Inkheart

11. A COWARD

Dustfinger did not steal into Meggie's room until he was quite sure she was asleep. She had locked her door. Undoubtedly Elinor had persuaded her to do that because she didn't trust him and because Meggie had refused to give Ink heart back to her. Dustfinger couldn't help smiling as he inserted the thin wire into the lock. What a stupid woman she was, in spite of all those books she'd read! Did she really think such an ordinary lock was any obstacle? "Well, perhaps it might be for fat fingers like yours, Elinor!" he whispered to himself as he opened the door. "But my fingers play with fire, and it's made them quick and skillful. "

His liking for Silvertongue's daughter was a more serious obstacle, and his guilty conscience didn't make matters any easier. Yes, Dustfinger did have a guilty conscience as he crept into Meggie's room, although he hadn't come to steal the book. Naturally Capricorn still wanted it – the book and Silvertongue's daughter, too, those were his new orders. But that must wait. Tonight, Dustfinger was there for a different reason. Tonight, something that had been gnawing at his heart for years drove him to Meggie's room.

He stood thoughtfully beside the bed, looking at the sleeping girl. Betraying her father to Capricorn had not been particularly difficult, but with her it would be different. Her face reminded Dustfinger of another one, although no grief had yet left dark shadows on Meggie's childish features. Strange, every time the girl looked at him he felt a wish to show her that he didn't deserve the distrust he always saw in her eyes, even when she was smiling at him. She looked at her father in a very different way – as if he could protect her from all the dark and evil in the world. What a stupid, stupid idea! No one would be able to protect her from that.

Dustfinger stroked the scars on his face and frowned. Enough of such useless thoughts. He would bring Capricorn what he wanted: the girl and the book. But not tonight.

Gwin moved on his shoulder, trying to wriggle out of his collar, which he liked as little as he liked the dog's leash Dustfinger always carried with him. He wanted to go hunting, but Dustfinger wasn't letting him out. Last night the marten had run away from him while he was talking to Basta. The furry little devil was still afraid of Basta. Dustfinger couldn't blame him.

Meggie was sleeping soundly, her face buried in a gray sweater, probably her father's. She murmured something in her sleep but Dustfinger couldn't make out what. Once again his guilty conscience stirred, but he pushed the tiresome feeling away. He couldn't do with that kind of thing, not now and not later. The girl was nothing to do with him, and he was quits with her father now. Yes, quits. He had no reason to feel like a miserable double-dealing villain.

He looked around the dark room in search of something. Where would Meggie put the book? There was a red box beside her bed. Dustfinger lifted the lid. Gwin's chain clinked softly as he leaned forward.

The box was full of books – wonderful books. Dustfinger took out the flashlight from under his coat and shone it on them. "Look at that!" he murmured. "What beauties! Like a party of ladies dressed in their best to go to a prince's ball. " Silvertongue had probably rebound them after Meggie's little fingers had worn out the old bindings. Yes, of course, there was his sign, the unicorn's head. Each book bore it, and each was bound in a different color. All the hues of the rainbow were gathered together in that box.

The book Dustfinger was looking for was right at the bottom. With its silvery green binding it looked plain, a poor thing among all the other grand and lordly volumes.

It didn't surprise Dustfinger that Silvertongue had given this book such a plain dress to wear. Very likely Meggie's father hated it as much as he loved it. Dustfinger carefully extracted it from the other books. It was almost nine years since he last had it in his hands. At the time it had still had a cardboard binding and a torn paper dust jacket.

Dustfinger raised his head. Meggie sighed and moved until her sleeping face was turned his way. How unhappy she looked. She must be having a nightmare. Her lips quivered, and her hands clutched the sweater as if she were looking for something – or someone – to give her security. But you are usually alone in nightmares, dreadfully alone. Dustfinger remembered many of his own bad dreams and, for a moment, he was tempted to put out his hand and wake Meggie. What a softhearted fool he was!

He turned his back to the bed. Out of sight, out of mind. Then he opened the book hastily before he could think better of it. His breathing was heavy – as if he had filled his mouth with liquid in preparation for breathing fire. He leafed through the first few pages and began to read, slowly turning page after page after page. But with every page his fingers hesitated a little longer, until suddenly he closed the book. Moonlight was seeping through the cracks in the shutters. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, his eyes lost in the labyrinth of letters. He had always been a very slow reader…

"Coward!" he whispered. "Oh, what a coward you are, Dustfinger!" He bit his lips until they hurt. "Come on!" he told himself. "This may be your last chance, you fool! Once Capricorn has the book he'll never let you look at it again. " Once more, he opened the book, leafed rapidly through to about the middle – and closed it again, with a sound loud enough to make Meggie give a little start in her sleep and bury her head under the covers. Dustfinger waited motionless beside the bed until she was breathing regularly again, then leaned over her treasure chest with a deep sigh and put the book back under the others.

Soundlessly, he closed the lid.

"Did you see that, Gwin?" he whispered to the marten. "I just dare not look. Wouldn't you rather find a braver master? Think it over. " Gwin chattered softly in his ear, but if that was an answer Dustfinger didn't understand it.

For a moment he went on listening to Meggie's quiet breathing, then stole back to the door. "Well, what does it matter?" he muttered when he was out in the corridor. "Who wants to know the end of a story in advance?"

He climbed up to the attic bedroom Elinor had given him and lay down on the narrow bed with the crates of books towering around it. But he could not sleep until morning came.