Inkspell (Inkheart Trilogy)
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Although a year has passed, not a day goes by without Meggie thinking of INKHEART, the book whose characters became real. But for Dustfinger, the fire-eater brought into being from words, the need to return to the tale has become desperate. When he finds a crooked storyteller with the ability to read him back, Dustfinger leaves behind his young apprentice Farid and plunges into the medieval world of his past. Distraught, Farid goes in search of Meggie, and before long, both are caught inside the book, too. But the story is threatening to evolve in ways neither of them could ever have imagined.
speaking?’ He could always burn the man who speaks them, thought Fenoglio. Or the man who wrote them. It was an uncomfortable thought that cooled the ardour of his heart slightly, but Cosimo seemed to have picked it up. ‘I shall, of course, take you under my personal protection immediately,’ he said. ‘In future you will live here at the castle, in apartments suitable for a court poet.’ ‘At the castle?’ Fenoglio cleared his throat, so awkward did this offer make him feel. ‘That … that’s very
the Adderhead, however – yes, I have made him immortal. But not for long.’ ‘What do you mean by that?’ The smile had long since frozen on Snapper’s coarse-featured face. Mo was looking not at him but at the Black Prince when he answered. ‘I mean that at present nothing can kill the Adderhead. No sword, no knife, no disease. The book I have bound for him protects him. But the same book will be his undoing, for he will have only a few weeks to enjoy it.’ ‘Why’s that?’ It was the boy again. Mo
smiled as if everything was fine again. Elinor began asking Mo questions about the books he had so shockingly abandoned to answer Meggie’s phone call. And Darius was trying to tell Resa about the new system of classification he had thought up for Elinor’s library. But Farid looked at his empty plate. Against the background of its white china, he was probably seeing Basta’s knife at Dustfinger’s neck. Basta. The name stuck in Meggie’s throat like a pebble. She kept thinking the same thing: if Mo
black walls on their left. Mo put out his hand to the leaves, as if his fingers must feel what his eyes had already seen. Resa remembered that she had once done the same, touching everything, bewildered to find the world beyond the letters on the page so real. If she hadn’t heard the words Orpheus had spoken for herself, Resa wouldn’t have known where Mortola had made him read them all. Capricorn’s fortress had looked so different when she had last stood in its courtyard. There had been men
in his mouth. ‘Violante is just looking at my latest work, or what she can see of it. I finished copying out the stories for her son last night. I’d rather have used the parchment for other texts, I must admit, but Violante insisted.’ ‘Well, I’m sorry you had to waste your art on such frivolities,’ replied Fenoglio, without so much as glancing at the work Balbulus had before him at the moment. Farid did not seem interested in the picture either. He looked at the window, where the sky outside