"Watch out!" the little girl called, but before Meggie realized what she meant, something was pulling her hair. The little girl threw a clod of earth, and a fairy fluttered away empty-handed, scolding crossly.
"Good heavens, where are you from?" asked Minerva, helping Meggie down from the steps. "Aren't there any fairies there? They're crazy for human hair, particularly when it's as pretty as yours. If you don't pin it up you'll soon be bald. And anyway, you're too old to wear it loose, not unless you want to be taken for one of the strolling players."
Minerva was small and stocky, not much taller than Meggie. "My word, how thin you are!" she said. "That dress is almost slipping off your shoulders. I'll take it in for you this evening. Has she had any breakfast?" she asked and shook her head at the sight of Fenoglio's baffled expression. "Dear Lord, surely you didn't forget to give the girl something to eat?"
Fenoglio helplessly raised his hands. "I'm an old man, Minerva!" he cried. "I do forget things! What's the matter with everyone this morning? I was in such a good mood, but you all keep going on like this. Rosenquartz has already been infuriating me."
By way of answer Minerva dumped the baby in his arms and led Meggie off with her.
"And whose baby is this?" inquired Fenoglio, following her. "Aren't there enough children running around the place already?"
"It's my eldest daughter's," was all Minerva replied, "and you've seen it a couple of times before. Are you getting so forgetful that I'll have to introduce my own children to you?"
Minerva's younger children were called Despina and Ivo; Ivo was the boy who had been carrying Fenoglio's torch last night. He smiled at Meggie as she and his mother came into the kitchen. Minerva made Meggie eat a plate of polenta and two slices of bread spread with a paste that smelled of olives. The milk she gave her was so rich that Meggie's tongue felt coated with cream after the first sip. As she ate, Minerva pinned up her hair for her. Meggie scarcely recognized herself when Minerva pushed a bowl of water over to her so that she could see her reflection.
"Where did you get those boots?" asked Ivo. His sister was still inspecting Meggie like some strange animal that had lost its way and wandered into their kitchen. Where indeed? Meggie hastily tried to pull down the dress to hide her boots, but it was too short.
"Meggie comes from far away," explained Fenoglio, who had noticed her confusion. "Very far away. A place where there are people with three legs and others whose noses grow on their chins."
The children stared first at him and then at Meggie.
"Oh, stop it! What nonsense you do talk!" Minerva lightly cuffed the back of his head. "They believe every word you say. One of these days they'll be setting off to look for all the crazy places you tell them about, and I'll be left childless."
Meggie almost choked on the rich milk. She had quite forgotten her homesickness, but Minerva's words brought it back – and her guilty conscience, too. She had been away from home five days now, if she'd been keeping count correctly.
"You and your stories!" Minerva handed Fenoglio a mug of milk. "As if it wasn't enough for you to keep telling them those robber tales. Do you know what Ivo said to me yesterday? When I'm grown-up I'm going to join the robbers, too! He wants to be like the Bluejay! What do you think you're doing, pray? Tell them about Cosimo for all I care, tell them about the giants, or the Black Prince and his bear, but not another word about that Bluejay, understand?"
"Yes, yes, not another word," muttered Fenoglio. "But don't blame me if the boy picks up one of the songs about him from somewhere. Everyone's singing them."
Meggie had no idea what they were talking about, but in her mind she was already up at the castle, anyway. Resa had told her that the birds' nests clustered together on its walls so thickly that sometimes the twittering drowned out the minstrels' songs. And fairies nested there, too, she said, fairies who were pale gray like the stone of the castle walls because they often nibbled human food, instead of living on flowers and fruits like their sisters in the wild. And there were said to be trees in the Inner Courtyard of the castle that grew nowhere else except in the very heart of the Wayless Wood, trees with leaves that murmured in the wind like a chorus of human voices and foretold the future on moonless nights – but in a language that no one could understand.
"Would you like anything else to eat?"
Meggie started and came down to earth again.
"Inky infernos!" Fenoglio rose and handed the baby back to Minerva. "Do you want to fatten her up until she fits into that dress? We must be off, or we'll miss half of it. The prince has asked me to bring him the new song before midday, and you know he doesn't like people to be late."
"No, I don't know any such thing," replied Minerva grumpily, as Fenoglio propelled Meggie toward the door. "Because I don't go in and out of the castle the way you do. What does our fine prince want from you this time – another lament?"
"Yes, I've had enough of them, too, but he pays well. Would you rather I was penniless and you had to look for a new lodger?"
"Very well, very well," grumbled Minerva, clearing the children's empty bowls off the table. "I tell you what, though: This prince of ours will sigh and lament himself to death, and then the Adderhead will send his men-at-arms. They'll settle here like flies on fresh horse dung, on the excuse of just wanting to protect their master's poor fatherless grandson."
Fenoglio turned so abruptly that he almost sent Meggie flying. "No, Minerva. No!" he said firmly. "That won't happen. Not as long as I live – which I hope will be a very long time yet!"
"Oh yes?" Minerva removed her son's fingers from the tub of butter. "And how are you going to prevent it? With your robber songs? Do you think some fool with a feathered mask, playing the hero because he's listened to your songs too often, can keep the men-at-arms away from our city? Heroes end up on the gallows, Fenoglio," she continued, lowering her voice, and Meggie could hear the fear behind her mockery. "It may be different in your songs, but in real life princes hang them, and the finest of words don't change that."
The two children looked uneasily at their mother, and Minerva stroked their hair as if that would wipe away her own words. But Fenoglio merely shrugged. "Oh, come on, you see everything in such dismal hues!" he said. "You underestimate the power of words, believe me! They are strong, stronger than you think. Ask Meggie!"
But before Minerva could do just that, he was pushing Meggie out of the house. "Ivo, Despina, do you want to come?" he called to the children. "I'll bring them home safe and sound. I always do!" he added, as Minerva's anxious face appeared in the doorway. "The best entertainers far and wide will be at the castle today. They'll have come from very far away. Your two can't miss this chance!"
As soon as they stepped out of the alley, they were caught up in the crowd streaming along. People came thronging up from all sides: shabbily dressed peasants, beggars, women with children, and men whose wealth showed not only in the magnificence of their embroidered sleeves but most of all in the servants who roughly forced a path through the crowd for them. Riders drove their horses through the throng without a thought for those they pushed against the walls, litters were jammed in the crush of bodies, however angrily the litter-bearers cursed and shouted.
"Devil take it, this is worse than a market day!" Fenoglio shouted to Meggie above the heads around them. Ivo darted through the crowd, quick as a herring in the sea, but Despina looked so alarmed that Fenoglio finally put her up on his shoulders before she was squashed between baskets and people's bellies. Meggie felt her own heart beat faster, what with all the confusion, the pushing and shoving, the thousands of smells and the voices filling the air.