Reckless II

by Cornelia Funke

  Jacob! The head! He pulled the knife through the last bit of metal, and finally the head dropped into the net. The gilded face stared up at him, its mouth still wide open in midscream. He pulled a swindlesack from beneath his wet shirt. It clung to his trembling fingers. Jacob tugged it over his loot and then looked up at the railing. Fox held on to the ship with one hand, steadying the Rapunzel-rope with the other. They could barely see each other through the thickening smoke that was enveloping the ship. The deck was on fire, but he had to get up there. Fox was up there, and maybe not all the lifeboats had been put out to water yet.

  She started to haul in the rope, though she could barely hold on. The Titania was swaying too wildly, and Jacob was heavy. The flagship was sinking, together with the entire Albian fleet. Drifting among the burning frigates was the iron ship, its armored flanks torn open and planes swarming over it like scarlet wasps.

  Jacob tucked the swindlesack back under his shirt and began to climb, his feet pushing against the hull to make Fox’s work easier. Underneath, the figurehead still flapped its wings like a beheaded chicken. The warning Fox screamed over the railing came too late. Jacob tried to dodge the wings, but their barbs were as sharp as blades. The black magic inside them cut through the Rapunzel-rope barely a hand’s breadth above Jacob’s head—and he dropped like a stone toward the blazing water.

  23

  MAL DE MER

  Jacob wasn’t sure whether his ears were filled with his own scream or the calls of the drowning men floating all around him. The sea was frigid, despite the burning ships. He grabbed hold of a drifting plank while he desperately tried to spot Fox on the flagship above. But the smoke was too thick. Jacob hoped she’d jumped, because the big ship was going to take everything with it when it sank. He yelled her name, but he could hardly even hear his own voice. The screams and moans were too loud, as though the waves were suddenly roaring through a thousand human throats. An explosion tore up one of the sinking ships, and the Titania started listing dangerously, yet Jacob kept searching for Fox among the floating bodies and debris.

  Where was she?

  He yanked the head of every passing corpse out of the water. Their pale faces floated like wax blossoms between the charred sails and the empty powder kegs. He could barely feel his limbs anymore in the icy water, and the smoke made every breath an ordeal, but he had to find her.

  “Jacob.” Wet arms wrapped around his neck. A cold cheek pressed against his. Fox’s red hair, which stuck to her face, was so wet that it looked almost black. Jacob squeezed her tight and could feel her heartbeat through their wet clothes. He didn’t dare let her go, afraid the waves would wash her away again.

  “You have the head?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have to get away from here.”

  Away to where? Jacob looked around. What was Dunbar going to think when he opened his paper in the morning? Iron ships, airplanes, bombs falling from the skies… would he wonder whether they’d drowned with the head? Would he finally begin to fear the new magic of technology as much as he feared that of the Witch Slayer?

  “The coast can’t be far. We were sailing southeast for hours.”

  Whatever she said, the planes were gone, but there would definitely not be any rescue mission.

  “Come.” Fox pulled him with her. She seemed certain in direction the coast lay.

  Swim, Jacob.

  The smoke followed them for a long time. The smoke. The debris. The cries for help. But finally there was nothing around them but the sea, heaving like a giant animal digesting all the bodies it had just drowned. Fox looked at him with concern. She was a good swimmer, but Jacob’s arms were getting heavy, and every wave left him gasping for air. Fox came to swim by his side, but he only got slower and slower. Don’t hold on to her, Jacob! He would pull her down with him. His skin was numb, and he felt himself losing consciousness.

  “Jacob!” Fox wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head out of the water. “You won’t make it to the shore. Let yourself sink. Do you hear?”

  Sink? What was she talking about? He tried to breathe, but even the air seemed to be made of salt water.

  “It’s your only chance. They don’t come to the surface.”

  They? Fox pulled him down before he could understand what she meant. Water rushed into his mouth and nose. He tried to resist, but Fox wouldn’t let go. She pulled him deeper and deeper, no matter how much he struggled. Jacob tried to push her away—he wanted to breathe, only breathe—but then suddenly he felt other hands. Warm and slender, like the hands of children. They pushed one of their scales into his mouth, and his lungs began to breathe the water as though they’d never done anything else. The bodies floating around him and Fox were transparent, like frosted glass. Fish or human—they were both. The Lotharainians called them Mal de Mer, but they had a different name on every coast. It was said that they capsized boats to take the souls of the dead to their cities at the bottom of the sea. The Empress had a specimen of a Mal de Mer in her Chambers of Miracles, but death had turned its crystalline beauty into dull wax.

  They swarmed around Fox as though she were one of them, weaving flowers into her hair, stroking her face, but she would not let go of Jacob, and when they tried to pull him deeper, she pushed the naiads away. It was like a dance between her and them, until at some point Jacob felt a wave wash him onto firm ground. He felt damp sand, shells crushing between his fingers. His eyes burnt from the salty water, but he managed to open them to see clouds and a gray sky above. Fox was crouched next to him. She was also too weak to get to her feet, but they dragged each other along, away from the water’s hissing waves that still sounded so hungry, until, exhausted, they finally dropped side by side onto the sand.

  Jacob spat out the scale the Mal de Mer had pushed between his lips, and he greedily gulped the damp air into his burning lungs. It was salty and cold and more delicious than anything he’d ever tasted.

  Breathing. Just to be breathing.

  Fox reached for the blossoms the Mal de Mer had put into her hair. Underwater they’d shone in all the colors of the rainbow, but now they were wilted and dull. Fox threw them into the waves as if trying to give them back their life. Then she knelt down again next to Jacob and dug her hands deep into the gray sand.

  “That was close.” Her voice sounded as though she couldn’t believe that they were still alive.

  Alive. Jacob reached under his wet shirt, but all his fingers found was the moth.

  The swindlesack with the head was gone.

  Fox smiled as she put her hand up her sleeve. She pulled out the sack and threw it onto his chest.

  The gloves, like his backpack, had been claimed by the sea. Still, as Jacob put his hand into the sack and touched the golden hair, all he felt as was a slight tingling. Swindlesacks could have a dampening effect on black magic, though Jacob had never seen such a strong effect. It didn’t matter… he had the head. He could only hope that the Goyl had been less successful in the meantime. Jacob tied up the sack and looked at the sky, where a few hungry gulls circled among the clouds. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the red airplanes diving at the burning ships.

  “Why did the Mal de Mer help us?”

  Fox was wiping the sand from her bare arms. She’d pulled her dress off in the water, and now she was just wearing the one of fur. She wore it beneath her clothes whenever things might get dangerous, but this time it wasn’t the vixen who had saved them, but her human self.

  “They usually only help women,” she said. “When I was a child they saved my mother’s sister. Normally, they take the men with them, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to protect you from them, but without their help, you would have drowned.” Fox smiled. “Luckily, they realized I wasn’t going to let them have you without a fight.”

  Yes, luckily. She was so fearless, it sometimes scared him. Ja
cob sat up. He could only hope the hand and the heart would be easier to find. Not that he really expected they would be. He looked around. Steep sandy cliffs and a pebbly beach. A lighthouse in the distance.

  “Do you know where we are?”

  Fox nodded. “I grew up not far from here. I asked the Mal de Mer to take us here. We’re in Lotharaine, just a few miles from the Flandrian border.” She got to her feet. “We’d better see that we move on, though. The fishermen here are not very friendly toward strangers. You still have the gold handkerchief? We’ll need money for horses and new clothes.”

  Jacob reached into his pocket. The handkerchief was soaking wet, but Earlking’s card dropped from his pocket as dry and untouched as though it had just snuck into his hand. Fox gave the card a nervous look, but it was blank except for Earlking’s name. The card was pearly white, as though the sea had washed away the ink. Jacob shooed away a little spider that had crawled from his pocket, then he tucked the card away again. He still wanted to throw it away, but ever since he’d seen Will’s name on it, the card felt like a connection to his brother—even though Jacob knew the notion was irrational.

  The handkerchief usually worked even when it was wet, but Jacob had to rub it for what seemed an eternity before it finally released one paper-thin coin. Yes, he really needed a new one, but these handkerchiefs weren’t easy to find.

  Jacob poured out the water from his boots. “How many times has it been now?” He got to his feet.

  “How many times has what been?” Fox could also barely stand. They were both shivering in their wet clothes.

  “That you saved my skin.”

  Fox smiled as she brushed the sand off his back. “I think we’re nearly even.”

  24

  A BOOT PRINT

  Coast… his hand… almost crushed. The spider danced haltingly, as though she’d swallowed as much water as her sister.

  Albion had lost its fleet, and Nerron had almost lost his eight-legged spy. Luckily, twin spiders were made of hardier stuff than ships of wood or iron. And Reckless had also done quite well, if the spider’s report was true. Fire from the sky… water… smoke… death. Nerron had some trouble figuring out exactly what had happened, but in the end all he needed to know were two things: the Goyl attack had made the crossbow even more attractive to all their enemies, and Reckless had made it back to the mainland—with the head.

  Oh, this race was fun. Even if the princeling had the hand for now. And speak of the devil… the knocks on Nerron’s door sounded like someone who wasn’t used to standing in front of closed doors. Nerron nudged the spider back into the medallion and opened the door.

  “Look at this!” Louis shoved a discolored shirtsleeve into Nerron’s face. “They can’t even wash clothes in this dump! And what do you think my father will say when I telegraph him that Lelou had to pick lice from my hair this morning?”

  Nerron pictured the chandelier he wanted to build from Louis’s bones. Imagination was such a wonderful gift!

  “What are we looking for next?” Ah. He’d tasted blood. The hunger for the hunt. Louis had far too many royal robbers in his ancestry to be immune to it.

  “Get the others and meet me behind the stables.”

  Nerron wanted to slam the door shut, but Louis put his expensive boot in the jamb. “You’re not really the chatty kind, Goyl. I think you’re not telling us everything you know about this search.”

  And why should I, my princeling? So you or your dad might get the idea to search for the crossbow yourselves?

  “Ask Lelou. He’ll know more than I,” Nerron replied. “And about those lice: why don’t you just have the landlord waive your wine bill?”

  Louis picked a particularly fat specimen from his forehead and crushed it with disgust between his fingers.

  “Fine,” he said, pulling his boot out of the door. “Behind the stables. But remember, I don’t like waiting.”

  *

  Of course, it was Nerron who ended up waiting. Maybe they found some more lice. Quite astonishing that Louis’s eau de toilette didn’t kill them all on the spot. Eaumbre trudged silently behind his royal charge, but Lelou was talking at Louis in his usual breathless way. He only quieted when he saw Nerron beside the saddled horses.

  “Lelou says you told him we have to also find a heart and a head before we get the crossbow?” Louis had the swindlesack with the hand hanging from his gold-studded belt. He ran his fingers over it, as if to remind them that so far he was the more successful treasure hunter, not Nerron.

  Blue-blooded idiot.

  Nerron gave him his most innocent smile.

  “Yes, that is correct,” he said. Best to let Lelou think he had every detail about this hunt. It would keep the Bug from asking too many questions. But now it was time to deviate a little from the truth.

  He put on a concerned face. “Sadly, I just had news that a spy from Albion has gotten hold of the head. And he may get the heart before we catch up with him by coach or train. So I suggest we use magic to stop him.”

  A deep frown furrowed Louis’s deceptively high forehead.

  “Albion. Always Albion,” he growled. “My father’s too nice to them.”

  Lelou rubbed his pointy nose. “I traveled with magic once. It’s very unhealthy. My own shadow started talking to me afterward.”

  Nerron pulled a leather pouch from his saddlebag. “Not to worry. We Goyl use magic that has no side effects.” He didn’t actually know if that applied to humans, but of course he didn’t mention that little detail.

  The pouch contained soil Nerron had collected from a boot print near the elevators at the mine where Guismond’s tomb was discovered. He was certain it belonged to Reckless. Lelou watched warily as Nerron spread the soil on a flat stone. What an opportunity to get rid of them all! He could barely resist the temptation, but Louis still had the hand, and Lelou’s knowledge might prove useful in the search for the heart. What about the Waterman, Nerron? He shot a quick look at Eaumbre. Nerron’s instinct told him that even Eaumbre might yet prove useful, even if only to kill the other two.

  “There… it’s quite simple. As long as you do exactly as I say.” Nerron waved them to his side impatiently. “Hold the reins in your left hand and put your right hand on the shoulder of the man in front of you.”

  Lelou had to stand on his tiptoes to reach Louis’s shoulders, and the princeling pulled on his calf-leather gloves before he touched the Waterman. Eaumbre, however, clawed his fingers into Nerron’s shoulder as if he wanted to remind him how much damage they could do.

  Nerron pressed his boot into the soil Jacob Reckless had stood on a few days earlier. He smelled salt in the air.

  Water.

  He shuddered.

  Hopefully, they weren’t about to land up to their necks in it.

  25

  THE SECOND TIME

  They had the head. Jacob caught himself feeling ridiculously confident as he and Fox checked in to an inn. After all that cold water, they wanted to spend at least one night in a warm bed. They were in Saint-Riquet, a small town with narrow alleys that spoke of a time long forgotten even on this side of the mirror. The market square was lined by timber-framed houses whose roofs had been tiled by Giants, and the church bell always chimed right before death claimed one of its people.

  That evening Fox set out to find a livery stable and organize some horses for the journey, and Jacob telegraphed Dunbar and Chanute, hopeful they might have leads in the search for the hand and the heart. He wasn’t sure how Dunbar would react to the news that his theory had been right and that they had found the head. Maybe he’d at least be glad they were still alive. Jacob also sent a telegram to Valiant just to keep the Dwarf happy, but he didn’t tell Valiant about the head, nor where they were at the moment. Jacob did not trust Valiant’s discretion, and the Dwarf would find o
ut soon enough that Jacob had no intention of selling the crossbow to the highest bidder.

  It was the first warm day of spring, but the barefoot flower girl selling primroses on the corner was probably still freezing. She was redheaded and as scrawny as a young bird. Fox had barely been much older when Jacob had first seen her human form. He bought a posy off the girl because he knew how much Fox loved primroses. He was just taking the flowers from her small hand when the pain shot into his chest again.

  It was even worse than the first time. Jacob stumbled against the nearest wall and pressed his forehead against the cold stone, desperately fighting for air. The pain was so horrendous that he nearly dropped to his knees to beg the Fairies for mercy. Nearly.

  The child looked frightened. She picked up the flowers he’d dropped and held them out to him. Jacob could barely grip them.

  “Thanks,” he stammered.

  He somehow managed a smile as he put a copper sou into the girl’s hand. The child smiled back with relief.

  The inn was only a few alleys away, and yet he could barely manage to get back. The pain lasted until he unlocked the door to his room. He locked it before unbuttoning his shirt. The moth had another spot on its wing, and he could remember only four letters of the Fairy’s name.

  Start counting, Jacob.

  He took some of Alma’s powder, but his hands were shaking so badly that he spilled most of it.

  Damn, damn, damn…

  Where was Fox? Getting a couple of horses shouldn’t take that long. When there finally was a knock on the door, it was only the landlady’s youngest daughter.