Inkspell

Page 135

“Never mind what you read. I’m the one who brought you here.” Meggie’s voice was so sharp that Farid cast her a glance of alarm.
“You?” Orpheus turned and examined her so condescendingly that the blood rushed to Meggie’s face. “You obviously don’t know who you’re talking to. But why am I bothering with you, anyway? I’m tired of looking at this unattractive mine. Where are the fairies? The men-at-arms?
The strolling players?” He roughly pushed Meggie aside and went to the ladder, but Farid barred his way.
“You stay where you are, Cheeseface!” he snapped. “Do you want to know why you’re here?
Because of Dustfinger.”
“Oh yes?” There was derision in Orpheus’s laughter. “Haven’t you found him yet? Well, perhaps he doesn’t want to be found, or not by a persistent fellow like you. . ”
“He’s dead,” Farid interrupted brusquely. “Dustfinger is dead, and the only reason why Meggie read you here is for you to write him back!”
“She – did – not – read – me – here! How many more times do I have to tell you?” Orpheus made for the ladder again, but Farid simply took his hand without a word and led him over to the place where Dustfinger was.
Roxane had hung his cloak in front of the gallery where he was still lying, motionless, as if the earth had crushed him. She and Resa had placed burning candles around him – dancing fire instead of the flowers usually laid beside corpses.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Orpheus when he saw him lying there. “Dead! He really is dead! But this is terrible!”
Meggie was amazed to see that there were tears in his eyes. His fingers shook as he took his misted-up glasses off his nose and polished them on his jacket. Then, hesitantly, he went up to Dustfinger, bent, and touched his hand.
“Cold!” he whispered and retreated. His eyes blurred with tears, he looked at Farid. “Was it Basta? Come on, tell me! No, wait, how did it go? Was Basta even there? ‘Some of Capricorn’s men,’ yes, that was it, they were going to kill the marten and Dustfinger tried to save him! I wept my eyes out when I read that chapter, I threw the book at the wall! And now I get here at last and –” He was struggling for breath. “I only sent him back because I thought he’d be safe here now! Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God! Dead!” Orpheus sobbed – and then fell silent. He bent over Dustfinger’s body again. “Wait a moment. Stabbed. Stabbed, that’s what it says in the book.
So where’s the wound? ‘Stabbed for the marten’s sake,’ yes, that’s what it said.” He turned abruptly and stared at Gwin, who was perched on Farid’s shoulders, hissing at him. “He left the marten behind. He left him and you both behind. So how is it possible that –”
Farid said nothing, as the marten affectionately licked his ear. Meggie felt so sorry for him, but when she put out her hand he drew back..
“What’s that marten doing here? Tell me! Have you lost your tongue?” There was a metallic edge to Orpheus’s beautiful voice.
“He didn’t die for Gwin,” whispered Farid.
“No? Who did he die for, then?”
“For me.”
This time Farid did not withdraw his hand when Meggie took it. But before he could tell Orpheus any more, they heard another voice behind them. Abrupt and angry. “Who’s this? What is a stranger doing here?”
Orpheus spun around as if caught in some guilty act. There stood Roxane, with Resa beside her.
Orpheus stared at her in amazement. “Roxane!” he whispered. “The beautiful minstrel woman!
May I introduce myself? My name is Orpheus. I was a – a friend of Dustfinger’s. Yes, I think one could say that.”
“Meggie!” said Resa in a faltering voice. “How did he get here?”
Meggie instinctively hid the notebook containing Fenoglio’s words behind her back.
“So how is Elinor?” Resa asked Orpheus sharply. “And Darius? What have you done to them?”
“Nothing!” replied Orpheus. In his confusion he obviously didn’t notice that the woman who had been able to speak only with her fingers had a voice again. “Far from it. I went to a lot of trouble to help them feel more relaxed about books. They keep them like butterflies pinned in a case, each in its own place, imprisoned in their cells! But books want to breathe and sing, they want to feel air between their pages and a reader’s fingers tenderly stroking them –”
Roxane took Dustfinger’s cloak from the prop over which she had draped it. “You don’t look like a friend of Dustfinger’s to me,” she interrupted Orpheus. “But if you want to say good-bye to him, do it now, because I’m going to take him with me.”
“Take him with you? What do you mean?” Farid barred her way. “Orpheus is here to bring him back!”
“Get out of my sight!” Roxane snapped at him. “The very first time I saw you coming to my farm, I knew you brought bad luck. You ought to be dead, not Dustfinger. That’s how it is and that’s how it stays.”
Farid flinched as if Roxane had struck him. He did not resist as she pushed him aside, and stood there with his shoulders drooping as she bent over Dustfinger.
Meggie couldn’t think of any way to comfort him, but her mother kneeled down beside Roxane.
“Listen!” she said quietly. “Dustfinger brought Farid back from the dead by making the words of a story come true. Words, Roxane! In this world they make strange things happen, and Orpheus knows a lot about words.”
“Oh yes, I do!” Orpheus quickly went to Roxane’s side. “I made him a door of words so that he could come back to you. Did he never tell you?”
Roxane looked at him disbelievingly, but the magic of his voice worked on her, too. “Yes, believe me, I did it!” Orpheus went on. “And I’ll write something to bring him back from the dead. I’ll find words as precious and intoxicating as the scent of a lily, words to beguile Death and open the cold fingers he has closed around Dustfinger’s warm heart!” A delighted smile lit up his face, as if he were already relishing his great achievements to come.
But Roxane just shook her head, as if to free herself from the magic of his voice, and blew out the candles standing around Dustfinger. “Now I understand,” she said, covering Dustfinger with his cloak. “You’re an enchanter. I only went to an enchanter once. After our younger daughter died.
People who go to enchanters are desperate, and they know it. They live on false hopes like ravens preying on carrion. His promises sounded just as wonderful as yours. He promised me what I most desperately wanted. They all do. They promise to bring back what’s lost forever: a child, a friend – or a husband.” She drew the cloak over Dustfinger’s still face. “I’ll never believe such promises again. They only make the pain worse. I’ll take him back to Ombra with me and find a place there where no one will disturb him, not the Adderhead, not the wolves, not even the fairies. And he will still look as if he were only sleeping long after my hair is white, for I know from Nettle how you go about preserving the body even when the soul is long gone.”
“You’ll tell me where that is, won’t you?” Farid’s voice trembled, as if he knew Roxane’s answer already. “You’ll tell me where you’re taking him?”