Cornelia Funke - Inkdeath

"I'll bring fire to help you as soon as I've freed Brianna," Dustfinger had promised, before leaving him alone to go and act the part of a traitor once more. "And I'll bring the White Book with me," he had added.

However, it was not Dustfinger but Resa who came. Mo's heart had almost stopped when the swift flew through the doorway. One of the guards had aimed his crossbow at her, but she darted away from the arrow, and Mo had plucked a brown feather from his shoulder. They haven't found the Book. That was his first thought as the swift settled on a beam above him. But whatever happened, he was glad she was there.

The Piper was leaning against a column, his eyes following every movement Mo made. Was he going to try doing without sleep for two whole weeks? Or did he think this book could be bound in a day?

Mo put down his knife and rubbed his tired eyes. The swift spread her wings as if she were waving to him, and Mo quickly bent his head so that the Piper's attention wouldn't be drawn to her. But he looked up again when the silver-nosed man uttered a curse.

Fire was licking from the walls.

It could mean only one thing: Brianna was free.

"Why are you smiling like that, Bluejay?" The Piper came up to him and drove his fist into Mo's stomach, doubling him up. The swift above their heads cried out.

"Do you think your fiery friend will come to make amends for betraying you?" the silver-nosed man whispered. "Don't rejoice too soon! This time I'm going to chop off his head. We'll see if he can come back from the dead without that!"

The Bluejay would have liked to thrust the bookbinder's knife into that heartless breast, but once again Mo, the bookbinder, sent him away. What are you waiting for? asked the Jay. The White Book? No one's going to find it! Well, then, Mo retorted, why should I fight anymore? Without the Book I'm dead anyway, and so is my daughter.

Meggie. The bookbinder and the Bluejay were the same man only in sharing their fears for her.

The door opened, and a small, thin figure made its way into the firelit hall. Jacopo.

He came toward Mo, taking small steps. Did he want to tell the Bluejay about his mother? Or had his grandfather sent him to find out how Mo was getting on with binding the new book?

Violante's son stopped close to Mo, but he was looking at the Piper.

"Will it soon be ready?" he asked.

"If you don't keep him from his work," replied the silver-nosed man.

Jacopo put a hand under his tunic and brought out a book. He had wrapped it in a brightly colored cloth. "I want the Bluejay to cure this book for me. It's my favorite."

He opened it, and Mo forgot to breathe. Pages soaked in blood.

Jacopo was looking at him.

"Your favorite book? There's only one book the Bluejay's supposed to bother with. So get out!" The Piper poured himself a goblet of wine. "Go to the kitchen and tell them to send up more meat and wine."

"I only want him to take a look at it!" Jacopo's voice sounded as defiant as ever. "Grandfather said I could get him to do that. You can ask him if you like." He was passing Mo a short, worn pencil that could easily be hidden in the hand. That was better than the knife – much, much better.

The Piper put a piece of meat in his mouth and washed it down with wine. "You're lying," he said. "Has your grandfather told you what I do to liars?"

"No, what?" Jacopo thrust out his chin just as his mother did and took a step toward the silver-nosed man.

The Piper wiped his greasy fingers on a snow-white napkin and smiled.

Mo clutched the pencil in his fingers and opened the White Book.

"First I cut their tongues out," said the Piper.

Jacopo took another step toward him.

"Oh yes?"

HEART.

Mo's fingers shook as he traced each letter.

"Yes. After all, it's not easy to tell lies without a tongue. Although – wait, I did once know a mute beggar who told me

shameless lies. He talked with his fingers."

"So?"

The Piper laughed. "So I cut them off, one by one."

Keep looking up, Mo, or he'll realize that you're writing.

SPELL.

Only one more word now. A single word.

The Piper glanced at him. He looked at the open book. Mo hid the pencil in his closed fist.

The swift spread her wings again. She wanted to help him. No, Resa! But the bird was already in the air, flying above the Piper's head.

"I saw that bird before!" said Jacopo. "In my grandfather's bedchamber."

"Did you indeed?" The Piper looked at the ledge where the swift had now settled. He snatched a crossbow from one of the soldiers.

No! Resa, fly away!

Just one more word, but all Mo saw was the little bird.

The Piper shot, and the swift fluttered upward. The arrow missed, and she flew straight into the Piper's face.

Write, Mo! He pressed the pencil down onto the blood-soaked paper.

The Piper's silver nose slipped when he struck out at the swift.

DEATH.

The Adderhead was freezing. He was freezing even in his sleep, although he clutched the cushion to his sore chest, the cushion containing the Book that protected him from eternal cold. Even his dreams, heavy with poppy juice, couldn't warm him anymore. Dreams of the tortures he would inflict on the Bluejay. Once he had dreamed only of love in this castle. But wasn't that only right and proper? Hadn't the love he found here tormented him as much as his rotting flesh?

Oh, how cold he was. Even his dreams seemed to be covered with hoarfrost. Dreams of torture, dreams of love. He opened his eyes, and the painted walls stared at him with the eyes of Violante's mother. That damn poppy juice. This damn castle. And why was the fire back? The Adderhead groaned and pressed his hands to his eyes, but the sparks seemed to burn even beneath his lids.

Red. Red and gold. Light as sharp as a knife blade, and out of the fire came the whispering, the whispering he had feared ever since he first heard it at a dying man's side. Trembling, he peered through his swollen fingers. No. No, it couldn't be true. It was the poppy juice making him imagine them. Nothing else. He saw four of them all standing around his bed, white as snow – no, whiter – and they were whispering the name he had been born with. Over and over again, as if to remind him that he hadn't always had the skin of a serpent.

It was the poppy juice, only the poppy juice.

The Adderhead thrust a trembling hand into the cushion to take out the Book, to hold it up and so ward them off, but their white fingers were already reaching into his breast.

How they were looking at him! With the eyes of all the dead he had sent to them.

And then they whispered his name again.

And his heart stood still.

The White Woman appeared as soon as Mo closed the blood-soaked Book again. At the sight of her the Piper forgot the swift, and Violante's son hid under the table to which Mo was chained. But this daughter of Death hadn't come to take the Bluejay away. She was here to give him his freedom, and Resa saw the relief on Mo's face.