The Golden Yarn Page 11

  “But your brother wasn’t alone. He rented a horse from the blacksmith. The stable boy says a Goyl was with him. The description sounded like the Bastard. They rode away together.”

  The Bastard and his brother? This was getting better by the minute.

  At least this piece of news erased Jacob’s last bit of doubt over whether he should follow Will, despite Spieler’s threats. Hopefully, the Bastard hadn’t yet dragged Will off to some Goyl fortress or sold him to an Ogre as revenge for Nerron’s defeat in the Dead City.

  “I have horses and provisions.” Fox dipped a spoon into Wenzel’s soup. He blushed as she leaned over his cauldron. “Oh, and this...” She reached into her jacket. “An answer from Dunbar.”

  Reading was still hard on Jacob’s eyes, so Fox read the telegram aloud:

  Alderelves STOP What has Jacob stirred up now? STOP Just arrived Tasmania STOP Long story STOP Assume it’s life or death again and can’t wait until I return STOP In admiration Dunbar STOP Is he treating you well? STOP

  The last words made Fox smile. “Answer him—it can’t wait,” she said.

  What was Albion’s most eminent historian doing in Tasmania? The colony to which they shipped not only thieves and murderers but also strike leaders and pacifists? It didn’t have libraries like Pendragon’s. It wasn’t often Jacob wished for an item from his world, but Robert Dunbar would’ve appreciated the portable knowledge of a computer. Though, of course, the secrets he was after were so forgotten, they weren’t even found on parchment rolls.

  The Bastard with Will? Wouldn’t the Goyl regard it as dishonorable to avenge the sins of the elder brother on his younger sibling?

  No.

  Regardless

  Chanute was still upset when Jacob came to say good-bye. That he still got unusually sentimental just showed how miserable he really felt. Sylvain promised to look after Chanute. Jacob was still annoyed he’d told Chanute about the mirror, but it was good to know the old man wasn’t going to be alone. Sylvain had offered to earn his keep by helping Wenzel—an offer Chanute had roundly rejected, stating that friends always stayed for free (which was news to Jacob). But after Sylvain ended a violent tavern fight by single-handedly throwing all eight brawlers into the street, Wenzel was convinced the man could be useful. It seemed Sylvain Caleb Fowler was settling to stay in Schwanstein, and he already fitted in like a piece of gingerbread on a Witch’s house.

  Jacob hadn’t looked at Spieler’s card since it dropped out of his clean clothes, but as he waited outside while Fox fetched the horses from the stable, he couldn’t resist another look.

  New words were waiting for him.

  You’re declaring war?

  Jacob had told Fox about the last message. If he was going to endanger her by ignoring Spieler’s warnings, she had a right to know.

  “Didn’t he say his name is also his trade?” she said as Jacob handed her the card. “He’s distracting you from what you should be thinking about. What is his plan? Let’s find out. Let’s find Will.”

  The green ink was forming new words while the card was still in Fox’s hand. Jacob already regretted showing it to her.

  Did he tell you about my price?

  Fox tucked the card into Jacob’s jacket pocket. “His price for what?”

  Jacob was sick with rage. To have to remind Fox of the Bluebeard was almost as vile as the Alderelf’s price. The scars on her wrists already made it difficult to forget.

  “Nothing. He helped me...once.”

  “When?” Her eyes warned him: No lies.

  “In the labyrinth.” He couldn’t speak the name. Not the name, not the place. Of course, she didn’t need to ask which labyrinth he meant.

  “You made a magical trade for a way out?” Fox turned as pale as the forgetyourself blossoms the Bluebeard used on his victims. “Of course,” she whispered. “What did I think? I didn’t think anything.”

  And? Who could think in a Bluebeard’s house? Jacob wanted to embrace her, but Fox evaded him.

  “What was his price?”

  “Nothing we should think about now. We should go.”

  “What was his price, Jacob?”

  “It has nothing to do with you.” He’d sworn to himself it would never have anything to do with her. Never. But it was the wrong answer.

  “Everything that concerns you concerns me.”

  How right she was. No lies, Jacob.

  “It’s the usual price.”

  The Witches took it, Stilts, Sable-Fairies, Nightmares... Back in the labyrinth, it hadn’t even occurred to him that the Alderelf might have the same price. He’d been too afraid for her, so terribly afraid.

  “ Today I bake, tomorrow brew, the next I’ll have the young Queen’s firstborn child.” Fox recited the verse as though she were sleep-talking, caught in a very bad dream.

  They were the same words in her world as in his, but here they were real. Fox turned her back to Jacob, but he’d already seen the despair on her face. They’d met women who’d made the trade and had tried to keep their firstborn children. Fox probably remembered, as he did, the lace-maker for whom they’d retrieved her daughter, only to witness the girl run away screaming. Or the child who’d turned out to be a changeling and had melted in the father’s arms like wax.

  Jacob touched Fox’s arm until she turned around.

  “It’s my debt,” he said. “Mine alone. And nobody else will pay, least of all you.”

  She wanted to say something, but he put his finger on her lips. “Friends. That is all we shall be. It’s more than enough, is it not? It has been so far.”

  She shook her head, averted her face so he wouldn’t see her tears.

  “I want you to be happy,” he said. “There’s nothing I want more. I want you to hold a child in your arms one day without fear of losing it. Fox! He’s an Alderelf. He is immortal. He can wait; you can’t. Please. You will find someone else.”

  He wiped the tears from her eyes, from the face he so wanted to kiss, now more than ever. But he didn’t, for her. He would do anything to save her, and nothing would ever be harder.

  “I don’t care,” she said.

  “No.” He said for himself, and for her.

  No, Jacob.

  She was silent as she mounted her horse, and she was silent all the rest of the day.

  A Heinzel's Woe

  Alma rode to the ruin at daybreak, as she always did, to collect herbs. The morning mist covered Schwanstein’s roofs, and the world looked deceptively young and untouched. Jacob and Fox had been gone for days. Chanute told her they were looking for Jacob’s brother.

  Alma had seen Will only briefly, after he’d followed his brother through the mirror. Jacob had always known Will was looking for something, but he had never really wanted to know what. Jacob didn’t trust many people, but he trusted this world, like the twelve-year-old who’d looked under every stone and gone into every cave expecting to find treasure, even though he’d only found Ogres. Jacob never worried about whether what he found might surprise him. But Alma had gotten the impression Will Reckless knew exactly what he would find, and it scared him. If she’d known him better, she might’ve tried to explain to Will that life never lets you hide. Plant, animal, or human—life forced them all to grow and learn. The more you tried to run, the harder your path got, and you’d still have to travel it.

  The kitchen gardens were surrounded by walls, though the fire had collapsed most of the rest of the castle. Rusty hoes and shovels still lay on the paths, showing how the fire had surprised the gardeners as much as their lords. The trellises were brittle and the beds overgrown, but Alma found everything growing in this abandoned garden to be surprisingly potent, and she could even find herbs that usually only grew deep in the forest.

  She was harvesting the leaves of a rare thistle when she heard the sobs. Kneeling among the herbs was a Heinzel woman. There were more than two hundred Heinzel living around the ruin. Alma often cared for them, splinting their broken limbs, administeri
ng to rat bites and bee stings, all of which could be very dangerous to their tiny bodies. The Heinzel trusted her more than their own doctor. They also had their own priest, mayor, and two teachers. Their houses were hidden among the crumbled walls of the ruin and in the cemetery behind the old castle chapel. They lived and dressed just like the people of Schwanstein, but the locals scorned the Heinzel who lived there among the humans, who let themselves be sold by them like chicken or geese, just to live under their protection.

  Only a few weeks earlier, Alma had removed a thorn from the tiny foot of this Heinzel woman. She looked up, full of hope, when she noticed the Witch, but Alma shuddered when she saw the stiff body of a boy in her tiny arms. He looked like he’d been cast in silver. The Heinzel saw Alma’s puzzled face and buried her face in her boy’s chest. The first Gold-Raven of the morning had landed on the wall, and the first Thumblings would also be there soon. It was not easy to convince the Heinzel mother that the body of her boy would be safer in a Witch’s house, but finally she relented and let Alma take him away in her soft frock pocket.

  The door to the tower was still barricaded with stones, but among Fox’s and Jacob’s familiar footprints Alma saw more tracks, every imprint as clear as if it had been stamped deliberately into the ground. Alma was relieved to see that the footprints didn’t seem to have followed Jacob and Fox. They appeared to be following along another, older trail.

  Alma pulled the body of the Heinzel boy from her pocket. She put her finger to the tiny lips and felt that he was still breathing. Silver. She’d dealt with the silver in Jacob’s eyes by using a recipe against metal curses. Even her oldest books said nothing about silver eyes, let alone silver limbs.

  Alma gently put the little body back in her pocket and leaned over the strange tracks again. The outline of each footprint was smooth and round, as though she’d pressed one of her herb jars into the damp earth. She rose and looked up at the tower. Before Jacob first arrived, Alma had often been tempted to smash the mirror. She regretted not having asked him more about who’d put the silver in his eyes, but there was already enough danger in this world: Stilts, Nightmares, child-eaters, Fairy curses. She hadn’t really wanted to think about the vanished Alderelves as well. And she’d been worried about a sick child. While Jacob talked, all she’d seen was the child’s flushed, feverish face. You didn’t listen, Alma. You’re getting old, and tired. Four hundred and twenty-three years were more than enough.

  It started to rain, as though the skies wanted to recall those who’d waged war on the Alderelves. The water and the earth belonged to the Fairies. Which elements had belonged to the others? Not hard to guess: fir and fire. According to the child-eaters, the reason nobody remembered the Elves was that the Fairies had their human lovers destroy all records of them. The Elves must have been very angry.

  Alma ran her fingers along the earthen edge of the footprints. There were two of them, whoever they were. Something ancient was trying to return, but these here were young. What if Jacob’s world had rejuvenated them? Changed, renewed…The Heinzel in her pocket suddenly felt heavy. If nobody remembered whoever was coming, who should recognize them or their messengers? How many had they sent? And what was their mission?

  A copper beech swayed in the wind. The rusty leaves made the morning sun draw spots on the old Witch’s skin, which reminded her of another tree, less than a day’s ride from here.

  A silver tree with a wooden tongue.

  Maybe there was a less dangerous way. Eight hundred years in a tree... Surely that made one yearn for a good conversation, and Alma had even spoken with stones.

  Still, she’d also take some silver spoons.

  Mirror, Mirror

  “She’s traveling to Lotharaine!” “She cursed a village in Flanders.” “She’s gathering an army of Man-Goyl.” “She’s turned herself into poisonous fumes.” “...into water.”

  “… into a swarm of moths.”

  The Dark Fairy didn’t have to lay false trails. The whole world laid them for her: bored villagers, coachmen, village reporters...Every vagrant high on Elvendust had seen her! But Nerron had more reliable sources. Not only Kami’en’s secret service but also the spies of the onyx lords still regarded him as one of theirs, despite the crossbow debacle (proof that his talents as a double agent were at least as remarkable as his treasure-hunting skills). A drayman who’d been spying for the Goyl for years knew about a carriage that had crossed the river fifty miles to the east by driving over the water. A Thumbling working for the onyx (the little thieves were excellent spies) reported that two guards on the western border of Ukraina were turned into hawthorn bushes after they tried to stop a carriage drawn by green horses. Yes, Nerron was certain that not only Kami’en’s generals but also the Walrus and Crookback were having sleepless nights: The Dark Fairy was traveling east.

  Why? Nerron didn’t really care about the answer. He would leave that to the professional spies. What he wanted was his crossbow, the undoubtable proof that nobody hunted treasure like the Bastard. And by the looks of things, he could be giving Kami’en the Jade Goyl as a bonus. Who would’ve thought a trip to a sleepy Austrian town could yield such a rich return? But there was one fly in the golden chalice that fate was offering him: his revenge would have to wait. Revenge. It was all he could think about since Jacob Reckless had escaped through that mirror with the crossbow. All the scenarios he’d come up with while he’d searched for that sly swine... And then the Pup walks right into his path. In his darkest fantasies, Nerron could never have come up with a plan as gloriously vile as capturing Jacob Reckless’s little brother!

  As they rode side by side, Nerron almost thought he’d have to tie his own hands, so overwhelming was his urge to punch that innocent face and at least vent some of the rage that had been eating away at him like a poison since the Dead City. He wanted to tie up Will Reckless and drag him behind his horse, scratch a note to his brother on his bloody skin, and hand it to the one-legged cook in The Ogre. He wanted to bottle the boy’s screams, pickle his soft flesh.

  Oh, how cruel not to be able to do any of that but instead to have to ride next to the Pup and endure the friendliness with which he met every creature, the guilelessness with which he moved in this world. If this little weakling hadn’t confirmed that he’d once worn a jade skin, Nerron would’ve dismissed the rumors about Reckless’s little brother having been the Jade Goyl as the senseless blubberings of imbeciles.

  He still didn’t quite believe it.

  And he was still tempted to sell him to the nearest Ogre.

  Damn.

  He kept telling himself: one week, two at the most. By then they’d have found the Fairy. The Pup would lead him to his brother, and he’d get the crossbow back—and then he could kill them both. Or sell them.

  Yes... Patience, Nerron!

  Until then, he’d just have to keep imagining his revenge.

  They spent their first nights in the woods, but after a Drekavac woke them with its horrifying screams, Nerron moved them to an abandoned logger’s cabin. The Pup was too squeamish to skin the rabbits Nerron shot, but at least he could build a fire. Nerron caught him staring, but Will’s face showed none of what Nerron had seen on his big brother’s face: the revulsion over the stone skin, the “you” and “us,” that unbridgeable chasm between humans and Goyl. Not surprising in one who’d once been a Goyl himself.

  It really was hard to believe. The princes of this world must have all dreamed of having a face like Will’s, while the princesses probably dreamed of seeing a face like that climb through their window. The fair hair, the blue eyes, the soft, almost girlish mouth. He even had long eyelashes like a girl’s! And his gentleness could’ve filled a honey pot. All that niceness was enough to make one sick, and every “Thank you, Nerron,” “Good morning, Nerron,” and “Shall I keep watch, Nerron?” just made him want to pummel the boy until his face was blacker than onyx. By all the acid-spitting salamanders of his world, this one saved bugs from the fire! Will called for
a rest as soon as the horses got tired, then unsaddled them before taking a sip of water himself. And every animal Nerron shot made Will look as though the bullet had gone straight into his own soft chest. And this same boy had defended Kami’en against dozens of imperial guards?

  “Tell me about the Blood Wedding.”

  They’d lit a fire and were eating a hare Nerron had shot. Nerron’s question made Will nearly drop the warm meat into the flames. Bull’s-eye!

  “Your brother is mighty proud that he turned you back into a human, am I right? He loves playing the noble hero, but he never anticipated just how badly the Fairy would take his interference. You should’ve heard him scream as the moth tore through his chest.”

  How Will looked at him.

  Ah, so Jacob had never told Will about that. And still Will didn’t ask Nerron to tell him more. Will Reckless kept his own counsel.

  “Did you know Kami’en’s bodyguards still talk about you? They admit the Jade Goyl could’ve taken on every one of them.”

  Nerron thought he saw the briefest hint of a smile on that innocent face. “The stories are probably exaggerated,” the Goyl added. “Or are they?”

  Will looked at his hands. “I don’t remember.”

  Liar. Human faces were so easy to read. Will had enjoyed the fighting. Maybe he was more like his brother than he cared to admit. Nerron had never understood the attraction of open battle. Of course, he knew how to defend his own speckled skin. Nobody wanted to be ended by some idiot’s bullet or spear. But Nerron preferred a well-planned ambush, just like the one he’d laid for Jacob Reckless, only then he’d been careless enough to leave him to the wolves.

  “Have you ever seen her?” Will stared into the fire as he waited for Nerron’s answer.

  Her. The Dark One. The Fairy. The fairest of them all. Jacob Reckless knew too well how dangerous it was to know her true name.