Inkspell - Page 117/137

The Old Chamber lay in the most remote part of the Castle of Night, far from the halls where the Adderhead held court. The corridors down which Basta and the Piper led them were dusty and deserted. No silver adorned the columns and doors here, there was no glass in the draughty windows. The room whose door the Piper finally opened, with a mocking bow to Mo, seemed to have been unoccupied for a long time. The pink fabric of the bed hangings was moth-eaten. The bunches of flowers standing in pitchers in the window niches were long dried up; dust was caught in the withered blossoms, and lay thick and dirty white on the chests that stood under the windows. In the middle of the chamber there was a table: a long wooden surface laid on trestles. A man stood behind it, as pale as paper, with white hair and ink stains on his fingers. He gave Meggie only a quick glance, but he studied Mo as thoroughly as if someone had asked him to deliver an expert opinion on him.

“Is this the man?” he asked the Piper. “He looks as if he’d never held a book in his hand in his life, let alone had the faintest idea how to bind one.”

Meggie saw a smile steal over Mo’s face. Without a word he went over to the table and examined the tools lying on it.

“My name is Taddeo, and I am the librarian here,” the stranger went on, sounding annoyed. “I don’t suppose that a single one of these objects means anything to you, but I can assure you that the paper you see there alone is worth more than your wretched robber’s life. The finest product of the best paper mill for a thousand miles around, enough to bind more than two books of five hundred pages. Although a genuine bookbinder, of course, would prefer parchment to any paper, however good.”

Mo held out his bound hands to the Piper. “There could be two opinions about that,” he said, as the silver-nosed minstrel, his expression sullen, undid his bonds. “You should be glad I asked for paper. Parchment for this book would cost a fortune. Quite apart from the hundreds of goats that would have to give their lives for it. And as for the quality of these sheets, it’s by no means as good as you claim. The texture is coarse, but if there’s no better available it will have to do. I hope at least it’s well sized. As for the rest of this” – Mo’s expert fingers passed over the tools lying ready – “it looks serviceable.”

Knives and bone folders, hemp, strong thread and needles to stitch the pages, glue and a pot to heat it in, beech wood for the back and front covers, leather to go over them – Mo picked them all up, as he did in his own workshop, before he set to work. Then he looked around. “What about the press and the sewing frame? And what am I going to heat the glue with?”

“You .. you’ll have everything you need before evening,” replied Taddeo, in some confusion.

“The clasps are all right, but I shall need another file, and leather and linen for the tapes.”

“Of course, of course. Anything you say.” The librarian nodded, very ready to oblige now, while an incredulous smile spread over his pale face.

“Good.” Mo leaned on the table, supporting himself with both hands. “I’m sorry, but I’m not very strong on my legs yet. I hope the leather is more flexible than the parchment, and as for the glue,” he added, picking up the pot and sniffing, “well, we’ll see if it’s good enough. And bring me some paste, too. I’ll use glue only for the covers. Bookworms like the flavor too much.”

Meggie relished the sight of the surprised faces. Even the Piper was staring at Mo in disbelief.

Only Basta remained unmoved. He knew that he had brought the librarian a bookbinder, not a robber.

“My father needs a chair,” said Meggie, with an imperious glance at the librarian. “Can’t you see he’s injured? Is he supposed to work standing up?”

“Standing up? No .. no, of course not! By no means. I’ll have an armchair brought at once,”

answered the librarian distractedly. He was still staring at Mo. “You .. er . . you know a remarkable amount about books for a highwayman.”

Mo gave him a smile. “Yes, don’t I?” he said. “Perhaps the highwayman was once a bookbinder?

Don’t they say that all kinds of professions are to be found among the outlaws? Farmers, cobblers, physicians, minstrels –”

“Never mind what he once was,” the Piper interrupted. “He’s a murderer, anyway, so don’t fall for his soft voice, bookworm. He kills without batting an eyelid. Ask Basta if you don’t believe me.”

“Yes, very true!” Basta rubbed his burned skin. “He’s more dangerous than a nest of vipers. And his daughter’s no better. I hope those knives won’t give you any silly ideas,” he said to Mo. “The guards will be counting them regularly, and they’ll cut off one of your daughter’s fingers for every knife that goes missing. And the same applies to any other stupid tricks you try. Do you understand?”

Mo did not answer him, but he looked at the knives as if to count them for safety’s sake. “Oh, do get him a chair!” said Meggie to the librarian impatiently as Mo leaned on the table again.

“Yes, of course! At once!” Taddeo hurried away, but the Piper gave an ugly laugh.

“Listen to the little witch! Ordering people around like a prince’s brat! Well, not surprising, is it, since she claims to be the daughter of a man who can keep Death a prisoner between two wooden covers! What about you, Basta? Do you believe her story?”

Basta put his hand to the amulet hanging around his neck. It was not a rabbit’s paw, as he had worn in Capricorn’s service, but something that looked suspiciously like a human finger bone.

“Who knows?” he muttered.

“Yes, who knows?” agreed Mo, without turning to look at the two of them. “But I can summon Death, anyway, can’t I, Basta? So can Meggie.”

The Piper cast Basta a swift glance.

Basta had pale blotches on his burned skin. “All I know,” he growled, his hand still on his amulet,

“is that you should have been dead and buried long ago, Silvertongue. And the Adderhead would do better to listen to Mortola instead of your witchy daughter. He ate out of her hand, did the Silver Prince. He fell for her lies.”

The Piper straightened his back, as ready to attack as the viper on his master’s coat of arms. “Fell for her lies?” he said, in his curiously strained voice. He was a good head taller than Basta. “The Adderhead falls for nothing anyone says. He is a great ruler, greater than any other. Firefox sometimes forgets that, and so does Mortola. Don’t go making the same mistake. And now get out. The Adderhead’s orders are that no one who ever worked for Capricorn is to be on guard in this room. Could that mean that he doesn’t trust you?”

Basta’s voice turned to a hiss. “You worked for Capricorn once yourself, Piper!” he said through compressed lips. “You’d be nothing but for him.”

“Oh yes? You see this nose?” The Piper stroked his silver nose. “I once had a nose like yours, an ordinary nose of flesh and blood. It hurt losing it, but the Adder head had a better one made for me, and since then I don’t sing for drunken fire-raisers, I sing only for him – a real prince whose family is older than the towers of this castle. If you don’t want to serve him, then go back to Capricorn’s fortress. Maybe his ghost is haunting those burned-out walls – oh, but you’re afraid of ghosts, aren’t you, Basta?”