Living Shadows Page 21

  “Shall I let them go?” The dog man could barely hold his panting charges.

  “No. Not yet.” The thought of them tearing the vixen to pieces made him nauseous. It wouldn’t take much and soon he’d be throwing up at every turn, like Lelou.

  Speaking of the Devil...

  “Are you sure he’s in there?” The Bug stared at the stable as though he were trying to burn a hole into the brittle walls. He was very proud of the pistol he’d started to carry in his belt.

  “Yes. He’s standing right behind the door.”

  Reckless thought the darkness hid him, but he’d forgotten he was dealing with a Goyl.

  “I best hit him straight in the head.” Louis trained his rifle. “Or do we need him alive?” His clan’s passion for the hunt. The excitement even made him forget to yawn. They still believed the story about the Albian spy.

  “No. Just shoot him dead,” Nerron replied. He didn’t want Louis to think he was softer than him. And, anyway, Reckless wouldn’t be so stupid as to run out in front of his rifle. Nerron was sure he had the heart. Once more, Reckless had been faster. Two to one for him, Nerron.

  Lelou nervously licked his lips. The pistol on his belt had not made a warrior out of him. Eaumbre was with Milkbeard by the Witch’s house. After what had happened in Vena, Louis had become even harsher toward the Waterman, but Eaumbre bore the insults with a stoic expression, and he kept acting as if he’d never given up the bodyguarding business.

  At Nerron’s sign, Eaumbre kicked in the Witch’s door. Yes, he was useful, though one could never be too sure which side he was on. Probably his own. The child-eater fluttered past him and landed on her roof with a loud croak. The magpie was the Dark Witches’ bird of choice; the White Witches preferred swallows. Reckless had probably been watching, but there was no movement behind the stable door.

  “One thing’s for sure,” Louis muttered. “When we find that crossbow, I get the first shot.”

  “Yes? And who would that be aimed at?”

  Louis gave Nerron an icy look. “A Goyl, of course. And with the second shot, I’ll wipe out the Albian army.”

  Eaumbre stood in front of Nerron. “Just one wounded man. He’s sleeping some kind of Witch sleep. Shall I bring him here to flush out the other one?”

  “No. I’ll get him out anyway.” Nerron drew his revolver and checked the ammunition. Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun.

  Eaumbre stood by his side. The well had obviously not dampened his lust for treasure hunting.

  “I’m coming as well.” Louis suppressed a yawn.

  To hell with Lelou and his toad spawn! Luckily, even the Bug understood that a dead prince meant a dead Arsene Lelou. “Best to let the Goyl handle this, my prince!” he purred. “Who’s going to shoot the spy if he gets away from Nerron and the Waterman?”

  Louis yawned once more. “Fine.” He pointed his rifle at the stable door again. “What are you waiting for, Goyl?”

  Nerron badly wanted to give him some of the lizard venom the onyx used to turn human skin into translucent slime. The crossbow, Nerron. It’ll be worth it all! He could already feel its wooden shaft in his hands. It would give all the treasure hunters sleepless nights. His ugly face would be on the front page of every newspaper, and princes and kings would beg him for his services. Only the onyx would wish him dead, once Kami’en put the crowns of Lotharaine and Albion on his head. They would curse the day they’d sent a five-year-old bastard home instead of to his death.

  Nerron left the dog man and Milkbeard with Louis. They were both loud and stupid, not worthy of this enemy. But he did give Milkbeard orders to set the Devil-Horses free. It would be far too humiliating should Reckless manage to escape on them.

  Nerron stayed under the trees until he could no longer be seen from the stable door. Reckless didn’t have eyes that could see in the dark, and his skin wasn’t as black as the night, but the vixen was with him, and her senses were as sharp as a Goyl’s.

  A few quick steps across the yard. The back against the stable wall. Reckless was no longer standing behind the door. Nerron could see that much.

  Cat and mouse.

  He squeezed through the door.

  A cart. Bails of hay. Brushwood, the kind Witches used for their brooms. Especially the vixen could be hiding anywhere. Would Reckless shoot him without warning? Maybe. Though Reckless was more into rules than Nerron was. According to what people said about him, he had old-fashioned ideas about honor and decency, though he probably would’ve never admitted it.

  Where were they?

  Nerron briefly worried they might have escaped through some kind of spell—but here, in the Dark Witch’s territory, no magic worked besides her own. Hopefully, Lelou made sure Louis didn’t fall asleep.

  The Waterman was still standing in the doorway. What? Was he suddenly afraid of the dark? Go search, you idiot!

  Nerron rammed his saber into the brushwood.

  “I see you’re also quite good at playing hide-and-seek!” His voice sounded like ground-up granite. The damp well was still sitting in his bones. “I just want the heart. Then I’ll let you and the vixen go.” He might even keep that promise, but of course he couldn’t speak for Louis.

  A follet ran past him, and there were rats in the hay. A cozy place, but the vixen’s company without a doubt even turned the filthy stable of a child-eater into a romantic venue.

  There. He could hear someone breathe. You have him now, Nerron. All that hassle, just because he’d trusted the wolves.

  A sound made him spin around, but it was only the Waterman who’d stepped into one of the Witch’s rat traps. Scaly fool. He groaned and cursed as he freed his boot from the iron jaws. The noise distracted Nerron for a fraction of a second, but that was enough. Before he could turn again, he heard the click of a pistol’s hammer.

  Reckless was standing a step away, aiming at Nerron’s heart. Where had he been? Between the hay bales? Eaumbre took a hobbling step toward him.

  “I really wouldn’t.” Reckless’s left hand was wet. His whole sleeve was dripping with blood.

  “Was that the payment for your wounded friend? How noble.” Nerron waved the Waterman back. “Yes, child-eaters cut deep.”

  Reckless shrugged. “Don’t worry. I can still pull a trigger.”

  “Yes, but how often? You’ll be dead before you get out that door.” Nerron cast a quick glance behind Reckless, but the vixen was nowhere to be seen. “Come on now. Where is the heart?”

  Reckless smiled.

  Oh, Nerron, you are a fool.

  RUN

  Fear. And more fear. Too short had been the peace in between.

  She was so tired that even the fur gave her no comfort. Fox had drunk her own fear, but she could still feel it. Like a tremor deep inside her.

  Places, clinging to her heart like mold...the shabby house that smelled like the sea. The red chamber. They couldn’t just be left behind. No matter how fast the vixen ran. Jacob was the only one who protected her from them.

  Fox wanted to sleep by his side. Just be with him and feel his warmth wash away the memory of the red chamber. And the house that smelled of salt.

  But she had to run.

  She was carrying his life around her neck.

  Nothing had ever weighed more.

  CUNNING AND FOLLY

  “You should have let the dogs loose! My father puts vixens in their cages when they are puppies, so they learn to like the taste. You should see what they do with them!”

  The same angry rant, every time they stopped for a break. The Snow-White apple had made Louis even more unpredictable—or was it the toad spawn? If it hadn’t been for Lelou, the princeling would have killed Reckless as soon as Nerron led him out of the stable. The future King of Lotharaine really was as stupid as he looked. No, Nerron, much stupider.

  “Foxes are smarter than dogs.” The Waterman was sitting in the grass, examining his injured foot. He had smeared on it some ointment that he’d found in the Witch’s
house, and now the scaly skin around the wound had turned as white as a mushroom.

  “You’re treating that filthy swine like a raw egg!” Louis rammed his sword so hard into the flame that the sparks singed Nerron’s skin. “He’s been giving us the runaround for weeks. Have you already forgotten everything you learned as my father’s bodyguard?” he barked at Eaumbre. “He has you treat prisoners who think they’re smarter than he very differently.”

  Eaumbre pulled the boot over his injured foot.

  “Fetch him!” Louis ordered.

  The Waterman got up quietly, but Nerron stood in his way.

  “He’s my prisoner.”

  “Really? Since when?” Louis got up. He was swaying a little, but the arrogance on his face was truly regal. Every evening, Eaumbre tied Reckless to one of the carriage wheels. Nerron liked to picture swapping him for Louis and letting the horses have the whip.

  The Waterman pushed past him and hobbled to the carriage.

  Reckless was still pale from the Witch’s bloodletting, and the Bluebeard had cut a few bloody patterns into his soft skin, but his face still had the same infuriatingly fearless expression it had worn when he faced the wolves.

  He even offered his tied hands to Nerron. “The Waterman ties the ropes so tight that my fingers are dying off. How about you take these off me? I’m not planning on running.”

  “And why not?” Louis wiped some grease from his mouth with his velvet sleeve. The dog man had shot two rabbits, and Louis had eaten them both himself. “You know what my father does to spies from Albion?”

  Reckless shot an amused glance at Nerron. His eyes were asking, Really? A spy? You owe me, Goyl.

  “Oh that...that’s just a sideline,” he said out loud. “I’m actually a treasure hunter, like the Goyl. And I’m afraid we’ll have to join forces for this hunt. You have the head and the hand. I have the heart. And if that’s not enough, then ask the Dwarfs whether they know where Guismond’s body is.”

  Oh, the cunning dog.

  It took Louis a few seconds to comprehend what Reckless was saying. He was now swaying so much that he nearly fell into the fire as he staggered toward him. Lelou fed him toad spawn thrice daily (the Waterman was often gone hours to find it), but the effect always wore off toward the evening. And the princely breath again smelled of elven dust as well.

  “You obviously forget whom you’re talking to!” Louis tried very hard to sound menacing.

  Reckless gave the hint of a bow. “Louis of Lotharaine. I worked for your father, but you probably don’t remember. He needed an antidote to a love potion. Your cousin was the perpetrator, and you were the victim. Didn’t she turn you into a frog?”

  “That story was spread by my father’s enemies.” Louis nearly swallowed his tongue with rage. “I was against leaving your friend with the Witch. You would have called the vixen back if the Waterman had cut off his fingers one by one.”

  “My prince!” Nerron wasn’t sure whether Lelou’s voice sounded indignant or impressed.

  Louis paid no attention to him. “Call her back,” he panted. “Now! Or I’ll order the Waterman to cut off your fingers. My father usually has them start with the thumbs.”

  He nodded at the Waterman. Eaumbre’s scaly face didn’t show what he thought of the order, but he did draw his knife.

  “Call her back? How am I supposed to do that?” Reckless asked. “Fox is probably miles ahead of us. Her paws are faster than your golden carriage. She’ll be waiting for me by the Dead City. Ask the Goyl. I’m certain the crossbow is there. And I bet you the heart that without me and the Goyl, you won’t survive more than three steps in those ruins.”

  Louis’s face turned as white as curdled milk.

  “Forget his fingers,” he barked at the Waterman. “Cut his throat!”

  Eaumbre hesitated. But then he put his knife to Reckless’s throat.

  Enough. Nerron grabbed Louis and pulled him away.

  “Aren’t you listening?” he hissed. “He doesn’t just have the heart! He also has Guismond’s body. What good do you think the hand and the head are without it? Kill him, fine, but then you explain to your father why we couldn’t find the crossbow.”

  Louis stared at him as though he was going to cut off Nerron’s fingers next. Not so easy with a Goyl, princeling. “He insulted me. I want to see him dead. Now!”

  The Waterman was looking at them, his knife still on Reckless’s throat. In times of emergency, Nerron’s mother used to pray to some mysterious Queen who lived in a copper mountain and wore a dress of malachite. Nerron would have loved to ask her to put just a grain of reason into the crown prince’s head, but salvation already came scurrying to Louis’s side in the shape of Lelou.

  “My prince!” he whispered with an appeasing smile. “I’m afraid the Goyl is right. From time to time, even your father has to collaborate with his enemies. You can still kill Reckless later.”

  Louis frowned (touching, how humans’ skin creased up when they tried to think) and gave their prisoner a menacing look.

  “Fine. Keep him alive for now!” he ordered the Waterman. “But tighten those ropes.”

  SOMEHOW

  The vixen didn’t count the days it took her to reach the mountains where the Dead City lay. But there were too many.

  Fox only shed the fur to sneak some restless hours of sleep. With her human body came the memories, but she also caught herself missing the feeling of the wind on her bare skin. She even missed her vulnerable heart. Animal, human, vixen, woman. She was no longer sure what she was more. Or what she wanted to be more.

  She had telegraphed Valiant from a train station. The aging telegraph operator had eyed her as though he could see the fur dress beneath her stolen clothes.

  The Dwarf had suggested they meet in a mountain village not far from the Dead City. One could see the ruins from the market square: collapsed towers and domes, pale walls, laid out along the slopes of a mountain like bleached bones. Dark clouds hung over the dead streets. They had drifted in over the entire valley, and Fox felt their cold shadow as she stopped in front of the tavern where she was supposed to meet Valiant.

  The goat horns above the door were meant to ward off the kind of ghosts that were particularly feared in this area: tegglis, wax-ghosts, mountain Witches...they were blamed for every dead goat and sick child, even though most of them weren’t half as vicious as their reputation. Fear flourished like weeds in these mountains.

  Fox stepped into the dark taproom. The look she got from the landlord was as filthy as his apron, and she was glad Valiant didn’t keep her waiting too long.

  “You look like death!” he observed as he pulled up one of the chairs the landlord kept ready for his Dwarf customers. “I hope Jacob’s looking even worse. Shall I show you the telegrams that lying dog has sent me? ‘No trace yet...will keep you posted...this hunt may take years...’ You know what? As far as I’m concerned, that Goyl can drag him here by a rope.”

  Tired. She was so tired.

  The landlord served the tea she’d ordered, and he took a glass of milk to the child at the next table. Fox felt her hand begin to tremble at the sight of the white liquid.

  “What the devil...”

  Valiant grabbed her arm and looked in shock at the grazed wrists. She’d be carrying the scars from Troisclerq’s chains for the rest of her life. Tears welled up inside her, but the vixen wiped them away. They were as useless as her fear for Jacob. You will save him. Somehow. How?

  Valiant handed her a handkerchief embroidered with his initials.

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about Jacob!” The Dwarf shook his head and sneered. “That Goyl’s not going to hurt a hair on his head. Jacob is unkillable. I know what I’m talking about. I dug his grave once.”

  That memory didn’t really make things better. Jacob had dodged death so many times. But not this time, she heard a whisper inside her.

  Be quiet.

  The child at the next table was drinking her milk. Fox wanted
to look away, but she forced herself to watch. Or did she now want to start running from moths and flowers as well?

  The wind pushed open one of the windows, blowing hailstones across the wooden tables. The landlord quickly closed it with a worried look on his face. He’d been talking with a farmer who’d told him stories of landslides and drowned sheep—and that one of the crazies who lived in the Dead City had been to his farm, announcing the end of the world. They were called Preachers, men and women who’d lost their minds in the ruins and who believed that the abandoned city housed the gateway to heaven. Fox had met one of them at the edge of the village. They adorned their clothes with tin and glass, turning them into a kind of bizarre armor.

  The farmer gave Valiant a dark look.

  “You see that?” the Dwarf whispered, returning the look with a gold-toothed smile. “They blame the mines for the bad weather. If those goat-herding imbeciles had any idea how close they are to the truth. Since we found that tomb, it’s not only the weather that’s gone crazy. We’re having more accidents in the mines. Those Preachers are popping up everywhere, prattling about the end of the world, and the farmers keep their livestock locked in the stables, claiming the Dead City’s come alive.”

  Fox rubbed her scuffed wrists. “Where did you take the body?”

  Valiant held up his hands. As small as children’s hands, and strong enough to bend metal. “Not so fast. Jacob is like a brother to me, but we need to renegotiate. There’ll be additional costs now that the fool has let himself get captured.”

  Fox hissed across the table, “Like a brother? You’d probably sell Jacob for the silver fingernails of a Thumbling! I wouldn’t be surprised if you joined forces with the Goyl if he offered you a bigger share.”

  That thought brought a flattered smile to the Dwarf’s face. He took any reference to his cunning as a compliment.

  “We should discuss all this in a less public place,” he purred. “My chauffeur is waiting outside. Chauffeur...” He gave Fox a meaningful wink. “A wonderful word, isn’t it? Sounds so much more modern than ‘coachman.’”