Meggie shook her head, "He went away, " she replied tonelessly, "Ages ago, " So Dustfinger hadn't given them away after all. Not this time. And he'd slipped through Basta's fingers. Meggie could almost have smiled.
"You burned Elinor's books!" she said, holding Pippo close. He was still speechless with terror. "You'll be sorry you did that. "
"Oh, will we?" Basta smiled unpleasantly. "I wonder why. As far as I know Cockerell had a lot of fun with those books. But that's enough talk. We don't have forever. That boy, " he said, pointing at Pippo, who retreated as if Basta's forefinger were a knife, "has told us some strange stories about a grandfather who writes books and a book in which your father took a particular interest. "
Meggie swallowed. Stupid Pippo. Stupid, talkative little Pippo.
"Lost your tongue?" asked Basta. "Should I squeeze the boy's skinny neck again?"
Pippo began crying and buried his face in Mo's sweater. Meggie stroked his curly head comfortingly.
"His grandfather doesn't have the book you're thinking of anymore, " she told Basta. "You and your friends stole it long ago!" Her voice sounded hoarse with hatred, and her own thoughts sickened her. She wanted to kick Basta, hit him, stab him in the stomach with his own knife, the brand-new knife he wore stuck in his belt.
"Stole it. Just imagine!" Basta grinned at Flatnose. "I think we'd better make sure of that for ourselves, don't you?"
Flatnose nodded distractedly, looking around him. "Hey, hear that?"
There was a scratching sound under the bed. Flatnose knelt down, pushed the hanging edge of the sheet aside, and poked around under the bed with the barrel of his gun. Spitting, the gray cat shot out of hiding, and when Flatnose tried to grab it the cat raked his ugly face with its claws. He leaped to his feet with a yelp of pain. "I'll wring its neck!" he bellowed. "I'll break that cat's neck!"
Meggie was about to stand in his way as he lunged for the cat, but Basta got in first. "You'll do no such thing!" he spat at Flatnose as the gray cat disappeared under the dresser. "Killing cats is unlucky. How often do I have to tell you?"
"Nonsense! Superstitious garbage! I've wrung several of the brutes' necks already!" said Flatnose angrily, pressing one hand to his bleeding cheek. "And has my luck been worse than yours? You could drive a man crazy, the way you carry on:
Don't walk in that shadow, it's unlucky; oh, watch out, you put your left boot on first, that's unlucky; oh my, someone yawned – mercy me, that means I'll fall down dead tomorrow!"
"Shut up!" snapped Basta. "If anyone around here is talking nonsense it's you. Get those children to the door!"
Pippo clung to Meggie as Flatnose forced them out into the corridor. "Why are you bawling like that?" he growled at the little boy. "We're off to see your grandfather now."
Pippo never let go of Meggie's hand once as they stumbled after Flatnose. He was clutching it so hard his stubby finger nails dug into her skin. Oh, she thought, why didn't Mo listen to me? We could have gone home. It was still raining heavily. Raindrops ran over Meggie's face and down her neck. The streets were empty; there was no one around to help them. Basta was walking just behind her, and she heard him quietly cursing the rain. When they reached Fenoglio's house Meggie's feet were wet through, and Pippo's curls were plastered to his head. Perhaps he won't be at home, Meggie hoped. She was just thinking about what Basta would do then, when the red door opened and Fenoglio stood facing them.
"What on earth do you children think you're doing, running around in weather like this?" he said angrily. "I was just going out to look for you. Come on in, and hurry up. "
"May we come in, too?"
Basta and Flatnose had been standing on either side of the door with their backs to the wall so that Fenoglio wouldn't see them immediately, but now Basta moved up behind Meggie and put his hands on her shoulders. Fenoglio stared at him in surprise as Flatnose stepped forward and planted a foot in the open doorway. Pippo scurried past him, nimble as a weasel, and disappeared into the house.
"Who are these people?" Fenoglio looked at Meggie as crossly as if she had brought the two strangers there of her own free will. "Friends of your father's?"
Meggie mopped the rain off her face and looked back at him with equal reproach. "You ought to know them better than I do!" she said. Basta's fingers were digging into her shoulders.
"Know them?" Fenoglio looked at her blankly. Then he studied Basta. His face froze. "Great heavens above!" he murmured. "I don't believe it!"
Paula peered out from behind his back. "Pippo's crying!" she announced. "He's hidden in the cupboard. "
"Well, you go back to him, " said Fenoglio, never taking his eyes off Basta. "I'll be with you in a minute."
"How much longer are we going to stand out here, Basta?" growled Flatnose. "Until we shrink in this rain?"
"Basta!" repeated Fenoglio without stepping aside.
"Yes, that's my name, old man. " Basta's eyes always narrowed when he smiled. "We're here because you have something that interests us a great deal – a book."
Of course. Meggie almost burst out laughing. He didn't know! Basta didn't know who Fenoglio was. How could he? How could he know that this old man had invented him, made him up out of paper and ink, made up his face, his knife, his evil nature?
"That's enough talk!" growled Flatnose. "The rain's running into my ears. " He brushed Fenoglio aside like a troublesome fly as he pushed past him into the house. Basta followed with Meggie. Pippo was still sobbing inside the kitchen cupboard. Paula was standing in front of it, talking to him soothingly through the closed door. When Fenoglio came into the kitchen with the strangers she spun around and looked at Flatnose's face nervously. It was as dark and dismal as ever.
Sitting down at the table, Fenoglio beckoned Paula over without a word.
"Well, where is it?" Basta was looking around, scanning the room, but Fenoglio was too deeply absorbed in the sight of his two creations to reply. He couldn't take his eyes off Basta in particular, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"I told you: There's no copy of it here!" Meggie replied for him.
Basta acted as if he hadn't heard her and gestured impatiently to Flatnose. "Look for it!" he ordered. Grumbling, Flatnose obeyed. Meggie heard him trampling up the narrow wooden staircase that led to the attic.
"Right, little witch, how did you and your father find the old man?" Basta prodded her in the back. "How did you know he still has a copy?"
Meggie cast Fenoglio a warning glance, but unfortunately he was as ready to talk as Pippo, who had so willingly told Basta all about her and his grandfather.
"How did they find me? I wrote the book!" announced the old man proudly. Perhaps he expected that Basta would instantly fall on his knees before him, but Basta only gave a pitying smile.
"Oh yes, of course you did!" he said, taking the knife from his belt.
"He really did write it!" Meggie couldn't resist saying so. She wanted to see the fear that had turned Dustfinger pale when he heard about Fenoglio appear on Basta's face, too, but Basta just smiled again and began carving notches in Fenoglio's kitchen table.
"Who thought up that story?" he asked. "Your father? You think I look stupid? Everyone knows that stories in books are as old as the hills and were written by people dead and buried long ago." He jabbed the blade of the knife into the wood, pulled it out, and jabbed it in again. Flatnose was trampling around overhead.