“Yes, yes, not another word,” muttered Fenoglio. “But don’t blame me if the boy picks up one of the songs about him from somewhere. Everyone’s singing them.”
Meggie had no idea what they were talking about, but in her mind she was already up at the castle, anyway. Resa had told her that the birds’ nests clustered together on its walls so thickly that sometimes the twittering drowned out the minstrels’ songs. And fairies nested there, too, she said, fairies who were pale gray like the stone of the castle walls because they often nibbled human food, instead of living on flowers and fruits like their sisters in the wild. And there were said to be trees in the Inner Courtyard of the castle that grew nowhere else except in the very heart of the Way less Wood, trees with leaves that murmured in the wind like a chorus of human voices and foretold the future on moonless nights – but in a language that no one could understand. “Would you like anything else to eat?”
Meggie started and came down to earth again.
“Inky infernos!” Fenoglio rose and handed the baby back to Minerva. “Do you want to fatten her up until she fits into that dress? We must be off, or we’ll miss half of it. The prince has asked me to bring him the new song before midday, and you know he doesn’t like people to be late.”
“No, I don’t know any such thing,” replied Minerva grumpily, as Fenoglio propelled Meggie toward the door. “Because I don’t go in and out of the castle the way you do. What does our fine prince want from you this time – another lament?” “Yes, I’ve had enough of them, too, but he pays well. Would you rather I was penniless and you had to look for a new lodger?” “Very well, very well,” grumbled Minerva, clearing the children’s empty bowls off the table. “I tell you what, though: This prince of ours will sigh and lament himself to death, and then the Adderhead will send his men-at-arms. They’ll settle here like flies on fresh horse dung, on the excuse of just wanting to protect their master’s poor fatherless grandson.”
Fenoglio turned so abruptly that he almost sent Meggie flying. “No, Minerva. No!” he said firmly.
“That won’t happen. Not as long as I live – which I hope will be a very long time yet!”
“Oh yes?” Minerva removed her son’s fingers from the tub of butter. “And how are you going to prevent it? With your robber songs? Do you think some fool with a feathered mask, playing the hero because he’s listened to your songs too often, can keep the men-at-arms away from our city? Heroes end up on the gallows, Fenoglio,” she continued, lowering her voice, and Meggie could hear the fear behind her mockery. “It may be different in your songs, but in real life princes hang them, and the finest of words don’t change that.”
The two children looked uneasily at their mother, and Minerva stroked their hair as if that would wipe away her own words. But Fenoglio merely shrugged. “Oh, come on, you see everything in such dismal hues!” he said. “You underestimate the power of words, believe me!
They are strong, stronger than you think. Ask Meggie!”
But before Minerva could do just that, he was pushing Meggie out of the house. “Ivo, Despina, do you want to come?” he called to the children. “I’ll bring them home safe and sound. I always do!”
he added, as Minerva’s anxious face appeared in the doorway. “The best entertainers far and wide will be at the castle today. They’ll have come from very far away. Your two can’t miss this chance!”
As soon as they stepped out of the alley, they were caught up in the crowd streaming along.
People came thronging up from all sides: shabbily dressed peasants, beggars, women with children, and men whose wealth showed not only in the magnificence of their embroidered sleeves but most of all in the servants who roughly forced a path through the crowd for them.
Riders drove their horses through the throng without a thought for those they pushed against the walls, litters were jammed in the crush of bodies, however angrily the litter-bearers cursed and shouted. “Devil take it, this is worse than a market day!” Fenoglio shouted to Meggie above the heads around them. Ivo darted through the crowd, quick as a herring in the sea, but Despina looked so alarmed that Fenoglio finally put her up on his shoulders before she was squashed between baskets and people’s bellies. Meggie felt her own heart beat faster, what with all the confusion, the pushing and shoving, the thousands of smells and the voices filling the air.
“Look around you, Meggie! Isn’t it wonderful?” cried Fenoglio proudly.
It was indeed. It was just as Meggie had imagined it on all those evenings when Resa had told her about the Inkworld. Her senses were quite dazed. Eyes, ears .. they could scarcely take in a tenth of all that was going on around her. Music came from somewhere: trumpets, jingles, drums ..
and then the street widened, spewing her and all the others out in front of the castle walls. They towered among the other buildings, tall and massive, as if they had been built by men larger than those now flocking to the gateway. Armed guards stood in front of the gate, with their helmets reflecting the pale morning light. Their cloaks were dark green, like the tunics they wore over their coats of mail.
Both bore the emblem of the Laughing Prince. Resa had described it to Meggie: a lion on a green background, surrounded by white roses – but it had changed. The lion wept silver tears now, and the roses twined around a broken heart.
The guards let most of the crowd pass, only occasionally barring someone’s way with the shaft of a spear or a mailed fist. No one seemed troubled by that, they went on pressing in, and Meggie, too, finally found herself in the shadow of those foot wide walls. Of course she had been in castles before, with Mo, but it felt quite different to be going in past guards armed with spears instead of a kiosk selling picture postcards. The walls seemed so much more threatening and forbidding. Look, they seemed to say, see how small you all are, how powerless and fragile.
Fenoglio appeared to feel none of this; he was beaming like a child at Christmas. He ignored both the portcullis above their heads and the slits through which hot pitch could be tipped out on the heads of uninvited guests. Meggie, on the contrary, instinctively looked up as they passed and wondered why the traces of pitch on the weathered stone looked so fresh. But finally the open sky was above her again, clear and blue, as if it had been swept clean for the princely birthday –
and Meggie was in the Outer Courtyard of Ombra Castle.
Chapter 20 – Visitors from the Wrong Side of the Forest
Darkness always had its part to play. Without it, how would we know when we walked in the light? It’s only when its ambitions become too grandiose that it must be opposed, disciplined, sometimes – if necessary – brought down for a time. Then it will rise again, as it must.
– Clive Barker, Abarat
First of all Meggie looked for the birds’ nests that Resa had described, and sure enough, there they were, clinging just below the battlements like blisters on the walls. Birds with yellow breasts shot out of the entrance holes. Like flakes of gold dancing in the sun, Resa had said, and she was right. The sky above Meggie seemed to be covered with swirling gold, all in honor of the princely birthday. More and more people surged through the gateway, although there was already a milling crowd in the courtyard. Stalls had been set up within the walls, in front of the stables and the huts where the blacksmiths, grooms, and everyone else employed in the castle lived and worked. Today, as the prince was inviting his subjects to celebrate with him the birthday of his grandson and royal heir, food and drink was free.
