Fearless (Mirrorworld) - By Cornelia Funke Page 0,18

they weren’t afraid of the mine-gnomes that made mining behind the mirror even more dangerous than in the other world.

‘Is that what you call good business these days?’ Jacob asked the Dwarf as they passed the pale urchins. ‘Children scraping for ore?’

‘And? They’d be doing it without me,’ Valiant retorted blankly. ‘Life’s an ugly affair.’

Fox eyed the women who were unloading the tenders as they came up from the tunnels loaded with ore. She whispered to the Dwarf: ‘Did you hear about the mine owner in Austry whose workers sold him to mine-gnomes?’

Valiant gave Jacob an alarmed look. ‘You should keep a close eye on her,’ he hissed. He disgustedly shoved back one of the children who’d been stretching a little hand towards his wolf-fur coat. ‘She already sounds like one of those anarchists who smear their slogans on every factory wall.’

‘I liked you better when you were less of an honourable businessman,’ Jacob said. He helped the little tyke back to his feet. ‘Go on, show us the tomb before this cold drives someone to kill you for your coat.’

A rusty chain-link fence, surrounding three buildings with copper roofs to keep out the mountain wraiths . . . rail tracks, chimneys, a drainage ditch . . . nothing here gave away that the Dwarfs had found anything else but ore.

Fox looked around. ‘Can we see the Dead City from here?’

Valiant shook his head and pointed westwards. ‘Unless you can see through that mountain there.’

The Witch Slayer had built his city after Albion, Austry and Lotharaine had been united by the crossbow, and Helvetia had become the centre of his gigantic empire. Silberthur was what he named it, but now it was only known as the Dead City, for all its people had disappeared the day Guismond died. There were stories that their faces still looked out from the crumbling walls like fossils. Jacob had never seen the ruins with his own eyes, for even Chanute had always steered clear of the Dead City. Even after four centuries, it was still considered unhealthy to walk its deserted streets.

Valiant opened the gate in the rusty fence. The chain was loose, and there were footprints leading through the grey snow towards the mine lift.

‘I thought you closed the mine,’ Fox said.

Valiant shrugged. ‘A foreman comes by here every now and then to check on things. They sent in the last treasure hunter about a week ago.’ His face showed a satisfied grin. ‘And I’ve got three ounces of gold on the idiot never coming out again.’

Jacob pushed open the gate. ‘Three ounces of gold? Not bad. And what did you bet on me?’

Valiant’s smile turned as sweet as elven honey. ‘How stupid do you think I am?’

Fox shone one of the mine lamps into the pit with the lift cages hanging above. Valiant looked around furtively, but none of the men who guarded the workers on the other side of the fence had taken any notice of them. ‘Right. Once more, just to avoid any trouble,’ the Dwarf whispered. ‘I only brought you here to consult with Jacob.’

Fox climbed into the swaying cage. ‘You’ve told us so often, your dogs can probably repeat it by now. But I forgot the next part. We steal the crossbow, and you get dragged off by mine-gnomes before you can stop us, right? Or is it we who drag you off after we steal the crossbow?’

‘Very funny!’ Valiant growled. ‘You obviously have no idea of the risk I am taking here! The Dwarf council will have me shot should they ever suspect anything. And nobody outside the council knows of this tomb.’

‘Nobody except the council members, their secretaries, their wives, the mine workers who found the tomb . . .’ Jacob lifted the Dwarf into the cage. ‘I wouldn’t count on your secret being safe. And about you getting shot? Nonsense! You’d talk your way out of anything. I should know. I wanted to shoot you a dozen times already.’

The cage descended endlessly into the deep. When it touched firm ground, the light of their lamps exposed the roughly hewn walls of a chamber with a number of tunnels branching from it into the darkness. Wooden beams supported the low ceiling. Pickaxes and shovels leant against piles of rubble. Laid out on a flat stone were the usual offerings for the mine-gnomes: coffee powder, scraps of leather, coins. If the mine-gnomes disappeared, the miners could breathe easy. If they stayed, one had to expect sharp cries