Inkheart Read Online Free PDF Page B

engine and Dustfinger, who seemed to have come far, judging by his bags, took off his boots and stretched out on Mo's bed in the van with a deep sigh. "Don't give me away, Silvertongue," he said before he closed his eyes. "I have my own secrets, you know. And for those I need darkness."
    They must have driven fifty kilometers, and Meggie was still trying to figure out what he could possibly have meant.
    19

    "Mo?" she asked, when Dustfinger began snoring behind them. "What does this Capricorn want from you?" She lowered her voice before she spoke the name, as if that might remove some of the menace from it.
    "A book," replied Mo, without taking his eyes off the road. "A book? Then why not give it to him?" "I can't. I'll explain soon, but not now, all right?" Meggie looked out of the van window.
    The world they were passing outside already looked unfamiliar — unfamiliar houses, unfamiliar roads, unfamiliar fields, even the trees and the sky looked unfamiliar — but Meggie was used to that. She had never really felt at home anywhere. Mo was her home, Mo and her books, and perhaps the camper van that carried them from one place to the next.
    "This aunt we're going to see," she said, as they drove through an endless tunnel. "Does she have any children?"
    "No," said Mo, "and I'm afraid she doesn't particularly like children either. But as I said, I'm sure you'll get along well with her."
    Meggie sighed. She could remember several aunts, and she hadn't gotten along particularly well with any of them.
    They were driving through mountains now, the slopes on both sides of the road rose ever more steeply, and there came a point where the houses looked not just unfamiliar but really different.
    Meggie tried to pass the time by counting tunnels, but when the ninth swallowed them up and the darkness went on and on she fell asleep. She dreamed of martens in black jackets and a book in a brown-paper cover.
    20

    Chapter 4 – A House Full of Books
    There is a sort of busy worm,
    That will the fairest book deform.
    Their tasteless tooth will tear and taint
    The poet, patriot, sage or saint,
    Nor sparing wit nor learning.
    Now, if you'd know the reason why,
    The best of reasons I'll supply:
    'Tis bread to the poor vermin.
    – J. Doraston, quoted by W. Blades
    Meggie woke up because it was so quiet. The regular sound of the engine that had lulled her to sleep had stopped. The driver's seat beside her was empty. It took Meggie a little while to remember why she wasn't in bed at home. Tiny dead flies were stuck to the windshield, and the van was parked outside an iron gate. It looked alarming, with sharp ashen-gray spikes, a gate made of spearheads just waiting to impale anyone who tried to clamber over. It reminded Meggie of one of her favorite stories, the tale of the Selfish Giant who wouldn't let children into his garden. This was exactly how she had imagined his garden gate.
    Mo was standing in the road with Dustfinger. Meggie got out and went over to them. On the right of the road a densely wooded slope fell steeply to the bank of a wide lake. The hills on the other side rose from the lake like giants emerging from the depths. The water was almost black, and pale twilight, darkly reflected in the waves, was already spreading across the sky. The first lights were coming on in the houses on the bank, looking like glowworms or fallen stars.
    "A lovely place, isn't it?" Mo put his arm around Meggie's shoulders. "I know you like stories about robbers. See that ruined castle? A notorious robber band once lived there. I must ask Elinor about them. She knows everything about this lake."
    Meggie just nodded and rested her head against his shoulder. She was so tired she felt quite dizzy, but for the first time since they had set off Mo's face wasn't looking grim with anxiety.
    "Where does she live, then?" asked Meggie, stifling a yawn. "Not behind that spiky gate?"
    "Actually, yes. This is the entrance to her property. Not very inviting, is it?"