Fearless (Mirrorworld) - By Cornelia Funke Page 0,6

did he have to lose?

The seal on the bottle was that of the judge who’d sentenced the Djinn to an eternity behind brown glass. Jacob used his knife to peel the wax off the top. Then he set the bottle on the flagstones and quickly stepped back.

The smoke that rose from the mouth was silvery-grey, like the scales of a fish. The wisps formed fingers, an arm, a shoulder. The fingers felt the cold air and clenched into a fist. From the shoulders grew a barbed neck like a lizard’s.

Careful, Jacob!

He ducked into the smoke still rising from the bottle. Above him, a skull with a low forehead and stringy hair was taking shape. A mouth opened. The groan it uttered made the chapel shudder like the haunches of a frightened animal. The cracked windows burst, and Jacob breathed the dust of broken glass. Coloured shards rained down on him while the spirit above him opened his eyes. They were white, like the eyes of a blind man, and the pupils were like black bullet holes. Their lurking glance found Jacob just as he got hold of the bottle and closed his fingers firmly around its neck.

The huge body ducked like a cat ready to pounce.

‘Will you look at that!’ The Djinn sounded hoarse, as though he had lost his voice in his glassy prison. ‘And who are you? Where’s the other one, the one who captured me?’

He leant down towards Jacob. ‘Is he dead? I remember breaking his ribs. But that is nothing compared to what I will do to that judge. I’ve been picturing it all these years. I will pluck him apart like a flower. I will pick my teeth with his bones and blow my nose on his skin.’

His hoarse rage flooded through the chapel, and the pattern on Jacob’s hands grew icy crystals.

‘Enough of the boasting!’ Jacob shouted up at the spirit. ‘You will do none of those things. You will serve me until I grow tired of you, or I will take you to one of the prisons where they store your kind like bottled wine.’

The Djinn brushed the filthy hair from his forehead. Each strand was made of flexible glass and was worth a fortune anywhere behind the mirror.

‘That was not very respectful!’ he whispered. His face was scarred, and the left ear was torn off. In their cold homeland, Djinns were often used in wars.

‘Good. What are my master’s wishes?’ he purred. ‘The usual? Gold? Power? Your enemies laid out at your feet like swatted flies?’

The bottle was so cold that Jacob’s hands were getting numb. Hold on to it, Jacob!

‘Give it to me!’ The Djinn leant down so far that his glass hair brushed against Jacob’s shoulder. ‘Give me the bottle and I will get you whatever you desire. If you try to keep it, I shall wait day and night for my chance to kill you. I have seen nothing but brown glass for a long time, and your screams would help drive out the silence that still numbs my ears.’ The idea brought a smile of pure delight to his sly face. Djinns liked to talk nearly as much as they liked to kill.

‘You can have the bottle!’ Jacob called out. The stench of sulphur emanating from the Djinn’s grey skin was so strong that he nearly threw up. ‘For one drop of your blood.’

The spirit bared his teeth, which were as grey as the rest of his body. ‘My blood?’ His grin was pure malice. ‘What’s killing you? Poison? A disease? Or is it a curse?’

‘What is it to you?’ Jacob replied. ‘Do we have a deal or not?’

The grin turned murderous. His kind of Djinn usually tried to bite off the head of whoever handed him his bottle. Jacob knew of two treasure hunters who’d died that way. Djinns had strong teeth. You’d better be quick, Jacob. Very quick.

The spirit offered his hand. ‘We have a deal.’ His little finger alone was longer than a human arm.

Jacob closed his fingers more firmly around the bottle, though the glass was scorching his skin. ‘Oh no. Your blood first.’

The spirit bared his teeth and leant over Jacob with a sneer. ‘Why don’t you come and get it?’

Exactly what Jacob had been waiting for.

He grabbed hold of one of the glass hairs and pulled himself up. The spirit snatched at him, but before the Djinn could reach him, Jacob had already rammed the bottle up his nose. The spirit howled