Inkspell (Inkworld 2)

He placed his words as carefully as a beast of pre)’ places its paws. Nothing but silence answered him. Even Firefox, his face white with pain, said not a word as he wiped his own blood from the sword blade.

“Excellent!” remarked the Adderhead. “That’s done, then and now I have an immortal herald. It’s time I was able to say the same of myself. Piper,” he said, turning to the man with the silver nose.

“Empty the hall for me. Get everyone out – servants, women, physicians, clerks, all of them. I want just ten men-at-arms to stay, the librarian, you and Firefox, and the two prisoners. You go away, too!” he snapped at Mortola, who was about to protest. “Stay with my wife and get that baby to stop crying at last.”

“What’s he going to do, Mo?” whispered Meggie as the hall emptied around them. But he could only shake his head. He didn’t know, either. He only felt that the game was far from over yet.

“What about us?” he called to the Adderhead. “My daughter and I have fulfilled our part of the bargain, so fetch the prisoners from your dungeons and let us go.”

But the Adderhead only raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Yes, of course, of course, Bluejay,” he graciously replied. “As you have kept your word, I keep mine. The Adder’s word of honor. I’ve already sent men down to the dungeons, but it’s a long way from there to the gate, so give us the pleasure of your company a little longer. Believe me, we shall provide you with entertainment.”

A game. Mo looked around and saw the huge doors close behind the last servants. Once empty, the hall only seemed larger.

“Well, how are you doing, Firefox?” The Adderhead ran a cool eye over his herald. “What does it feel like to be immortal? Fabulous? Reassuring?”

Firefox said nothing. He was still holding the sword that had run him through. “I’d like my own sword back,” he said hoarsely, without taking his eyes off his master. “This one is no good.”

“Nonsense. I’ll have a new sword forged for you, a better one, in gratitude for the service you’ve done me today!” replied the Adderhead. “But first we have one small thing to do so that we can remove your name from my book without any damage.”

“Remove it?” Firefox’s eyes wandered to the Piper, who opened the book again and held it out to the librarian.

“Remove it, yes. You remember that originally the book was to make me immortal, not you, and for that to happen the scribe must write three more words in it.”

“What for?” Firefox wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

Three words. Poor devil. Did he hear the trap snapping shut? Meggie reached for Mo’s hand.

“To make room, one might say. To make room for me,” replied the Adderhead. “And do you know what?” he went on, as Firefox looked at him uncomprehendingly. “As a reward for your unselfish proof of how reliably this book really does protect one from death, as soon as the scribe has written those three words you may kill the Bluejay. If he can be killed, that is. Well, is it a fair offer?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Meggie’s voice was shrill with fear, but Mo quickly put his hand over her mouth. “Meggie, please!” he said, low-voiced. “Have you forgotten what you said about Fenoglio’s words? Nothing will happen to me. Do you hear me?”

But she wouldn’t listen. She sobbed and held him tightly until two men-at-arms roughly dragged her away.

“Three words!” Firefox was advancing on him. And hadn’t he just been feeling sorry for him?

You’re a fool, Mortimer, thought Mo.

“Three words! Count them well, Bluejay!” said Firefox, raising his sword. “On four I shall strike, and it will hurt, I promise you, even if it may not kill you. I know what I’m talking about.”

The sword blade shone like ice in the candlelight. It looked long enough to run three men through at once, and here and there Firefox’s blood still clung to the bright metal like rust.

“Come now, Taddeo,” said the Adderhead. “You remember the words I told you? Write them one by one, but don’t say them aloud. Just count them for us.”

The Piper opened the book and held it out to the old man.

With trembling fingers, Taddeo dipped his pen in the jar of ink. “One,” he whispered, and the pen scratched over the parchment. “Two.”

Firefox, smiling, set the point of the sword against Mo’s chest.

Taddeo raised his head, dipped his pen in the ink again, and looked uncertainly at the Adderhead.

“Have you forgotten how to count, old man?” he asked.

Taddeo just shook his head and lowered the pen to the paper again. “Three!” he whispered.

Mo heard Meggie call his name and stared at the point of the sword. Words, nothing but words protected him from that sharp, bright blade. .

In Fenoglio’s world, words were enough.

Firefox’s eyes widened in mingled astonishment and horror. Mo saw him try with his last breath to thrust the sword into him, to take him to wherever pen and ink were sending him, too, but the sword dropped from his hands. Firefox collapsed like a bundle of empty clothes and fell at Mo’s feet.

The Piper stood there staring down at the dead man in silence, while Taddeo lowered his pen and retreated from the book in which he had just been writing as if it might kill him as well, with a quiet voice, with a single word.

“Take him away,” ordered the Adderhead. “Before the White Women come to fetch him from my castle. Get on with it!”

Three men-at-arms carried Firefox out. The foxtails on his cloak dragged on the tiles as they hauled him away, and Mo stood there staring at the sword lying at his feet. He felt Meggie put her arms around him. Her heart was beating like a frightened bird’s.

“Who wants an immortal herald?” remarked the Adderhead as the dead Firefox was removed. “If you’d been a little cleverer you’d have seen that for yourself.” The jewels that adorned his nostrils looked more than ever like drops of blood.

“Shall I remove his name, Your Grace?” Taddeo’s voice was so hesitant that it was barely audible.

“Of course. His name and the three words, you understand. And do a thorough job of it. I want the pages white as newly fallen snow again.”

The librarian obediently set to work. The scraping sound was curiously loud in the empty hall.

When Taddeo had finished, he passed the flat of his hand over the parchment, which was blank again now. Then the Piper took the book from his hands and offered it to the Adder head.

Mo saw the man’s stout fingers shaking as they dipped the pen in the ink. And before he began to write, the Adderhead looked up once more. “I am sure you weren’t stupid enough to bind any kind of extra magic into this book, were you, Bluejay?” he asked warily. “There are ways of killing a man – and not just a man, but his wife and daughter, too – that make dying a very long and very painful business. It can take days – many days and many nights.”

“Magic? No,” replied Mo, still staring at the sword at his feet. “I don’t know anything about magic.

Let me say it again: Bookbinding, and nothing else, is my trade. And all I know about it has gone into that book. No more and no less.”