spearheads just waiting to impale anyone who tried to clamber over. It reminded Meggie of one of her favorite stories, the tale of the Selfish Giant who wouldn't let children into his garden. This was exactly how she had imagined his garden gate.

Mo was standing in the road with Dustfinger. Meggie got out and went over to them. On the right of the road a densely wooded slope fell steeply to the bank of a wide lake. The hills on the other side rose from the lake like giants emerging from the depths. The water was almost black, and pale twilight, darkly reflected in the waves, was already spreading across the sky. The first lights were coming on in the houses on the bank, looking like glowworms or fallen stars.

"A lovely place, isn't it?" Mo put his arm around Meggie's shoulders. "I know you like stories about robbers. See that ruined castle? A notorious robber band once lived there. I must ask Elinor about them. She knows everything about this lake."

Meggie just nodded and rested her head against his shoulder. She was so tired she felt quite dizzy, but for the first time since they had set off Mo's face wasn't looking grim with anxiety. "Where does she live, then?" asked Meggie, stifling a yawn. "Not behind that spiky gate?"

"Actually, yes. This is the entrance to her property. Not very inviting, is it?" Mo laughed and led Meggie across the road. "Elinor is very proud of this gate. She had it specially made. It's copied from a picture in a book."

"A picture of the Selfish Giant's garden?" murmured Meggie, peering through the intricately twining iron bars.

"The Selfish Giant?" Mo laughed. "No, I think it was another story. Although that one would suit Elinor pretty well. "

Tall hedges grew on both sides of the gate, their thorny branches hiding any view of what lay beyond. But even through the iron bars Meggie could see nothing promising except for tall rhododendron bushes and a broad gravel drive that soon disappeared between them.

"Looks like you have rich relations," Dustfinger whispered in her ear.

"Yes, Elinor is quite rich," said Mo, drawing Meggie away from the gate. "But she'll probably end up poor as a church mouse because she spends so much money on books. I think she'd sell her soul to the devil without thinking twice if he offered her the right book for it." He pushed the heavy gate open with a single movement.

"What are you doing?" asked Meggie in alarm. "We can't just drive in." For there was a sign beside the door, still clearly legible even if some of the letters were partly hidden by the leaves of the hedge:

PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY.

Meggie didn't think it sounded very inviting.

Mo, however, only laughed. "Don't worry," he said, opening the gate wider. "The only thing Elinor guards with a burglar alarm is her library. She couldn't care less who walks through this gate. She's not what you'd call a nervous woman, and she doesn't have many visitors anyway."

"What about dogs?" Dustfinger peered anxiously into the strange garden. "That gate suggests at least three ferocious dogs to me. Big ones, the size of calves. "

But Mo just shook his head. "Elinor hates dogs," he said, going back to the van. "OK, get in. "

Elinor's grounds were more like a wood than a garden. Once they were through the gateway the drive curved, as if taking a deep breath before going on up the slope, then lost itself among dark firs and chestnut trees, which grew so close together their branches made a tunnel. Meggie was just thinking it would never end when the trees suddenly receded, and the drive brought them to an open space covered with gravel and surrounded by carefully tended rose beds.

A gray station wagon stood on the gravel in front of a house that was bigger than the school Meggie had been attending for the last year. She tried to count the windows, but soon gave up. It was a very beautiful house but looked just as uninviting as the iron gate. Perhaps it was only the evening twilight that made the ochre yellow of the plaster look so dirty. And perhaps the green shutters were closed only because night was already falling over the surrounding mountains. Perhaps. But Meggie would have bet her last book they were seldom open even in the daytime.