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  put the horse’s reins over its head.

  ‘What are you doing?’ The Black Prince stopped behind him, the bear at his side.

  ‘I have to go to Ombra.’

  ‘Ombra?’ The Prince gently moved Meggie aside and reached for the reins.

  What was he to say to him? Prince, my wife wants Fenoglio to write words that will make me disappear before your eyes, words that will turn the Bluejay back to what he once was – nothing but an old man’s invention, vanishing as suddenly as he appeared?

  ‘This is suicide. You’re not immortal, whatever the songs say. This is real life. Don’t forget that.’

  Real life. What’s that, Prince?

  ‘Resa has ridden to Ombra. She set out hours ago. She’s alone, and it’s night. I must go after her.’

  … and find out if the words have already been written. Written and read aloud.

  ‘But the Piper’s there. Are you going to make him a present of yourself? Let me send some men after her.’

  ‘Which men? They’re all drunk.’

  Mo listened to the night air. He thought he could already hear the words that would send him back – words as powerful as those that had once protected him from the White Women. Above him the withering foliage rustled in the wind, and the drunken voices of the robbers by the fire came to him. The air smelt of resin, autumn leaves and the fragrant moss that grew in Fenoglio’s forest. Even in winter it was still covered with tiny white flowers that tasted like honey if you crushed them in your fingers. I don’t want to go back, Resa.

  A wolf howled in the mountains. Meggie turned her head in alarm. She was afraid of wolves, like her mother. I hope she stayed in Ombra, thought Mo. Even if that means I have to pass the guards. Let’s go back, Mo. Please!

  He swung himself up on the horse. Before he could stop her, Meggie was up there too, sitting behind him. As determined as her mother … she put her arms around him so firmly that he didn’t even try to persuade her to stay behind.

  ‘Do you see that, bear?’ asked the Prince. ‘Do you know what it means? It means there’ll soon be a new song – about the Bluejay’s sheer pig-headedness, and how the Black Prince sometimes has to protect him from himself.’

  There were still two men sober enough to ride. Doria came too, getting up behind the Prince on his horse without a word. He wore a sword that was too large for him, but he could handle it well, and he was as fearless as Farid. They would be in Ombra before it was light, although the moon now stood high in the sky.

  But words were so much faster than any horse.

  18

  A Dangerous Ally

  All day long he was docile, intelligent, good

  Though sometimes changing to a darker mood

  He seemed hypocritical, could tell bitter lies,

  In the dark he saw dots of colour behind closed eyes,

  Clenched his fists, put his tongue out at his elder brother …

  Arthur Rimbaud,

  The Poet at Seven Years Old

  When Resa arrived Farid had just taken Orpheus his second bottle of wine. Cheeseface was celebrating. He was drinking to himself and his genius, as he called it. ‘A unicorn! A perfect unicorn, snorting, pawing the ground with its hooves, ready to put its silly head in a virgin’s lap any time! Why do you think there weren’t any unicorns in this world, Oss? Because Fenoglio couldn’t write them! Fluttering fairies, hairy brownies, glass men, yes, but no unicorns.’

  Farid would happily have tipped the wine over Orpheus’s white shirt to make it as red as the coat of the unicorn. The unicorn brought into this world by Orpheus only for the Milksop to kill it. Farid had seen it. He had been on the way to Orpheus’s tailor to get yet another pair of trousers that had become too tight for Cheeseface altered. When they carried the unicorn by, he had felt so sick at the sight of those dull eyes that he had to sit down in a doorway. Murderer. Farid had been listening when Orpheus read the words that had brought it to life, such beautiful words that he had stood as if rooted to the spot outside the study door. It came through the trees, white as wild jasmine flowers. And the fairies danced around it in dense swarms, as if they had been waiting, full of longing, for its arrival.

  Orpheus’s voice had shown Farid the horn, the waving mane, had made him hear the unicorn snorting and scraping at the frozen grass with its hooves. For three whole days he had actually thought it might have been a good idea after all to bring Orpheus here. Three days, if he had counted them correctly – that was as long as the unicorn lived before the Milksop’s hounds chased it onto the huntsmen’s spears. Or was the tale Brianna told down in the kitchen the true version: that one of Sootbird’s lovers had lured it to them with her smile?

  Oss opened the door to Resa. When Farid looked past him, wondering who was knocking at such a late hour, he thought at first that the pale face emerging from the darkness was Meggie’s. She looked so like her mother now.

  ‘Is Orpheus at home?’

  Resa spoke in a low voice, as if ashamed of every word she said, and when she saw Farid behind the Chunk she lowered her head like a child caught in the act of doing something forbidden.

  What did she want with Cheeseface?

  ‘Please tell him that Silvertongue’s wife has to speak to him.’

  When Oss showed her into the entrance hall Resa gave Farid a fleeting smile, but she avoided looking directly at him. Without a word, the Chunk indicated that she was to wait there, and stomped up the stairs. Resa’s averted face told Farid that she wasn’t going to tell him the reason for her visit, so he followed Oss, hoping to hear more in Orpheus’s room.

  Cheeseface was not alone when his bodyguard told him about his late-night visitor. There were three girls with Orpheus, none of them much older than Meggie, and they had been cooing at him for hours, telling him how clever, important and irresistible he was. The oldest was sitting on his plump knees, and Orpheus was kissing and fondling her so grossly that Farid would have liked to strike his fingers away. He was always being sent out to bring Orpheus the prettiest girls in Ombra. ‘What are you making such a fuss about?’ he had snapped, when Farid had at first refused to serve him in such a way. ‘They inspire me. Haven’t you ever heard of Muses? Off you go, or I’ll never find the words you want so much!’ So Farid obeyed him and took the girls who looked at him in the streets and the marketplace to Orpheus’s house. And many of them did look at Farid; after all, nearly all the older boys in Ombra were either dead or served Violante. Most of them would go anywhere Farid took them for a few coins. They all had hungry brothers and sisters and mothers who needed the money. Some just wanted to be able to buy a new dress again.

  ‘Silvertongue’s wife?’ You could tell from Orpheus’s voice that he had already put away a whole bottle of heavy red wine, but his eyes still looked surprisingly clear through his thick glasses. One of the girls touched the glasses with her finger, as cautiously as if she were afraid that doing so might turn her into glass herself on the spot.

  ‘Interesting. Bring her in. And you three, be off with you.’

  Orpheus pushed the girl off his knees and smoothed his clothes down. Conceited bullfrog! Farid thought, pretending to have difficulty with the cork in the new wine bottle so that Orpheus wouldn’t send him out of the room.

  When Oss showed Resa in, the three girls hurried past her as if their mothers had caught them on Orpheus’s lap.

  ‘Well, what a surprise! Do sit down!’ Orpheus waved to one of the chairs that had been specially made with his initials on them, and raised his eyebrows to express his surprise even further. He had rehearsed this little move, and that wasn’t the only one. Farid had often found Orpheus practising facial expressions in front of his mirror.

  Oss closed the door, and Resa sat down hesitantly, as if not sure whether she really wanted to stay.

  ‘I hope you didn’t come alone!’ Orpheus sat down at his desk and observed his guest like a spider studying a fly. ‘Ombra isn’t the safest place by night, particularly not for a w
oman.’

  ‘I have to speak to you.’ Resa still kept her voice very low. ‘Alone,’ she added, with a sideways glance at Farid.

  ‘Farid!’ said Orpheus, without looking at him. ‘Get out. And take Jasper with you. He’s spattered himself with ink again. Wash him.’

  Farid bit back the curse that was on the tip of his tongue, put the glass man on his shoulder and went to the door. Resa lowered her head as he passed her, and he saw that her fingers were shaking as she smoothed out her plain skirt. What was she doing here?

  As usual, Oss tried to trip him up outside the door, but Farid was used to such practical jokes now. He had even found a way to get his revenge for them. A smile from him, and the maids in the kitchen would see to it that the Chunk’s next meal disagreed with him. Farid’s smile was so much more attractive than Oss’s.

  All the same, he had to abandon any hope of listening at the door. Oss planted himself in front of it with a nasty smile. But Farid knew another place where the goings-on in Orpheus’s study could be overheard. The maids said the wife of the previous owner of the house had liked to spy on her husband from this vantage point.

  Jasper glanced at Farid in alarm when, instead of taking him down to the kitchen, he made for the stairs to the next floor. However, Oss suspected nothing, since Farid often had to fetch Orpheus a clean shirt or polish his boots. Orpheus’s clothes had a room of their own, right beside his bedroom, and the spyhole was under the rails where his shirts hung. They smelt so strongly of roses and violets that Farid felt quite sick when he knelt down under them. One of the maids had shown him the hole in the floor when she had enticed him into the dressing room for a kiss. It was no bigger than a coin, but put your ear to it and you could hear every word spoken in the study downstairs, while if you looked through it with one eye you could see Orpheus’s desk.

  ‘Can I do it?’ Orpheus was laughing as if he had never heard a more absurd question. ‘There’s no doubt about that! But my words have their price, and they don’t come cheap.’

  ‘I know.’ Resa’s voice still faltered as if she hated every word she spoke. ‘I don’t have silver like the Milksop, but I can work for you.’

  ‘Work? Oh no, thank you very much, I’m not short of maidservants.’

  ‘Do you want my wedding ring? It must be worth something. Gold is rare in Ombra.’

  ‘No, keep it. I’m not short of gold and silver either. But there’s something else …’ Orpheus gave a little laugh. Farid knew that laugh. It boded no good.

  ‘It really is quite amazing how things sometimes turn out!’ Orpheus went on. ‘It certainly is. I might say you’re the very person I need.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Of course not. Forgive me. I’ll put it more clearly. Your husband – I don’t know just what name to give him, he has such a vast number of them, but however that may be,’ laughed Orpheus again as if he had made a joke that only he could appreciate, ‘your husband met the White Women not so long ago, and I confess I had something to do with that. It’s said he has felt their fingers on his heart already, but unfortunately he won’t talk to me about this remarkable experience.’

  ‘What does that have to do with my request?’

  It struck Farid for the first time how like Meggie’s voice her mother’s was. The same pride, the same vulnerability carefully hidden behind it.

  ‘Well, I’m sure you remember that scarcely two months ago, on Mount Adder, I swore to bring a mutual friend of ours back from the dead.’

  Farid’s heart began to beat so violently that he was afraid Orpheus might hear it.

  ‘I’m still determined to keep my promise, but unfortunately I’ve discovered that it’s as difficult to find out what game Death is playing in this world as in ours. No one knows anything, no one’s saying anything, and the White Women themselves – no doubt rightly called the daughters of Death – won’t appear to me, wherever I look for them. Obviously they don’t talk to any reasonably healthy mortal, even one with such extraordinary abilities as mine! I’m sure you’ve heard about the unicorn, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes. In fact, I saw it.’ Did Orpheus hear the abhorrence in Resa’s voice? If so, even that probably made him feel flattered.

  Farid felt Jasper nervously digging his glass fingers into his shoulder. He’d almost forgotten the glass man. Jasper was scared to death of Orpheus, even more scared than he was of his big brother. Farid put him down on the dusty floor and laid a warning finger on his lips.

  ‘It was immaculate,’ Orpheus went on in self-satisfied tones, ‘absolutely immaculate … well, anyway, to return to the daughters of Death. It’s said that they don’t take it kindly when someone slips through their fingers. They follow such mortals into their dreams, wake them from sleep by whispering to them, even appear to them when they’re awake. Has Mortimer been sleeping badly since he escaped the White Women?’

  ‘What’s the point of all these questions?’ Resa sounded annoyed – and afraid.

  ‘Is he sleeping badly?’ Orpheus repeated. ‘Yes.’ Her reply was barely audible.

  ‘Good! Very good! What am I saying? Excellent!’ Orpheus’s voice was so loud that Farid involuntarily took his ear away from the hole in the floor. He hastily pressed it in place again. ‘In that case, then perhaps what I heard only recently about those pale ladies is true – and we come to the matter of my fee!’

  Orpheus sounded very excited, but this time it didn’t seem to have anything to do with the prospect of silver.

  ‘There’s a rumour – and rumours, as I am sure you know, often contain a kernel of truth in both this and any other world,’ said Orpheus, speaking in a velvety voice, as if to make it easy for Resa to swallow every word, ‘there’s a rumour that those whose hearts the White Women have touched,’ – here he inserted a little pause for effect – ‘can summon them at any time. No fire is needed, such as Dustfinger used, no fear of death, only a voice that’s familiar to them, a heartbeat known to their fingers … and they’ll appear! I expect by now you can guess what payment I want? In return for the words I write you, I want your husband to call the White Women for me. So that I can ask them about Dustfinger.’

  Farid held his breath. It was as if he had heard the Devil in person bargaining. He didn’t know what to think or feel. Indignation, hope, fear, joy … he felt them all at once. But in the end one idea blotted out all the others: Orpheus wants to bring him back! He really is trying to bring Dustfinger back!

  Down in the study there was such deathly silence that finally Farid put his eye, rather than his ear, to the spyhole. But all he could see was the careful parting in Orpheus’s pale fair hair. Jasper knelt beside him, looking anxious.

  ‘The best place for him to try it is probably a graveyard.’ Orpheus sounded as confident as if Resa had already agreed to the deal. ‘If the White Women really do show themselves, they’ll attract less attention there – and the strolling players could make up a very moving song about this latest Bluejay adventure.’

  ‘You’re abominable, just as abominable as Mo says!’ Resa’s voice was trembling.

  ‘Ah, does he indeed? Well, I take that as a compliment. And do you know what? I think he’ll be glad to summon them! As I was saying, a fine heroic song could be written about it all. A song praising his courage to the skies, celebrating the magic of his voice.’

  ‘Call them yourself if you want to talk to them.’

  ‘Sad to say, that’s what I can’t do. I thought I’d made that clear enough, so …’

  Farid heard the door slam. Resa was going! He picked up Jasper, made his way out through Orpheus’s clothes, and ran downstairs. Oss was so surprised when he shot past that he even forgot to put out a leg to trip him. Resa was already in the hall. Brianna was just giving her her cloak.

  ‘Please!’ Farid barred Resa’s way to the door, ignoring both Brianna’s hostile glance and Jasper’s cry of alarm as he almost slipped off the boy’s shoulder. ‘Please! Perhaps Silvertongue really can s
ummon them. Just get him to call them up, and then Orpheus can ask them how to get Dustfinger back! You want him to come back too, don’t you? He protected you from Capricorn. He stole into the dungeons of the Castle of Night for you. His fire saved you all when Basta was lying in wait for you on Mount Adder!’

  Basta … on Mount Adder … for a moment the recollection silenced Farid as if Death had laid hands on him again. But then he went on, faltering, although Resa’s face remained as cold as ice. ‘Please! I mean, it’s not like when Silvertongue was wounded … and even then they couldn’t do him any harm! He is the Bluejay!’

  Brianna was staring at Farid as if he had lost his mind. Like everyone else, she thought Dustfinger was gone for ever. Farid could have hit them all for thinking so!

  ‘It was wrong of me to come here.’ Resa tried to push him aside, but Farid thrust her hands away.

  ‘He only has to call them up!’ he shouted at her. ‘Ask him!’

  But Resa pushed him out of her way again, so roughly this time that he stumbled against the wall and the glass man clung to his shirt. ‘If you tell Mo I was here,’ she said, ‘I’ll swear you were lying!’

  She was already in the doorway when Orpheus’s voice halted her. No doubt he had been standing at the top of the stairs for some time, waiting to see what would come of the quarrel. Oss stood behind him with the stolid expression that he always wore when he didn’t understand what was going on.

  ‘Let her go. She very obviously doesn’t want to let anyone help her.’ Every word Orpheus spoke dripped contempt. ‘Your husband will die in this story. You know that, or you wouldn’t have come here. Maybe Fenoglio even wrote the right song about it himself before he ran out of words. “The Bluejay’s Death”, touching and very dramatic, heroic as befits such a character, but it certainly won’t end with and they lived happily ever after. Be that as it may – the Piper struck up the first verse of the real song today. And, clever as he is, he wove a noose out of maternal love to put around your high-minded robber’s neck. Is there any deadlier rope? Your husband will certainly walk straight into the trap in the most heroic way imaginable; he’s playing the part Fenoglio created for him so enthusiastically, and his death will be the subject of another very impressive song. But I hope that when his head’s on a spike above the castle gates you’ll remember I could have kept him alive.’

  The voice in which Orpheus said this conjured up the picture he described so clearly that Farid thought he could see Silvertongue’s blood trickling down the castle walls while Resa stood in the doorway with her head bent, as if Orpheus’s words had broken her own neck.

  For a moment Fenoglio’s whole story seemed to hold its breath again.

  Then Resa raised her head and looked at Orpheus.