Fearless (Mirrorworld) - By Cornelia Funke Page 0,80

to set his dogs on a Goyl for a change. And he’d brought two of them with him. Bloodhounds. They sat next to him on the coach box and bared their fangs as soon as they caught sight of Nerron. Damn. He hadn’t even tried to cover his tracks. He’d clearly underestimated the Bug.

‘Get in!’ Lelou shoved him towards the carriage.

Louis was lying on one of the gold-upholstered benches with his mouth open, uttering grunting snores. Lelou shook him by the shoulder. ‘Wake up, my prince. We found them!’

Wake up? Hardly.

But Louis did indeed open his eyes. They were swollen and bloodshot, but the princeling was awake.

Lelou gave Nerron a triumphant look.

‘Toad spawn!’ His lips pouted into a self-satisfied smile. ‘Two treatises from the seventeenth century list it as an antidote to Snow-White apples.’

Nerron had never heard about that, but the spawn seemed to work. Never mind that Louis looked even more moronic than before.

‘How did the dogs find our trail so quickly?’

Lelou looked at him with compassionate disdain. Your pathetic performance in the well has for ever negated the effect of your Three Souvenirs, Nerron. ‘We didn’t need the hounds. Louis has been saying nothing but “Champlitte” for days.’

Yes, Snow-White apples did have that effect. Most victims, should they ever awaken, spoke nothing but the words they’d said as oracles.

Louis began to snore again.

Lelou frowned. ‘I think we may have to up the dose,’ he said to the dog man. ‘Fine. That obviously takes care of the question of whether we still need the Waterman. I’m sure he’s very qualified to find us more toad spawn.’

He looked at Eaumbre, who was just being hauled out of the well by Milkbeard. The people of Champlitte shrank back as the dripping Waterman was shoved across the market square.

‘Right then, Goyl.’ Lelou looked at Nerron. ‘Before I start wondering whether you’re still any use to us. Where is the heart?’

‘Show the hounds the sack with the head,’ Nerron said.

If they were lucky, it would still have enough of Reckless’s scent.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

BRING HIM TO ME

The window behind which Fox had stood was dark by the time they reached the house. Jacob forced himself not to think what that might mean. Donnersmarck leapt up the steps as though if he only hurried, he could have his sister back. The heavy door simply swung open as he pushed his shoulder against it. Donnersmarck did not need Jacob to explain that an unlocked door on a house like that was best treated with caution. Both drew their sabres. Pistols were as useless against a Bluebeard as they were against the Tailor in the black forest.

The entrance hall smelled of forgetyourself, even more so than the endless paths of the labyrinth. Jacob plucked the flowers from the vases by the door, and Donnersmarck pushed open the high windows to let in the night air.

Several corridors led away from the hall, and a broad staircase swung up to the first floor. What now? Should they split up?

They didn’t have to make that decision. A servant stepped from one of the corridors. Judging by his hairy hands, he hadn’t always been human.

Jacob drew his pistol. It was useless against the master, but it might work on the servant.

‘Where is she?’

No answer. The eyes staring at him were uniformly dark, like an animal’s.

Donnersmarck grabbed the servant by his stiff collar and put the tip of a sabre to his throat. ‘If she’s dead, then so are you. Understood? Where is she?’

It happened too fast.

Antlers sprouted from the servant’s head. They tore through Donnersmarck’s body before he could parry them with the sabre. Jacob shot, but the bullets had no effect, and the Man-Stag deflected Jacob’s sabre effortlessly, as though it were nothing but a stick wielded by a child. Jacob had read about them – stag calves that took the form of a man if human hair was mixed into their hay. It was said they were mindlessly loyal to their masters.

The Man-Stag wiped Donnersmarck’s blood from his brow and made a summoning gesture towards the corridor he’d come from. Jacob ignored him. He reached into his belt pouch and knelt down next to Donnersmarck. Yes, he still carried the Witch’s needle with him. Jacob pressed it into his friend’s bloody hand. It wouldn’t be able to heal a wound as terrible as this, but it could at least close it. The Man-Stag snorted impatiently. Only his head had changed. The blood was dripping from his antlers on to his