It is over, Fox.
Troisclerq reached out with his bloody hand and grabbed Jacob’s arm.
‘I’ll see you,’ he whispered.
His hand didn’t let go, but his eyes went as blank as his victims’. Jacob pried the fingers from his arm. Then he staggered to his feet and dropped the rapier. The blood on the blade was black.
His hand trembled as he unlocked the chains around Fox’s throat and arms with the Bluebeard’s key. Then he held the pitcher to her lips.
‘Drink!’ he whispered. ‘Forget about him. Drink as much as you can. It will be all right.’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
TOO LATE
A Bluebeard’s house. Of course. At least now some of Louis’s ramblings had made sense. White as milk. Not clear enough? Nerron cursed his own thick-wittedness as he caught a glimpse of the withered hedgerows and the stag standing forlornly in front of the unlit house. He ran off before the bloodhounds could get him.
The Bluebeard was laid out in his red chamber, surrounded by nine women. They lay next to their murderer as though they were sleeping. Lelou threw up in the corridor. The Bug had a sensitive stomach when confronted with death. Even Eaumbre looked rather distraught at the row of beautiful corpses, but then he quickly went off in search of the Bluebeard’s treasure chamber. Watermen at least kept their girls alive – though some would probably prefer death over a life in a pond.
Black like a piece of night set in gold. You’re a fool, Nerron. Louis had told him everything he’d wanted to know. Wherever the heart had been hidden in this horrible place, Reckless had found it. Nerron would have bet the head and the hand on that. Just as he was certain the blood in the entrance hall was not that of his rival.
They found some thoroughly wiped tracks in the driveway, but making yourself invisible wasn’t easy when you were transporting an injured man. And it slowed you down.
They’d catch up with them soon enough.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
TWO CUPS
The house, which Fox had found in a dark pine forest barely two miles from Champlitte, smelled neither of cinnamon nor of molten sugar. There also were no gingerbreads on the walls – and you didn’t need a fur dress to scent the dark magic wafting around the house like a bad smell. Jacob would have preferred a Witch like Alma, but Donnersmarck was as good as dead, and child-eaters could heal even the most terrible wounds. It was just best not to ask what went into their potions.
The woman who opened the door was very beautiful and very young. Most Dark Witches showed themselves in that form even if they were hundreds of years old. Jacob and Fox put Donnersmarck on her kitchen table so she could inspect his wounds. The nails on her fingers were so long and sharp, they made Jacob grateful his friend was already unconscious. Donnersmarck was paying a high price for helping him, and Jacob was not just worried about the wounds inflicted by the Man-Stag. The Witch confirmed his fears. When Jacob described to her who had attacked his friend, she shook her head with a vicious smile.
‘I can save his life,’ she said. ‘But I can’t do anything about him maybe wearing antlers one day. You can stay in my stable. This will take a few days, and you know the price. His life will cost you two cups of blood.’ The Witch cut off Fox before she could protest. ‘Careful now! ‘Or I might also ask for the dress that’s out there in that devil-horse’s saddlebag. I’m sure it gives you a beautiful fur.’
The Witch cut Jacob’s arm expertly, and the two cups were quickly filled. Then she rushed them out of the house. Dark Witches never allowed anyone to witness their craft. The cups had taken a lot of blood. Fox and Jacob chained the devil-horses to some trees, and Fox took the saddlebags with her. Jacob had found the fur dress in the servant’s room – and only then had the fear finally disappeared from Fox’s face.
She caught a few will-o’-the-wisps before she bandaged his arm in the dark stable. It was barely more than a shack, and definitely not the kind of place he’d wanted to take her to after the Bluebeard’s chamber. But the woods out there were no better. This will take a few days. Jacob had wanted to return to Vena as quickly as possible, to start searching for the Bastard. The moth on his chest was missing only two more spots, and the heart was no good to him as long as the Goyl had the head and the hand. But they could hardly repay Donnersmarck for all his help by leaving him alone with a child-eater. The Witch’s needle had kept him from bleeding out, but there wasn’t much life left in him. Jacob didn’t tell Fox about the fourth bite in the Bluebeard’s labyrinth. He was so relieved to have her by his side again, breathing and unhurt, that the moth seemed nothing more but a nightmare, and death was something they’d both left in Troisclerq’s red chamber.
Fox was so exhausted that she was asleep before Jacob could explain to her why he’d taken the necklace off one of the dead girls. She probably hadn’t even noticed – all she’d been concerned about was whether Troisclerq had destroyed her fur dress.
Jacob lay down next to her on the filthy straw, but he couldn’t sleep. He just listened to her breathing. At some point a crowned snake crawled into the stable, a kind found only in Lotharaine. The black lily on its head was worth a hundred gold thalers, but Jacob didn’t even lift his head. He didn’t want to think about treasure, or about the crossbow, or about having to die soon. Fox was sleeping a deep sleep. Her face was peaceful, as though she’d left all her fear behind in the Bluebeard’s house. She was back in the men’s clothes she’d worn on their trip to Albion. She’d left the Bluebeard’s dress next to her sisters-in-death. Jacob couldn’t take his eyes off her sleeping face. It finally erased all the images that had been tormenting him since Vena. It felt like a miracle that she was still alive, a magic that would pass. No Fairy island, no Larks’ Water, just a bed of filthy straw and her rhythmic breathing – yet nothing had ever felt better.
Jacob had spent years looking for one of the hourglasses that stopped time for the Empress. He’d never understood why this was one of the most coveted treasures one could find behind the mirror. There had never been a moment he’d wanted to hold on to for ever. The next one always had more promise, and even the most glorious day began to taste stale after a few hours. But now he was lying in the stable of a child-eater, his arm sliced open and death in his chest, wishing for an hourglass. He waved away a will-o’-the-wisp that had settled on Fox’s brow – they often brought bad dreams – and brushed the hair from her sleeping face.
His touch woke her. She reached out and ran her finger over the cut Troisclerq’s rapier had left on his left cheek.
‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered.
As if it was her fault he’d been too blind to protect her from Troisclerq. Jacob put his finger on her lips and shook his head. He had no idea how to apologise for all the fear and terror she’d never be able to forget. There was no consolation in that they’d both been Troisclerq’s prey, that they’d given Troisclerq a death he might have even been longing for after all the stolen lifetimes. Was it possible to escape death for too long? Could there be too much life? It was hard to believe that on a night like this.
‘You heard the Witch,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll be here a few days. So sleep! It’s not the cosiest of places, but much better than the one we came from, don’t you think?’