Inkheart

3. GOING SOUTH

Dustfinger must have been waiting in the road beyond the wall. Meggie had picked her precarious way along the top of that wall hundreds of times, up to the rusty hinges of the gate and back again, eyes tightly closed so she could get a clearer view of the tiger she'd imagined waiting in the bamboo at the foot of the wall, his eyes yellow as amber, or the foaming rapids to her right and her left.

Only Dustfinger was there now, but no other sight could have made Meggie's heart beat faster. He appeared so suddenly Mo almost ran him down. He wore only a sweater, and he was shivering, with his arms folded over his chest. His coat was probably still damp from last night's rain, but his hair was dry now – a ruffled, sandy mop above his scarred face.

Mo swore under his breath, switched off the engine, and got out of the van.

Smiling his strange smile, Dustfinger leaned back against the wall. "Where are you going in such a hurry, Silvertongue? Didn't we have a date?" he asked. "You stood me up like this once before, remember?"

"You know why I'm in a hurry," replied Mo. "For the same reason as last time. " He was still standing by the open door of the van, looking tense, as if he couldn't wait for Dustfinger to get out of the way. But Dustfinger pretended not to notice Mo's impatience.

"Then may I know where you're going?" he inquired. "It took me four years to find you last time, and if luck hadn't been on your side Capricorn's men would have got to you first. " When he glanced at Meggie she stared back icily.

Mo was silent for a while. "Capricorn is in the north," he answered at last. "So we're going south. Or has he taken up residence somewhere else now?"

Dustfinger looked down the road. Last night's rain shone in the potholes. "No, no," he said. "No, he's still in the north. Or so I hear, and since you've obviously made up your mind to go on refusing him what he wants, I'd better go south myself as fast as I can. Heaven knows I don't want to be the one to give Capricorn's men the bad news. So, if you'd give me a lift part of the way?… I'm ready to leave. " The two bags he picked up from where they stood by the wall looked as if they'd been all around the world a dozen times. Apart from the bags, Dustfinger had nothing but his backpack with him.

Meggie compressed her lips.

No, Mo, she thought, no, let's not take him! But she had only to look at her father to know that his answer would be different.

"Oh, come on, Silvertongue!" said Dustfinger. "What am I going to tell Capricorn's men if I fall into their hands?"

He looked lost, standing there like a stray dog. And hard as Meggie tried to see something sinister about him, she couldn't, not in the pale morning light. All the same, she didn't want him to go with them. Her face showed that very clearly, but neither of the two men took any notice of her.

"Believe me, I couldn't keep the fact that I've seen you from them for very long," Dustfinger continued. "And anyway…" – he hesitated before completing his sentence – "you still owe me, don't you?"

Mo bowed his head. Meggie saw his hand closing more firmly around the open door of the van. "If you want to look at it like that," he said, "yes, I suppose I do still owe you."

The relief was plain to see on Dustfinger's scarred face. He quickly hoisted his backpack over his shoulders and came over to the van with his bags.

"Wait a minute!" cried Meggie as Mo moved to help him. "If he's coming with us then I want to know why we're running away. Who is this man called Capricorn?"

Mo turned to her. "Meggie," he began in the tone she knew only too well: Meggie, don't be so silly, it meant. Come along now, Meggie.

She opened the van door and jumped out.

"Meggie, for heaven's sake! Get back in! We have to leave!"

"I'm not getting back in until you tell me."

Mo came toward her but Meggie slipped away and ran through the gate into the road.

"Why won't you tell me?" she cried.

The road was deserted, as if there were no other human beings in the world. A slight breeze had risen, caressing Meggie's face and rustling in the leaves of the lime tree that grew by the roadside. The sky was still wan and gray and refused to clear.

"I want to know what's going on!" cried Meggie. "I want to know why we had to get up at five o'clock and why I don't have to go to school. I want to know if we're ever coming back, and I want to know who this Capricorn is!"

When she spoke the name Mo looked around as if the man with the strange name, the man he and Dustfinger obviously feared so much, might step out of the empty barn just as suddenly as Dustfinger had emerged from behind the wall. But the yard was empty, and Meggie was too furious to feel frightened of someone when she knew nothing about him other than his name. "You've always told me everything!" she shouted at her father. "Always."

But Mo was still silent. "Everyone has a few secrets, Meggie," he said at last. "Now, come along, do get in. We have to leave. "

Dustfinger looked first at Mo, then at Meggie with an expression of incredulity on his face. "You haven't told her?" Meggie heard him ask in a low voice.

Mo shook his head.

"But you have to tell her something! It's dangerous for her not to know. She's not a baby anymore. "

"It's dangerous for her to know, too," said Mo. "And it wouldn't change anything. "

Meggie was still standing in the road.

"I heard all that!" she cried. "What's dangerous? I'm not getting in until you tell me."

Mo still said nothing.

Dustfinger looked at him, uncertain for a moment, then put down his bags. "Very well," he said. "Then I'll tell her about Capricorn myself."

He came slowly toward Meggie, who involuntarily stepped back.

"You met him once," said Dustfinger. "It's a long time ago, you won't remember you were so little. " He held his hand at knee height in the air. "How can I explain what he's like? If you were to see a cat eating a young bird I expect you'd cry, wouldn't you? Or try to help the bird. Capricorn would feed the bird to the cat on purpose, just to watch it being torn apart, and the little creature's screeching and struggling would be as sweet as honey to him."

Meggie took another step backward, but Dustfinger kept advancing toward her.

"I don't suppose you'd get any fun from terrifying people until their knees were so weak they could hardly stand?" he asked. "Nothing gives Capricorn more pleasure. And I don't suppose you think you can just help yourself to anything you want, never mind what or where. Capricorn does. Unfortunately, your father has something Capricorn has set his heart on. "

Meggie glanced at Mo, but he just stood there looking at her.

"Capricorn can't bind books like your father," Dustfinger went on. "In fact, he's not much good at anything except terrifying people. But he's a master of that art. It's his whole life. I doubt if he himself has any idea what it's like to be so paralyzed by fear that you feel small and insignificant. But he knows just how to arouse that fear and spread it, in people's homes and their beds, in their heads and their hearts. His men spread fear abroad like the Black Death, they push it under doors and through mailboxes, they paint it on walls and stable doors until it infects everything around it of its own accord, silent and stinking like a plague. " Dustfinger was very close to Meggie now. "Capricorn has many men," he said softly. "Most have been with him since they were children, and if Capricorn were to order one of them to cut off your nose or one of your ears he'd do it without batting an eyelash. They like to dress in black like crows – only their leader wears a white shirt under his black jacket – and should you ever meet any of them then make yourself small, very small, and hope they don't notice you. Understand?"

Meggie nodded. Her heart was pounding so hard she could scarcely breathe.

"I can see why your father has never told you about Capricorn," said Dustfinger, looking at Mo. "If I had children I'd rather tell them about nice people, too. "

"I know the world's not just full of nice people!" Meggie couldn't keep her voice from shaking with anger and more than a touch of fear.

"Oh yes? How do you know that?" There it was again, that mysterious smile, sad and supercilious at the same time. "Have you ever had anything to do with a real villain?"

"I've read about them. "

Dustfinger laughed aloud. "Yes, of course that almost comes to the same thing!" he said. His mockery hurt like stinging nettles. He bent down to Meggie and looked her in the face. "All the same, I hope reading about them is as close as you ever get," he said quietly.

Mo was stowing Dustfinger's bags in the back of the van. "I hope there's nothing in there that might come flying around our heads," he said as Dustfinger got in the backseat behind Meggie. "With your trade I wouldn't be surprised."

Before Meggie could ask what trade that was, Dustfinger opened his backpack and carefully lifted out an animal. It was blinking sleepily. "Since we obviously have quite a long journey ahead of us," he told Mo, "I'd like to introduce someone to your daughter."

The creature was almost the size of a rabbit, but much thinner, with a bushy tail now draped over Dustfinger's chest like a fur collar. It dug its slender claws into his sleeve while inspecting Meggie with its gleaming beady black eyes, and when it yawned it bared teeth as sharp as needles.

"This is Gwin," said Dustfinger. "You can tickle him behind the ears if you like. He's very sleepy at the moment, so he won't bite. "

"Does he usually?" asked Meggie.

"Yes," said Mo, getting back behind the wheel. "If I were you I'd keep my fingers away from that little brute. "

But Meggie couldn't keep her hands off any animal, however sharp its teeth. "He's a marten or something like that, right?" she asked.

"Something of that nature. " Dustfinger put his hand in his pants pocket and gave Gwin a piece of dry bread. Meggie stroked his little head as he chewed – and her fingertips found something hard under the silky fur: tiny horns growing beside his ears. Surprised, she took her hand away. "Do martens have horns?"

Dustfinger winked at her and let Gwin climb back into the backpack. "This one does," he said.

Bewildered, Meggie watched him fasten the straps. She felt as if she were still touching Gwin's little horns. "Mo, did you know that martens have horns?" she asked.

"Oh, Dustfinger stuck them on that sharp-toothed little devil of his. For his performances."

"What kind of performances?" Meggie looked inquiringly, first at Mo, then at Dustfinger, but Mo just started the engine and Dustfinger, who seemed to have come far, judging by his bags, took off his boots and stretched out on Mo's bed in the van with a deep sigh. "Don't give me away, Silvertongue," he said before he closed his eyes. "I have my own secrets, you know. And for those I need darkness."

They must have driven fifty kilometers, and Meggie was still trying to figure out what he could possibly have meant.

"Mo?" she asked, when Dustfinger began snoring behind them. "What does this Capricorn want from you?" She lowered her voice before she spoke the name, as if that might remove some of the menace from it.

"A book," replied Mo, without taking his eyes off the road.

"A book? Then why not give it to him?"

"I can't. I'll explain soon, but not now, all right?"

Meggie looked out of the van window. The world they were passing outside already looked unfamiliar – unfamiliar houses, unfamiliar roads, unfamiliar fields, even the trees and the sky looked unfamiliar – but Meggie was used to that. She had never really felt at home anywhere. Mo was her home, Mo and her books, and perhaps the camper van that carried them from one place to the next.

"This aunt we're going to see," she said, as they drove through an endless tunnel. "Does she have any children?"

"No," said Mo, "and I'm afraid she doesn't particularly like children either. But as I said, I'm sure you'll get along well with her."

Meggie sighed. She could remember several aunts, and she hadn't gotten along particularly well with any of them.

They were driving through mountains now, the slopes on both sides of the road rose ever more steeply, and there came a point where the houses looked not just unfamiliar but really different. Meggie tried to pass the time by counting tunnels, but when the ninth swallowed them up and the darkness went on and on she fell asleep. She dreamed of martens in black jackets and a book in a brown-paper cover.