Inkdeath (Inkworld #3)

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"Let go of me, Chunk!" Farid drove his elbows into Oss’ s stomach and tugged at his hands. "Dustfinger will turn his fire on you!" he shouted. "That’s what he’ll do, the moment he hears you two didn’t let me go to him at once!"

"Really?" Orpheus blew wine-laden breath into his face again. "I’m more inclined to think he’ll be grateful to me — or do you suppose he’d like you to bring him to his death again, you illomened brat? I warned him about you once before. He wouldn’t listen to me then, but he’ll have learned better now, believe you me. If I had the book you came from here, I’d have read you back into your own story long ago, but sad to say it’s out of print in this world.

Orpheus laughed. He liked to laugh at his own jokes. "Lock him in the cellar," he told the Chunk, "and as soon as it’s dark you can take him out to the hill where the gallows stand and wring his neck. No one will notice a few bones more or less up there."

Jasper put his hands over his eyes when Oss picked up Farid and threw him over his shoulder. Farid shouted and kicked, but the Chunk hit him in the face so hard that he almost lost consciousness.

"The Bluejay! The Bluejay1 I sent him to the White Women! I did it!" he heard Orpheus’s voice ringing down the stairs after them. "So why, by the Devil’s tail, didn’t Death keep him? Didn’t I make that high-minded idiot sound tempting enough with the finest words I could write?"

At the bottom of the stairs Farid made another attempt to free himself, but Oss hit him in the face again so hard that blood ran from his nose, and then shifted him to his other shoulder. A maid, alarmed, stuck her face out of the kitchen doorway as he carried Farid past — it was the little brown-haired girl who was always making eyes at him, but she didn’t help him. How could she?

"Get out!" was all Oss growled at her before dragging Farid down to the cellar. He tied him to one of the pillars supporting Orpheus’s house, stuffed a dirty rag into his mouth, and left him alone, but not without giving him another vigorous kick first.

"See you later, when it’s dark!" he grunted before trudging back upstairs, and Farid was left behind with the cold stone at his back and the taste of his own tears in his mouth.

It hurt so much to know that Dustfinger was back and all the same he would never see him again. But that’s how it will be, Farid, he told himself. And, who knows, maybe Cheeseface is right. Perhaps you’d only bring him to his death again!

His tears burned his face, so sore from Oss’s blows. If only he could have called up fire to consume Orpheus, complete with his house and the Chunk, even if it meant that he, too, would burn! But he couldn’t move his hands, and his tongue could not conjure up a word of fire, so he just crouched there sobbing, as he had sobbed on the night of Dustfinger’s death, waiting for evening to come and Oss to fetch him and wring his neck, under the same gallows where he had dug up silver for Orpheus.

Luckily, the marten had gone. Oss would certainly have killed him, too. But presumably Jink had found his way to Dustfinger long ago. The marten would have sensed that he was back. Why didn’t you sense it yourself, Farid? he wondered.

Never mind, at least Jink was safe. But what would become of Jasper if he couldn’t protect him anymore? Orpheus had often shut the glass man up in a drawer without any light or sand, just for cutting paper clumsily or splashing ink on his master’s sleeve!

"Dustfinger!" It did him good at least to try whispering the name and know he was alive. How often Farid had imagined what it would be like to see him again. Longing made him tremble as if he were shaken by a fever. Which of the martens had jumped on Dustfingers shoulder first to lick his scarred face, he wondered, Gwin or Jink?

The hours went by, and after a while Farid managed to spit out the gag. He tried gnawing through the rope that Oss had used to tie him up, but even a mouse could have done better. Would they look for him when he was lying dead and buried on Gallows Hill? Dustfinger, Silvertongue, Meggie . . oh, Meggie. He would never kiss her again. Not that he’d done that so very often recently. All the same . . . that bastard Cheeseface! Farid called down every curse he could remember on him curses from this world, his own world, and the one where he had met Dustfinger. He shouted them all out loud, because that was the only way they worked — and fell silent in alarm when he heard the cellar door above him opening.

Was it evening already? Probably. How could anyone tell in this damp, moldy hole?

Would Oss break his neck like a rabbit’s or simply press his fat hands down over his mouth until he couldn’t breathe anymore? Don’t think about it, Farid, you’ll find out soon enough. He pressed his back against the pillar. Perhaps he could at least kick Oss’s nose in. A well-aimed kick at that stupid face when he was taking off Farid’s bonds, and it would break like a dry twig. He desperately braced himself against the rough rope, but unfortunately Oss was good at tying people up. Meggie! Can’t you send a few words to save me as you did for your father? Fear was making his arms and legs weak. He listened to the footsteps coming down the stairs. They were surprisingly quiet for the Chunk. And suddenly two martens scurried toward him.

"By all the fairies, that moonfaced fellow really has been making money," a voice whispered in the darkness. "What a grand house!" A flame began dancing, then a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth . . . five flames, just bright enough to light up Dustfinger’s face — and Jasper sitting on his shoulder with a shy smile.

Dustfinger.

Farid’s heart felt so light that he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had simply floated out of him. But what had happened to Dustfinger’s face? It looked different. As if all the years had been washed away, all the sad, lonely years, and— "Your scars —

they’re gone!"

Farid could only whisper. Happiness muted his words like cotton wool. Jink jumped up to him and licked his bound hands.

"Yes, and would you believe it — I think Roxane misses them." Dustfinger reached the bottom step of the stairs and kneeled down beside him. From above, agitated voices came down to them.

Drawing a knife from his belt, Dustfinger cut through Farid’s bonds. "Hear that? I’m afraid Orpheus is about to find out he has a visitor."

Farid rubbed his numb wrists. He couldn’t take his eyes off Dustfinger. Suppose he was only a ghost after all — or even worse, nothing but a dream? But then would Farid have felt his warmth and the beating of his heart when he leaned over him? No more of the dreadful silence that had surrounded Dustfinger in the mine. And he smelled of fire.

The Bluejay had brought him back. Yes, it must have been him. Whatever Orpheus said. Oh, he’d write his name in fire on the city walls of Ombra — Silvertongue, Bluejay, whichever name he liked! Farid put out his hand and timidly touched Dustfinger’s face, so familiar and yet so strange.

Dustfinger laughed quietly and raised him to his feet. "What is it? Do you want to make sure I’m not a ghost? I expect you re still afraid of them, aren’t you? Suppose I was a ghost?"

By way of answer Farid flung his arms around him so impetuously that Jasper, with a sharp little scream, slid off Dustfinger’s shoulder. Luckily, he caught the glass man before Gwin did.