Inkheart

4. A HOUSE FULL OF BOOKS

Meggie woke up because it was so quiet. The regular sound of the engine that had lulled her to sleep had stopped. The driver's seat beside her was empty. It took Meggie a little while to remember why she wasn't in bed at home. Tiny dead flies were stuck to the windshield, and the van was parked outside an iron gate. It looked alarming, with sharp ashen-gray spikes, a gate made of spearheads just waiting to impale anyone who tried to clamber over. It reminded Meggie of one of her favorite stories, the tale of the Selfish Giant who wouldn't let children into his garden. This was exactly how she had imagined his garden gate.

Mo was standing in the road with Dustfinger. Meggie got out and went over to them. On the right of the road a densely wooded slope fell steeply to the bank of a wide lake. The hills on the other side rose from the lake like giants emerging from the depths. The water was almost black, and pale twilight, darkly reflected in the waves, was already spreading across the sky. The first lights were coming on in the houses on the bank, looking like glowworms or fallen stars.

"A lovely place, isn't it?" Mo put his arm around Meggie's shoulders. "I know you like stories about robbers. See that ruined castle? A notorious robber band once lived there. I must ask Elinor about them. She knows everything about this lake."

Meggie just nodded and rested her head against his shoulder. She was so tired she felt quite dizzy, but for the first time since they had set off Mo's face wasn't looking grim with anxiety. "Where does she live, then?" asked Meggie, stifling a yawn. "Not behind that spiky gate?"

"Actually, yes. This is the entrance to her property. Not very inviting, is it?" Mo laughed and led Meggie across the road. "Elinor is very proud of this gate. She had it specially made. It's copied from a picture in a book."

"A picture of the Selfish Giant's garden?" murmured Meggie, peering through the intricately twining iron bars.

"The Selfish Giant?" Mo laughed. "No, I think it was another story. Although that one would suit Elinor pretty well. "

Tall hedges grew on both sides of the gate, their thorny branches hiding any view of what lay beyond. But even through the iron bars Meggie could see nothing promising except for tall rhododendron bushes and a broad gravel drive that soon disappeared between them.

"Looks like you have rich relations," Dustfinger whispered in her ear.

"Yes, Elinor is quite rich," said Mo, drawing Meggie away from the gate. "But she'll probably end up poor as a church mouse because she spends so much money on books. I think she'd sell her soul to the devil without thinking twice if he offered her the right book for it." He pushed the heavy gate open with a single movement.

"What are you doing?" asked Meggie in alarm. "We can't just drive in." For there was a sign beside the door, still clearly legible even if some of the letters were partly hidden by the leaves of the hedge:

PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY.

Meggie didn't think it sounded very inviting.

Mo, however, only laughed. "Don't worry," he said, opening the gate wider. "The only thing Elinor guards with a burglar alarm is her library. She couldn't care less who walks through this gate. She's not what you'd call a nervous woman, and she doesn't have many visitors anyway."

"What about dogs?" Dustfinger peered anxiously into the strange garden. "That gate suggests at least three ferocious dogs to me. Big ones, the size of calves. "

But Mo just shook his head. "Elinor hates dogs," he said, going back to the van. "OK, get in. "

Elinor's grounds were more like a wood than a garden. Once they were through the gateway the drive curved, as if taking a deep breath before going on up the slope, then lost itself among dark firs and chestnut trees, which grew so close together their branches made a tunnel. Meggie was just thinking it would never end when the trees suddenly receded, and the drive brought them to an open space covered with gravel and surrounded by carefully tended rose beds.

A gray station wagon stood on the gravel in front of a house that was bigger than the school Meggie had been attending for the last year. She tried to count the windows, but soon gave up. It was a very beautiful house but looked just as uninviting as the iron gate. Perhaps it was only the evening twilight that made the ochre yellow of the plaster look so dirty. And perhaps the green shutters were closed only because night was already falling over the surrounding mountains. Perhaps. But Meggie would have bet her last book they were seldom open even in the daytime.

The dark wooden front door looked as forbidding as a tightly closed mouth, and Meggie involuntarily reached for Mo's hand as they approached it.

Dustfinger followed warily, with his battered backpack over his shoulder. Gwin was probably still asleep inside it. When Mo and Meggie went up to the door he kept a couple of steps behind them, looking uneasily at the closed shutters as if he suspected that the mistress of the house was watching them from one of the windows.

There was a small barred window beside the front door, the only one not hidden behind green shutters. Below it was another notice:

IF YOU INTEND TO WASTE MY TIME ON TRIVIA,

YOU'D BETTER GO AWAY NOW!

Meggie cast Mo an anxious glance, but he only made an encouraging face at her and pressed the bell.

Meggie heard it ringing inside the big house, but nothing happened for quite a while. A magpie fluttered out of one of the rhododendron bushes growing near the house, and a couple of fat sparrows pecked busily at invisible insects in the gravel, but that was all. Meggie was just throwing them the breadcrumbs she had found in her jacket pocket – left over from a picnic on some long-forgotten day – when the door suddenly opened.

The woman who came out was older than Mo, quite a lot older – although Meggie could never be quite sure how old grown-ups were. Her face reminded Meggie of a bulldog, but perhaps that was more her ferocious expression than its features. She wore a mouse-gray sweater and an ash-gray skirt, with a pearl necklace around her short neck and felt slippers on her feet, the kind of slippers Meggie had once had to wear when she and Mo had visited a historic castle. Elinor's hair was gray, too. She had pinned it up, but strands were hanging down everywhere as if she had done it impatiently and in a hurry. She didn't look as if she spent much time in front of a mirror.

"Good heavens, Mortimer! What a surprise!" she said, without wasting time on further greetings. "Where did you spring from?" Her voice sounded brusque, but her face couldn't entirely hide the fact that she was pleased to see Mo.

"Hello, Elinor," said Mo, putting his hand on Meggie's shoulder. "Do you remember Meggie? As you can see, she's grown up quite a bit now."

Elinor cast Meggie a brief, irritated glance. "Yes, so I see," she said. "It's only natural for children to grow, wouldn't you say? As far as I remember, it's been some years since I last set eyes on either you or your daughter, so, to what do I owe the unexpected honor of your visit today? Are you finally going to take pity on my poor books?"

"That's right." Mo nodded. "One of my library commissions has been postponed – you know how libraries are always short of money."

Meggie looked at him uneasily. She hadn't realized he could lie quite so convincingly.

"And because it was so sudden," Mo continued, "I couldn't find anywhere for Meggie to go, so I brought her with me. I know you don't like children, but Meggie won't leave jam on your books or tear out pages to wrap up dead frogs."

Elinor muttered something suspicious and scrutinized Meggie as if she thought her capable of any kind of disgraceful conduct, whatever her father might say. "When you last brought her we could at least put her in a playpen," she remarked coldly. "I don't suppose that would do now." Once again, she looked Meggie up and down as if she were being asked to admit a dangerous animal to her house.

Meggie felt her anger make the blood rise to her face. She wanted to go home, or get back in the camper van and go somewhere else, anywhere, so long as she didn't have to stay with this horrible woman whose cold pebble eyes were boring holes in her face.

Elinor's gaze moved from Meggie to Dustfinger, who was still standing in the background looking awkward. "And who's this?" She looked inquiringly at Mo. "Do I know him?"

"This is Dustfinger, a… a friend of mine. " Perhaps only Meggie noticed Mo's hesitation. "He wants to go on south, but maybe you could put him up for a night in one of your many rooms?"

Elinor folded her arms. "Only on the condition that his name has nothing to do with the way he treats books," she said. "And he'll have to put up with rather Spartan accommodations in the attic, because my library has grown a great deal over the last few years. Nearly all my guest bedrooms are full of books. "

"How many books do you have?" asked Meggie. She had grown up among piles of books, but even she couldn't imagine there were books behind all the windows of this huge house.

Elinor inspected her again, this time with unconcealed con tempt. "How many?" she repeated. "Do you think I count them like buttons or peas? A very, very great many. There are probably more books in every single room of this house than you will ever read – and some of them are so valuable that I wouldn't hesitate to shoot you if you dared touch them. But because you're a clever girl, or so your father assures me, you wouldn't do that anyway, would you?"

Meggie didn't reply. Instead, she imagined standing on tip toe and spitting three times into this old witch's face.

However, Mo just laughed. "You haven't changed, Elinor," he remarked. "A tongue as sharp as a paper knife. But I warn you, if you harm Meggie I'll do the same to your beloved books. "

Elinor's lips curled in a tiny smile. "Well said," she answered, stepping aside. "You obviously haven't changed either. Come in. I'll show you the books that need your help, and a few others as well. "

Meggie had always thought Mo had a lot of books. She never thought so again, not after setting foot in Elinor's house.

There were no haphazard piles lying around as they did at home. Every book obviously had its place. But where other people have wallpaper, pictures, or just an empty wall, Elinor had bookshelves. The shelves were white and went right up to the ceiling in the entrance hall through which she had first led them, but in the next room and the corridor beyond it the shelves were as black as the tiles on the floor,

"These books," announced Elinor with a dismissive gesture as they passed the closely ranked spines, "have accumulated over the years. They're not particularly valuable, mostly of mediocre quality, nothing out of the ordinary. Should certain fingers be unable to control themselves and take one off the shelf now and then," she added, casting a brief glance at Meggie, "I don't suppose the consequences would be too serious. Just so long as once those fingers have satisfied their curiosity they put every book back in its proper place again and don't leave any unappetizing bookmarks inside." Here Elinor turned to Mo. "Believe it or not," she said, "I actually found a dried-up slice of salami used as a bookmark in one of the last books I bought, a wonderful nineteenth-century first edition."

Meggie couldn't help giggling, which naturally earned her another stern look. "It's nothing to laugh about, young lady," said Elinor. "Some of the most wonderful books ever printed were lost because some fool of a fishmonger tore out their pages to wrap his stinking fish in. In the Middle Ages, thousands of books were destroyed when people cut up their bindings to make soles for shoes or to heat steam baths with their paper." The thought of such incredible abominations, even if they had occurred centuries ago, made Elinor gasp for air, "Well, let's forget about that," she said, "or I shall get overexcited, My blood pressure's much too high as it is. "

She had stopped in front of a door that had an anchor with a dolphin coiled around it painted on the white wood. "This is a famous printer's special sign," explained Elinor, stroking the dolphin's pointed nose with one finger. "Just the thing for a library door, eh?"

"I know," said Meggie. "Aldus Manutius. He lived in Venice and printed books the right size to fit into his customers' saddlebags."

"Really?" Elinor wrinkled her brow, intrigued. "I didn't know that. In any case, I am the fortunate owner of a book he printed with his own hands in the year 1503."

"You mean it's from his workshop," Meggie corrected her.

"Of course that's what I mean." Elinor cleared her throat and gave Mo a reproachful glance, as if it could only be his fault that his daughter was precocious enough to know such things. Then she put her hand on the door handle. "No child," she said as she pressed the handle down with almost solemn reverence, "has ever before passed through this door, but as I assume your father has taught you a certain respect for books I'll make an exception today. However, only on the condition that you keep at least three paces away from the shelves. Is that agreed?"

For a moment Meggie felt like saying no, it wasn't. She would have loved to surprise Elinor by showing contempt for her precious books, but she couldn't do it. Her curiosity was too much for her. She felt almost as if she could hear the books whispering on the other side of the half-open door. They were promising her a thousand unknown stories, a thousand doors into worlds she had never seen before. The temptation was stronger than Meggie's pride.

"Agreed," she murmured, clasping her hands behind her back. "Three paces." Her fingers were itching with desire.

"Sensible child," said Elinor, so condescendingly that Meggie almost went back on her decision. But then they entered Elinor's holy of holies.

"You've had the place renovated," Meggie heard Mo say. He added something else, but she wasn't listening anymore. She was just staring at the books. The shelves on which they stood smelled of freshly sawn wood. They went all the way up to a sky-blue ceiling with tiny lights in it, hanging there like stars. Narrow wooden stepladders on casters stood by the shelves, ready to help any reader up to the top shelves. There were reading desks with books lying open on them, held in place by brass chains that shone like gold. There were glass display cases containing books with pages stained by age but showing the most wonderful pictures. Meggie couldn't resist moving closer. One step forward, a quick glance at Elinor, who luckily had her back turned, and she was right beside the display case. She bent lower and lower over the glass until her nose was touching it.

Prickly leaves twined around pale brown letters. A tiny red dragon's head was spitting out flowers over the stained paper. Riders on white horses looked at Meggie as if scarcely a day had passed since someone had painted them with tiny marten-hair brushes. A man and woman stood beside them, perhaps a bridal couple. A man with a bright red hat was looking angrily at them.

"You call that three paces?"

Meggie spun around in alarm, but Elinor didn't seem too angry. "Yes, the art of illumination," she said. "Once only rich people could read, so the pictures painted around the letters were to help the poor to understand the stories, too. Of course no one planned to give them pleasure – the poor were put into the world to work, not to have a nice time or look at pretty pictures. That kind of thing was only for the rich. No, the idea was to instruct the poor. Usually the stories came from the Bible and everyone knew them anyway. The books were put in churches, and a page was turned every day to show a new picture."

"What about this book?" asked Meggie.

"I don't think this one was ever in a church," replied Elinor. "More likely it was made for a very rich man to enjoy. It's almost six hundred years old." There was no missing the pride in her voice. "People have committed murder for such a book. Luckily, I only had to buy it."

As she spoke these last words she turned abruptly and looked at Dustfinger, who had followed them into the library, soundless as a prowling cat. For a moment Meggie thought Elinor would send him back into the corridor, but Dustfinger stood in front of the shelves looking so impressed, with his hands behind his back, that he gave her no reason to turn him out, so she just cast him a final distrustful glance and turned back to Mo.

He was standing at one of the reading desks with a book in his hand. Its spine hung only by a couple of threads. He held it very carefully, like a bird with a broken wing.

"Well?" asked Elinor anxiously." Can you save it? I know it's in terrible shape, and I'm afraid the others aren't in a much better way, but…"

"Oh, that can all be fixed. " Mo put the book down and inspected another. "But I think it will take me at least two weeks.

If I don't have to get hold of more materials, which could mean I need more time. Will you put up with us that long?"

"Of course. " Elinor nodded, but Meggie noticed the glance she cast at Dustfinger. He was still standing beside the shelves near the door and seemed entirely absorbed in looking at the books, but Meggie sensed he had missed none of what was said behind his back.

There were no books in Elinor's kitchen, not one, but they ate an excellent supper there at a wooden table that came, so Elinor assured them, from the scriptorium of an Italian monastery. Meggie doubted it. As far as she knew, the monks had worked at desks with sloping tops in the scriptoria of their monasteries, but she kept this information to herself. Instead she took another slice of bread and was just wondering how nice the cheese standing on the supposed scriptorium table would be when she noticed Mo whispering something to Elinor. Since Elinor's eyes widened greedily, Meggie concluded they could only be discussing a book, and she immediately thought of brown paper, a pale green linen binding, and the anger in Mo's voice.

Beside her, Dustfinger surreptitiously slipped a slice of ham into his backpack for Gwin's supper. Meggie saw a round nose emerge from the pack, snuffling in the hope of more delicacies. Dustfinger smiled at Meggie when he noticed her looking at him and gave Gwin some more ham. He didn't seem to find anything odd about Mo and Elinor's whispering, but Meggie was sure the two of them were planning something secret.

After a short time Mo rose from the table and went out. Meggie asked Elinor where the bathroom was – and followed him.

It was a strange feeling to be spying on Mo. She couldn't remember ever doing it before – except the night before, when Dustfinger had arrived. And the time when she had tried to find out whether Mo was Santa Claus. She was ashamed of stealing after him like this, but it was his own fault. Why was he hiding the book from her? And now he might be going to give it to this Elinor – a book Meggie wasn't allowed to see! Ever since Mo had hurriedly hidden it behind his back, Meggie hadn't been able to get it out of her head. She had even looked for it in Mo's bag before he loaded his things into the van, but she couldn't find it.

She just had to see it before it disappeared, maybe into one of Elinor's display cases! She had to know why it meant so much to Mo that, for its sake, he would drag her all the way here.

He looked around once more in the entrance hall before leaving the house, but Meggie ducked down behind a chest just in time. The chest smelled of mothballs and lavender. She decided to stay in hiding there until Mo came back. He'd be sure to see her if she went outdoors. Time passed painfully slowly, as it always does when you're waiting for something with your heart thumping hard. The books in the white bookcases seemed to be watching Meggie, but they said nothing to her, as if they sensed that there was only one book Meggie could think about just now.

Finally, Mo came back carrying a package wrapped in brown paper. Perhaps he's just going to hide it here, thought Meggie. Where could you hide a book better than among ten thousand others? Yes, Mo was going to leave it here and then they'd drive home again. But I would like to see it, thought Meggie, just once, before it's put on one of those shelves I'm supposed to stay three paces away from.

Mo passed her so closely she could have touched him, but he didn't notice her. "Meggie, don't look at me like that!" he sometimes told her. "You're reading my thoughts again." Now he looked anxious – as if he wasn't quite sure he was doing the right thing. Meggie counted slowly to three before following her father, but a couple of times Mo stopped so suddenly Meggie almost ran into him. He didn't return to the kitchen but went straight to the library. Without looking back once, he opened the door with the Venetian printer's mark on it and closed it quietly behind him.

So, there stood Meggie among all the silent books, wondering whether to follow him and ask him to show her the book. Would he be very angry? She was just about to summon up all her courage and go after him when she heard footsteps – rapid, firm footsteps, quick and impatient. That could only be Elinor. Now what?

Meggie opened the nearest door and slipped through it. A four-poster bed, a dresser, silver-framed photographs, a pile of books on the bedside table, a catalog lying open on the rug, its pages full of pictures of old books. She was in Elinor's bedroom. Heart thudding, she listened for noises outside; she could hear Elinor's energetic footsteps and then the sound of the library door closing for the second time. Cautiously, she slipped out into the corridor again. She was still standing outside the library, undecided, when she felt a hand suddenly laid on her shoulder from behind. Another hand stifled her cry of alarm.

"It's only me!" breathed Dustfinger into her ear. "Keep quiet or we're both in trouble, understand?"

Meggie nodded and Dustfinger slowly took his hand away from her mouth. "Your father's going to give the old witch that book, right?" he whispered. "Has he taken it out of the van? Tell me. He did have it with him, didn't he?"

Meggie pushed him away. "I don't know!" she snapped. "Anyway, what business is it of yours?"

"What business is it of mine?" Dustfinger laughed quietly. "Well, perhaps I'll tell you sometime. But just now all I want to know is whether you've seen it."

Meggie shook her head. She didn't know why she was lying to Dustfinger. Perhaps because he had pressed his hand over her mouth a little too hard.

"Meggie, listen to me!" Dustfinger looked at her intently. His scars were like pale lines that someone had drawn on his cheeks: two slightly curved marks on the left cheek, a third and longer line on the right cheek running from ear to nostril. "Capricorn will kill your father if he doesn't get that book!" hissed Dustfinger. "Kill him, do you understand? Didn't I tell you what he's like? He wants the book, and he always gets what he wants. It's ridiculous to believe it will be safe from him here. "

"Mo doesn't think so!"

Dustfinger straightened up and stared at the library door. "Yes, I know," he murmured. "That's the trouble. And so," he said, putting both hands on Meggie's shoulders and propelling her toward the closed door, "so now you're going to go in there, the picture of innocence, and find out what the pair of them are planning to do with that book. OK?"

Meggie was about to protest, but before she knew it Dustfinger had opened the door and pushed her into the library.