Inkspell

70. THE PEN AND THE SWORD

Mo worked all night, while the storm raged outside as if Fenoglio's world could not accept that soon immortality would arrive in it. Meggie had tried to stay awake, but finally she had nodded off again, head on the table, and he had put her to bed as he had done so many times before. Marveling yet again to see how big she was now. Almost grown-up. Almost.

Meggie woke as he snapped the clasps shut. "Good morning," he said as she raised her head from the pillow – and hoped it would really be a good morning. Outside, the sky was turning red like a face with the blood streaming back into it. The clasps held well. Mo had filed them so that no part of them pricked or dug into the fingers. They held the blank pages together as firmly as if Death were already between them. The leather he had been given for the binding had a reddish tinge, and it surrounded the wooden boards of the covers like their natural skin. The back was gently rounded, the stitching firm, the quires carefully planed. But the fact was that none of that mattered with this book. No one would read it. No one would keep it beside his bed to leaf through its pages again and again. The book was eerie for all its beauty, even Mo felt that, although it was the work of his own hands. It seemed to have a voice that whispered barely perceptible words, words that were not to be found on its blank pages. But they existed. Fenoglio had written them, in a place far away, where women and children now wept for their dead husbands and fathers. Yes, the clasps were important.

Heavy footsteps echoed along the corridor outside the door. Soldiers' footsteps. They came closer and closer. Outside, the night was fading. The Adderhead was taking Mo at his word. By the time the sun rises…

Meggie quickly got out of bed, passed her hand over her hair, and smoothed down her creased dress.

"Is it finished?" she whispered.

He nodded and took the book from the table. "Do you think the Adderhead will like it?"

The Piper opened the door, with four men following him. His silver nose sat on his face as if it had grown from the flesh.

"Well, Bluejay? Have you finished?"

Mo inspected the book from all sides. "Yes, I think so," he said, but when the Piper put out his hand he hid it behind his back. "Oh no," he said. "I'm keeping this until your master has kept his side of the bargain."

"You are?" The Piper smiled in derision. "Don't you think I know ways of taking it from you? But hold on to it for a while. Fear will make you weak at the knees soon enough."

It was a long way from the part of the Castle of Night where the ghosts of forgotten women lived to the halls where the Adderhead held court. The Piper walked behind Mo all the way with his curiously arrogant gait, stiff as a stork, so close behind that Mo felt his breath on the nape of his neck. Mo had never been in most of the corridors along which they marched, yet he felt as if he had walked down them all before – in the days when he read Fenoglio's book over and over again as he tried to bring Resa back. It was a strange feeling to be here himself, behind the words on the page – and looking for her again.

He had read about the hall whose mighty doors opened for them, too, and when he saw Meggie's look of alarm he knew only too well what other dreadful place it reminded them both of. Capricorn's red church had not been half as magnificent as the Adderhead's throne room, but thanks to Fenoglio's description Mo had recognized the model at once. Red-washed walls, column ranged beside column on both sides, except that, unlike those in Capricorn's church, these were faced with scales of silver. Capricorn had even taken the idea of a statue from the Adderhead, but the sculptor who immortalized the Silver Prince clearly knew his trade better.

Capricorn had not tried to imitate the Adderhead's throne. It was in the shape of a nest of silver vipers, two of them rearing up with their mouths fixed and wide open, so that the Adderhead's hands could rest on their heads. The lord of the Castle of Night was magnificently clad, despite the early hour, as if to welcome his immortality with due honor. He wore a cape of silvery-white heron feathers over garments of black silk. Behind him, like a flock of birds with bright plumage, stood his court: administrators, ladies' maids, servants – and among them, dressed in the ashen gray of their guild, a number of physicians.

Mortola was there, too, of course. She stood in the background, almost invisible in her black dress. If Mo had not been looking out for her he would have missed her. There was no sign of Basta, but Firefox was standing next to the throne, arms crossed under his fox-fur cloak. He was staring their way with hostility, but to Mo's surprise his dark looks were aimed not at him but mainly at the Piper.

It's a game, thought Mo as he walked past the silver columns. Fenoglio's game. If only it hadn't felt so real. How quiet it was in the red hall, in spite of all the people. Meggie looked at him, her face so pale under her fair hair, and he gave her the most encouraging smile his lips could manage – feeling thankful that she couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating.

The Adderhead's wife sat beside him. Meggie had described her perfectly: an ivory porcelain doll. Behind them stood the nurse with the eagerly awaited son. Mo had never wanted a son, only a daughter. Resa had teased him about it when they didn't yet know what their baby would be. The child's crying sounded strangely lost in the great hall. Even the rain beating against glazed windows high above them drowned out the shrill little voice.

It's a game, thought Mo once more when he was standing before the steps of the throne, only a game. If only he'd known more about the rules. There was someone else present whom they knew. Taddeo the librarian, head humbly bent, stood right behind the Adderhead's throne and gave Mo an anxious smile.

The Adderhead looked even more exhausted for lack of sleep than he had on their last meeting. His face was blotched and full of shadows, his lips colorless. Only the rubies in the corners of his nostrils shone red. Who could say how many sleepless nights he had spent? For a moment it seemed to Mo as if all his life had gone into the rubies at the corners of his nose.

"Good, so you have really finished," he said. "Of course, you're in a hurry to see your wife again, I'm sure. I've been told she asks about you every day. That's love, I expect, isn't it?"

A game, only a game… It didn't feel like that. Nothing had ever seemed more real than the hatred that Mo felt at this moment, as he looked at that coarse and arrogant face. And he felt something else beating in his breast again: his new, cold heart. Or was it just his old heart, burned out with hatred?

The Adderhead made a sign to the Piper, and the silver-nosed man stepped commandingly toward Mo. He found it hard to put the book into the man's gloved hands. After all, there was nothing else that could save them now. The Piper noticed his reluctance, smiled scornfully at him – and took the book up the steps to his master. Then, with a brief glance at Firefox, he stationed himself right beside the throne with an arrogant air, as if there were no more important man in the hall.

"Beautiful. Beautiful indeed!" The Adderhead caressed the white pages of the book. "Whether or not he's a robber, he knows something about bookbinding, don't you agree, Firefox?"

"There are men of many trades among the robbers," was all that Firefox replied. "Why not an accursed bookbinder, too?"

"How true, how true. Did you all hear that?" The Adderhead looked at his colorfully clad retinue, inviting approval. "It seems to me that my herald still thinks I'd have let a little girl trick me. Yes, lie believes I'm a credulous fool by comparison with his old master, Capricorn."

Firefox was about to protest, but the Adderhead silenced him with a gesture. "Do not speak!" was all he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "In spite of my very obvious folly, I have thought of a way to prove which of the two of us is wrong." With a nod of the head, he summoned Taddeo to his side. Eager to oblige, the librarian approached him, taking pen and ink from the folds of his flowing robe.

"It's perfectly simple, Firefox!" You could tell that the Adderhead liked the sound of his own voice. "You, and not I, will be the first to write your name in this book! Taddeo here has assured me that the letters can be removed again with a scraper that Balbulus once designed specially for that purpose, leaving no trace. No one will be able to see even a shadow of your writing on the pages. So you write your name – which I know you are able to do – we give the Bluejay a sword, and he runs it through your body. Isn't that a fabulous idea? Won't it prove beyond doubt whether or not this book can do what his daughter promised me?"

A game. Mo saw fear spread over Firefox's face like a rash.

"Well, come along!" the Adderhead derided him, opening the book and leafing through the blank pages, as if lost in thought. "Why do you suddenly look so pale? Isn't such a game precisely to your taste? Come along, write your name in it. Not the name you've given yourself, but the one you were born with."

Think. Mo saw one of the guards surrounding him and Meggie draw his sword. What are you going to do? What? He felt Meggie's horrified gaze, felt her fear like a chill beside him.

Firefox looked around as if searching for a face that might offer help, but no one stepped forward, not even Mortola. She stood there with her lips compressed so tightly that they were almost white, and if her glance could have killed as her poisons often did, the book would not have helped the Adderhead. As it was, however, he just smiled at her and put the pen in his herald's hand. Firefox stared at the sharpened quill as if he were not sure what to do with it. Then he dipped it ceremoniously in the ink – and wrote.

"Excellent!" The Piper took the book from his hand the moment he had finished. The Adderhead waved to one of the servants waiting with dishes full of fruit and cakes at the foot of the silver columns. "Well, what are you waiting for, Firefox? Try your luck!" Honey dripped from his fingers as he pushed one of the cakes between his lips.

Firefox, however, stood there, still staring at the Piper, whose long arms were wound around the book as if he were holding a baby. He responded to Firefox's glance with a nasty smile. Firefox abruptly turned his back to him and the Adderhead and came down the steps.

Mo removed Meggie's hand from his arm and pushed her gently aside, although she resisted. The men-at-arms standing around retreated, with incredulity on their faces, as if clearing a stage. Except for the one who had drawn his sword and now held it out to Mo. Was this still Fenoglio's game? It would be like him. When Mo had entered the hall just now he'd have given one of his eyes for a sword, but he didn't want this one. He wanted it as little as the roles some other people wanted him to play, whether Fenoglio or the Adderhead. He had always hated games like this, games played by the strong with someone weaker, the cat with the helpless mouse… He hated them, even when the mouse was a murderer and fire-raiser.

When Firefox stopped at the foot of the steps, hesitating as if he were wondering whether there might not be some way out for him after all, one of the men-at-arms went up to him and took his sword from its sheath.

"Here, Bluejay, take it." The soldier who was holding his sword out to Mo was getting impatient, and Mo remembered the night when he had picked up Basta's sword and chased him and Capricorn out of his house. He still remembered just how heavy the weapon had felt in his hand, how the bright blade caught the light…

"No, thank you," Mo said, stepping back. "Swords are not among the tools of my trade. I thought I'd proved that with the book."

The Adderhead wiped the honey off his fingers, removed a few cake crumbs from his lips, and looked him up and down. "Oh, come on, Bluejay!" he said in a tone of mild surprise. "You heard. We don't expect any great skill in swordplay. All you have to do is run it through his body. It really isn't difficult!"

Firefox was staring at Mo. His eyes were clouded with hatred. Look at him, you fool, Mo told himself. He'd run you through with that sword on the spot, so why don't you do it to him? Meggie understood why not. He saw it in her eyes. Perhaps the Bluejay might take that sword, but not her father.

"Forget it, Adder," he said out loud. "If you have an account to settle with your bloodhound, see to it yourself. Ours is a different agreement."

The Adderhead looked at him with as much interest as if some exotic animal had wandered into his hall. Then he laughed. "I like your answer!" he cried. "Indeed I do. And do you know something? It finally shows me I've caught the right man. You are the Bluejay, without any doubt. He's said to be a sly fox. But all the same I'll keep my bargain."

And so saying, he nodded to the man-at-arms who was still offering Mo the sword. Without hesitation, the man turned and thrust the long blade through the body of his master's herald, so fast that Firefox did not even manage to flinch back.

Meggie screamed. Mo drew her close and hid her face against his chest. But Firefox stood there, staring in bewilderment at the sword sticking out of his body as if it were a part of him.

With a self-satisfied smile, the Adderhead looked around, enjoying the silent horror in the hall around him. Firefox took the sword sticking out of his body and pulled out the blade very slowly, his face distorted, but without swaying on his feet. And the great hall became as still as if all present had stopped breathing.

As for the Adderhead, he applauded. "Well, look at that!" he cried. "Is there anyone here in this hall who thinks he could have survived that sword stroke? He's just a little pale, that's all – am I right, Firefox?"

His herald did not reply, but just stood there staring at the bloodstained sword in his hands.

But the Adderhead went on, in a voice of high good humor, "Well, I think that proves it! The girl wasn't lying, and the Adderhead is not a gullible fool who fell for a child's fairy tale, is he?"

He placed his words as carefully as a beast of prey places its paws. Nothing but silence answered him. Even Firefox, his face white with pain, said not a word as he wiped his own blood from the sword blade.

"Excellent!" remarked the Adderhead. "That's done, then – and now I have an immortal herald. It's time I was able to say the same of myself. Piper," he said, turning to the man with the silver nose. "Empty the hall for me. Get everyone out – servants, women, physicians, clerks, all of them. I want just ten men-at-arms to stay, the librarian, you and Firefox, and the two prisoners. You go away, too!" he snapped at Mortola, who was about to protest. "Stay with my wife and get that baby to stop crying at last."

"What's he going to do, Mo?" whispered Meggie as the hall emptied around them. But he could only shake his head. He didn't know, either. He only felt that the game was far from over yet.

"What about us?" he called to the Adderhead. "My daughter and I have fulfilled our part of the bargain, so fetch the prisoners from your dungeons and let us go."

But the Adderhead only raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Yes, of course, of course, Bluejay," he graciously replied. "As you have kept your word, I keep mine. The Adder's word of honor. I've already sent men down to the dungeons, but it's a long way from there to the gate, so give us the pleasure of your company a little longer. Believe me, we shall provide you with entertainment."

A game. Mo looked around and saw the huge doors close behind the last servants. Once empty, the hall only seemed larger.

"Well, how are you doing, Firefox?" The Adderhead ran a cool eye over his herald. "What does it feel like to be immortal? Fabulous? Reassuring?"

Firefox said nothing. He was still holding the sword that had run him through. "I'd like my own sword back," he said hoarsely, without taking his eyes off his master. "This one is no good."

"Nonsense. I'll have a new sword forged for you, a better one, in gratitude for the service you've done me today!" replied the Adderhead. "But first we have one small thing to do so that we can remove your name from my book without any damage."

"Remove it?" Firefox's eyes wandered to the Piper, who opened the book again and held it out to the librarian.

"Remove it, yes. You remember that originally the book was to make me immortal, not you, and for that to happen the scribe must write three more words in it."

"What for?" Firefox wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

Three words. Poor devil. Did he hear the trap snapping shut? Meggie reached for Mo's hand.

"To make room, one might say. To make room for me," replied the Adderhead. "And do you know what?" he went on, as Firefox looked at him uncomprehendingly. "As a reward for your unselfish proof of how reliably this book really does protect one from death, as soon as the scribe has written those three words you may kill the Bluejay. If he can be killed, that is. Well, is it a fair offer?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Meggie's voice was shrill with fear, but Mo quickly put his hand over her mouth. "Meggie, please!" he said, low-voiced. "Have you forgotten what you said about Fenoglio's words? Nothing will happen to me. Do you hear me?"

But she wouldn't listen. She sobbed and held him tightly until two men-at-arms roughly dragged her away.

"Three words!" Firefox was advancing on him. And hadn't he just been feeling sorry for him? You're a fool, Mortimer, thought Mo.

"Three words! Count them well, Bluejay!" said Firefox, raising his sword. "On four I shall strike, and it will hurt, I promise you, even if it may not kill you. I know what I'm talking about."

The sword blade shone like ice in the candlelight. It looked long enough to run three men through at once, and here and there Firefox's blood still clung to the bright metal like rust.

"Come now, Taddeo," said the Adderhead. "You remember the words I told you? Write them one by one, but don't say them aloud. Just count them for us."

The Piper opened the book and held it out to the old man. With trembling fingers, Taddeo dipped his pen in the jar of ink. "One," he whispered, and the pen scratched over the parchment.

"Two"

Firefox, smiling, set the point of the sword against Mo's chest.

Taddeo raised his head, dipped his pen in the ink again, and looked uncertainly at the Adderhead.

"Have you forgotten how to count, old man?" he asked.

Taddeo just shook his head and lowered the pen to the paper again. "Three!" he whispered.

Mo heard Meggie call his name and stared at the point of the sword. Words, nothing but words protected him from that sharp, bright blade…

In Fenoglio's world, words were enough.

Firefox's eyes widened in mingled astonishment and horror. Mo saw him try with his last breath to thrust the sword into him, to take him to wherever pen and ink were sending him, too, but the sword dropped from his hands. Firefox collapsed like a bundle of empty clothes and fell at Mo's feet.

The Piper stood there staring down at the dead man in silence, while Taddeo lowered his pen and retreated from the book in which he had just been writing as if it might kill him as well, with a quiet voice, with a single word.

"Take him away," ordered the Adderhead. "Before the White Women come to fetch him from my castle. Get on with it!"

Three men-at-arms carried Firefox out. The foxtails on his cloak dragged on the tiles as they hauled him away, and Mo stood there staring at the sword lying at his feet. He felt Meggie put her arms around him. Her heart was beating like a frightened bird's.

"Who wants an immortal herald?" remarked the Adderhead as the dead Firefox was removed. "If you'd been a little cleverer you'd have seen that for yourself." The jewels that adorned his nostrils looked more than ever like drops of blood.

"Shall I remove his name. Your Grace?" Taddeo's voice was so hesitant that it was barely audible.

"Of course. His name and the three words, you understand. And do a thorough job of it. I want the pages white as newly fallen snow again."

The librarian obediently set to work. The scraping sound was curiously loud in the empty hall. When Taddeo had finished, he passed the flat of his hand over the parchment, which was blank again now. Then the Piper took the book from his hands and offered it to the Adderhead.

Mo saw the man's stout fingers shaking as they dipped the pen in the ink. And before he began to write, the Adderhead looked up once more. "I am sure you weren't stupid enough to bind any kind of extra magic into this book, were you, Bluejay?" he asked warily. "There are ways of killing a man – and not just a man, but his wife and daughter, too – that make dying a very long and very painful business. It can take days – many days and many nights."

"Magic? No," replied Mo, still staring at the sword at his feet. "I don't know anything about magic. Let me say it again: Bookbinding, and nothing else, is my trade. And all I know about it has gone into that book. No more and no less."

"Very well." The Adderhead dipped the pen in the ink again – and stopped once more. "White," he murmured, staring at the blank pages. "See how white they are. White as the women who bring death, white as the bones the Cold Man leaves behind when he's had his fill of flesh and blood."

Then he wrote. Wrote his name in the blank book and closed it. "That's done!" he cried triumphantly. "That's done, Taddeo! Lock him in the book, the soul-swallower, the enemy who can't be killed. Now he can't kill me, either. Now we're equals. Two Cold Men ruling the world together, for all eternity."

The librarian obeyed, but as he was engaging the clasps he looked at Mo. Who are you? his eyes seemed to ask. What's your part in this game? But even if Mo had wanted to, he couldn't have given him the answer.

The Adderhead, however, seemed to think he knew it. "You know, I like you, Bluejay," he said, never taking his lizardlike gaze off Mo. "Yes, you'd make a good herald, but that's not the way the parts are shared out, is it?"

"No, indeed not," said Mo. But you don't know who shares them out, and I do, he added in his thoughts.

The Adderhead nodded to the men-at-arms. "Let him go," he ordered. "And the girl, and anyone else he wants to take."

They stepped aside, if reluctantly.

"Come on, Mo!" whispered Meggie, pressing his hand.

How pale she was. Pale with fear, and so defenseless. Mo looked past the men-at-arms and thought of the walled courtyard waiting for them out there, the silver vipers staring down, the openings for boiling pitch above the gate. He thought of the crossbows of the guards on the battlements, too, the spears of the guards at the gate – and the soldiers who had pushed Resa down in the dirt. Without a word, he bent down and picked up the sword that had fallen from Firefox's hand.

"Mo!" Meggie let go of his hand and looked at him in horror. "What are you doing?"

But he just pulled her close to him without a word, while the men-at-arms all drew their weapons. Firefox's sword weighed heavy, heavier than the one he had used to chase Capricorn out of his house.

"Well, fancy that!" said the Adderhead. "You don't seem to trust my word, Bluejay!"

"Oh, I trust it," said Mo, without lowering the sword. "But everyone here except me has a weapon, so I think I'll keep this masterless sword. You keep the book, and if we're both lucky we'll never see each other again after this morning."

Even the Adderhead's laughter sounded as if it were made of silver – dark, tarnished silver. "Well, now," he said. "It's a pleasure to play games with you, Bluejay. You're a good opponent. Which is why I'll keep my word. Let him go," he told the men-at-arms again. "Tell the guards at the gate the Adderhead is letting the Bluejay go because he need never fear him again. For the Adderhead is immortal!"

The words echoed in Mo's ears as he took Meggie's hand. Taddeo was still holding the book, holding it as if it might bite him. Mo thought he could still feel its paper between his fingers, the wood of the boards, the leather covering it, the thread stitching the pages. Then he saw Meggie's gaze. She was staring at the sword in his hand as if it made a stranger of him.

"Come on," he said. "Let's join your mother!"

"Yes, go, Bluejay, take your daughter and your wife and all the others," the Adderhead called after them. "Before Mortola reminds me how stupid it is to let you go free!"

Only two men-at-arms followed them on their long journey through the castle. The courtyard was almost empty at this early hour of the morning. The sky above the Castle of Night was gray, and fine rain was falling like a veil before the face of the dawning day. The few servants already at work retreated in alarm from the sight of the sword in Mo's hand, and the men-at-arms waved them aside without a word.

The other prisoners were already waiting at the gate, a forlorn little troop guarded by a dozen soldiers. At first Mo couldn't see Resa, but suddenly one figure moved away from the others and ran toward him and Meggie. No one stopped her. Perhaps the soldiers had heard of Firefox's fate. Mo felt their eyes on him, full of horror and fear – the man who bound Death between white pages and was a robber in the bargain! Didn't the sword in his hand prove that for all time? He didn't care what they thought. Let them be afraid of him. He had felt more than enough fear for one lifetime in all those days and nights when he thought he had lost everything – his wife, his daughter – and there was nothing left for him but a lonely death in this world made of words.

Resa hugged him and Meggie in turn, she almost crushed them, and his face was wet with her tears when she let go of him again.

"Come on, let's go through the gate, Resa!" he urged in a low voice. "Before the lord of this castle changes his mind! We all have a great deal to tell one another, but for now let's go!"

The other prisoners joined them in silence. They watched incredulously as the gate opened for them, as its ironbound wings swung open and let them go free. Some of them stumbled over their own feet in their haste as they crowded out. But still no one from the castle followed them. The guards just stood there, swords and spears in their hands, staring as the prisoners stumbled uncertainly away, their legs stiff from weeks in the dungeons. Only one man-at-arms came out of the gate with them, wordlessly indicating the path they should take. Suppose they shoot at us from the battlements? Mo thought, when he saw that there was not a single tree or bush to give them cover as they followed the road down the bare slope. He felt like a fly on the wall ready to be swatted. But nothing happened. They walked through the gray morning, through the rain now pouring down, with the castle crouched menacingly behind them like a monster – and nothing happened.

"He's keeping his promise!" Mo heard the others whispering these words more and more often. "The Adderhead is keeping his word." Resa asked anxiously about his wound, and he replied quietly that he was all right, while he waited to hear footsteps behind them, soldier's footsteps. But all was still. It seemed as if they had been going down the bare hillside for an eternity when trees suddenly appeared in front of them. The shade that their branches cast on the road was as dark as if night itself had taken refuge under them.