Balbulus was grinding colors when they entered his workshop: blue for the sky, russet and umber for the earth. Violante whispered something to him. Presumably, she was softening him up. She pointed to the book that Brianna was carrying for her. “I’ll be off now, Your Highness,”
said Fenoglio.
“Yes, you can go!” she told him. “But next time you visit me don’t ask questions about my late husband; bring me one of the songs you write for the minstrels instead. I like them very much, particularly those songs about the robber, the man who makes my father so angry. What’s his name? Oh yes – the Bluejay!”
Fenoglio paled slightly under his sunburn. “How do you know I wrote those songs?”
Her Ugliness just laughed. “I’m the Adderhead’s daughter, have you forgotten? Of course I have my spies! They’re good, too! Are you afraid I’ll tell my father who wrote the songs? Don’t worry, we say only the bare minimum to each other. And he’s more interested in what the songs are about than in the man who wrote them. Although if I were you I’d stay this side of the forest for now!”
Fenoglio bowed, forcing a smile. “I shall take your advice to heart, Highness,” he said.
The door with brass letters on it latched heavily into place as Fenoglio pulled it shut. “Curse it!”
he muttered. “Curse it, curse it.”
“What’s the matter?” Meggie looked at him with concern. “Is it what she said about Cosimo?”
“No, nonsense! But if Violante knows who writes the songs about the Bluejay, then so does the Adderhead! He has many more spies than she does, and suppose he doesn’t keep to his own side of the forest much longer? Well, there’s still time to do something about it .. Meggie,” he whispered, as they went down the steep spiral staircase. “I told you I had a model for the Bluejay.
Do you want to guess who it was?” He looked expectantly at her.
“I like to base my characters on real people,” he whispered in conspiratorial tones. “Not every writer does that, but in my experience it makes them more lifelike. Facial expressions, gestures, the way someone walks, a voice, perhaps a birthmark or a scar – I steal something here, something there, and then they begin to breathe, until anyone hearing or reading about them thinks they can touch them! I didn’t have a wide choice for the Bluejay. My model couldn’t be too old, nor too young, either, and not fat or short, of course, heroes are never short, fat, or ugly – in real life, maybe, but never in stories .. no, the Bluejay had to be tall and good-looking, attractive to other people –”
Fenoglio fell silent. Footsteps were coming down the stairs, quick footsteps, and Brianna appeared on the massive steps above them.
“Excuse me,” she said and looked around guiltily, as if she had stolen away without her mistress’s knowledge. “That boy do you know who taught him to play with fire like that?” She looked at Fenoglio as if she wanted to hear the answer more than anything, and yet as if at the same time there was nothing she feared hearing more. “Do you know?” she asked again. “Do you know his name?”
“Dustfinger,” replied Meggie, speaking for Fenoglio. “Dustfinger taught him.” And only when she spoke the name for the second time did she realize who Brianna reminded her of, her face and the shimmer of her red hair.
Chapter 28 – The Wrong Words
If all you have of me is your red hair
and my wholehearted laughter
what else in me was good or ill may fare
like faded flowers drifting in the water.
– Paul Zech, after Francois Villon, “The Ballade of Little Florestan”
Dustfinger was just chasing Jink out of Roxane’s henhouse when Brianna came riding into the yard. The sight of her almost stopped his heart. The dress she wore made her look like a rich merchant’s daughter; since when did maidservants wear such clothes? And the horse she was riding didn’t suit this place, either, with its expensive harness, its gold-studded saddle, and the deep black coat that shone as if three grooms had spent all day brushing it. A soldier in the Laughing Prince’s livery rode with her. He scrutinized the simple house and the fields, his face expressionless. But Brianna looked at Dustfinger. She thrust out her chin just as her mother so often did, straightened the comb in her hair – and looked at him.
He wished he could have made himself invisible. How hostile her glance was, her expression both adult and that of an injured child! She was so like her mother. The soldier helped her to dismount and then took his horse to drink at the well, acting as if he had neither eyes nor ears.
Roxane came out of the house. Brianna’s arrival obviously surprised her as much as him. “Why didn’t you tell me he was back?” Brianna snapped. Roxane opened her mouth – and shut it again.
Go on, say something, Dustfinger, he told himself. The marten leaped off his shoulder and disappeared behind the stable.
“I asked her not to.” How hoarse his voice sounded. “I thought I’d rather tell you myself.” But your father is a coward, he added to himself, afraid of his own daughter.
She was looking at him so angrily, in exactly her old way. Except that now she was too grown-up to hit him.
“I saw that boy,” she said. “He was at the festival, and today he was breathing fire for Jacopo.
He did it just like you.” Dustfinger saw Farid appear. He stayed behind Roxane, but Jehan pushed past him, glanced anxiously at the soldier, and then ran to his sister. “Where did you get that horse?” he asked. “Violante gave it to me. As thanks for taking her with me by night to see the strolling players.”
“You take her with you?” Roxane sounded concerned. “Why not? She loves their shows! And the Black Prince says it’s all right.” Brianna didn’t look at her mother.
Farid went over to Dustfinger. “What does she want here?” he whispered. “She’s Her Ugliness’s maid.”
“And my daughter, too,” replied Dustfinger.
Farid stared incredulously at Brianna, but she took no notice of him. It was on her father’s account that she had come.
“Ten years!” she said accusingly. “You stayed away for ten years, and now you come back just like that? Everyone said you were dead! They said you’d moldered away in the Adderhead’s dungeons! They said the fire-raisers had handed you over to him because you wouldn’t tell them all your secrets!”
“I did tell them,” said Dustfinger tonelessly. “Almost all my secrets.” And they used them to set another world on fire, he added in his thoughts. A world without a door to let me out again, so that I could come back.
“I dreamed of you!” Brianna’s voice rose so high that her horse shied away. “I dreamed the men-at-arms tied you to a stake and burned you! I could smell the smoke and hear you trying to talk to the fire, but it wouldn’t obey you and the flames devoured you. I had that dream almost every night! I still do! I was afraid of going to sleep for ten whole years, and now here you are, hale and hearty, as if nothing had happened! Where – have you – been?”
Dustfinger glanced at Roxane – and saw the same question in her eyes. “I couldn’t come back,”
he said. “I couldn’t. I tried, believe me, I tried.”
