Inkspell

44. POOR MEGGIE

Meggie did not say a word. However hard Farid tried to cheer her up she just sat there among the trees, her arms wrapped around her legs, perfectly silent. Yes, they had set many of the captives free, but her parents were not among them.

Not one of those who managed to escape had been injured. One of the children had twisted his ankle, that was all, and he was small enough for the grown-ups to carry him. The forest had swallowed them up so quickly that after only a few steps the Adderhead's men had found themselves chasing shadows. Dustfinger hid the children inside a hollow tree, the women crawled underneath a thicket of wild vine and nettles, while the Prince's bear kept the soldiers at a distance. The men had climbed trees and perched high up among the leaves; Dustfinger and the Prince were the last to hide, after leading the soldiers astray in different directions.

The Black Prince advised the freed captives to go back to Ombra and, for the time being, to join the strolling players still encamped there. He himself had other plans. Before he left he spoke to Meggie, and she did not look quite so hopeless after that.

"He said he won't let anyone hang my father," she told Farid. "He says he knows that Mo is not the Bluejay, and he and his men will make the Adderhead realize that he's caught the wrong man." And she looked so hopeful as she said this that Farid just nodded and murmured, "That's great!" – although he could think only that the Adderhead would execute Silvertongue all the same.

"What about the informer the Piper mentioned? Will the Prince look for him?" he asked Dustfinger, as they set out again.

"He won't have to look for long," Dustfinger said. "He just has to wait until one of the strolling players suddenly has his pockets full of silver."

Silver. Farid had to admit that he was curious to see the silver towers of the Castle of Night. Even the battlements were said to be lined with silver. But they would not choose the same route as Firefox. "We know where they're going," said Dustfinger, "and there are shorter and safer ways to the Castle of Night than the road."

"What about the Spelt-Mill?" asked Meggie. "The mill in the forest that you mentioned? Aren't we going there first?"

"Not necessarily. Why?"

Meggie didn't answer at once. Obviously, she guessed that the reply would not please Dustfinger. "I gave Cloud-Dancer a letter for Fenoglio," she said at last, reluctantly. "I asked him to write something to save my parents and to send it to the mill."

"A letter?" Dustfinger's voice was so cutting that Farid instinctively put his arm around Meggie’s shoulders. "Oh, wonderful! And suppose the wrong eyes read it?"

Farid ducked his head, but Meggie did not. Instead, she returned Dustfinger's glance. "Nobody but Fenoglio can help them now," she said. "You know that. You know it perfectly well."