Up above the prisoners' heads the soldiers were describing, at the tops of their voices, what their master would do to the Black Prince once he'd caught him and his enchanted bear again. Now that they were on horseback once more their tempers had clearly improved. From time to time the Piper turned in his saddle and contributed some particularly cruel idea. Resa would have liked to put her hands over the ears of the little girl beside her. The child's mother was not among the prisoners but was wandering the country with some of the other strolling players, happy in the belief that her daughter was safe in the Secret Camp.
The girl would run. So would the other children with their mother. The claw-fingered woman would probably try to escape, too, and Sootbird and most of the other men. The minstrel with the injured leg who was on the cart with Mo would stay, like Twofingers, because he was afraid of the soldiers' crossbows, and so would the old stilt-walker, who no longer trusted his legs. Benedicta, who could hardly see where she was going, would stay behind, too, and Mina, whose child would soon be coming into the world… and Mo.
Piper. His silver nose had slipped out of place, and his horse was still shying hard as he pulled on the reins. Some of the men obeyed, stumbling halfheartedly into the forest but retreating again as a shadow stirred in the undergrowth, growling.
"The Night-Mare!" one of them shouted, and the next moment they were all back in the middle of the road, pale-faced and with trembling hands, as if the swords they held could do nothing to defend them from the horror lurking in the trees.
"Night-Mare? This is broad daylight, you fools!" Firefox yelled at them. "That's a bear, nothing but a bear!"
Hesitantly, they moved toward the forest again, keeping close together like a brood of chicks hiding behind their mother. Resa heard them swearing as they used their swords to cut a path through the twining wild vines and brambles, while their horses stood in the road snorting and trembling. Firefox and the Piper put their heads together, while the soldiers still standing in the road to guard the remaining prisoners stared at the forest wide-eyed, as if the Night-Mare that looked so deceptively like a bear would leap out at any moment and swallow them up, skin and hair and all, in the usual manner of ghosts.
Resa saw Mo glance at her, saw the relief in his face when he saw her – and his disappointment that she was still there, too. He was still pale, but no longer as pale as if the hand of Death had touched his face. She took a step toward the cart, wanting to go to him, take his hand, see if it was still hot with the fever, but one of the soldiers roughly pushed her back.
The tree was still burning. The flames crackled as if they were singing a mocking song about the Adderhead, and when the men who had gone into the forest came back, they brought not a single one of the escaped prisoners with them.
44. POOR MEGGIE
"Hello," said a soft, musical voice, and Leonardo looked up. In front of him stood the most beautiful young girl he had ever seen, a girl who might have frightened him but for the sad expression in her blue eyes. He knew about sadness.
Eva Ibbotson, The Mystery of the Seventh Witch
Meggie did not say a word. However hard Farid tried to cheer her up she just sat there among the trees, her arms wrapped around her legs, perfectly silent. Yes, they had set many of the captives free, but her parents were not among them.
Not one of those who managed to escape had been injured. One of the children had twisted his ankle, that was all, and he was small enough for the grown-ups to carry him. The forest had swallowed them up so quickly that after only a few steps the Adderhead's men had found themselves chasing shadows. Dustfinger hid the children inside a hollow tree, the women crawled underneath a thicket of wild vine and nettles, while the Prince's bear kept the soldiers at a distance. The men had climbed trees and perched high up among the leaves; Dustfinger and the Prince were the last to hide, after leading the soldiers astray in different directions.
The Black Prince advised the freed captives to go back to Ombra and, for the time being, to join the strolling players still encamped there. He himself had other plans. Before he left he spoke to Meggie, and she did not look quite so hopeless after that.
"He said he won't let anyone hang my father," she told Farid. "He says he knows that Mo is not the Bluejay, and he and his men will make the Adderhead realize that he's caught the wrong man." And she looked so hopeful as she said this that Farid just nodded and murmured, "That's great!" – although he could think only that the Adderhead would execute Silvertongue all the same.
"What about the informer the Piper mentioned? Will the Prince look for him?" he asked Dustfinger, as they set out again.
"He won't have to look for long," Dustfinger said. "He just has to wait until one of the strolling players suddenly has his pockets full of silver."
Silver. Farid had to admit that he was curious to see the silver towers of the Castle of Night. Even the battlements were said to be lined with silver. But they would not choose the same route as Firefox. "We know where they're going," said Dustfinger, "and there are shorter and safer ways to the Castle of Night than the road."
"What about the Spelt-Mill?" asked Meggie. "The mill in the forest that you mentioned? Aren't we going there first?"
"Not necessarily. Why?"
Meggie didn't answer at once. Obviously, she guessed that the reply would not please Dustfinger. "I gave Cloud-Dancer a letter for Fenoglio," she said at last, reluctantly. "I asked him to write something to save my parents and to send it to the mill."
"A letter?" Dustfinger's voice was so cutting that Farid instinctively put his arm around Meggie’s shoulders. "Oh, wonderful! And suppose the wrong eyes read it?"
Farid ducked his head, but Meggie did not. Instead, she returned Dustfinger's glance. "Nobody but Fenoglio can help them now," she said. "You know that. You know it perfectly well."
45. A KNOCK ON THE DOOR
Lancelot considered his cup.
"He is inhuman," he said at last. "But why should he be human? Are angels supposed to be human?"
T. H. White, The Ill-Made Knight
The horseman Fenoglio had sent after Meggie had been gone for days now. "You must ride like the wind," he had told the man, saying that the life or death of a young and, of course, beautiful girl was at stake. (After all, he wanted to be sure that the man would really do his best.) "But I'm afraid you won't be able to persuade her to come back with you. She's very obstinate," he had added, "so decide on a new meeting place with her – a safe one this time – and tell her you'll be back as soon as possible with a letter from me. Can you remember that?"
The soldier, a fresh-faced youth, had repeated his instructions without any trouble and galloped away, saying he would be back in three days' time at the latest. Three days. If the lad kept his word, he'd soon be back – but Fenoglio would have no letter for him to take to Meggie. For the words that were to put the whole story right again – save the good, punish the bad – simply would not come.
Fenoglio sat day and night in the room that Cosimo had given him, staring at the sheets of parchment that Minerva had brought him, in the company of the terrified Rosenquartz. But there seemed to be a jinx on it: Whatever he began to write seeped out of his head like ink running on damp paper. Where were the words he wanted? Why did they stay as dead as dry leaves? He argued with Rosenquartz, told him to send for wine, roast meat, sweetmeats, different ink, a new pen – while the smiths were hammering and forging metal out in the castle courtyards, the castle gates were reinforced, the pans for pitch were cleaned and spears sharpened. Preparing for war was a noisy business. Particularly when you were in a hurry.