Beside the stall of a physician who was praising his miracle medicine at the top of his voice, a few boys were standing around a pillory. There was a woman in it, her hands and head wedged in the wood, helpless as a doll. Rotting vegetables stuck to her face and hands, fresh dung, anything the children could find among the stalls.

Meggie had seen such things before, in Fenoglio’s company, but Mo stood there as if he had forgotten what he’d come to Ombra for. He was almost as pale as the woman, whose tears mingled with the dirt on her face, and for a moment Meggie was afraid he was going to reach for the knife hidden in his belt.

"Mo!" She took his arm and quickly led him on, away from the gawping children who were already turning to look at him, and into the street going up to the castle.

"Have you seen anything like that before?" The way he was looking at her! As if he couldn’t believe she had been able to control herself so well at such a sight.

His glance made Meggie feel ashamed. "Yes," she said awkwardly. "Yes, a few times. They put people in the pillory during the Laughing Prince’s rule, too."

Mo was still looking at her. "Don’t tell me you can get used to such sights."

Meggie bent her head. The answer was yes. Yes, you could.

Mo took a deep breath, as if he had forgotten about breathing when he saw the weeping woman. Then he walked on in silence. He didn’t say a word until they reached the castle forecourt.

There was another pillory right beside the castle gates, with a boy in it. Fire-elves had settled on his bare skin. Mo handed Meggie the horse’s reins before she could stop him, and went over to the boy. Ignoring the guards at the gateway, who were staring at him, and the women passing by who turned their heads away in alarm, he shooed the fire-elves off the boy’s skinny arms. The boy just looked at him incredulously. There was nothing to be seen on his face but fear, fear and shame.

And Meggie remembered a story that Farid had told her, of how Dustfinger and the Black Prince had once been in the pillory together, side by side, when they were not much older than the lad now looking at his protector in such alarm.

"Mortimer!"

Meggie recognized the old man dragging Mo away from the pillory only after a second glance. Fenoglio’s gray hair came almost down to his shoulders, his eyes were bloodshot, his face unshaven. He looked old — Meggie had never considered Fenoglio old before, but now it was all she could think of.

"Are you out of your mind?" he snapped at her father in a low voice. "Hello, Meggie," he added abstractedly, and Meggie felt the blood shoot into her face as Farid appeared behind him.

Farid.

Keep very cool, she thought, but a smile had already stolen to her lips. Make it go away! But how, when it was so good to see his face? Jink was sitting on his shoulder, and sleepily flicked his tail when he saw her.

"Hello, Meggie. How are you?" Farid stroked the marten’s bushy coat.

Twelve days. Not a sign of life from him for twelve whole days. Hadn’t she firmly resolved not to say a word when she saw him again? But she just couldn’t be angry with him. He still looked so sad. Not a sign of the laughter that once used to be as much a part of his face as his black eyes. The smile he gave her now was only a sad shadow of it.

"I’ve been wanting to come and see you so often, but Orpheus just wouldn’t let me go out!" He was hardly listening to his own words. He had eyes only for Meggie’s father. The Bluejay.

Farid had led Mo away with him — away from the Pillory, away from the soldiers.

Meggie followed them. The horse was restless, but Farid calmed it. Dustfinger had taught him how to talk to animals. He was close beside Meggie, so near and yet so far away.

"What was the idea of that?" Fenoglio was still holding Mo firmly, as if afraid he might go back to the pillory. "Do you want to put your own head in that thing, too?

Or—no, very likely they’d impale it on a pike right away!"

"Those are fire-elves, Fenoglio! They’ll burn his skin." Mo’s voice was husky with rage.

"You think I don’t know that? I invented the little brutes. The boy will survive. I imagine he’s a thief. I don’t want to know any more.

Mo moved away, turning his back on Fenoglio abruptly, as if to keep himself from striking the old man. He scrutinized the guards and their weapons, the castle walls and the pillory, as if trying to think of a way to make them all disappear. Don’t look at the guards, Mo! Meggie thought. That was the first thing Fenoglio had taught her in this world: not to look any soldier in the eye — any soldier, any nobleman —

anyone who was allowed to carry a weapon.

"Shall I spoil their appetite for his skin, Silvertongue?" Farid came up between Mo and Fenoglio.

Jink spat at the old man, as if detecting him as the cause of all that was wrong in his world. Without waiting for Mo’s answer Farid went up to the pillory, where the elves had settled on the boy’s skin again. With a snap of his fingers he sent sparks flying to singe their shimmering wings and send them swirling through the air and away, with an angry buzz. One of the guards picked up his lance, but before he could move, Farid painted a fiery basilisk on the castle wall with his finger, bowed to the guards who were staring incredulously at their master’s burning emblem and strolled back casually to Mo’s side.

"Very audacious, dear boy!" growled Fenoglio disapprovingly, but Farid took no notice of him.

"Why did you come here, Silvertongue?" he asked, lowering his voice. "This is dangerous!" But his eyes were shining. Farid loved dangerous ventures, and he loved Mo for being the Bluejay.

"I want to look at some books."

"Books?" Farid was so bewildered that Mo couldn’t help smiling.

"Yes, books. Very special books." He looked up at the tallest of the castle towers.

Meggie had told him exactly where Balbulus had his workshop.

"What’s Orpheus up to?" Mo glanced at the guards. At this moment they were searching a butcher’s deliveries—though what for, they didn’t seem to know. "I’ve heard he’s growing richer and richer."

"Yes, he is." Farid’s hand stroked Meggie’s back. When Mo was with them he always confined himself to caresses that weren’t too obvious. Farid felt great respect for fathers. But Meggie’s rosy blush certainly didn’t escape Mo’s attention. "He’s growing richer, but he hasn’t written anything to rescue Dustfinger yet! He thinks of nothing but his treasures, and what he can sell to the Milksop: wild boars with horns, golden lapdogs, spider moths, leaf-men, and anything else he can dream up.

"Spider moths? Leaf-men?" Fenoglio looked at Farid in alarm, but Farid didn’t seem to notice.

"Orpheus wants to talk to you!" he whispered to Mo. "About the White Women.

Please do meet him! Maybe you know something that could help him to bring Dustfinger back!"

Meggie saw the pity in Mo’s face. He didn’t believe Dustfinger would ever come back, any more than she did. "N6nsense," he said as his hand instinctively went to the place where Mortola had wounded him. "I don’t know anything. Anything more than everyone knows."

The guards had let the butcher pass, and one of them was staring at Mo again. The basilisk painted by Farid on the stones was still burning on the castle walls.