"Although I wonder where he gets those chameleon eyes. I never wrote a word about them! Never mind, it makes him look . . . well, interesting.

Perhaps I ought to write a few more giants like him here. It’s a shame they hide away in the mountains now."

The robbers did not appear to agree with him. They were still climbing the ropes as hastily as if the Milksop’s men were after them. By now only the Black Prince and his bear stood at the foot of the tree.

"What’s the Prince still doing down there?" Fenoglio leaned so far forward that Meggie instinctively grabbed his tunic. "For heaven’s sake, why doesn’t he leave the damn bear alone? These giants don’t have particularly good eyesight. He’ll be trodden underfoot if the giant stumbles just once!"

Meggie tried to haul the old man back. "The Black Prince would never leave the bear alone, you know he wouldn’t!"

"But he must!" She had seldom seen Fenoglio so concerned. Obviously, he really was fonder of the Prince than of most of his characters.

"Come on up!" he called down to him. "Come on, Prince!"

But the Black Prince went on talking to his bear as if the animal were a sulky child, while the giant stood there staring up at the children. Several women shrieked when he reached out his hand. They pulled the children away, but however far the giant stretched, his mighty fingers couldn’t reach the nests, just as Fenoglio had said.

"Made to measure!" the old man whispered. "See that, Meggie?" Yes, this time he obviously had thought of everything.

The giant looked disappointed. He reached up once more, and then took a step to one side. His heel missed the Black Prince by no more than a twig’s breadth. The bear roared and stood up on his hind legs and the giant, in surprise, looked down at what was there between his feet.

"Oh no!" faltered Fenoglio. "No, no, no!" he shouted down to his creation. "Not him!

Leave the Prince alone. That’s not what you’re here for! Go after the Milksop. Take some of his men, if you want anyone! Go on, go away!"

The giant raised his head, looking to see who was shouting like that, but then he bent and picked up the Prince and the bear with as little ceremony as Elinor picking caterpillars off her roses.

"No!" stammered Fenoglio. "What’s going on now? What went wrong this time?

He’ll break every bone in the Prince’s body!"

The robbers hung from their ropes, frozen rigid. One of them threw his knife down at the giant’s hand. The giant pulled it out with his lips like a thorn and dropped the Black Prince as he might have dropped a toy. Meggie flinched as he struck the ground and lay there without moving. She heard Elinor scream, while the giant hit out at the men on the ropes as if they were wasps trying to sting him.

Everyone was shouting in confusion. Battista ran to one of the ropes to go to the Prince’s aid. Farid and Doria followed him, and even Elinor ran after him, while Roxane stood there, horrified, with her arms around two crying children. As for Fenoglio, he was shaking at the ropes hanging from the tree in helpless fury.

"No!" he shouted down once more. "No, you just can’t do that!"

And suddenly one of the ropes tore away and he fell into the void below. Meggie tried to grab him, but she arrived too late. Fenoglio was falling, with an expression of surprise on his wrinkled face, and the giant caught him in midair like a ripe fruit dropping from the tree.

The children had stopped screaming. The women and the robbers were silent, too, as the giant sat down at the foot of the tree and examined his catch. He put the bear carelessly on the ground, but as he did so his glance fell on the unconscious Prince, and he picked him up again. Roaring, the bear went to his master’s aid, but the giant just flicked him away with his hand. Then he rose to his feet, looked up at the children one last time, and strode away with Fenoglio in his right hand and the Black Prince in his left.

CHAPTER 59

THE BLUEJAY’S ANGELS

Orpheus had seen Violante for the first time at one of the Milksop’s banquets, and even then he had wondered what it would be like to rule Ombra at her side. All his maids were more beautiful than the Adderhead ‘s daughter, but Violante had something that they did not possess: arrogance, ambition, the lust for power. All of that appealed to Orpheus, and when the Piper led her into the Hall of a Thousand Windows his heart beat faster as he saw how high she still held her head even though she had staked everything on a single card and lost.

Her gaze passed over them all as if they were the losers — her father, Thumbling, the Piper. She had only a fleeting glance for Orpheus, hut never mind. How was she to know what a prominent part he would play in the future? The Adderhead would still be stuck in the mud with a broken wheel if he hadn’t read him four new coach wheels on the spot. How everyone had stared! Even Thumbling had learned to respect him.

The Hall of a Thousand Windows had no windows anymore. Thumbiing had had them draped with black cloth, and only haifa dozen torches gave light in the darkness, just enough of itto show the Adderhead the face of his worst enemy.

When they pushed Mortimer in, Violante’s haughty mask cracked, but she quickly pulled herself together. Orpheus saw, with satisfaction, that they had not treated the Bluejay particularly gently, but he could still stand, and the Piper had certainly made sure his hands were unharmed. They could have cut out his tongue, though, thought Orpheus, thus putting an end to all the fulsome praise of his voice once and for all.

But then it occurred to him that Mortimer still had to tell him where Fenoglio’s book was, since Dustfinger hadn’t given its whereabouts away.

The torchlight fell only on Mortimer. The Adderhead sat in darkness. He clearly didn’t want to give his prisoner the satisfaction of seeing his bloated body. Anyone could smell it, though.

"Well, Bluejay? Did my daughter describe this meeting of ours rather differently to you? Very likely." The Adderhead’s breath rattled in his throat like an old man’s. "I was very glad when Violante suggested this castle as our meeting place, although the journey here wasn’t easy. The castle gave me happiness once before, if not for very long. And I was sure that her mother hadn’t told her about the secret passage. She told her daughter a great deal about this castle, but little of it had anything to do with reality."

Violante’s face remained expressionless. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, Father," she said. What an effort she was making not to look at Mortimer. Touching.

"No, you don’t know anything, that’s the point." The Adderhead laughed. "I often had people posted to overhear what your mother told you in the Old Chamber. All the stories about her happy childhood days, the sweet lies told to make her ugly little daughter dream of a place so different from the castle where she really grew up.

Reality isn’t usually much like what we say about it, but you always confused the words with the truth. Just the same as your mother — you could never distinguish between what you want and the way things really are, could you?"

Violante did not reply. She simply stood there, as upright as ever, staring into the darkness where her father was concealed.

"When I met your mother for the first time in this hall," the Adderhead went on in his hoarse voice, "she wanted nothing but to get away from here. She’d have tried to run away if her father had given her any chance. Did she tell you that one of her sisters fell to her death climbing out of one of these windows? Or that she herself was almost drowned by the water-nymphs when she tried swimming across the lake?