Mo shrugged. "Maybe not, but I'm going to try all the same. The man I'm talking about doesn't sell books either new or secondhand. Capricorn probably doesn't even know he exists."
Dustfinger looked around. Someone was closing the shutters in one of the surrounding houses, and on the other side of the square a few children were playing around among the chairs of a restaurant until a waiter shooed them away. There was a smell of warm food and the liquid spirits Dustfinger used in his fiery games, but no black-clad man could be seen anywhere, except for the bored-looking waiter who was straightening the chairs.
"So, who is this mysterious stranger?" Dustfinger lowered his voice to little more than a whisper.
"The man who wrote Inkheart. He lives not far from here. "
Farid came over to them, holding the silver dish with the money in it. "Gwin hasn't come back, " he told Dustfinger. "And we don't have anything to tempt him. Should I buy a couple of eggs?"
"No, he can look after himself. " Dustfinger ran a finger over one of his scars. "Put the money we've taken into the leather bag – you know, the one in my backpack!" he told Farid. His voice sounded impatient. Meggie would have given Mo a hurt look if he had spoken to her like that, but Farid didn't seem to mind. He just hurried off purposefully.
"I really thought it was all over, no way to get back ever again…" Dustfinger broke off and looked up at the sky. A plane crossed the horizon, colored lights blinking. Farid looked up at it, too. He had put the money away and was standing expectantly beside the backpack. Something furry scuttled across the square, dug its claws into his pants legs, and clambered up to his shoulder. With a smile, Farid dug his hand into his pocket and offered Gwin a piece of bread.
"Suppose there really is still a copy?" Dustfinger pushed his long hair back from his forehead. "Will you give me another chance? Will you try to read me back into it? Just once?" There was such longing in his voice that it went to Meggie's heart.
But Mo's face was not forthcoming. "You can't go back, not into that book!" he said. "I know you don't want to hear me say so, but it's the truth, and you'd better resign yourself to it. Perhaps I can help you some other way. I've got an idea – rather crazy, but still…" He said no more, just shook his head and kicked an empty matchbox that was lying on the Paving stones.
Meggie looked at Mo in surprise. What kind of idea? Did he really have one, or was he just trying to comfort Dustfinger? If so, it hadn't worked. Dustfinger was looking at him with all his old hostility. "I'm coming, " he said. His fingers had left a little soot on his face when he stroked his scar. "I'm coming when you go to visit this man. Then we'll see. "
There was loud laughter behind them. Dustfinger looked around. Gwin was trying to climb on to Farid's head, and the boy was laughing as if there was nothing better than to have a marten's sharp claws digging into his scalp.
"Well, he's not homesick, anyway, " muttered Dustfinger. "I asked him. Not homesick in the least! All this," he added, waving a hand at his surroundings, "all this appeals to him. Even the noisy, stinking cars. He's glad to be here. You've obviously done him a favor. " The look he gave her father as he said these words was so reproachful that Meggie instinctively reached for Mo's hand.
Gwin had jumped down from Farid's shoulder and was sniffing curiously at the road surface. One of the children who had been romping among the tables bent down and looked incredulously at the little horns. But before the child could put a hand out to touch, Farid quickly intervened, picked Gwin up, and put the marten back on his shoulders.
"So where does he live, this -?" Dustfinger did not finish his sentence.
"About an hour's drive from here. "
Dustfinger said nothing. The lights of another plane were blinking up in the sky. "Sometimes, when I went to the spring to wash early in the morning, " he murmured, "there'd be tiny fairies flitting around above the water, not much bigger than the butterflies you have here, and blue as violet petals. They liked to fly into my hair. Sometimes they spat in my face. They weren't very friendly, but they shone like glowworms by night. I sometimes caught one and put it in a jar. If I let it out at night before going to sleep I had wonderful dreams."
"Capricorn said there were trolls and giants, too, " said Meggie quietly.
Dustfinger gave her a thoughtful look. "Yes, there were, " he said, "But Capricorn wasn't particularly fond of them. He'd have liked to do away with them all. He had them hunted. He hunted anything that could run."
"It must be a dangerous world. " Meggie was trying to imagine it alclass="underline" the giants, the trolls, and the fairies. Mo had once given her a book about fairies.
Dustfinger shrugged. "Yes, it's dangerous, so what? This world's dangerous, too, isn't it?" Abruptly, he turned his back on Meggie, picked up his backpack, threw it over his shoulder, then waved to the boy. Farid picked up the bag with the balls and torches and followed him eagerly. Dustfinger went over to Mo once more.
"Don't you dare tell that man about me!" he said. "I don't want to see him. I'll wait in the car. I only want to know if he still has a copy of the book, understand?"
Mo shrugged his shoulders. "As you like. "
Dustfinger inspected his reddened fingers and felt the taut skin. "He might tell me how my story ends, " he murmured.
Meggie looked at him in astonishment. "You mean you don't know?"
Dustfinger smiled. Meggie still didn't particularly like his smile. It seemed to appear only to hide something else. "What's so unusual about that, princess?" he asked quietly. Do you know how your story ends?"
Meggie had no answer to that.
Dustfinger winked at her and turned. "I'll be at the hotel tomorrow morning, " he said. Then he walked off without turning back. Farid followed him, carrying the heavy bag happy as a stray dog who has found a master at last.
That night the full moon hung round and orange in the sky. Before they went to bed, Mo pulled back the curtains so they could see it – a brightly colored Chinese lantern among all the white stars.
Neither of them could sleep. Mo had bought a couple of well-worn paperbacks that looked as if they had already passed through the hands of several people. Meggie was reading the book full of unpleasant characters that Elinor had given her. She liked it, but at last her eyes closed with weariness and she fell asleep. Beside her Mo read on and on while the orange moon shone in the foreign sky outside.
When a confused dream woke her with a start sometime in the night, Mo was still sitting up in bed, the open book in his hand. The moon had disappeared long ago, and there was nothing but darkness to be seen through the window.
"Can't you sleep?" asked Meggie, sitting up.
"It was my left arm that stupid dog bit – and you know l sleep best on my left side. Anyway, there's too much going around in my head."
"There's a lot going around in my head, too. " Meggie turned to the bedside table and picked up the book of poems that Elinor had given her. She stroked the binding, passed her hand over the curved spine, and traced the letters on the jacket with her forefinger. "You know something, Mo?" she said hesitantly. "I think I'd like to be able to do it, too. "
"Do what?"
Meggie stroked the binding of the book again. She thought she could hear the pages whispering very quietly. "Read like that, " she said. "Read aloud the way you do and make everything come to life."
Mo looked at her. "You're out of your mind!" he said. "That's what has caused all the trouble we're in."
"I know. "
Mo closed his book, leaving his finger between the pages.
"Read me something aloud, Mo!" said Meggie quietly. "Please. Just for once. " She offered him the book of poems. "Elinor gave me this as a present. She said nothing much could happen if you did."