Inkdeath Read Online Free PDF Page B

Cheeseface would only smile knowingly, but Farid doubted whether he really knew the answer.

    "There you are! Now who’s talking? That ought to last another month." Orpheus’s smile was so self-satisfied that Farid would have liked to wipe it off his face with a shovelful of dirt. Another month! The silver he and the Chunk were putting into leather bags would have filled the hungry bellies of everyone in Ombra for months to come.

    "How much longer is this going to take? The hangman’s probably already on his way with fresh gallows fodder." When Orpheus was nervous his voice sounded less impressive.

    Without a word Farid tied up another bag full to bursting, kicked the empty chest back into the pit, and gave the hanged men one last glance. There had been a gallows on the Dark Hill before, but it was the Milksop who had declared it the main place of execution again. The stink of corpses drifted up to the castle too often from the gallows outside the city gate, and the stench didn’t go well with the fine dishes that the Adderhead’s brother-in-law ate while Ombra went hungry.

    "Have you found me some minstrels for this afternoon?"

    Farid just nodded as he followed Orpheus, carrying the heavy bags.

    "The one you got me yesterday was ugly as sin!" Orpheus got Oss to help him up onto his horse. "Like a scarecrow come to life! And most of what came out of his toothless mouth was the usual old stuff: beautiful princess loves poor strolling player, tralalala, handsome prince’s son falls in love with peasant’s daughter, tralalalee. . .
    not a word about the White Women for me to use."

    Farid was only half listening. He didn’t think much of the strolling players anymore.
    Most of them sang and danced for the Milksop these days, and they had voted the Black Prince out of his position as their king because he was openly hostile to the occupying army.

    "All the same," Orpheus went on, "the scarecrow did know a couple of new songs about the Bluejay. It cost me a pretty penny to worm them out of him, and he sang them as quietly as if the Milksop in person were standing under my window, but one of them I’d really never heard before. Are you still sure Fenoglio isn’t writing again?"

    "Perfectly sure." Farid slung his rucksack on his back and whistled softly through his teeth, as Dustfinger always used to. Jink shot out from under the gallows with a dead mouse in his jaws. Only the younger marten had stayed with Farid. Gwin was with Roxane, Dustfinger’s wife — as if he wanted to be where his master was most likely to go if Death’s pale fingers really did give him up.

    "Just why are you so sure?" Orpheus twisted his mouth in distaste as Jink jumped up on Farid’s shoulder and disappeared inside the rucksack. Cheeseface disliked the marten, but tolerated him, presumably because he had once belonged to Dustfinger.

    "Rosenquartz says he isn’t writing anymore, and as Fenoglio’s glass man he should know, right?"

    In fact, Rosenquartz was always complaining of his hard life now that Fenoglio was back in Minerva’s attic room, and Farid himself cursed the steep wooden staircase every time Orpheus sent him to question Fenoglio about things that Orpheus couldn’t find in his original book. What lands lay south of the sea bordering Argenta? Is the prince who rules northern Lombrica related to the Adderhead’s wife? Where exactly do the giants live, or have they died out now? Do the predatory fish in the rivers eat river-nymphs?

    Sometimes Fenoglio wouldn’t even let Farid in after he’d toiled up all those stairs, but now and then he would have drunk so much that he was in a talkative mood. On those days the old man overwhelmed him with such a torrent of information that Farid’s head was spinning by the time he came back to Orpheus — who then questioned him all over again. It was enough to drive you crazy. But every time Orpheus and Fenoglio tried communicating with each other directly they started to quarrel