Inkheart 1 Inkheart by Cornelia Funke

Author:Cornelia Funke [Funke, Cornelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-04-01T02:33:50+00:00

144

Chapter 26 – Shivers Down The Spine and A Foreboding

And that’s when she put her book down. And looked at me. And said it: “Life isn’t fair, Bill.

We tell our children that it is, but it’s a terrible thing to do. It’s not only a lie, it’s a cruel lie. Life is not fair, and it never has been, and it’s never going to be.”

– William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Dustfinger sat on the chilly stone steps, waiting. He felt sick with fear; but he wasn’t quite sure of what. Perhaps the war memorial behind him reminded him too much of death. He had always been afraid of death, which he imagined as cold, too, like a night without fire. Now, however, he dreaded something else even more. Its name was sorrow, and it had been stalking him like a second shadow ever since Silvertongue lured him into this world. Sorrow that made his limbs heavy and turned the sky gray.

Beside him, the boy was running up and down the steps.

Up and down, tirelessly, with light feet and a cheerful face, as if Silvertongue had read him straight into paradise. What could be making him so happy? Dustfinger looked around at the narrow houses, pale yellow, pink, peach, the dark green shutters at the windows and the rust-red tiles on the roofs, an oleander flowering in front of a wall as if its branches were on fire, cats stalking past the warm walls. Farid stole up to one of them, stroked its gray fur, and put it on his lap, although it dug its claws into his thighs.

“You know what people do to keep the numbers of cats down around here?” Dustfinger stretched his legs and blinked up at the sun. “When winter comes they take their own cats indoors for safety, then they put out dishes of poisoned food for the strays.”

Farid still fondled the gray cat’s pointed ears. But his face was rigid and grim, not a trace left of the happiness that had just made it look so soft and open. Dustfinger glanced quickly aside. Why had he said that? Had the happiness on the boy’s face upset him so much?

Farid let the cat go and climbed the steps to the memorial.

He was still sitting there on the wall, legs drawn up, when the other two came back. Silvertongue had no book with him, and he looked strained — his guilty conscience was clearly visible on his face.

Why? What could have made Silvertongue look so guilty? Dustfinger glanced suspiciously around without knowing quite what he was looking for. Silvertongue’s face always showed his feelings; he was an open book, which any stranger could read. His daughter was different. It wasn’t so easy to make out what was going on in her mind. But now, as she came toward him, Dustfinger thought he saw something like concern in her eyes, perhaps even pity… . What had that writer fellow said to make the girl look at him like that?

He got up and brushed the dust off his pants.

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