"Elinor?" she heard Darius call at that very moment. Before she could reply, Basta's hand was over her mouth again. She heard Darius come down the corridor with his usual rapid tread. "Elinor?" he called again. Then the footsteps stopped as abruptly as his voice.
"Surprise, surprise!" purred Basta. "Aren't you glad to see us, Stumbletongue? A couple of old friends come to pay you a visit!" Basta's left hand was bandaged, Elinor noticed when he took his fingers away from her mouth, and she remembered the hissing creature that Farid said had slipped through the words in Dustfinger's place. What a pity it didn't eat more of our knife-happy friend, she thought.
"Basta!" Darius's voice was little more than a whisper.
"That's right, Basta! I'd have been here much sooner, believe you me, but they put me in jail for a while on account of something that happened years ago. No sooner was Capricorn gone than all the people who'd been too scared to open their mouths suddenly felt very brave. Well, never mind. You could say they did me a favor, because who do you think they put in my cell one fine day? I never could get him to tell me his real name, so let's call him by the name he's given himself: Orpheus!" He slapped the man so hard on the back that he stumbled forward. "Yes, our good friend Orpheus!" Basta put an arm around his shoulders. "The Devil did me a real favor when he made Orpheus, of all people, my cellmate – or perhaps our story is so keen to have us back that it sent him? Well, one way or another, we had a good time, didn't we?"
Orpheus did not look at him. He straightened his jacket in embarrassment and inspected Elinor's bookshelves.
"Hey, just look at him!" Basta dug his elbow roughly into Orpheus's ribs. "You wouldn't believe how often I've told him there's nothing to be ashamed of in going to jail, particularly when your prisons here are so much more comfortable than our dungeons at home. Come on, tell them how I found out about your invaluable gifts. How I caught you one night reading yourself that stupid dog out of the book! Reading himself a dog! Lord knows, I could think of better ideas."
Basta laughed nastily, and Orpheus straightened his tie with nervous fingers. "Cerberus is still in the car," he told Mortola. "He doesn't like it there at all. We ought to bring him in!"
The wardrobe-man turned to the door. He obviously had a soft spot for animals, but Mortola stopped him with an impatient gesture.
"The dog stays where it is. I can't stand that creature!" Frowning, she looked around Elinor's hall. "Well, I expected your house to be bigger than this," she said, with assumed disappointment. "I thought you were rich."
"So she is!" Basta flung his arm so roughly around Orpheus's neck that his glasses slipped down his nose. "But she spends all her money on books. What would she pay us for the book we took from Dustfinger, do you think?" He pinched Orpheus's round cheeks. "Yes, our friend here made good juicy bait for the fire-eater. He may look like a bullfrog, but even Silvertongue can't make the words obey him so well, let alone Darius. Ask Dustfinger – Orpheus sent him home as if nothing could be easier! Not that the fire-eater will -"
"Hold your tongue, Basta!" Mortola interrupted him abruptly. "You've always liked the sound of your own voice. Well?" She impatiently tapped her stick on the marble tiles that were Elinor's pride and joy. "Where are they? Where are the others? I shan't ask again!"
Come on, Elinor told herself, lie to them. Lie yourself blue in the face! Quick! But she hadn't even opened her mouth when she heard the key in the lock. Oh no! No, Mortimer! she prayed silently. Stay where you are! Go back to the workshop with Resa, shut yourselves up there, but please, please don't come in just now!
Of course her prayers made not the slightest difference.
Mortimer opened the door, came in with his arm around Resa's shoulders – and stopped abruptly at the sight of Orpheus. Before he had entirely grasped what was going on, the man built like a wardrobe had closed the door behind him in obedience to a signal from Mortola.
"Hello there, Silvertongue!" said Basta in a menacingly soft voice, as he snapped his knife open in front of Mortimer's face. "And isn't this our lovely mute Resa? Excellent! Two birds with one stone. All we need now is the little witch."
Elinor saw Mortimer close his eyes for a moment, as if hoping that Basta and Mortola would have disappeared when he opened them again. But, naturally, no such thing happened.
"Call her!" ordered Mortola, as she stared at Mortimer with such hatred in her eyes that Elinor felt afraid.
"Who?" he asked, without taking his eyes off Basta.
"Don't pretend to be more stupid than you are!" Mortola said crossly. "Or do you want me to let Basta cut the same pattern on your wife's face as he did on the fire-eater's?"
Basta ran his thumb lovingly over the gleaming blade.
"If by 'little witch' you mean my daughter," replied Mortimer huskily, "she isn't here."
"Oh no?" Mortola hobbled toward him. "Be careful what you say. My legs are aching after that endless drive to get here, so I'm not feeling particularly patient."
"She isn't here," Mortimer repeated. "Meggie has gone away, with the boy you took the book from. He asked her to take him to Dustfinger, she did it – and she went with him."
Mortola narrowed her eyes incredulously. "Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "How could she have done it without the book?" But Elinor saw the doubt in her face.
Mortimer shrugged. "The boy had a handwritten sheet of paper with him – the one that sent Dustfinger back, apparently."
"That's impossible!" Orpheus looked at him in astonishment. "Are you seriously saying your daughter read herself into the story, using my words?"
"Oh, so you're this Orpheus, are you?" Mortimer returned his glance, not in a very friendly way. "Then you're responsible for the loss of my daughter."
Orpheus straightened his glasses and gave Mortimer an equally hostile look. Then, abruptly, he turned to Mortola. "Is this man Silvertongue?" he demanded. "He's lying! I'm sure of it! He's lying! No one can read themselves into a story. He can't, his daughter can't, no one can. I've tried it myself, hundreds of times. It doesn't work!"
"Yes," said Mortimer wearily. "That's just what I thought, too. Until four days ago."
Mortola stared at him. Then she signaled to Basta. "Shut them up in the cellar!" she ordered. "And then look for the girl. Search the whole house."
13. FENOGLIO
"I do practice remembering, Nain," I said. "Writing and reading and remembering."
"That you should!" said Nain sharply. "Do you know what happens each time you write a thing down? Each time you name it? You sap its strength."
Kevin Crossley-Holland, The Seeing Stone
It wasn't easy to get past the guards at the gate of Ombra after dark, but Fenoglio knew them all. He had written many love poems for the heavily built oaf who barred his way with his spear tonight – and very successful they were, he had been told. Judging by the fool's appearance, he'd be needing to call on Fenoglio's services again.
"But mind you're back before midnight, scribbler!" the ugly fellow grunted before letting him pass. "That's when the Ferret takes over from me, and he's not interested in your poems, even though his girl can read."
"Thanks for the warning!" said Fenoglio, giving the stupid fellow a false smile as he pushed past him. As if he didn't know that the Ferret was not to be trifled with! His stomach still hurt when he remembered how that sharp-nosed fellow had dug the shaft of his spear into it, when he'd tried pushing past him with a couple of well-chosen words. No, there'd be no bribing the Ferret, not with poems or any other written gifts. The Ferret wanted gold, and Fenoglio didn't have too much of that, or at least not enough to waste it on a guard at the city gates.