He stammered something that Mo didn't understand until he bent over him. "The Piper… they're everywhere." The boy whispered more, but Mo couldn't make it out. He died with the faltering words still on his lips, mingling with his blood.
"Is there another entrance? One you haven't told us about?" Dustfinger seized Violante's arm roughly.
"No!" she stammered. "No!" And she tore herself away from him as if it were he who had killed the boy at her feet.
Mo reached for her hand and led her out into the corridor, away from the voices suddenly echoing through the silent castle on all sides. But their flight ended at the next set of steps. Dustfinger sent his marten scurrying off as soldiers barred their way, bloodstained men who hadn't been boys for a long time. Aiming crossbows at them, they drove them to the hall where Violante's mother and her sisters had learned to dance in front of a dozen silver mirrors. Now the Piper was reflected in them.
"Well, well, isn't the prisoner in chains? How careless, Your Ugliness." As always, the silver-nosed man held himself erect, proud as a peacock. But Mo was less surprised by the sight of him than by seeing the man at his side. Orpheus. He had never expected Orpheus to come here. He had forgotten him as soon as Dustfinger told him how he had taken the book, and all the words in it, away from him. You're a fool, Mortimer. As so often, his face showed what he was thinking, and Orpheus gloated over his surprise.
"How did you get into the castle?" Violante pushed away the men holding her and went up to the Piper, who might have been no more than an uninvited guest. His soldiers retreated before her as if they had forgotten who their master was. The Adderhead's daughter – it was a mighty title, even if she was the ugly daughter.
However, it did not impress the Piper. "Your father knew a more comfortable way in than that draughty bridge," he replied in a world-weary tone. "He thought you didn't know it, so it wouldn't be guarded. Obviously, it was your grandfather's best-kept secret, but in fact it was your mother who showed it to your father when she stole away from this castle with him. A romantic story, don't you think?"
"You're lying!" Violante looked around like a hunted animal, but all she saw was her own reflection next to the Piper's.
"Really? Your men know better. I haven't had them all killed. Boys like them make excellent soldiers, because they still think themselves immortal." He took a step toward Mo.
"I could hardly wait to see you again, Bluejay. 'Send me on ahead,' I asked the Adderhead. 'So that I can catch you the bird who flew away from me. I'll stalk him like a cat, along secret ways, and seize him while he's still looking out just for you.'"
Mo wasn't listening. He read Dustfinger's thoughts as if they were his own. Now, Bluejay! they whispered, and as a fiery snake crawled up the legs of the soldier on his right he drove his elbow into the chest of the man behind him. Fire licked up from the floor, baring teeth of flame and setting light to the clothes of the men guarding them. Screaming, they staggered back, while the fire formed a protective ring around their two prisoners. Two solders raised their crossbows, but the Piper struck down their arms. He knew his master would not forgive him once more if he brought him the Bluejay dead. His face was pale with rage. But Orpheus smiled.
"Very impressive! It really is!" He went up to the fire and inspected the flames intently as if to find out how Dustfinger summoned them up. But then his gaze went to Dustfinger himself.
"No doubt you really could rescue the bookbinder all by yourself," he said gently. "But unluckily for him, you've made an enemy of me. What a mistake. I didn't come with the Piper. I serve his master now. He's waiting for night to fall before paying a call on the Bluejay, and he sent me ahead to prepare everything for his arrival. Including, among other things, the sad task of dispatching the Fire-Dancer to the realm of Death for the last time."
The regret in his voice sounded almost genuine, and Mo remembered the day in Elinor's library when Orpheus had bargained with Mortola for Dustfinger's life.
"That's enough talking. Get rid of him, Four-Eyes!" cried the Piper impatiently as his men tore off their burning clothes. "I want to get my hands on the Bluejay at last!"
"Yes, yes, you'll have him in a minute!" replied Orpheus. He sounded irritated. "But first I want my share!"
He came so close to the fire that its light reddened his pale face.
"Whom did you give Fenoglio's book to? " he asked Dustfinger through the flames. "Him?" He nodded in Mo's direction.
"Maybe," replied Dustfinger, and smiled.
Orpheus bit his lip like a child who has to hold back tears. "Very well, smile away!" he said huskily. "Mock me! But you'll soon be sorry for what you did to me."
"Will I?" replied Dustfinger, unmoved, as if the soldiers still aiming crossbows at them were not there at all. "How are you going to frighten a man who's died once already?"
This time it was Orpheus who smiled, and Mo wished he had a sword, even though he knew that it wouldn't help him.
"Piper, what is this man doing here? Since when has he served my fa…" Violante's voice died away as Orpheus's shadow moved, like an animal waking from sleep.
A shape grew out of it, panting like a large dog. No face could be made out in that blurred, pulsating blackness, only eyes, cloudy and angry. Mo felt Dustfinger's fear, and the fire died down as if the dark figure had taken its breath away.
"I don't suppose I have to explain what a Night-Mare is, do I?" said Orpheus in a velvety voice. "The strolling players say they are the dead sent back by the White Women because even they couldn't wash the dark stains from their souls. So they condemn them to wander without human bodies, driven by their own darkness, in a world that is no longer theirs… until they are finally extinguished, eaten away by the air they can't breathe, burned by the sun from which nobody protects them. But until that happens they are like hungry dogs – very hungry."
He took a step back. "Take him!" he told the shadowy form. "Get him, good dog! Take the fire-eater for your own, because he broke my heart."
Mo moved closer to Dustfinger's side, but Dustfinger pushed him back. "Get away, Bluejay!" he said sharply. "This thing is worse than death!" The flames around them went out, and the Night-Mare, breathing heavily, stepped into the soot-ringed circle. Dustfinger did not shrink from it. He simply stood there as the shapeless hands reached for him, and then the life just went out of him, extinguished like a flame.
Mo felt as if his own heart stopped when the other man fell. But the Night-Mare bent over Dustfinger's motionless body, snuffling like a disappointed dog, and Mo remembered something that Battista had once told him: Night-Mares were interested only in living flesh and avoided the dead, fearing to be taken back by them to the realm they had escaped for a short time.
"Oh, what happened?" cried Orpheus. He sounded like a disappointed child. "Why was it so quick? I wanted to watch him dying for longer!"
"Seize the Bluejay!" Mo heard the Piper calling. "Go on, do it!" But his soldiers just stared at the Night-Mare. It had turned, and its dull gaze was now bent on Mo.
"Orpheus! Call it off!" The Piper's voice almost cracked. "We still need the Bluejay!"
The Night-Mare moaned as if its mouth were trying to find words – if it had a mouth at all. For a second Mo thought he could make out a face in the blackness. Evil seeped through his skin, covering his heart like mildew. His legs gave way, and he struggled desperately for breath. Dustfinger had been right; the creature was worse than death.
"Back, dog!" Orpheus's voice made the Night-Mare freeze. "You don't get him until later."
Mo fell to his knees beside Dustfinger's motionless body. He wanted to lie down beside him, to stop breathing, too, stop feeling, but the solders hauled him up and bound his hands. He hardly felt it. He could still barely breathe.