Inkheart

45 . TELLING LIES TO BASTA

It took Fenoglio only a few words to persuade the guard outside the door that he had to speak to Basta at once. The old man was a gifted liar. He could spin stories out of thin air faster than a spider spins its web.

"What do you want, old man?" asked Basta when he was standing in the doorway. He had brought the tin soldier. "Here, little witch!" he said to Meggie, handing her the soldier. "I'd have thrown it on the fire, but nobody here listens to me these days."

The tin soldier started at the word fire. His mustache bristled, and his eyes looked so alarmed it touched Meggie's heart. When she put her hands protectively around him she thought she felt his heart beating. She remembered the end of his story: The soldier melted. The next day when the maid emptied the stove, she found a little tin heart, which was all that was left of him.

"That's right, no one listens to you anymore. I can see that for myself!" Fenoglio looked sympathetically at Basta, as a father might look at his son – which in a way he was. "And that's why I wanted a word with you. " He lowered his voice and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm offering you a deal. "

"A deal?" Basta scrutinized him with a mixture of wariness and arrogance.

"Yes, a deal, " repeated Fenoglio softly. "I'm bored here! I'm a scribbler, as you so aptly put it, I need paper to live on much as other people need bread and wine and so forth. Bring me some paper, Basta, and I'll help you to get those keys back. You remember – the keys that the Magpie took away from you."

Basta took out his knife. When he snapped it open the tin soldier began trembling so much that the bayonet slipped from his tiny hands. "How?" asked Basta, cleaning his fingernails with the tip of the knife.

Fenoglio bent down to him. "I'll write you a magic charm to put a hex on Mortola – a hex that will keep her in bed for weeks and give you time to show Capricorn you are the rightful keeper of the keys. Of course, that kind of charm doesn't work instantly, it needs time, but believe you me, when it does start to take effect…" Fenoglio raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

But Basta only wrinkled his nose in scorn. "I've already tried with spiders. And parsley and salt. The old woman's proof against them all."

"Parsley and spiders!" Fenoglio laughed quietly. "What a fool you are, Basta! I'm not talking about children's magic. I mean the magic of the written word. Nothing is more powerful for good or evil, I do assure you." Fenoglio lowered his voice to a whisper. "I made you yourself out of words and letters, Basta! You and Capricorn. "

Basta flinched. Fear and hatred are closely linked, and Meggie saw both on his face. He believed the old man. He believed every word of it. "You're a sorcerer!" he muttered. "You and the girl alike – you both ought to be burned like those accursed books, and her father, too. " He quickly spat three times at the old man's feet.

"Ah, spitting! What's that supposed to prevent? The evil eye?" Fenoglio mocked him. "That notion of burning us isn't a very new idea, Basta, but then you never were fond of new ideas. Well, are we in business or aren't we?"

Basta stared at the tin soldier until Meggie hid him behind her back. "Very well!" he growled. "But I will check what you've been scribbling every day, understand?"

How are you going to do that, thought Meggie, when you can't read? Basta looked at her as if he had heard her thoughts. "I know one of the maids, " he said. "She'll read it to me, so don't try any tricks, right?"

"Of course not!" Fenoglio nodded energetically. "Oh yes, and a pen would be a good idea, too. A black one if possible. "

Basta brought the pen and a whole stack of white typing paper, Fenoglio sat down at the table with a purposeful look, put the first sheet of paper in front of him, folded it, and then tore it neatly into nine parts. He wrote five letters on each piece. They were ornate, barely legible, and always the same. Then he carefully folded these notes, spat once on each, handed them to Basta, and told him to hide them as he told him. "Three where she sleeps, three where she eats, and three where she works. Then, after three days and three nights, the desired effect will set in. But should the accursed woman find even one of the notes, the magic will instantly turn against you,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Basta stared at Fenoglio's notes as if they would strike him with plague on the spot,

"Best to hide them where she won't find them!" was all Fenoglio replied as he propelled Basta toward the door.

"If it doesn't work, old man, " growled Basta before he closed the door behind him, "I will decorate your face to match Dustfinger's." Then he was gone, and Fenoglio leaned against the closed door with a satisfied smile. "But it won't work!" whispered Meggie. "So? Three days are a long time, " replied Fenoglio, sitting down at the table again, "And I hope we won't need that long. After all, we want to prevent an execution tomorrow evening, don't we?"

He spent the rest of the day alternately staring into space and writing like a man possessed. More and more of the white sheets were covered with his large handwriting, scrawled impatiently over the paper. Meggie didn't disturb him. She sat by the window with the tin soldier, looking at the hills and wondering exactly where Mo was hiding among all the branches and leaves there. The tin soldier sat beside her, his legs stretched straight out in front of him, looking with fear in his eyes at the world that was so entirely new to him. Perhaps he was thinking of the paper ballerina he loved so much, or perhaps he wasn't thinking at all. He said not a single word.