"The point is that Blodeuedd didn't do what was expected of her. And that's our own plan: Your voice and my words, beautiful, brand-new words, will see to it that Capricorn's Shadow does not do what's expected of him!" Fenoglio looked as pleased as a tortoise who has found a fresh lettuce leaf somewhere entirely unexpected.
"Then what exactly is he to do?"
Fenoglio wrinkled his brow. His satisfaction was all gone. "I'm still working on that, " he said crossly, tapping his fore head. "In here. It takes time. "
Voices were raised outside – men's voices. They came from the other side of the wall. Meggie slipped quickly off her bed and ran to the open window. She heard footsteps, rapid, stumbling, fleeing footsteps – then shots. She leaned out of the window so far she almost fell out, but she could see nothing. The noise seemed to come from the square outside the church.
"Careful!" whispered Fenoglio, grasping her shoulders. More shots were heard. Capricorn's men were calling to one another. Their voices sounded angry and excited – oh, why couldn't she make out what they were saying? She looked at Fenoglio, her eyes full of fear. Perhaps he had been able to understand some of the shouting – words, names?
"I know what you're thinking, but it certainly wasn't your father, " he soothed her. "He wouldn't be crazy enough to creep into Capricorn's house at night!" Gently, he drew her back from the window. The voices died away. The night became still again as if nothing had happened.
Her heart beating fast, Meggie went back to bed. Fenoglio helped her up.
"Make him kill Capricorn!" she whispered. "Make the Shadow kill him. " Her own words frightened her, but she did not take them back.
Fenoglio rubbed his forehead. "Yes, I suppose I must, mustn't I?" he murmured.
Meggie took Mo's sweater and held it close. Doors slammed somewhere in the house; the sound of footsteps echoed up to them. Then all was silent again. It was a menacing silence. A deathly silence, thought Meggie. The word kept going through her mind.
"Suppose the Shadow doesn't obey you?" she asked. "Like the flower maiden. Then what?"
"We had better not even think of that," replied Fenoglio slowly.
47 . ALONE
"Why, O why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole!" said poor
Mr. Baggins bumping up and down on Bombur's back.
J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
When Elinor heard the shots she jumped up so fast that she stumbled over her blanket in the dark and fell full length in the coarse grass. It pricked her hands as she got up. "Oh God, oh God, they've caught them!" she stammered, groping around in the night looking for the stupid dress the boy had stolen for her. It was so dark she could scarcely see her own feet. "Oh, it serves them right, " she kept repeating to herself. "Why didn't they take me with them, the stupid idiots? I could have kept watch, I'd have been on the alert. " But when she finally found the dress and pulled it over her head with trembling fingers she suddenly stood still.
How quiet it was. Deathly quiet.
They've shot them, something whispered inside her. That's why it's so quiet. They're dead. Dead as mutton. They're lying bleeding on that square outside the house, both of them, oh, my God! Now what? She sobbed. No, Elinor, no tears now. What use are tears? You must look for them, come on. She stumbled off. Was she going the right way?
"No, you can't come, too, Elinor, " Mortimer had said. He had looked so different in the black suit Farid had stolen for him – like one of Capricorn's men, which of course was the point of the masquerade. The boy had even found him a shotgun.
"Why not?" she had replied. "I'll even put that silly dress on!"
"A woman would be conspicuous, Elinor! You've seen for yourself – there are never any women in the streets at night. Only the guards. Ask the boy. "
"I don't want to ask him! Why didn't he steal a suit for me, too? Then I could have disguised myself as a man."
They had no answer to that.
"Elinor, please, we need someone to stay with our things!"
"Our things? You mean Dustfinger's dirty backpack?" She was so angry she had kicked it. How clever they'd thought themselves, but their disguise had done them no good! Who had recognized them? Basta, Flatnose, the man with the limp? "We'll be back by dawn, Elinor, with Meggie, " Mo had said. Liar! She could tell from his voice he didn't believe it himself. Elinor stumbled over a tree root, grabbed at something prickly, and fell to her knees sobbing. Murderers! Murderers and fire-raisers. What had she to do with people like that? She should have known better when Mortimer suddenly turned up at her door, asking her to hide the book. Why hadn't she just said no? Hadn't she thought instantly that the matchstick-eater looked like someone with the word trouble written all over him in red? But the book – ah, the book. Of course she hadn't been able to resist the book.
They took that stinking marten with them, she thought as she picked herself up again, but not me. And now they're dead. "Let's go to the police!" How often she'd said that! But Mortimer had always given the same answer. "No, Elinor, Capricorn would get Meggie well out of the way as soon as the first police officer set foot in the village. And believe me, Basta's knife is faster than all the police in the world. " As he spoke she had seen that little frown above his nose, and she knew him well enough to know what that meant.
What was she going to do? She was alone, after all.
Don't make such a fuss, Elinor, she told herself. You've always been alone, remember. Now, use your head. Whatever's happened to her father, you must help the girl – get her out of this thrice-accursed village. There's no one left but you to do it. If you don't, she'll end up as one of those timid maidservants who scarcely dare to raise their heads and whose only purpose is to clean and cook for their ghastly master. Perhaps she'll be allowed to read aloud to Capricorn now and then, when he feels like it, and then, when she's older… she's a pretty little thing. Elinor felt sick. "I need a shotgun, " she whispered, "or a knife, a big sharp knife. I'll slip into Capricorn's house with it. Who's going to recognize me in this unspeakable dress?" Mortimer had always thought she couldn't cope with the world except between the covers of a book, but she'd show him!
Just how will you do that? asked the little whispering voice inside. He's gone, Elinor, gone like your books.
She wept, so loudly that she even alarmed herself and put a hand to her mouth. A twig cracked under her feet, and the light went out behind one of the windows in Capricorn's village. She had been right. The world was a terrible place, cruel, pitiless, dark as a bad dream. Not a good place to live in. Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness – and love. Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn't ask anything in return; they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly. Love, truth, beauty, wisdom, and consolation against death. Who had said that? Someone else who loved books; she couldn't remember the author's name, only the words. Words are immortal – until someone comes along and burns them.
She stumbled on, getting closer all the time. Pale light seeped from Capricorn's village, like milky water running into the night. Three of the murderers were standing among the vehicles in the parking lot with their heads together. "Talk away!" whispered Elinor. "Boast, why don't you, with your bloodstained fingers and black hearts – you'll be sorry yet for killing them. " Would it be better to go down right away or wait until daylight? Both were mad ideas; she wouldn't get beyond the third house in the village. One of the three men looked around, and for a moment Elinor thought he could see her. She scrambled back, slipped, and grabbed at a branch before she lost her footing again. Then came a rustling behind her, and a hand covered her mouth before she could turn around. She wanted to scream, but the fingers were pressing so hard on her lips she couldn't utter a sound.