Chapter Text
Mortimer thought of the child with unyielding distrust. The urchin was what Dustfinger called them and he could see why. It was a scrawny thing, stretched thin and firm. There was a layer of dirt concealing and distorting their skin and expression, dirt from the work they did for the animals Roxane kept and from helping the locals with various duties like pipe cleaning, and bringing and delivering small goods. Roxane sent the child running errands for other whenever she herself did not have any duties to offer around her farm, as the work was limited by the cold season. This made the child familiar with the close neighbours and local costums and it also gave them the nickname Duskwing after a small black corvid native to the Inkworld. They did look like some sort of bird, flying about with their stained clothes and black combed back hair- Basta's hair.
But Roxane and Meggie, his own daughter, just called them Giorgia, which was their proper name if the story was true.
Mo shifted slightly where he stood by Dustfinger's side by the hills leading up to the farm. They exchanged a long look. Mo noted how weary his friend's eyes were. Undoubtedly he hadn't gotten much sleep since he came home. Mo couldn't blame him. Gone were the days the former bookbinder dared to trust openly.
"I reckon you don't trust this," he said. Dustfinger frowned.
"No, of course I don't. Not that they will listen to me. My wife has already as good as taken the child in and Jehan has begun teaching Giorgia his favourite ballads. I feel so alone," he said and looked at Mo with heartache and longing. Except for you, it said. You would never doubt me.
Mo felt the same way about him, though there was no need to say it out loud. After certain events they knew each others hearts too well to have to speak. More so than anything else speaking was just an old habit. Even so, some things felt easier to live with after having them said out loud.
"Have you concluded with anything after all your spying?" Mo asked.
"My conclusions thus far are lacking. As far as I can tell there are no danger signs, still anybody can conceal the truth in this world. It was much harder where you came from with the facebooks and satellites."
Mo recalled memories from what seemed another life time. "Facebook it was called," he corrected his friend.
Dustfinger shrugged. For a minute they stood in silence, thinking.
"But the similarity is striking. Underneath all the dirt they are like a young version of that shithead. The next time Roxane manages to make them bade you will see. They even have his damned knife wielding skills. Seeing them swing a blade around sent shivers down my spine and that is not an easy feat these days. What are we going to do, Mortimer?"
Mo furrowed his brows. " Who knows the truth of this? Who else except for us in the family, I mean."
Dustfinger snorted. "Nobody, I can tell you. The neighbours wouldn't have treated anybody this nice if they knew them to be the bastard of a murderer. One of the old ladies Giorgia is often sent off to help had her son killed by Capricorn. That might be some decades ago, yet people don't forget who killed their loved ones. I don't either."
The expression on his face was one of disgust. Mo felt his pain. It lingered in him too, spoiling his innocence. Nothing had felt the same since he came into the Inkworld, but still- everything he did he did for a good cause. Truth be told this situation didn't sit right with him and yet he couldn't ignore his daughter's pleas or rather, her sad looks when she saw his doubts for Giorgia. She seemed disappointed in him. That was a new experience.
"I.." he begun but failed to collect his conflicting feelings enough to form a coherent opinion. Suddenly he felt Dustfinger slip his hand into his and squeeze. It felt warm and comforting in the cold winter weather. Mo squeezed back and felt some of his courage revive. He wasn't sure how he had survived the years without that man. Now, the notion of a world without Dustfinger seemed inconceivable. He could always feel Dustfingers presence like a person does sunlight on ones skin or a pulse emanating life. If he had the words he would tell the fire- eater the despair that he felt twisting within him, how he sometimes glimpsed the ghosts of black jackets and tyrants in dark corners and in the night, their eyes as alive as his wife's although, of course, only imaginary.
Dustfinger looked at him like he was reading his heart.
"We have our share of trust issues, I think," he said, mockingly and sad at the same time. Mo tilted his head, agreeing. "Still doesn't mean our suspicions aren't right."
"I truly don't know. Our lives are so odd already, would it really be any more odd with that child hanging about?" Dustfinger objected.
He had a point.
"I will keep monitoring them anyway, of course. They said that they didn't have much contact with Basta, but who is to say this isn't some elaborate plan to murder us both? But in the meantime I am afraid nobody would agree in turning Giorgia away, so monitoring is the only thing left to do. Your soul isn't as dark as you think it is, Silvertongue, so you should stop worrying about the alternatives. And I am too much of a coward. So I say we end the discussion."
Mo nodded, already feeling a ton lighter. He felt guilty for not having shared the information with his other friends. The Black Prince for one would have liked to know it, yet Mo thought of the looks his daughter had sent him. She, Roxane and Resa were to kind.
"Let's go up to the farm. They will be having dinner now. You can meet Giorgia and see for yourself," Dustfinger said. Might as well, Mo thought, and together they went up the hill to the little house where candle light shone out of the only window.
Standing outside, they could already hear Jehan's voice. He was insisting rather loudly on something and making Roxane laugh. When they went inside the jokes went quiet, nevertheless there was still a fine mood present. Roxane smiled at her husband. "How good of you to come, and with Mo. Have a seat and I will get you some stew."
The room grew smaller with the added company. Mo and Dustfinger seated themselves at the available seats by the table. Mo looked at the people sitting by yet couldn't find the stranger. It was not before his eyes caught a movement on the floor behind Jehan that he realised Giorgia was there.
They were sitting with their legs crossed over each other, eating from a half empty wooden bowl. How old could they be? Mo couldn't tell for certain, other than that they had to be older than nine or ten. Many of the Inkheart world children didn't even know their exact age themselves.
In that instant, Giorgia noticed they were being watched and turned their head to meet his gaze. What dark eyes. He searched them for any evil, but Giorgia just looked at him with respectful wonder. Certainly that was not a look their father ever had worn, except for when he admired his awful master. Then they spoke.
"You are the Bluejay. I am glad to finally meet you and see you for myself. I have heard the tales."
Mo felt his eyes narrow. Upon feeling the others weighing him down with their expectations he felt the need to answer. "I am. I have heard tales about you too."
Giorgia blinked, unsure of the connotations of the statement. Seemingly having decided it was bad, their stance became more defensive. "I am not like him. That is not true. I didn't even know him properly. I am going to help, you just see. Jehan and I caught the mad goose after it escaped this morning. Is that not right, Jehan?"
Mo was surprised to see Jehan laugh. "You are the most talented goose chaser I have ever seen, Giorgia. Dustfinger could never compare," he said.
Dustfinger couldn't conceal a slight smile. "Well, that goose is completely mad, so you can hardly blame me."
The tension eased a little and they begun talking about other things. At the end of the night, Mo still wasn't sure how to feel about it. A part of him was still apprehensive and he could tell the same went for the fire- eater. Still, the more he looked at them, the more Giorgia looked like any other child. As he said good night to Roxane she gave him a retaliatory look. I told you so, there is nothing to fear. Mo thought of that the entire walk home.
After all the business with being the Bluejay, he had become accustomed to deciding for others. Maybe that was not his place now. Maybe, in the end, his part this time was to listen to his family- extended and not. Meggie had a child herself now and would never let any danger come anywhere near her son. If she vouched for Giorgia, he should take take that as proof enough to retire his suspicions.
It would, of course, still feel exceptionally weird to have the offspring of Basta in his life, but when it boiled down to it this really was a weird, weird world.