Capricorn rose as soon as the old man was seated. Without a word, he let his gaze pass slowly over the long line of his men, as if recalling every one of them, remembering what good and what bad service each one had done him. The silence in the arena smelled of fear. All the laughter had died away, and not a whisper could be heard.
"There is no need, " Capricorn finally began, raising his voice, "for me to explain to most of you why the three prisoners you see there are to be punished. For the rest, it is enough for me to say it is for treachery, loose talk, and stupidity. One may argue, of course, over whether or not stupidity is a crime deserving of death. I think it is, for it can have exactly the same consequences as treachery. "
As he said this there was a restless stir on the benches. At first, Elinor thought Capricorn's words had set it off, but then she heard the bell. Even Basta raised his head as its tolling sounded through the night. At a sign from Capricorn, Flatnose beckoned to five men and strode off with them. Those left behind put their heads together uneasily, and some even jumped up and turned to look at the village. However, Capricorn raised his hand to quell the murmur that had arisen. "It is nothing!" he called in so loud and cutting a tone that everything immediately fell still again. "A fire, that's all. And we know how to deal with fire, don't we?"
There was laughter, but some of the crowd, both men and women, were still looking anxiously at the houses.
So they'd done it. Elinor bit her lips so hard they hurt. Mortimer and the boy had started a fire. No smoke yet showed above the rooftops, so, reassured, all the faces turned back to Capricorn, who was saying something about deceit and falsehood, discipline and negligence, but Elinor only half heard him. She kept looking at the houses of the village, though she knew it was dangerous to do so.
"So much for the prisoners we have here!" cried Capricorn. "Now for those who got away. " Cockerell picked up a sack that had been lying behind Capricorn's chair and gave it to him. Smiling, Capricorn put his hand into it and held something up: a piece of fabric from a shirt or dress, torn and bloodstained.
"They are dead!" called Capricorn to his audience. "I'd rather have seen them here, of course, but unfortunately there was nothing for it: They were trying to escape and had to be shot. Well, no one will miss the treacherous little fire-eater – almost all of you knew him – and fortunately Silvertongue has left us his daughter, who has inherited his gifts. "
Teresa looked at Elinor, her eyes glazed with horror.
"He's lying!" Elinor whispered to her, although she, too, could not take her eyes off the bloodstained rags. "He's using my lies, my tricks! That's not blood, it's paint, or some kind of dye. " But she saw her niece did not believe her. She believed in the bloodstained cloth, just as her daughter did. Elinor could read this on Meggie's face, and she longed to call out to her that Capricorn was lying, but she wanted him to believe his own story for a little longer – to believe they were all dead, and that no one would come to disturb his festivities.
"That's right, boast of a bloodstained rag, you miserable fire-raiser!" she shouted through the bars. "That's really something to be proud of. Why do you need another monster? You're all monsters! Every one of you sitting there! You murder books, you abduct children!…"
No one took any notice of her. A couple of the Black Jackets laughed. Teresa moved closer to the bars, clutching their cold metal with her fingers, never taking her eyes off Meggie.
Capricorn left the bloodstained fabric lying over the arm of his chair. I know that rag, thought Elinor. I've seen it somewhere before. They're not dead. Who else would have started the fire? The matchstick-eater, something inside her whispered, but she refused to listen. No, the story must have a happy ending. It wouldn't be right otherwise! She had never liked sad stories.
56 . THE SHADOW
My heavens are brass my earth is iron my moon a clod of clay
My sun a pestilence burning at noon amp; a vapour of death in the night.
William Blake, Enion's Second Lament from Vala, or the Four Zoas
In books hatred is often described as hot, but at Capricorn's festivities Meggie discovered it was cold – an ice-cold hand that stops the heart and presses it like a clenched fist against the ribs. Hatred made her freeze, in spite of the mild air wafting around her, telling her that the world was a good, safe place. She knew it was not – as the bloody cloth on which the smiling Capricorn had laid his ringed hand showed all too clearly.
"Well, so much for that!" he cried. "And now for the real reason we are all gathered here tonight. Not only are we about to punish the traitors but we're also going to celebrate a reunion with an old friend. Some of you may remember him, and as for the others, I promise that once you have met him you will never forget him."
Cockerell twisted his thin face into a sour smile. He was obviously not looking forward to the reunion and, at Capricorn's words, alarm showed on several other faces.
"But that's enough talking. Now, let's hear something read aloud to us."
Capricorn leaned back in his chair and nodded to the Magpie. Mortola clapped her hands, and Darius came hurrying across the arena with the casket Meggie had last seen in the Magpie's room. He clearly knew what it contained. His face was even more haggard than usual as he opened the casket and held it out to the Magpie, his head bowed humbly. The snakes seemed to be drowsy, and this time Mortola did not put on a glove before she lifted them out. She even draped them over her shoulders while she took the book out of its hiding place. Then she put the snakes back as carefully as if they were precious jewels, closed the lid, and handed the casket back to Darius. He stayed on the rostrum, looking awkward. Meggie caught him looking sympathetically at her as the Magpie made her sit down on the chair and placed the book on her lap.
Here it was again, the unlucky thing, in its brightly colored paper jacket. What color was the binding under it? Raising the dust jacket with her finger, Meggie saw the dark red cloth, as red as the flames surrounding the ink-black heart. Everything that had happened had begun between the pages of this book, and only the words of its author could save them now. Meggie stroked its binding as she always did before opening a book. She had seen Mo doing the same. Ever since she could remember she had known that movement – the way he would pick up a book, stroke the binding almost tenderly, then open it as if he were opening a box full to the brim with precious things. Of course, the marvels you hoped to find might not be waiting inside the covers, so then you closed the book, sorry that its promise had not been kept. But Inkheart was not a book of that kind. Badly told stories never come to life. There are no Dustfingers in them, nor even a Basta.
"I am told to tell you something!" The Magpie's dress smelled of musty lavender, its fragrance enveloping Meggie in a suffocating threat. "Should you fail to do what Capricorn asks, should it occur to you to stumble over the words on purpose, or distort them so the guest Capricorn is expecting does not come, then…" Mortola paused and Meggie felt the old woman's breath on her cheek. "Cockerell will cut the old man's throat. Capricorn may not give the order himself, because he believes the stupid lies the old man told him, but I don't, and Cockerell will do as I say. Understand me, my little cherub?" She pinched Meggie's cheek with her bony fingers. Meggie shook off her hand and looked at Cockerell. He moved up behind Fenoglio, smiled at her, and ran a finger across the old man's throat. Fenoglio pushed him away and looked at Meggie as if one look could convey everything he wanted to say to her and give her: encouragement, comfort, and maybe even amusement in the face of all the horrors surrounding them.