Reckless II

by Cornelia Funke

  Chanute shook his head as he put the root into his mouth. “She’s been gone for weeks. The Dwarf wanted to hire you to get him a Man-Swan feather, and since you weren’t around, Fox offered to get it for him. Don’t look at me like that! She’s more careful than you, and smarter than the two of us together. She got the feather, but the swan got her on the arm. Nothing to worry about. She staying at the Dwarf’s until it’s fully healed. He bought himself some ramshackle castle with all the gold your tree’s giving him. Fox left you the address.”

  He lifted the Ogre’s jaw, which he used as a paperweight, and held out an envelope to Jacob. The crest on it was embossed in real gold. The tree that Jacob had paid to buy a way into the Goyl fortress had made Evenaugh Valiant a very rich Dwarf.

  “Take her this if you’re going to see her.” Chanute pushed a package toward him. It was wrapped in silk. “Tell Fox it’s from Ludovik Rensman. His father has the law offices behind the church. Ludovik is a good catch. You should have seen his face when I told him she was gone.” He rolled his eyes. The last woman Chanute had been involved with was a rich widow from Schwanstein, but she hadn’t been able to tolerate the wolf heads he’d hung in her parlor.

  “Ahhh!” Relieved, Chanute dropped on his bed. “It tastes worse than a Witch’s backside, but you can always count on moor-root!” He still slept on the same old tattered blanket he’d always snored on in the wilderness. Maybe it made him dream of his old adventures.

  Gold leaf stuck to Jacob’s fingers as he opened the envelope with Fox’s letter. Her handwriting was much better than his, even though he had taught her to write in the first place. The letter contained nothing more than a brief greeting and directions.

  He’d been gone a long time.

  “Gallberg,” he muttered. “That’s more than ten days’ ride from here. What does the Dwarf want with a castle in those godforsaken mountains?”

  “How would I know?” Chanute’s eyes were already glazing over. “Maybe he’s trying to commune with Mother Nature? You know how sentimental those Dwarfs get with old age.”

  Maybe, but that was definitely not true for Evenaugh Valiant. The Dwarf must have discovered a ream of silver beneath the castle. Jacob tucked Fox’s letter into his backpack. A Man-Swan feather… a dangerous assignment. But Chanute was right: Fox already knew just about as much about treasure hunting as he did.

  “Why aren’t you getting drunk?” Chanute began to babble as his hand swatted at imaginary will-o’-the-wisps. “That apple isn’t going nowhere.” He giggled at his own joke like a child. “And if that doesn’t help, you can still work your way through my list.”

  Chanute’s list. It hung in the taproom, under his old jagged saber: the list of those magical objects he’d sought and never found. Jacob knew it by heart, and there was nothing on it that would save him.

  “Sure,” he said. He put another moor-root next to Chanute’s pillow. “Now sleep.”

  Ten days. The damn Dwarf. Jacob could only hope Alma was right and he had a little time left. If death managed catch up with him before he saw Fox, he couldn’t even wring Valiant’s short neck for it.

  9

  GODFORSAKEN MOUNTAINS

  Ten days’ ride. After studying the route on Chanute’s grimy map, Jacob decided to take the train. Valiant’s castle was so inaccessible that any horse would have broken its legs on the way up there, but luckily the Dwarfs had spent the past years blasting tunnels with such abandon that there was actually a railroad station nearby.

  The train took four days and nights. A long journey with death as your luggage. Every tunnel made breathing harder, as though someone was already shoveling dirt onto his chest. He tried to distract himself with the memoirs of a treasure hunter who’d scoured Varangia for firebirds and emerald nuts for his prince. Yet while Jacob’s eyes were trying to hold on to the printed letters, his mind saw other images: the blood on his shirt after the Goyl shot through his heart; Valiant standing by a freshly dug grave; and, over and over again, the Red Fairy whispering the name of her sister. Four days…

  A cable car took him from the sleepy railroad station where he’d stepped off the train up to the rocky peak on which Valiant’s castle stood. Its high walls rose from the deep snow, and Jacob only cursed the Dwarf even more after having to pay a farmer one gold coin for the use of his snappish donkey.

  The castle didn’t make a very impressive sight. The left tower was collapsed, and the others were also nearly shot to pieces, yet when Valiant greeted Jacob by the decayed gates, the Dwarf wore as proud a grin as if he’d acquired the Empress’s palace itself.

  “Not bad, is it?” Valiant called out toward Jacob while a grouchy Dwarf servant took his bag. “I’m the lord of my castle! Yes, I know, the renovations are stagnating a little,” he added as Jacob eyes went over the hole-riddled towers. “Not easy getting materials up here. And also “—he shot a quick glance at the servant and lowered his voice—” the tree is giving me some trouble. It’s taken to shedding nothing but slimy pollen.”

  “Really?” Jacob had to try hard not to show his pleasure. He’d never had much luck with the tree himself.

  Valiant stroked the mustache he’d been growing. It sat on his upper lip like a caterpillar, but a Dwarf with any more beard than that would have been considered hopelessly old-fashioned. “And how are you? Hunting for something?” He leered at Jacob. “You’re looking pale.”

  Great. Pull yourself together, Jacob. The last thing he needed was the Dwarf guessing how bad things stood with him.

  “No. Feeling fine,” Jacob answered. “I was looking for something, but I didn’t find it.” The best lie was always the one closest to the truth.

  The servant who opened the castle door for them was a human. No Dwarf could have reached the handle, and of course nothing showed off Valiant’s wealth better than a human servant. While the man took Jacob’s snow-encrusted coat, Valiant named the price of every piece of furniture in the drafty entrance hall. They were, without exception, made for humans. Dwarfs were prone to ignoring their own size. But Jacob had no time for Mauretanian vases or tapestries depicting the enthronement of the last Dwarf King.

  “She’s upstairs,” Valiant said as he finally noticed Jacob’s impatience. “I had a doctor look at her yesterday, even though she would have none of it. You two spend too much time together. She’s already just as bullheaded as you. Mind you, she did bring me a gorgeous feather. You couldn’t have gotten me a better one yourself.”

  *

  Valiant had put up Fox in the best-preserved tower of his castle. She was asleep when Jacob entered her room—on a bed that would have been big for a Dwarf but that was barely long enough for her. She’d been lucky. The swan had only given her a flesh wound. Jacob picked up a bloody shirt from the floor next to the bed. It had once been his. Fox had learned from Clara that men’s clothes could be much more practical.

  Jacob pulled the blanket over her bandaged shoulder. She’d changed so much in the past months. There wasn’t much left of the girl who’d first shown him her human form nearly five years ago. The vixen made her age so fast that he had to keep warning her not to shift too often. One day soon she was going to have to choose between the fur and the chance of a long human life. He’d always believed he’d be there when she made that decision, but now it didn’t look as though he would.

  He brushed the red hair from her forehead. A feather lay on the nightstand next to the bed. Jacob picked it up and smiled. She’d kept one for herself. Just as Chanute had taught him: “Whatever you find for a client, always make sure you keep some of it for yourself.” It was a flawless specimen. Jacob had never seen a more beautiful Man-Swan feather. The easiest way to get one was to steal it from the nest, but even that was dangerous. Man-Swans were very combative. Unbearable sorrow had turned them into swans, and only a blood relative could release them and give them back their
human form. Jacob had once nearly paid with his life for finding the feathered son of a baker’s wife. Anything a Man-Swan feather touched disappeared immediately and reappeared only when the feather was put down again. Chanute had transported many treasures that way. It didn’t always work, though. Some things got lost along the way.

  “Don’t even think about it. That feather’s mine.” Sleep was clinging to Fox’s eyes. She flinched as she propped herself up on her injured arm.

  Jacob returned the feather to the nightstand. “Since when do you go treasure hunting without me?” I missed you, he wanted to add, but her eyes were cold, as they always were when he’d been gone too long.

  “It wasn’t a difficult job. And I was tired of waiting.”

  She’d become a woman without his really noticing. In his eyes she’d always been beautiful, even when she was the scrawny little thing that only reluctantly picked the burrs from her hair. Beautiful like all wild and free things. But now she wore the vixen’s beauty on her human skin.

  “You’re still shifting too much,” he said. “If you don’t watch it, you’ll soon end up older than I.”

  She pushed the blanket off her. “And?” She was wearing her fur dress. She always wore it in her sleep, for fear someone might steal it off her. “Stop worrying about me all the time. You never used to do that.” Yes, Jacob, what are you doing? You’ll see; she’ll get along just fine without you. Only that he wouldn’t see.

  From his backpack he pulled the package Chanute had given him. “You never told me you had a rich suitor in Schwanstein.”

  Fox opened the paper and smiled. It was a shawl. She stroked the green velvet and put it next to the feather.

  “What about you?” She gave him an inquiring look. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “What does that mean?” She pulled the sleeve over her bandaged shoulder. “Will you now finally tell me what you’re looking for?”

  Spit it out, Jacob. You want to tell her. She’s the only one you want to tell. He’d missed her so much. And he was tired of hiding his fear.

  He unbuttoned his shirt.

  “I was looking for a cure.”

  The moth’s red outline looked as though someone had traced it with fresh blood.

  Fox took a deep breath. “What does it mean?” Her voice sounded even more gravelly than usual.

  She read the answer on his face.

  “So that was the price.” She was trying to sound composed. “I knew your brother didn’t just get his skin back for free.” Her eyes filled with tears. The vixen’s eyes. Brown, like tarnished gold. She couldn’t remember whether they were the color she’d been born with or whether they’d come with the fur. “Which Fairy was it?”

  Tell her something, Jacob. Something to console her. But what?

  He stepped closer and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You always have to pay with your life for crossing one of them. And I managed to get on the wrong side of two of them.”

  Fox wrapped her arms around him.

  “How long?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” It was only half a lie. Jacob buried his face in her hair. He didn’t want to think anymore. What he wanted were the times when he’d go searching for lost magic with her, when he’d lived believing he was immortal, that he could own a whole world. He wanted to dream of what he’d do when he became as old as Chanute, of buying a castle in Etruria, of fishing for pirate gold in the White Sea. Childish dreams. He’d hoped he’d still be dreaming them on his hundredth birthday. Instead, he was going to have to think about which world he wanted to be buried in.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Valiant didn’t wait for a reply. Fox quickly stepped out of Jacob’s embrace as the Dwarf came through the door. That probably just fired up Valiant’s imagination even more, but Jacob wasn’t planning on telling him the real reason for her tears.

  “How about some dinner?” Valiant gave them a sleazy smile. “We’re having mountain goat. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I have a cook from Vena who can turn even a donkey into a feast.” He nodded at Fox. “Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

  Fox forced a smile on her lips. “You really should try the mountain goat,” she said.

  10

  DIGGING DEEP

  Valiant’s dining hall was as drafty as the rest of his castle, and Fox was grateful for the jacket Jacob put over her shoulders. Of course, it didn’t help against the fear, and neither did the fireplace, which Valiant’s servants kept feeding with damp wood.

  The table, the chairs, the plates, the glasses, even the cutlery was human-sized, but the chairs had been fitted with steps so that the Dwarf could get on them without the embarrassment of having to be lifted up by a servant. Valiant was in a formidable mood and, luckily for Jacob, he assumed that Jacob’s silence was merely a result of his being tired after days of traveling.

  You’re going to lose him, Fox.

  The thought clamped around her heart like an iron ring.

  She was ashamed for thinking he’d stayed away so long because of Clara. She should have known him better. But she’d been so tired—all that helpless love, the longing for him. It had felt good to turn her back on Schwanstein, to be by herself for a while, to feel her own strength. To be happy without Jacob. That much love was not good, especially if it was for someone who thought that emotion was nothing but a short-lived rush that was best slept off or forgotten. Several times she’d toyed with the idea of never returning to Schwanstein. But now everything had changed. How could she leave him now?

  Valiant asked how she liked the mountain goat.

  Yes, how? Even the meat on her plate made her think of death. Fox poked her fork into the meat and looked at Jacob. His face looked so young, even when he was scared. And so vulnerable.

  You promised to protect him, her heart whispered over and over. Back when he freed you from that trap. And? Promises were nothing when measured against death, which was like a hungry wolf in the forest. Death had claimed her father so soon after her birth that she couldn’t even remember his face. And three years later, her only sister had also become its prey.

  But not Jacob!

  Please, not Jacob.

  Valiant filled his plate for the third time, challenging Jacob to a bet that the Goyl would attack Lotharaine next, and not Albion. Who cared about that, or whether the Empress’s daughter was really going to give the Goyl King a child? Outside, the wind was howling like a ravenous creature, and the night was as cold as her fear.

  “Yes, I know. I myself voted against it in the Dwarf council!” Valiant had drunk too much, which only made him more talkative. And of course the toothpick he was using to pry the goat meat from his teeth was made of gold-plated wood. “Digging that deep was greedy, but these days there’s nothing more profitable than iron ore.” The Dwarf waited until the servants had cleared the plates, then he leaned over the table toward Jacob. “They never intended to dig all the way under the Dead City. Those idiots only realized it once they hit that door.”

  “Really?” Jacob mumbled.

  He’d barely eaten anything.

  Fox threw the bones from her plate to the two mastiffs lounging in front of the fireplace. The vixen in her knew how good they tasted. Valiant didn’t like the hounds. They were so big that he topped them only by a hand’s breadth, but they had come with the castle.

  “They should have dumped a lorry full of rubble in front of it and forgotten about it.” Valiant dropped the toothpick into a servant’s hand. “You know I will always get behind a good deal, but who are they ever going to sell the thing to? Provided they ever manage to get inside.”

  Jacob poured himself what dismal rest Valiant had left of the wine. “Inside what?”

 
He’d obviously been paying as little attention as Fox.

  “Inside the tomb! What do you think I’ve been talking about all this time? Didn’t she tell you anything?” Valiant shot a dismayed look at Fox. He’d probably told the story a dozen times. But she’d been preoccupied and had soon grown tired of listening to endless lectures on Dwarf history and Dwarf politics. One of the dogs came trotting over and sniffed her hand. Maybe he smelled the vixen beneath the human skin.

  Valiant lowered his voice. “It’s the tomb of that king with the unpronounceable name. Kissmount or something. You know… the Witch Slayer.”

  Jacob emptied his glass. “Guismond?”

  “Yes. Whatever. All tip-top secret.” Valiant waved at one of his servants and pointed at the empty wine bottle. “What do you think this is?” the Dwarf barked at him. “Bring a new one.”

  “A lot of winemakers now spike their red wine with elven dust!” he whispered to Jacob while the servant rushed off. “I wonder why they didn’t come up with that earlier. They keep Elves in cages. Hundreds of cages. Phenomenal!” He raised his glass toward Jacob. “To modern times!”

  Jacob stared into his glass as though he could see the captured Elves swimming in it.

  “Has the tomb been looted?” His voice sounded as casual as though he were inquiring about Valiant’s tailor.

  The Dwarf shrugged. “You know the Dwarf council. Always penny-pinching in the wrong places. Of all the treasure hunters they sent in there, not one has come out. And I say: just as well! Who’d want a weapon that can put an end to every war with one single shot? How’s that good business?”

  The Dwarf babbled on, and Fox could feel Jacob’s eyes seeking hers. She wasn’t sure what she saw in them: hope, or the fear of it. The Witch Slayer. She tried to recall what treasure hunters associated with that name, but all she could remember was that at least one headstone in every Witches’ graveyard cursed his name.