Fearless (Mirrorworld) - By Cornelia Funke Page 0,48

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 got 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 travelled with magic once. It’s very unhealthy. My own shadow started talking to me afterwards.’

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 bootprint near the lifts 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.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

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 were tiled