Fearless (Mirrorworld) - By Cornelia Funke Page 0,19
in the dark, rock falls, and spindly fingers stabbing into ears and eyes.
Valiant picked a tunnel leading west, towards where, high above them, the Dead City lay nestled among the mountains. At some point, they reached a crude drill that in Jacob’s world would have stood in a museum but that Valiant proudly pointed out as the pinnacle of Dwarf engineering. The drill had exposed an arched entrance in the rock face and, beyond it, a broad staircase leading steeply down, lined with burnt-out torches. The metal clamps were covered with soot. At the bottom, the steps opened into a wide chamber. A few forlorn gas lamps created a pale pool of light on the stone floor, and in the middle of it lay a sleeping Giantling. He wore the uniform of the Dwarf army and lumbered to his feet only after Valiant kicked him hard in the side.
‘You call this standing guard?’ the Dwarf yelled at him. ‘Why are we paying you thrice what we’d pay any human guard?’
The Giantling picked up his helmet and anxiously snapped to attention, even though Valiant barely reached his kneecaps.
‘No incidents to report!’ he mumbled with a sleepy tongue. ‘I have orders not to—’
‘Yes, yes, I know!’ Valiant interrupted him impatiently. ‘But I have brought an expert who has travelled here from afar. This is his certificate of authority.’
He pulled out an envelope so small that the Giantling’s gross fingers could barely take hold of it. Valiant gave Jacob a wink while the guard looked helplessly at the tiny thing.
‘What?’ Valiant barked at him. ‘Look at me! I know to you all Dwarfs look alike, but you should at least try to remember my face. I’m the owner of this mine.’
The Giantling suppressed a yawn and adjusted his helmet. Then he pushed the tiny envelope into his uniform and stepped aside.
His huge body revealed a door, framed by a frieze of skulls. The slits above the noses clearly identified them all as the skulls of Witches.
Guismond the Witch Slayer. Chanute had once told his story to Jacob in some filthy tavern. He’d been so drunk, he’d barely managed to pronounce the name. ‘Guismond, yes, there’s no man ever knew more about witchcraft. You know what they called him?’ Jacob thought he could hear his own voice answer, the high voice of a boy: ‘The Witch Slayer.’ That name resonated with everything that had made him follow the old treasure hunter in the first place: danger, mystery, the promise of enchanted treasure to gild his life. His life, which on the other side of the mirror had tasted only of boredom and yearning.
Already Chanute didn’t have to explain to Jacob how Guismond had earned his byname. No human on either side of the mirror was ever born with magical powers, but in this world there was a way to acquire them. It was a sinister way, and Guismond had not been the first one to follow it: one had to drink the blood of a Witch when it was still warm. ‘How many Witches did he kill?’ Chanute had refilled his glass with the acrid liquor that had cost him one arm and almost his mind. ‘How would I know? Hundreds, thousands. Nobody counted them. He’s supposed to have drunk a cup of blood every week.’
Jacob examined what was left of the crest on the gold-plated door: a crowned wolf, a cup of blood, and there was the crossbow . . .
Behind them, the Giantling was leaning against the wall.
Fox eyed him pensively. ‘Your guard’s suspiciously sleepy,’ she said to Valiant.
‘Elven dust,’ the Dwarf replied. ‘These big idiots always have some in their pockets. Can’t get them off that stuff.’
Jacob listened, but all he could hear was the Giantling’s heavy breathing. Elven dust? Maybe. He pulled a pair of gloves from his bag. Fox had given them to him after a tomb’s protective spell had nearly cost him his fingers. Like all shape-shifters, she was immune to such spells.
Valiant looked uneasily at Jacob. ‘Why the gloves?’
‘You don’t need them, as long as you don’t touch anything. Are you sure you want to come with us?’
‘Sure.’ The Dwarf didn’t sound too convinced, but there was serious loot to be had, and that outweighed even his fear of a dead Warlock.
Jacob exchanged a quick glance with Fox, then he put his hand against the crowned wolf. It didn’t take much force to open the door. He could feel that others had already done it before him.