What the devil? Orpheus nearly choked on the wine he had just raised to his lips. The old witch was still dreaming of Capricorn’s return! Well, why not, since first Cosimo and then Dustfinger had come back from the dead? But he could think of more interesting turns for this story to take than the return of Mortola’s fire-raising son.
"You really believe the Adderhead will bring the White Book here?" Ah, he felt there were great things in the offing, developments full of promise. Maybe all was not lost, even if Dustfinger had stolen Fenoglio’s book from him. There were other ways to play a significant part in this story. The Adderhead in Ombra! What possibilities that opened up. . . .
"Of course he’ll come! The Adder is more of a fool than most people think." Mortola sat down on one of the chairs that stood ready for Orpheus’s distinguished clients.
The wind blew through the unglazed windows and made the candles flicker.
Shadows danced like black birds on the whitewashed walls.
"So will the Silver Prince let the bookbinder outwit him for the second time?"
Orpheus himself was surprised by the hatred in his voice. To his astonishment, he realized that he now wished for Mortimer’s death almost as passionately as Mortola.
"Even Dustfinger runs after him these days!" he uttered. "Obviously, Death has made him forget what that hero once did to him!" He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, as if he could wipe away the memory of Dustfinger’s cold face. Yes, that was the only reason why Dustfinger had turned against him! Because Mortimer had bewitched him with his accursed voice. He bewitched them all. It was to be hoped that the Piper would cut out his tongue before they quartered him. He wanted to watch as the Milksop’s hounds tore him to pieces, as the Piper sliced up his skin and his noble heart. Oh, if only he could have written that song about the Bluejay!
Mortola’s coughing brought Orpheus back from his bloodthirsty dreams.
"It’s only too easy to swallow these seeds!" she gasped, bent double in the chair, her hands clutching the arms like claws. "You have to put them under your tongue, but they’re slippery little things, and if too many of them go astray and down to your stomach, the bird sometimes comes back when you haven’t summoned it." She jerked her head like the Magpie, opened her mouth as if it were a beak, and pressed her fingers to her pale lips.
"Listen!" she managed to say as the fit shook her again. "I want You to go to the castle as soon as the Adderhead reaches Ombra and warn him against his daughter!
Tell him to ask Balbulus, the illuminator, how many books about the Bluejay Violante has ordered from him. Convince him that his daughter is obsessed with his worst enemy and will do all in her power to save him. Tell him in the finest words you can think up. Use your voice, the way Silvertongue will try to use his. You’re very keen on boasting that your voice is more impressive than Mortimer’s! Prove it!"
Mortola retched — and spat another seed out into the palm of her hand.
She was clever, even if she was totally crazy, and it was surely best to let her believe she could go on acting as if she were his mistress, although all that retching made him feel so unwell he could almost have spat out his own wine. Orpheus brushed a little dust off his elaborately embroidered sleeves. His clothes, his house, all the maids. . . How could the old woman be blind enough to think he’d ever serve her again? As if he’d come into this world to carry out other people’s plans! No, here he served only himself. So he had sworn.
"It doesn’t sound like a bad idea." Orpheus was taking great pains to keep his tone of voice as deferential as usual. "But what about all the Bluejay’s noble friends? He won’t be hoping for support from Violante alone. What about the Black Prince?"