Inkdeath (Inkworld 3)

"Black? A color I like." The Adderhead, groaning, heaved himself out of his throne.

"Brother-in-law, give the little viper a horse. I’ll take him with me. It’s a long way to the Castle in the Lake, and perhaps he’ll help me to pass the time."

Orpheus bowed so deeply that he almost toppled over. "What an honor!" he stammered — you always had to give powerful people the feeling that you could hardly speak in their presence. "But in that case, might I most humbly ask Your Highness a favor?"

The Milksop cast him a distrustful glance. What if that fool had bartered Balbulus’s books of Fenoglio’s songs for a few casks of wine? He’d read him an attack of the plague!

"I am a great lover of the art of book illumination," Orpheus went on, without taking his eyes off the Milksop, "and I’ve heard wonderful things about the library in this castle. I’d very much like to see the books and perhaps take one or two on the journey. Who knows, I may even be able to entertain you with their contents on the way!"

Indifferently, the Adderhead shrugged his shoulders. "Why not? If you’ll work out, while you’re at it, how much silver those that my brother-in-law hasn’t yet exchanged for wine are worth."

The Milksop bent his head, but Orpheus had seen the vicious dislike in his eyes.

"Of course." Orpheus bowed as low as he could.

The Adderhead came down the steps of the throne and stopped in front of him, breathing heavily. "When making your estimate, you should take into account the fact that books illuminated by Balbulus have risen in value!" he remarked. "After all, he won’t be producing any new works without his hand, and that certainly makes those already in existence more valuable, don’t you agree?"

Once again Orpheus found it hard not to retch as the Adderhead’s foul breath met his face, but all the same he managed to produce an admiring smile.

"How extremely clever of you, Your Highness!" he replied. "The perfect penalty!

May I ask what punishment you intend for the Bluejay? Perhaps it would be appropriate to separate him from his tongue first, since everyone goes into such raptures about his voice?"

But the Adderhead shook his head. "No, no. I have better plans for the Bluejay. I’m going to flay him alive and make his skin into parchment, and we want him to be able to scream as it’s done to him, don’t we?"

"Of course!" breathed Orpheus. "What a truly fitting punishment for a bookbinder!

May I suggest that you write a warning to your enemies on this very special parchment and have it hung up in marketplaces? I will happily provide you with suitable words. In my trade one must be able to use words with skill."

"Well, well, you’re obviously a man of many talents." The Adderhead was examining him with something like amusement.

Now, Orpheus! he told himself. Even if you do find Fenoglio’s songs in the library, there’s no substitute for that one book. Tell him about Inkheart!

"I assure you, all my talents are at your disposal, Highness," he faltered. "But to practice my arts to perfection I need something that was stolen from me."

"Indeed? And what might that be?"

"A book, Your Grace! The Fire-Dancer has stolen it, but I believe he did it at the request of the Bluejay, who is certain to know where it is now. So if you were to ask him about it as soon as he is in your power. . . .

"A book? Did the Bluejay bind you a book, too, I wonder?"

"Oh no. No!" Orpheus waved the mere notion away. "He has nothing to do with this book. No bookbinder captured its power inside the covers. It’s the words in it that make it powerful. With those words, Your Grace, this world can be re-created, and every living thing in it made subject to your own purposes.

"Indeed? For instance, trees would bear silver fruit? It could be night forever if I wanted?" How he was staring at him — like a snake staring at a mouse! Not a word out of place now, Orpheus!

"Oh yes." Orpheus nodded eagerly. "I brought your brotherin-law a unicorn with the aid of that book. And a dwarf."

The Adderhead cast the Milksop a derisive glance. "Yes, that sounds like the kind of thing my good brother-in-law would want. My wishes would be rather different."

He scrutinized Orpheus with satisfaction. Obviously, the Adderhead had realized that the same kind of heart beat in both their breasts black with vanity and the desire for vengeance, in love with its own cunning, full of contempt for those whose hearts were ruled by other feelings. Orpheus knew what state his own heart was in, and he feared only that those inflamed eyes might also uncover what he hid even from himself: his envy of the innocence of others, his longing for an unblemished heart.

"What about my rotting flesh?" The Adderhead passed his swollen fingers over his face. "Can you cure that, too, with this book, or do I still need the Bluejay to do it?"

Orpheus hesitated.

"Ah. I see . . . you’re not sure." The Adderhead’s mouth twisted, his dark lizard eyes almost lost in his flesh. "And you’re clever enough not to promise what you can’t perform. Well, I’ll return to your other promises and give you a chance to ask the Bluejay about the book that was stolen from you.

Orpheus bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Grace!" Oh, this was going well. Very well indeed.

"Highness!" The Milksop was hurrying down the steps of the throne. His voice really was like a duck quacking, and Orpheus imagined not a wild boar or his fabulous unicorn being carried through the streets of Ombra as a trophy of the hunt, but the Milksop himself, his silver-powdered wig full of blood and dust. However, he’d be a poor sight in comparison with the unicorn.

Orpheus exchanged a quick glance with the Adderhead, and for a moment it seemed to him as if they were seeing the same picture.

"You ought to rest now, my prince," said the Milksop, with obvioUSly exaggerated concern. "It was a long journey, and another lies ahead of you.

"Rest? How am I supposed to rest when you and the Piper have let the man who turned me into a piece of rotting meat escape? My skin is burning. My bones are icy.

My eyes feel as if every ray of light pierces them with a pin. I can’t rest until that accursed Book has stopped poisoning me and the man who bound it is dead. I picture it to myself every night, brother-in-law —just ask your sister — every night I pace up and down, unable to sleep, imagining him wailing and screaming and begging me for a quick death, but I’ll have as many torments ready for him as that murderous Book has pages. He’ll curse it even more often than I do — and he’ll very soon find out that my daughter’s skirts are no protection from the Adderhead!"

Once again a racking cough shook him, and for a moment his swollen hands clutched Orpheus by the arm. Their flesh was pale as a dead fish. It smells like a dead fish, too, thought Orpheus. Yet he’s still the lord of this story.

"Grandfather!" The boy emerged from the darkness as suddenly as if he had been standing in the shadows all this time. He had a pile of books in his small arms.

"Jacopo!" The Adderhead swung around so abruptly that his grandson stood rooted to the ground. "How often do I have to tell you that even a prince doesn’t walk into the throne room unannounced?"