Free Inkdeath by Cornelia Funke Page B

but with the money they had extorted, the Milksop and his friends bought costly fabrics, jewelry, weapons, and delicacies with names that Fenoglio himself might not know.
    You could even buy horses here.

    Mo looked around at the bustling, colorful throng as if he didn’t want to miss a single face or any of the wares offered for sale, but finally his gaze turned to the towers rising high above the tiled rooftops and lingered there. Meggie’s heart constricted.
    He was still determined to go to the castle, and she cursed herself for ever telling him about Balbulus and his art.

    She almost stopped breathing when they passed a "Wanted" poster for the Bluejay, but Mo just cast a glance of amusement at the picture and ran his hand through his dark hair, which he now wore short like a peasant. Perhaps he thought his carefree attitude would soothe Meggie, but it didn’t. It frightened her. When he acted like that, he was the Bluejay, a stranger with her father’s face.

    Suppose one of the soldiers who had guarded him in the Castle of Night was here?
    Wasn’t that one staring at them? And the minstrel woman over there — didn’t she look like one of the women who had gone out through the gates of the Castle of Night with them? Move away, Mo! she thought, willing him to walk on with her through one of the arches, into a street — any streetjust to be out of sight of all those eyes. Two children clutched her skirt and held out their dirty hands, begging. Meggie smiled at them helplessly. She didn’t have any money, not a coin. How hungry they looked! A soldier made his way through the crush and roughly pushed the beggar children aside. If only we Were in there with Balbulus, thought Meggie —and stumbled into Mo as he abruptly stopped.

    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