"Exactly. Perhaps she's out there, too, with your father. Good Lord, when I come to think of it we're almost in the majority. "
Meggie almost choked on the olive stone. Fenoglio smiled, pleased with himself. Mo always raised his eyebrows when he had managed to make her laugh, looking both surprised and serious as if he had no idea what she was laughing at. Meggie could see his face before her so clearly that she might almost have reached out to touch it.
"You'll soon see your father again!" whispered Fenoglio. "And then you can tell him that you found your mother along the way and rescued her from Capricorn. That's quite something, don't you think?"
Meggie just nodded.
The dress felt scratchy on her throat and arms. It was more like a dress for a grown-up than a child, and it was somewhat too big for Meggie. When she took a few steps in it she trod on the hem. The sleeves fitted tightly, but she had no difficulty in pushing the sheet of paper up inside one of them; it was as thin as a dragonfly's leg. She practiced a couple of times – pushing it in, pulling it out. Finally, she left it up her sleeve. It crackled slightly when she moved her hands or raised that arm.
The moon hung pale in the sky above the church tower, and the night wore a veil of moonlight when the Magpie came back to fetch Meggie.
"You haven't combed your hair!" she said crossly. This time she had another maid with her, a stocky woman with a red face and red hands who was obviously not afraid of Meggie's powers of witchcraft. She pulled the comb so brutally through Meggie's hair that she almost cried out.
"Shoes!" said the Magpie, seeing Meggie's bare toes peep out from under the hem of the dress. "Didn't anyone think of shoes?"
"She could put those on. " The maid pointed to Meggie's worn-out sneakers. "The dress is long enough, no one will see them. Anyway, don't witches always go barefoot?"
The Magpie gave her such a look that her voice died on her lips.
"Exactly!" cried Fenoglio, who had been watching the two women get Meggie ready with an ironic expression on his face. "That's what they do, they always go barefoot. Do I have to change for this festive occasion, too? What does one wear to attend an execution? I imagine I will be sitting beside Capricorn?"
The Magpie stuck out her chin. It was a small, soft chin and looked as if it came from another, gentler face.
"You can stay as you are, " she said, putting a comb with pearls in Meggie's hair. "Prisoners don't have to change. " The mockery dripped from her voice like poison.
"What do you mean, prisoners?" Fenoglio pushed his chair back.
"I mean prisoners, what else?" The Magpie stepped back and looked critically at Meggie. "That will have to do, " she said. "It's odd, but with her hair back she reminds me of someone. " Meggie quickly lowered her head, and before the Magpie could give this observation more thought Fenoglio diverted her attention.
"But I am no ordinary prisoner, madam, let's get that quite clear!" he roared. "Without me none of this would exist at all, your own less-than-delightful self included. "
The Magpie cast him a final contemptuous glance and took hold of Meggie's arm, luckily not the one with Fenoglio's precious words inside its sleeve. "The guard will come for you when it's time, " she said to Fenoglio, leading Meggie to the door.
"Remember what your father told you!" called Fenoglio when Meggie was out in the hallway. "Words don't come to life until you can taste them on your tongue. "
The Magpie nudged Meggie in the back. "Get moving!" she said and closed the door behind them.
54 . FIRE
"And then – I have it!" said Bagheera, leaping up. "Go thou down quickly to the men's huts in the valley, and take some of the Red Flower which they grow there, so that when the time comes thou mayest have even a stronger friend than I or Baloo or those of the Pack that love thee. Get the Red Flower. "
By Red Flower Bagheera meant fire, only no creature in the jungle will call fire by its proper name. Every beast lives in deadly fear of it.
Rudyard Kipling, The Jungle Book
They set out when dusk fell over the hills, leaving Gwin at their camp. After what had happened on their last night time visit to Capricorn's village, even Farid could see it was better that way. Silvertongue made him go first. He knew nothing of the boy's fear of ghosts and other nocturnal terrors. Farid had hidden it from him more successfully than he had from Dustfinger. Silvertongue did not mock his fear of the dark either, as Dustfinger had, and curiously enough that made the fear less, shrinking it as only daylight usually did. But now Farid was going to use something else that Dustfinger thought him too foolhardy to handle.
Fire. They had decided to start a fire next to Capricorn's house, so that it would not spread to the hills so fast but would threaten the only thing Capricorn cared about: his treasure chambers.
This time, the village was not quiet and empty as it had been on the previous nights, but was buzzing like a wasp's nest. Four armed guards were patrolling the parking lot, and cars were parked all around the wire-netting fence that surrounded the former football field. Their headlights bathed the area in glaring light as if a bright cloth had been spread out in the dark.
"So that's where the show's going to take place, " whispered Silvertongue as they approached the houses. "Poor Meggie."
A kind of rostrum had been set up in the middle of this arena with a cage opposite it, perhaps for the monster that Silvertongue's daughter was to read out of the book, perhaps for the prisoners. On the left-hand side of the field, facing away from the wire fence and the village, stood long wooden benches. A few of the Black Jackets were already sitting on them, like ravens that had found a bright, warm place to spend the night.
They had thought of stealing into the village from the parking lot. With so many strangers around, perhaps no one would notice them. But then they decided on a longer, darker route. Farid went ahead again, using every tree as cover, always keeping uphill from the houses until they were above the uninhabited part of the village that looked as if a giant had trodden on it. Even there, more guards than usual were patrolling. They had to keep retreating into the shadows of a gateway, ducking down behind a wall, or climbing through a window and waiting with bated breath for the guard to pass by. Luckily, there were many dark corners in Capricorn's village, and the guards strolled through the alleys with an air of boredom, as men do when they are sure there is no threat of danger.
Farid had Dustfinger's backpack with him, containing all they would need to kindle a quick, hot fire. Silvertongue carried the wood they had collected in case the flames did not find enough to feed on among the stones. And there were Capricorn's stocks of gasoline, too. Farid still had the smell of it in his nostrils from the night when they had shut him up in the sheds. The tanks were seldom guarded, but they might not need them. It was a windless night; the flames would burn quietly and steadily. Farid remembered Dustfinger's warning: "Never light a fire when it's windy. The wind will catch hold of it and it will forget you, it will fan the flames until they leap up and bite you and lick the skin from your bones. " But the wind was sleeping tonight, and the still air filled the alleyways like warm water in a bucket.
They had hoped to find the square outside Capricorn's house empty, but as they were about to enter it from one of the alleys, they saw a half-dozen men were standing outside the church.
"Why are they still here?" whispered Farid as Silvertongue drew him into the shadow of a doorway. "The festivities are about to begin."
Two maids came out of Capricorn's house, each with a pile of plates. They were taking them to the church. Obviously the successful execution was to be celebrated there later. When the maids passed the guards the men whistled at them. One of the women almost dropped the crockery when one of them tried to lift her skirt with the barrel of his gun. It was the man who had recognized Silvertongue when they slipped into the village the night before. Farid touched his forehead, which was still bloodstained, and cursed him with the worst curses he knew. Why did he have to be the one there? But even if they got past him unrecognized, how were they going to start a fire while the others were still standing around?