Cornelia Funke - Inkheart

Elinor felt weak at the knees as he turned his colorless eyes on her. If Mortimer offered to read me into some book now, any book, she thought, I'd accept. I wouldn't even want to pick and choose.

Three or four black-clad men were standing behind her, so trying to run away was pointless. All you can do is submit to your fate with dignity, Elinor, she told herself. But reading about such a thing was much easier than doing it.

"The crypt or the sheds?" asked Cockerell, strolling up to her. The crypt, thought Elinor. Dustfinger said something about that. And it was nothing nice.

"The crypt? Why not? We have to dispose of her, or who might she bring here next?" Capricorn hid a yawn behind his hand. "Very well, we'll give the Shadow a little more work to do this evening. He'll like that."

Elinor wanted to say something – something bold and heroic – but her tongue wouldn't work. It just lay there in her mouth, numb. Cockerell had already hauled her as far as that ridiculous statue when Capricorn called him back.

"I quite forgot to ask her about Silvertongue!" he cried. "Ask her if she happens to know where he is at the moment."

"Well, come on, out with it!" growled Cockerell, seizing her by the nape of the neck as if to shake the answer out of her. "Where is he?"

Elinor tightened her lips. Quick, Elinor, quick, she told herself, think of a good answer. And suddenly her tongue was working again.

"Why ask me?" she said to Capricorn, who was still sitting in his chair as pale as if he had been left in the wash too long or the sun burning down out in the square had bleached him. "You should know! He's dead. Your men shot him – and the boy. " Look at him, Elinor, she thought. Look him straight in the face the way you used to look at your father when he caught you with the wrong book. A few tears would come in useful, too. Go on, just think of your books, all your burnt books! Think of last night, the fear, the despair – and if none of that works pinch yourself!

Capricorn was gazing at her thoughtfully.

"There!" Cockerell called to him. "I knew we'd hit him!"

Elinor was still looking at Capricorn, a blurred sight through the veil of her false tears.

"We'll see, " he said slowly. "My men are searching the hills for an escaped prisoner. I don't suppose you're going to tell me where they should look for the two bodies?"

"I buried them, and I'm certainly not saying where." Elinor felt a tear running down her nose. By all the letters of the alpha bet, Elinor, she told herself, there's a great actress lost in you!

"Buried them. Well, well. " Capricorn played with the rings on his left hand. He was wearing three at once, and he adjusted them, frowning, as if they had gotten out of line without his permission.

"That's why I went to the police, " said Elinor. "To avenge them. And my books. "

Cockerell laughed. "You didn't have to bury those books, right? They burned beautifully, like the very best firewood, and their pages – ah, they quivered like pale little fingers. " He raised his hands and imitated the movement. Elinor hit him in the face with all her might, and she was quite strong. Blood flowed from Cockerell's nose. He wiped it away with his hand and looked at it as if he were surprised to see something so red coming out of him. "Look at that!" he said, showing Capricorn his bloodstained fingers. "You wait, she'll give the Shadow more trouble than Basta."

When he led her away Elinor walked beside him with her head held high. Only when she saw the steep stairway disappearing into a bottomless black hole did her courage forsake her for a moment. The crypt, of course, now she remembered – the place where they put the condemned. That was what it smelled like, anyway, damp and moldy, just as one imagines the odor of death.

At first, Elinor couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Basta's wiry figure pressed up against the iron bars. She had thought she must have misheard Cockerell's last remark, but sure enough, there was Basta shut up in the cage like an animal, with all the fear and hopelessness of a trapped beast in his eyes. Even the sight of Elinor did not cheer him. He looked straight through her and Cockerell, as if they were two of the ghosts he feared so much.

"What's he doing here?" asked Elinor. "Have you taken to locking each other up now?"

Cockerell shrugged. "Should I tell her?" he asked Basta, who responded with nothing but the same glazed stare. "First he let Silvertongue escape, and now Dustfinger. That's a sure way to ruin your chances with the boss, even if you do think you're his personal pet. And, of course, it's been years since you managed to light a decent fire." He smiled maliciously at Basta.

Signora Loredan, it's time to think about making a will, Elinor told herself as Cockerell pushed her into the crypt. If Capricorn intends to kill his most faithful dog, he's certainly not going to stop short at you.

"Hey, you might look a bit more cheerful!" Cockerell told Basta as he fished a bunch of keys out of his jacket pocket. "You've got two women for company now!"

Basta pressed his forehead against the grating. "Haven't you caught the fire-eater yet?" he croaked. His voice sounded as if he had shouted himself hoarse.

"No, but the fat woman here says we did hit Silvertongue. Says he's dead as a doornail. Sounds like I winged him after all. Well, I have had plenty of practice on the cats."

Behind the door with the grating that Cockerell unlocked for her something moved. A woman was sitting there in the dark, leaning back against something that looked suspiciously like a stone coffin. Elinor could not see the woman's face, but then the figure straightened up.

"Company for you, Resa!" called Cockerell as he pushed Elinor through the open door. "You two can have a nice chat!" He was laughing uproariously as he trudged away. As for Elinor, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She would rather have seen her favorite niece again anywhere but here.

Farid heard footsteps just as they were making the torches.

The torches had to be larger and more solid than those Dustfinger used in his shows, for they would have to burn a long time. Farid had already cut Silvertongue's hair with the knife Dustfinger had given him. It was short and bristly now, and at least that made Silvertongue look slightly different. Farid had also shown him the kind of earth he needed to rub on his face to darken his skin. No one must recognize them, not this time – but then he heard the footsteps.

And voices: One was speaking angrily, the other laughed and called out. But they were still too far away for him to make out the words.

Silvertongue picked up the torches, and Gwin snapped at Farid's fingers as the boy pushed him roughly into the back pack. "Where can we hide, Farid? Where?" whispered Silver tongue.

"I know a place." Farid threw the backpack over his shoulder and led Silvertongue over to the charred wall. He climbed over the blackened stones where there had once been a window, jumped down in the dry grass behind the wall, and crouched low. The metal cover he now pushed aside had buckled in the fire and was overgrown by alyssum. Its tiny white flowers rambled like snow over the opening. Farid had found the metal plate while he was exploring during the long hours he spent here with the silent and ever-reserved Dustfinger. He had jumped off the wall and noticed the hollow sound. Perhaps the space under it had originally been a store for perishable foodstuffs, but at least once before it had also been used as a hiding place.