Every time steps came along the corridor Fenoglio hid what he had been writing under his mattress, but no one came in to see what the old man kept scribbling on his blank sheets of paper. For Basta was down in the crypt.
The bored guards on duty outside their door had several visitors that afternoon. Men had obviously come into the village from Capricorn's outposts to watch the execution. Putting her ear to the door, Meggie eavesdropped on their conversations. They laughed a lot, and their voices sounded excited. They were all looking forward to the night's spectacle. Not one of them seemed to feel sorry for Basta. Far from it. Knowing Capricorn's former favorite was to die that night just seemed to add to their fun. Of course they discussed Meggie, too. That little witch, they called her, that little madam the enchantress, and not all of them seemed to be convinced of her powers.
As for Basta's executioner, Meggie learned no more than what Fenoglio had already told her and what she remembered of the passage the Magpie had made her read. It wasn't much, but she heard the fear in those voices outside the door and the horrified awe that overcame them all at the mention of his name, which was not a real name at all. Only those who, like Capricorn himself, had come out of Fenoglio's book had ever seen the Shadow – but they had all obviously heard about him – and they painted pictures in the darkest tones of how he would deal with the prisoners. There were evidently several opinions about how he actually killed his victims, but the suggestions Meggie overheard grew more and more horrible the closer evening came, until she could bear it no longer. She went to sit by the window with her hands over her ears.
It was six o'clock – the church clock was just beginning to strike – when Fenoglio suddenly put down his pen and looked over what he had written with a satisfied expression. "Got it!" he whispered. "Yes, that's it. That's how it will be. It will turn out splendidly." Impatiently, he beckoned Meggie over and gave her the paper.
"Read it!" he whispered, glancing nervously at the door. Out in the corridor, Flatnose was just boasting of the way he had poisoned a farmer's stocks of olive oil.
"Is that all?" Meggie looked incredulously at the single sheet of paper.
"Yes, that's all. No more is needed. As you'll see. The words just have to be the right ones. Go on, read it!"
Meggie did as he said.
The men outside were laughing, and she found it difficult to concentrate on Fenoglio's words. Finally, she did it. But she'd no sooner finished the first sentence when the men outside fell utterly silent. The Magpie's voice echoed down the corridor. "What's all this? A coffee break?"
Fenoglio hastily took the precious paper and put it under his mattress. He was just readjusting the bedspread when the Magpie opened the door.
"Your supper, " she told Meggie, putting a steaming plate down on the table.
"What about me?" inquired Fenoglio in a deliberately cheerful voice. The mattress had slipped slightly when he hid the paper under it, and he had to lean against his bed to hide it from Mortola, but luckily she had no eyes for him. Meggie felt sure she thought he was merely a liar, and very likely it annoyed her that Capricorn did not agree with her.
"Eat it all up!" she ordered Meggie. "And then get changed. Your clothes look dreadful and stiff with dirt, too. " She signaled to the maid who had come with her, a young girl at most only four or five years older than Meggie herself. The rumors of Meggie's supposed powers of witchcraft had obviously reached this girl's ears, too. A snow-white dress was draped over her arm, and she avoided looking at Meggie as she made her way past her to hang it in the closet.
"I don't want that dress!" Meggie spat at the Magpie. "I want to wear this," She took Mo's sweater off her bed, but Mortola snatched it from her hands.
"Nonsense. Do you want Capricorn to think we've been keeping you in a sack? You'll wear that dress. Either you put it on yourself or we'll put it on you. I will come for you as soon as darkness falls. Wash your face and comb your hair. You look like a stray cat. "
The maid scurried past Meggie again, looking frightened as if any contact might bum her. The Magpie impatiently pushed the girl out into the corridor. "Lock the door, " she told Flatnose. "And send your friends away. You're supposed to be on guard. "
Flatnose strolled casually toward the door. Meggie saw him make a face at the Magpie behind her back before he closed it.
She went over to the dress and touched the white material. "White!" she murmured. "I don't like white things. Death has white hounds. Mo once told me a story about them. "
"Ah yes, the white, red-eyed hounds of Death. " Fenoglio came over to her. "Ghosts are white, too, and the thirst of the ancient gods for blood was quenched only by white sacrificial animals, as if the gods like the taste of innocence best. Oh no, no!" he added quickly, seeing Meggie's terrified eyes. "No, believe me, Capricorn certainly wasn't thinking of any such thing when he sent you that dress. How would he know such stories? White is the color of the beginning, too, and of the end. And both of us, " he added, lowering his voice, "remember, you and I, Meggie, are going to make sure it is Capricorn's end and not ours. " Gently, he led Meggie to the table and made her sit down. The smell of roast meat rose to her nostrils.
"What do you think it is?" she asked.
"Looks like veal. Why?"
Meggie pushed the plate away. "I'm not hungry, " she murmured.
Fenoglio looked at her with great sympathy. "You know, Meggie, " he said, "I think I should write a story about you next, you and how you save us all with your voice. It would be a very exciting story."
"But would it have a happy ending?" Meggie looked out of the window. Only another hour, two at the most, and it would be dark. Suppose Mo came then? Suppose he made another attempt to free her? He didn't know what she and Fenoglio were planning. Suppose they shot at him again? Suppose they really did hit him last time? Meggie put her arms on the table and buried her face in them.
She felt Fenoglio stroking her hair. "It will be all right, Meggie!" he whispered. "Believe me, my stories always have happy endings. If I want them to. "
"That dress has very tight sleeves!" she whispered. "How will I hide the paper in my sleeve without the Magpie noticing?"
"I'll distract her attention. Don't worry. "
"But later? They'll all see me take the paper out. "
"Nonsense, you'll manage. " Fenoglio put a hand under her chin. "It will be all right, Meggie!" he said again, wiping a tear off her cheek with his forefinger. "You're not alone, even if you may feel so tonight. I'm here, and Dustfinger is somewhere out there. I know him as well as I know myself, and I can assure you he'll come, if only to see the book and perhaps get it back – and then there's your father, and that boy who was looking at you in such a lovesick way back in the square in front of the memorial when I first saw Dustfinger. "
"Oh, stop it!" Meggie dug her elbow into his stomach, but she had to laugh, even though her tears were still blurring everything, the table, her hands, Fenoglio's wrinkled face. She felt as if she had used up enough tears for a whole lifetime in these last few weeks.
"Why? He's a good-looking lad. I'd put in a good word for him with your father like a shot. "
"I said stop it!"
"Only if you'll eat something. " Fenoglio pushed the plate back toward her. "And that lady, your friend, what was her name?"
"Elinor. " Meggie put an olive in her mouth and chewed it until she could feel the stone between her teeth.