Inkspell (Inkworld #2)

Inkspell (Inkworld #2) Page 100

“What is it, Carla?” he asked.

The girl bit her pale lips nervously. “I’m to ask if we have any eyebright left,” she said timidly.

“Of course. Go to Bella and she’ll give you some, but now leave us alone.”

The girl disappeared with a hasty nod, but she left the door open. Sighing, the Barn Owl closed it and then bolted it, too. “Where were we? Oh yes, the prisoners. The physician responsible for the dungeons is looking after them. He’s useless at his job, but who else could stand it up there?

Instead of healing the sick he has to preside over whippings and lashings. Luckily, they’re not letting him near your father, and the Adderhead’s own physician isn’t going to soil his fingers on a prisoner, so my best woman healer goes up to the castle every day to tend him.”

“How is my father?” Meggie tried not to sound like a little girl holding back her tears with difficulty, but she didn’t entirely succeed.

“He’s badly wounded, but I think you know that?”

Meggie nodded. And the tears came again, flowing and flowing as if to wash it all out of her heart: her grief, her longing, her fear. Farid put his arm around her shoulders, but that just reminded her of Mo even more – of all the years he had protected her and held her close. And now that he was in trouble, she wasn’t with him.

“He’s lost a great deal of blood, and he’s still weak, but he’s doing well – much better, anyway, than we let the Adderhead know.” You could tell from the Barn Owl’s voice that he often had to talk to people who were anxious about those they loved. “My healer has advised him not to let anyone notice, to give us more time. But at the moment there really is nothing for you to worry about.”

Meggie’s heart soared. It will be all right, something inside her said – for the first time since Dustfinger had given her Resa’s note. Everything will be all right! Feeling embarrassed, she wiped the tears off her face.

“The weapon that wounded your father – my healer says it must be a terrible thing,” the Barn Owl continued. “I hope the Adderhead’s armorers are not working on some diabolical invention in secret!”

“No, that weapon was from a very different place.” And nothing good comes from that place, said Dustfinger’s face, but Meggie didn’t want to think of what a rifle could do to this world just now.

Her thoughts were with Mo.

“My father,” she told the Barn Owl, “would like this room very much. He loves books, and yours are really beautiful. Although he’d probably tell you that some of them needed rebinding, and that one won’t live much longer if you don’t soon do something about the beetles eating it.”

The Barn Owl picked up the book she had pointed out and caressed the pages just as Mo always did. “The Bluejay loves books?” he asked. “Unusual for a robber.”

“He’s not a robber,” said Meggie. “He’s a doctor like you, only he heals books instead of people.”

“Really? Then is it true that the Adderhead had captured the wrong man? In that case, I suppose when they say your father killed Capricorn, that isn’t true, either?”

“Oh yes, that’s true.” Dustfinger looked out of the window as if he saw the scene of Capricorn’s festivities outside. “And all he needed to do it was his voice. You ought to get him or his daughter to read to you sometime. Afterward, I assure you, you’ll see your books in a very different light.

You might well close and padlock them.”

“Really?” The Barn Owl looked at Meggie with great interest, as if he would like to hear more about Capricorn’s death, but there was another knock. This time a man’s voice came through the bolted door. “Will you come, master? We’ve prepared everything, but it will be better if you make the incision.”

Meggie saw Farid turn pale. “Just coming!” said the Barn Owl. “You go ahead. I hope I can welcome your father to this room someday,” he said to Meggie as he went to the door. “For you’re right: My books could certainly do with a doctor. Does the Black Prince have any plans for the prisoners?” He looked inquiringly at Dustfinger.

“No. No, I don’t think so. Have you heard anything about the other captives? Meggie’s mother is among them.” It gave Meggie a pang that Dustfinger, and not she, had been the one to ask about Resa.

“No, I don’t know anything about the others,” replied the Barn Owl. “But now you must excuse me. I am sure Bella’s already told you that you had better keep to this part of the building. The Adderhead is spending more and more of his silver on informers. No place in Argenta is safe from them, not even this one.”

“I know.” Dustfinger picked up one of the books lying on the Barn Owl’s table. It was an herbal.

Meggie could imagine how Elinor would have looked at it – full of longing to own it – and Mo would have run a finger over the painted pages as if he could feel the brush that had conjured up the fine lines of the pictures on paper. But what was Dustfinger thinking of? The herbs in Roxane’s fields? “Believe me, I wouldn’t have come here but for what happened at the mill,” he said. “No one would want to bring danger to this place, but we’ll be gone again this very day.”

However, the Barn Owl wouldn’t hear of it. “Nonsense, you must stay until your leg and the boy’s fingers are better,” he said. “You know how glad I am you came. And I’m glad you have the boy with you, too. Did you know,” he asked, turning to Farid, “he’s never had a pupil before? I was always telling him that a master must pass on his art, but he wouldn’t listen to me. I pass mine on to many, and that’s why I must leave you now. I have to show a pupil how to cut off a foot without killing the man it’s attached to.”

Farid stared at him, horrified. “Cut it off?” he whispered.

“How do you mean, cut it off?” But the Barn Owl had already closed the door behind him.

“Didn’t I tell you?” said Dustfinger, feeling his injured thigh. “The Barn Owl is a first-class sawbones. But I think we’ll be allowed to keep our own fingers and feet.”

After Bella had treated Farid’s blisters and Dustfinger’s leg, she took them to a remote room, close to the door through which they had entered the building. Meggie liked the prospect of sleeping under a roof again, but Farid was not at all comfortable with the idea. Looking unhappy, he squatted on the lavender strewn floor, chewing one of the bitter leaves with determination.

“Can’t we sleep on the beach tonight? I should think the sand would be nice and soft,” he asked Dustfinger, who was stretching out on one of the straw mattresses. “Or in the forest?”

“If you like,” replied Dustfinger. “But let me sleep now. And stop looking as if I’d brought you among cannibals, or I won’t show you what I promised tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” Farid spat out the leaf into his hand. “Why not tonight?”

“Because it’s too windy now,” said Dustfinger, turning his back on him, “and because my damn leg hurts. . Do you need any more reasons?”

Remorsefully, Farid shook his head, put the leaf back in his mouth, and stared at the door as if Death in person might walk in any moment. But Meggie just sat there in the bare room, repeating to herself, over and over, what the Barn Owl had said about Mo: He’s doing well – much better, anyway, than we let the Adderhead know. . At the moment there really is nothing for you to worry about.