“Well, be that as it may, one of them took me to Ombra, ragged and destitute as I was. But luckily I had a ring that I could sell. A goldsmith gave me enough for it to allow me to rent this room from Minerva, and all seemed to be going well. Very well indeed, in fact. I thought up stories, and stories about stories, better than any I’d made up for a long time. The words came pouring out of me, but when I’d only just made my name with the first songs I wrote for the Laughing Prince, when the strolling players had just begun to find that they liked my verses, Firefox goes and burns down a few farms by the river – and Cosimo the Fair sets out to put an end to Firefox and his gang once and for all. Good, I thought, why not? How was I to guess that he’d get himself killed? I had such plans for him! He was to be a truly great prince, a blessing to his subjects, and my story was going to give them a happy ending when he freed this world from the Adderhead.
But instead he gets himself killed by a band of fire-raisers in the Way less Wood!” Fenoglio sighed.
“At first his father wouldn’t believe he was dead. For Cosimo’s face was badly burned, like those of all the other dead who were brought back. The fire had done its work, but when months passed, and still he didn’t return .. ” Fenoglio sighed again, and once more looked in the chest where the moth-eaten robe lay. He handed Meggie two long, pale blue woollen stockings, a couple of leather straps, and a much-washed, dark blue dress. “I’m afraid this will be too big for you – it belongs to Minerva’s second daughter, and she’s the same size as her mother,” he said,
“but what you’re wearing now urgently needs a wash. You can keep the stockings up with those garters – not very comfortable, but you’ll get used to it. Good Lord, you really have grown, Meggie,” he said, turning his back to her as she changed her clothes. “Rosenquartz! You turn around, too!”
It was true that the dress didn’t fit particularly well, and Meggie suddenly felt almost glad that Fenoglio had no mirror. At home she had been studying her reflection quite often recently. It was odd to watch your own body changing, as if you were a butterfly coming out of its chrysalis.
“Ready?” asked Fenoglio, turning around. “Ah well, that’ll do, although such a pretty girl really deserves a prettier dress.” He looked down at himself and sighed. “I think I’d better stay as I am; at least this robe doesn’t have any holes in it. And what does it matter? The castle will be swarming with entertainers and fine folk today, so no one will take any notice of the two of us.”
“Two? What do you mean?” Rosenquartz put down the blade he had been using to sharpen a pen. “Aren’t you going to take me with you?”
“Are you crazy? Just for me to carry you back in pieces? No. Anyway, you’d have to listen to that bad poem I’m taking to the prince.”
Rosenquartz was still grumbling as Fenoglio closed the door behind them. The wooden staircase that Meggie had hardly been able to climb last night, exhausted as she was, led down to a yard surrounded by houses, with pigsties, woodsheds, and vegetable plots competing for what little space was left. A narrow little stream wound its way through the yard, two children were shooing a pig away from the vegetable beds, and a woman with a baby in her arms was feeding a flock of skinny hens.
“A wonderful morning, isn’t it, Minerva?” Fenoglio called to her, as Meggie hesitantly followed him down the last steep steps.
Minerva came to the foot of the stairs. A girl of perhaps six was clinging to her skirt and stared suspiciously at Meggie. She stopped, feeling unsure of herself. Perhaps they can see it, she thought, perhaps they can see I don’t belong here…
“Watch out!” the little girl called, but before Meggie realized what she meant, something was pulling her hair. The little girl threw a clod of earth, and a fairy fluttered away empty-handed, scolding crossly.
“Good heavens, where are you from?” asked Minerva, helping Meggie down from the steps.