Cornelia Funke - Inkheart

"What a pity!" he whispered as she spread her wings and flew, rather unsteadily, up to the ceiling. "That means I can't ask you if you could make me invisible, or so small that you could carry me to Capricorn's festivities."

The fairy looked down at him, tinkled something that he couldn't understand, and settled on the side of the kitchen cupboard.

Dustfinger sat down on the only chair by Basta's kitchen table and looked up at her. "All the same, " he said, "it's good to see someone like you again. If only the fire in this world had more of a sense of humor, and a troll or a glass man would look out of the trees now and then – well, perhaps I could get used to the rest of it after all, the noise, the speed, the crowds – and the way the nights are so much lighter… "

He sat there in his worst enemy's kitchen for quite a long time, watching the fairy flying around the room investigating everything, for fairies are naturally inquisitive, and this one was obviously no exception. Every now and then she stopped to sip her milk, and he filled the dish a second time. Once or twice, footsteps approached, but each time they passed by the house. What a good thing Basta had no friends. The air that came in through the window was sultry; it made Dustfinger drowsy. The narrow strip of sky showing above the houses would stay light for many hours yet – long enough for him to make up his mind whether or not to go to Capricorn's festivities.

Why should he go? He could get hold of the book later, some time when all the excitement in the village had died down and everything was back to normal. And what about Resa? What was going to happen to her? The Shadow would come for her. There was nothing to be done about that, not by anyone, not even Silvertongue if he was really so crazy as to try. But Silvertongue didn't know about her, or about his daughter; at least there was no need to worry about Meggie – not now that she was Capricorn's favorite toy. Capricorn wouldn't let the Shadow hurt her.

No, I won't go, thought Dustfinger, I'll hide here for a while. Tomorrow, there'll be no more Basta, that's one good thing. And perhaps I will go away from here, go away forever… No. He knew he wouldn't do that. Not while the book was here.

The fairy had flown over to the window and was peering curiously out at the alley.

"Forget it. Stay here, " said Dustfinger. "Please. Believe me, it's no place for you out there. "

She looked at him quizzically, then folded her wings and knelt on the windowsill. And there she stayed, as if she couldn't decide between the hot room and the strange freedom to be found outside.

Fenoglio wrote and wrote, but the number of pages he had hidden under the mattress was no greater. He kept taking them out, fiddling with them, tearing up one, and adding another. "No, no, no!" Meggie heard him muttering crossly to himself. "No, that's not it yet. "

"It will be dark in a few hours, " she said at last, anxiously. "Suppose you don't finish it in time?"

"I have finished!" he snapped, irritated. "I've finished a dozen times already, but I'm not happy with it." He lowered his voice to a whisper before he went on. "There are so many questions. Suppose the Shadow turns on you or me or the prisoners once he's killed Capricorn? And is killing Capricorn really the only solution? What's going to happen to his men afterward? What do I do with them?"

"What do you think? The Shadow must kill them all!" Meggie whispered back. "How else are we ever going to get home or rescue my mother?"

Fenoglio did not like this reply. "Good heavens, what a heartless creature you are!" he whispered. "Kill them all! Haven't you seen how young some of them are?" He shook his head. "No! I'm not a mass murderer, I'm a writer! I'm sure I can think of some less bloodthirsty ending. " And he began writing again… and crossing out words… and writing more, while outside the sun sank lower and lower until its rays were gilding the hilltops.

Every time steps came along the corridor Fenoglio hid what he had been writing under his mattress, but no one came in to see what the old man kept scribbling on his blank sheets of paper. For Basta was down in the crypt.

The bored guards on duty outside their door had several visitors that afternoon. Men had obviously come into the village from Capricorn's outposts to watch the execution. Putting her ear to the door, Meggie eavesdropped on their conversations. They laughed a lot, and their voices sounded excited. They were all looking forward to the night's spectacle. Not one of them seemed to feel sorry for Basta. Far from it. Knowing Capricorn's former favorite was to die that night just seemed to add to their fun. Of course they discussed Meggie, too. That little witch, they called her, that little madam the enchantress, and not all of them seemed to be convinced of her powers.

As for Basta's executioner, Meggie learned no more than what Fenoglio had already told her and what she remembered of the passage the Magpie had made her read. It wasn't much, but she heard the fear in those voices outside the door and the horrified awe that overcame them all at the mention of his name, which was not a real name at all. Only those who, like Capricorn himself, had come out of Fenoglio's book had ever seen the Shadow – but they had all obviously heard about him – and they painted pictures in the darkest tones of how he would deal with the prisoners. There were evidently several opinions about how he actually killed his victims, but the suggestions Meggie overheard grew more and more horrible the closer evening came, until she could bear it no longer. She went to sit by the window with her hands over her ears.

It was six o'clock – the church clock was just beginning to strike – when Fenoglio suddenly put down his pen and looked over what he had written with a satisfied expression. "Got it!" he whispered. "Yes, that's it. That's how it will be. It will turn out splendidly." Impatiently, he beckoned Meggie over and gave her the paper.

"Read it!" he whispered, glancing nervously at the door. Out in the corridor, Flatnose was just boasting of the way he had poisoned a farmer's stocks of olive oil.

"Is that all?" Meggie looked incredulously at the single sheet of paper.

"Yes, that's all. No more is needed. As you'll see. The words just have to be the right ones. Go on, read it!"

Meggie did as he said.

The men outside were laughing, and she found it difficult to concentrate on Fenoglio's words. Finally, she did it. But she'd no sooner finished the first sentence when the men outside fell utterly silent. The Magpie's voice echoed down the corridor. "What's all this? A coffee break?"

Fenoglio hastily took the precious paper and put it under his mattress. He was just readjusting the bedspread when the Magpie opened the door.

"Your supper, " she told Meggie, putting a steaming plate down on the table.

"What about me?" inquired Fenoglio in a deliberately cheerful voice. The mattress had slipped slightly when he hid the paper under it, and he had to lean against his bed to hide it from Mortola, but luckily she had no eyes for him. Meggie felt sure she thought he was merely a liar, and very likely it annoyed her that Capricorn did not agree with her.

"Eat it all up!" she ordered Meggie. "And then get changed. Your clothes look dreadful and stiff with dirt, too. " She signaled to the maid who had come with her, a young girl at most only four or five years older than Meggie herself. The rumors of Meggie's supposed powers of witchcraft had obviously reached this girl's ears, too. A snow-white dress was draped over her arm, and she avoided looking at Meggie as she made her way past her to hang it in the closet.