Oh yes, Snapper? thought Mo. Suppose I were to tell you that the Bluejay was really made up by a writer just like you?
How furtively they were all looking at him.
“We must get away from here,” said the Prince into the silence. “They’re combing the forest all the way down to the sea. They’ve already found two of our hiding places and smoked them out –
they haven’t yet come upon the mine, but only because they don’t expect us to be so close to their own back door.” The bear grunted, as if amused by the stupidity of the men-at-arms. The gray muzzle in the furry black face, the clever little amber eyes – Mo had liked the bear even in the book, although he had imagined him slightly larger. “Tonight half of us will take the injured to the Badger’s Earth,” the Black Prince continued, “and the others will go to Ombra with me and Roxane.”
“And where does he go?” Snapper was looking at Mo. Then they all looked at him. Mo felt as if their eyes were fingering his skin. Eyes full of hope, but what for? What had they heard about him? Were people already telling stories about what had happened at the Castle of Night, about the book full of blank pages and Firefox’s death?
“He has to get away from here, what else do you think? A long way away!” The Prince picked a dead leaf out of the bear’s coat. “The Adderhead will be looking for him, even though he’s spreading word everywhere that Mortola was responsible for the attack in the forest.” He nodded to a thin boy, at least a head shorter than Meggie, who was standing among the men.
“Tell us again what the crier announced in your village.”
” This, ” began the boy in a hesitant voice, ” this is the Adderhead’s promise: If the Bluejay ever ventures to show his face in Argenta again, he will die the slowest death that the executioners of the Castle of Night have ever given anyone. And the man who brings him in will be rewarded with the Bluejay’s weight in silver. ”
“Better start starving yourself, then, Bluejay,” mocked Snapper, but none of the others laughed.
“Did you really make him immortal?” It was the boy who asked this question.
Snapper laughed out loud. “Listen to the lad! I expect you think the Prince can fly, too, eh?”
But the boy took no notice of him. He was still looking at Mo. “They say you yourself can’t die,”
he said in a low voice. “They say you made yourself a book like that, too, a book of white pages with your death held captive in it.”
Mo had to smile. Meggie had so often looked at him wide-eyed, just like that. Is it a true story, Mo? Come on, tell me! They were all waiting for his answer, even the Black Prince. He saw it in their faces.
“Oh, I can die all right,” he said. “Believe me, I have come very close. As for the Adderhead, however – yes, I have made him immortal. But not for long.”
“What do you mean by that?” The smile had long since frozen on Snapper’s coarse-featured face.
Mo was looking not at him but at the Black Prince when he answered. “I mean that at present nothing can kill the Adderhead. No sword, no knife, no disease. The book I have bound for him protects him. But the same book will be his undoing, for he will have only a few weeks to enjoy it.”
“Why’s that?” It was the boy again.
Mo lowered his voice when he replied, just as he did when he was sharing a secret with Meggie.
“Oh, it’s not particularly difficult to ensure that a book doesn’t live long, you know. Particularly not for a bookbinder. And that’s my trade, although so many people seem to think differently.