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breadcrumbs she had found in her jacket pocket — left over from a picnic on some long-forgotten day — when the door suddenly opened.
    The woman who came out was older than Mo, quite a lot older — although Meggie could never be quite sure how old grown-ups were. Her face reminded Meggie of a bulldog, but perhaps that was more her ferocious expression than its features. She wore a mouse-gray sweater and an ash-gray skirt, with a pearl necklace around her short neck and felt slippers on her feet, the kind of slippers Meggie had once had to wear when she and Mo had visited a historic castle. Elinor's hair was gray, too. She had pinned it up, but strands were hanging down everywhere as if she had done it impatiently and in a hurry. She didn't look as if she spent much time in front of a mirror.
    "Good heavens, Mortimer! What a surprise!" she said, without wasting time on further greetings.
    "Where did you spring from?" Her voice sounded brusque, but her face couldn't entirely hide the fact that she was pleased to see Mo.
    "Hello, Elinor," said Mo, putting his hand on Meggie's shoulder. "Do you remember Meggie? As you can see, she's grown up quite a bit now,"
    Elinor cast Meggie a brief, irritated glance. "Yes, so I see," she said. "It's only natural for children to grow, wouldn't you say? As far as I remember, it's been some years since I last set eves on either you or your daughter, so, to what do I owe the unexpected honor of your visit today? Are you finally going to take pity on my poor books?"
    "That's right." Mo nodded. "One of my library commissions has been postponed — you know how libraries are always short of money."
    Meggie looked at him uneasily. She hadn't realized he could lie quite so convincingly.
    "And because it was so sudden," Mo continued, "I couldn't find anywhere for Meggie to go, so I brought her with me. I know you don't like children, but Meggie won't leave jam on your books or tear out pages to wrap up dead frogs."
    Elinor muttered something suspicious and scrutinized Meggie as if she thought her capable of any kind of disgraceful conduct, whatever her father might say. "When you last brought her we could at least put her in a playpen," she remarked coldly. "I don't suppose that would do now."
    Once again, she looked Meggie up and down as if she were being asked to admit a dangerous animal to her house.
    Meggie felt her anger make the blood rise to her face. She wanted to go home, or get back in the camper van and go somewhere else, anywhere, so long as she didn't have to stay with this horrible woman whose cold pebble eyes were boring holes in her face.
    Elinor's gaze moved from Meggie to Dustfinger, who was still standing in the background looking awkward. "And who's this?" She looked inquiringly at Mo. "Do I know him?"
    "This is Dustfinger, a .. a friend of mine." Perhaps only Meggie noticed Mo's hesitation. "He wants to go on south, but maybe you could put him up for a night in one of your many rooms?"
    23

    Elinor folded her arms. "Only on the condition that his name has nothing to do with the way he treats books," she said. "And he'll have to put up with rather Spartan accommodations in the attic, because my library has grown a great deal over the last few years. Nearly all my guest bedrooms are full of books."
    "How many books do you have?" asked Meggie. She had grown up among piles of books, but even she couldn't imagine there were books behind all the windows of this huge house.
    Elinor inspected her again, this time with unconcealed contempt. "How many?" she repeated.
    "Do you think I count them like buttons or peas? A very, very great many. There are probably more books in every single room of this house than you will ever read — and some of them are so valuable that I wouldn't hesitate to shoot you if you dared touch them. But because you're a clever girl, or so your father assures me, you wouldn't do that anyway, would you?"
    Meggie didn't reply. Instead, she imagined standing on