They had no answer to that.
‘Elinor, please, we need someone to stay with our things!’
‘Our things? You mean Dustfinger’s dirty rucksack?’ She was so angry she had kicked it. How clever they’d thought themselves, but their disguise had done them no good! Who had recognised them? Basta, Flatnose, the man with the limp? ‘We’ll be back by dawn, Elinor, with Meggie,’ Mo had said. Liar! She could tell from his voice that he didn’t believe it himself. Elinor stumbled over a tree root, grabbed at something prickly, and fell to her knees sobbing. Murderers! Murderers and fire-raisers. What had she to do with people like that? She should have known better when Mortimer suddenly turned up at her door, asking her to hide the book. Why hadn’t she just said no? Hadn’t she thought instantly that the matchstick-eater looked like someone with the word trouble written all over him in red? But the book – ah, the book. Of course she hadn’t been able to resist the book.
They took that stinking marten with them, she thought as she picked herself up again, but not me. And now they’re dead. ‘Let’s go to the police!’ How often she’d said that! But Mortimer had always given the same answer. ‘No, Elinor, Capricorn would get Meggie well out of the way as soon as the first police officer set foot in the village. And believe me, Basta’s knife is faster than all the police in the world.’ As he spoke she had seen that little frown above his nose, and she knew him well enough to know what it meant.
What was she going to do? She was alone, after all.
Don’t make such a fuss, Elinor, she told herself. You’ve always been alone, remember. Now, use your head. Whatever’s happened to her father, you must help the girl – get her out of this thrice-accursed village. There’s no one left but you to do it. If you don’t, she’ll end up as one of those timid maidservants who scarcely dare to raise their heads and whose only purpose is to clean and cook for their ghastly master. Perhaps she’ll be allowed to read aloud to Capricorn now and then, when he feels like it, and then, when she’s older … she’s a pretty little thing. Elinor felt sick. ‘I need a shotgun,’ she whispered, ‘or a knife, a big sharp knife. I’ll slip into Capricorn’s house with it. Who’s going to recognise me in this unspeakable dress?’ Mortimer had always thought she couldn’t cope with the world except between the covers of a book, but she’d show him!
Just how will you do that? asked the little whispering voice inside. He’s gone, Elinor, gone like your books.
She wept, so loudly that she alarmed even herself and put a hand to her mouth. A twig cracked under her feet, and the light went out behind one of the windows in Capricorn’s village. She had been right. The world was a terrible place, cruel, pitiless, dark as a bad dream. Not a good place to live in. Only in books could you find pity, comfort, happiness – and love. Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn’t ask anything in return, they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly. Love, truth, beauty, wisdom and consolation against death. Who had said that? Someone else who loved books, she couldn’t remember the author’s name, only the words. Words are immortal – until someone comes along and burns them.
She stumbled on, getting closer all the time. Pale light seeped from Capricorn’s village, like milky water running into the night. Three of the murderers were standing among the vehicles in the car park with their heads together. ‘Talk away!’ whispered Elinor. ‘Boast, why don’t you, with your bloodstained fingers and black hearts – you’ll be sorry yet for killing them.’ Would it be better to go down straight away or wait until daylight? Both were mad ideas; she wouldn’t get beyond the third house in the village. One of the three men looked round, and for a moment Elinor thought he could see her. She scrambled back, slipped, and grabbed at a branch before she lost her footing again. Then came a rustling behind her, and a hand covered her mouth before she could look round. She wanted to scream, but the fingers were pressing so hard on her lips that she couldn’t utter a sound.
‘So here you are. Any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?’
It couldn’t be true. She had been so sure she would never hear that voice again.
‘Mortimer!’