Inkdeath (Inkworld #3)

Inkdeath (Inkworld #3) Page 132

Elinor was snoring gently. Darius slept next to her, in between Minerva’s children.

Meggie moved as quietly as the woven structure of the nest allowed, picking up her jacket, her boots, and the backpack that still reminded her of the other world.

"Ready?" Farid was standing in the round doorway of the nest. "It will soon be light."

Meggie nodded and turned as Farid stared past her, his eyes as wide as a child’s.

A White Woman was standing beside the sleepers. She looked at Meggie.

She had a pencil in her hand, a short, worn-out chalk pencil, and with a look of invitation she was offering Farid one of the candles that Elinor had brought from Ombra. Farid went toward her like a sleepwalker, and with a whisper lit the wick.

The White Woman dipped her pencil into the flame and began to write on a sheet of paper. Meggie had been trying to write a good end to her father’s story on it after the giant took Fenoglio away. The White Woman wrote and wrote, while Minerva whispered her husband’s name in her sleep, while Elinor turned over onto her other side, while Despina put her arm around her brother, and the wind blew through the wickerwork of the nest, almost putting out the candle. Then the White Woman straightened up, looked at Meggie once more, and disappeared as if the wind had blown her away.

Farid breathed a sigh of relief when she had gone, and pressed his face into Meggie’s hair. But Meggie gently moved him aside and bent over the paper on which the White Woman had written.

"Can you read it?" Farid whispered.

Meggie nodded.

"Go to the Black Prince and tell him he can spare his leg," she said softly. "We’ll all stay here. The song of the Bluejay has been written."

CHAPTER 75

THE BOOK

It wasn’t easy to make your hands work slowly when they loved what they were doing so much. Mo’s eyes stung in the bad light, his ankles were sore from the heavy chains, and yet in the strangest way he felt happy. It was as if he were binding not the Adderhead’s death, but time itself into a book and with it all fears for the future, all the pain of the past.., until there was nothing left but now, this moment when his hands caressed paper and leather.

"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 Ifight 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.

CHAPTER 76

WHITE NIGHT