Cornelia Funke - Inkheart

"I'm sorry. I should have looked for the book on my own, " he said, passing a finger through the bright flame. "Forgive me. "

She put her fingers on his mouth. Presumably she was saying there was nothing to forgive. What a sweet, silent lie. She took her hand away, and Dustfinger cleared his throat. "You – you didn't find it, did you?" Not that it would make any difference now, but he had to know.

Resa shook her head and shrugged her shoulders regretfully.

"That's what I thought. " He sighed. The silence was terrible, worse than a thousand voices. "Tell me a story, Resa!" he said quietly, moving closer to her. Please, he added in his thoughts. Chase my fear away. It's crushing my chest. Take us somewhere else, somewhere better.

Resa could do that. She knew endless numbers of stories. Just how she knew them she had never told him, but of course he knew. He knew exactly who had once read her those stories, for he had recognized her face the instant he first saw her in Capricorn's house. After all, Silvertongue had shown him the photograph often enough.

Resa took a piece of paper out of her inexhaustible pockets. They contained more than just candles and stones. Just as Dustfinger always carried the means of lighting a fire, she always had a number of things with her: candle stumps, a few pebbles, some paper, and a pencil – her wooden tongue, she called it. Obviously none of these things had seemed to Capricorn's men dangerous enough to be taken away from her.

When Resa told one of her stories she sometimes wrote only half a sentence, and Dustfinger had to finish it. It went faster that way, and the story developed surprising twists and turns. But this time it seemed she didn't want to tell him a story, although he had never needed one so badly.

Who is the girl? wrote Resa.

Of course. Meggie. Should he lie? Why not? But he didn't, although he didn't know why not. "She's Silvertongue's daughter. – How old? – Twelve, I think. "

It was the right answer. He saw that in her eyes. They were Meggie's eyes. Perhaps rather wearier.

"What does Silvertongue look like? I think you've asked me before. Well, he isn't scarred like me. " He tried to smile, but Resa remained grave. The candlelight flickered on her face. You know his face better than you know mine, thought Dustfinger, but I'm not going to say so. He's taken a whole world from me, why shouldn't I take his wife from him?

Rising to her feet, she put her hand in the air above her head.

"Yes, he's tall. Taller than you, taller than me. " Why didn't he lie to her? "Yes, he has dark hair, but I don't want to talk about him now!" He heard the petulance in his own voice. "Please!" Reaching for her hand, he drew her down beside him. "Tell me a story. The candle will soon go out, and the light Basta's left us is enough to see these wretched coffins but not to read letters. "

She looked at him thoughtfully, as if she were trying to guess at his thoughts and uncover the words he didn't say. But

Dustfinger could guard his face better than Silvertongue, much better. He could make it impenetrable, a shield to keep his heart from prying eyes. What business was it of anyone else to know what was in his heart?

Resa bent over the paper again and began to write.

Hear and attend and listen; for this befell and behappened and became and was, O my Best Beloved, when the Tame animals were wild, she wrote.

Dustfinger smiled. "The Dog was wild, " he whispered. "And the Horse was wild, and the Sheep was wild, and the Pig was wild – as wild as wild could be – and they walked in the Wet Wild Woods by their wild lones. But the wildest of all wild animals was the Cat. He walked by himself, and all places were alike to him. "

Resa always knew what story he needed at any given moment. She was a stranger in this world, just like him. It couldn't be that she belonged to Silvertongue.

When Farid came back Silvertongue was waiting for him.

Elinor was asleep under the trees, her face flushed by the midday heat, but Silvertongue was still standing where Farid had left him. Relief spread over his face as he saw the boy coming up the hill.

"We heard shots!" he called. "I thought we'd never see you again."

"They were shooting at cats, " replied Farid, letting himself drop on to the grass. Silvertongue's concern made Farid feel awkward. He wasn't used to people being concerned for his safety. What kept you? Where have you been all this time? That was the kind of reception he was used to. Even Dustfinger's face had always been closed to him, as uncommunicative as a barred door. But with Silvertongue's face it was different.

Anxiety, joy, anger, pain, love – it was all plain to see, writ ten on his brow, even when he tried to hide it, just as he was now trying not to ask the question that must have been on the tip of his tongue ever since he saw Farid approaching.

"Your daughter's all right, " said Farid. "And she got your message, though she's shut up on the top floor of Capricorn's house. But Gwin is a wonderful climber, even better than Dustfinger, and that's saying something. " He heard Silver tongue breathe a sigh of relief, as if all the cares in the world had lifted from his shoulders.

"I've even brought an answer. " Farid took Gwin out of the backpack, held him firmly by the tail, and untied Meggie's note from his collar. Silvertongue unfolded the paper as carefully as if he feared his fingers might wipe away the words. "An end paper, " he murmured. "She must have torn it out of a book. "

"What does she say?"

"Have you tried to read it?"

Farid shook his head and took a piece of bread out of his pants pocket. Gwin had earned a reward. But the marten had disappeared, probably to catch up on his long-overdue daytime sleep.

"You can't read, is that it?"

"No. "

"Well, not many people could read this anyway. It's the same secret writing that I used. As you saw, not even Elinor can decipher it. " Silvertongue smoothed out the paper. It was a dull yellow like desert sand. He read – and then suddenly raised his head. "Good heavens!" he murmured. "Imagine that!"

"Imagine what?" Farid bit into the bread he had been keeping for the marten. It was stale; they'd have to steal some more soon.

"Meggie can do it, too!" Silvertongue shook his head incredulously and stared at the note in his hand.

Farid propped one elbow on the grass. "I know. They're all talking about it – I heard them. They say she can work magic like you, and now Capricorn doesn't have to wait for you anymore. He doesn't need you now."

Silvertongue looked at him as if this idea hadn't yet crossed his mind. "True, " he murmured. "Now they'll never let her go. Not of their own accord. " He stared at the words his daughter had written on the paper. To Farid they looked like the tracks left by snakes slithering across the sand.

"What else does she say?"

"They've caught Dustfinger and Meggie's to read someone out of the book to come… and kill him. Tomorrow, when it gets dark. " He lowered the note and ran his hand through his hair.

"Yes, I heard about that, too. " Farid pulled up a blade of grass and tore it into tiny pieces. "It seems they've locked him in the crypt under the church. What else is in that note? Doesn't your daughter say who it is she's to bring out for Capricorn?"

Silvertongue shook his head, but Farid saw that he knew more about it than he was saying.

"Come on, you can tell me! Some kind of executioner, am I right? A man who knows all about cutting off heads."

Silvertongue acted as if he hadn't heard him.