"I don't know, Meggie," was all he replied, without turning around.
So she left him alone, made herself a bed of straw beside his, then paced up and down between the bare walls. Perhaps the strange boy was on the other side of one of them? She put her ear to the wall. Not a sound came through. Someone had scratched a name in the plaster: Ricardo Bentone, 19. 5. 96. Meggie ran her finger over the letters. A little farther on there was another name, and then another. Meggie wondered what had become of them, Ricardo, Ugo, and Bernardo. Perhaps I ought to scratch my name here, too, she thought, just in case… but she was careful not to think her way to the end of that sentence.
Behind her, Elinor lay down on her straw bed, sighing. When Meggie turned to her, she forced a smile. "What wouldn't I give for a comb!" she said, pushing the hair back from her forehead. "I'd never have thought that in a situation like this I'd miss a comb so much, of all things, but I do. Heavens, I don't even have a hairpin left. I must look like a witch, or a mop that's seen better days. "
"No, really, you look fine. Your hairpins were always falling out anyway, " said Meggie. "Actually I think you look younger."
"Younger? Hmm. Well, if you say so. " Elinor glanced down at herself. Her mouse-gray sweater was filthy, and there were three runs in her stockings. "Meggie, that was very kind of you to help me back there in the church, " she said, pulling her skirt down over her knees. "My knees were like jelly, I was so scared. I don't know what's come over me. I feel like someone else, as if the old Elinor has driven home and left me here by myself. " Her lips began to tremble, and Meggie thought she was going to cry, but the next moment the familiar Elinor was back again. "Well, there we are!" she said. "It's only in an emergency that you find out what you're truly made of. Personally, I always thought if I were a wooden statue I'd be carved out of oak, but it seems I'm more like pear wood or something else very soft. It only takes a villain like that to play with his knife in front of my nose and the wood shavings start flaking away."
And now the tears did come, hard as Elinor tried to keep them back. Angrily, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I think you're doing splendidly, Elinor. " Mo was still lying with his face to the wall. "You're both doing splendidly. And I could wring my own neck for dragging you two into all this. "
"Nonsense. If anyone around here needs his neck wrung it'sCapricorn, " said Elinor. "And that man Basta. My God, I'd never have thought the idea of strangling another human being would give me such enormous satisfaction. But I'm sure if I could just get my hands around that Basta's neck, I -"
On seeing the shock in Meggie's eyes she fell guiltily silent, but Meggie just shrugged her shoulders.
"I feel the same, " she murmured and began scratching an M on the wall with the key of her bicycle lock. Weird to think she still had that key in her pants pocket – like a souvenir of another life.
Elinor ran her finger down one of the runs in her stockings, and Mo turned on his back and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm so sorry, Meggie, " he said suddenly. "I'm so sorry I let them take the book away from me. "
Meggie scratched an E into the wall. "It doesn't make any difference, " she said, stepping back. The Gs in her name looked like nibbled Os. "You probably couldn't have read her back out of it again anyway. "
"No, probably not, " murmured Mo and went on staring at the ceiling.
"It's not your fault, " said Meggie. She wanted to add: The main thing is you're with me. The main thing is for Basta never to put his knife to your throat again. I mean, I hardly remember my mother. I only know her from a couple of photographs. But Meggie said none of that, for she knew it wouldn't comfort Mo; it would probably just make him sadder than ever. For the first time, Meggie had some idea of how much he missed her mother. And for one crazy moment she felt jealous.
She scratched an I in the plaster – that was an easy letter – then she lowered the key.
Footsteps were approaching outside. Elinor put her hand to her mouth when they stopped.
Basta pushed open the door, and there was someone behind him. Meggie recognized the old woman she had seen in Capricorn's house. With a dour expression on her face, she pushed past Basta and put a mug and a thermos jug on the floor. "As if I didn't have enough to do!" she muttered, before going out again. "So now we have to feed our fine guests, too! They might at least be put to work if you have to keep them here."
"Tell that to Capricorn, " was all Basta replied. Then he drew his knife, smiled at Elinor, and wiped the blade on his jacket. It was getting dark outside, and his snow-white shirt shone in the gathering twilight.
"Enjoy your tea, Silvertongue, " he said, relishing the discomfort on Elinor's face. "Mortola's put so much honey in the jug your mouth will probably gum up with the first sip you take, but your throat will be as good as new tomorrow."
"What have you done with the boy?" asked Mo.
"Oh, I think he's next door to you. Capricorn hasn't decided what's to become of him yet. Cockerell will try him out with a little ordeal by fire tomorrow, and then we'll know if he's of any use to us. "
Mo sat up. "Ordeal by fire?" he asked, his voice both bitter and mocking. "Well, you can't have passed that one yourself. You' re even afraid of Dustfinger's matches. "
"Watch your tongue!" Basta hissed at him. "One more word and I'll cut it out, however precious it may be."
"Oh no, you won't, " said Mo, standing up. He took his time filling the mug with steaming tea.
"Maybe not. " Basta lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard. "But your little daughter has a tongue, too, and hers isn't as valuable as yours."
Mo flung the mug of hot tea at him, but Basta closed the door so quickly the mug smashed into the wood. "Sweet dreams!" he called from outside as he shot the bolts. "See you in the morning."
None of them said a word when he was gone, not for a long, long time. "Mo, tell me a story, " Meggie whispered at last.
"What story do you want to hear?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.
"Tell me the one about us being in Egypt, " she whispered, "and we're looking for treasure and surviving sandstorms and scorpions and all the scary ghosts rising from their tombs to watch over their precious grave goods. "
"Oh, that story, " said Mo. "Didn't I make it up for your eighth birthday? It's rather a gloomy tale, as far as I remember. "
"Yes, very!" said Meggie. "But it has a happy ending. Everything turns out all right, and we come home laden with treasure. "
"I wouldn't mind hearing that one myself, " said Elinor, her voice unsteady. She was probably still thinking of Basta's knife.
So Mo began to tell his story, without the rustle of pages, without the endless labyrinth of letters.
"Mo, nothing ever came out of a story you were just telling, did it?" asked Meggie at one point, suddenly feeling anxious.
"No, " he said. "For that to happen, it seems that printer's ink is necessary and someone else needs to have made up the story. " Then he continued, and Meggie and Elinor listened until his voice had carried them far, far away. Finally, they all went to sleep.
A sound woke them all. Someone was fiddling with the lock of the door. Meggie thought she heard a muffled curse.
"Oh no!" breathed Elinor. She was the first on her feet. "They're coming to take me away! That old woman's persuaded them! Why feed us? You, maybe, " she said, looking frantically at Mo, "but why me?"
"Go over to the wall, Elinor, " said Mo as he moved Meggie behind him. "Both of you keep well back from the door. "
The lock sprang open with a muffled little click, and the door was pushed just far enough open for someone to squeeze through it. Dustfinger. He cast a last anxious glance outside, then pulled the door shut behind him and leaned against it.