Fearless (Mirrorworld) - By Cornelia Funke Page 0,86
Reckless manage to escape on them.
Nerron stayed under the trees until he could no longer be seen from the stable door. Reckless didn’t have eyes that could see in the dark, and his skin wasn’t as black as the night, but the vixen was with him, and her senses were as sharp as a Goyl’s.
A few quick steps across the yard. The back against the stable wall. Reckless was no longer standing behind the door. Nerron could see that much.
Cat and mouse.
He squeezed through the door.
A cart. Bails of hay. Brushwood, the kind Witches used for their brooms. Especially the vixen could be hiding anywhere. Would Reckless shoot him without warning? Maybe. Though Reckless was more into rules than Nerron was. According to what people said about him, he had old-fashioned ideas about honour and decency, though he probably would’ve never admitted it.
Where were they?
Nerron briefly worried they might have escaped through some kind of spell – but here, in the Dark Witch’s territory, no magic worked besides her own. Hopefully, Lelou made sure Louis didn’t fall asleep.
The Waterman was still standing in the doorway. What? Was he suddenly afraid of the dark? Go search, you idiot!
Nerron rammed his sabre into the brushwood.
‘I see you’re also quite good at playing hide-and-seek!’ His voice sounded like ground-up granite. The damp well was still sitting in his bones. ‘I just want the heart. Then I’ll let you and the vixen go.’ He might even keep that promise, but of course he couldn’t speak for Louis.
A follet ran past him, and there were rats in the hay. A cosy place, but the vixen’s company without a doubt even turned the filthy stable of a child-eater into a romantic venue.
There. He could hear someone breathe. You have him now, Nerron. All that hassle, just because he’d trusted the wolves.
A sound made him spin around, but it was only the Waterman who’d stepped into one of the Witch’s rat traps. Scaly fool. He groaned and cursed as he freed his boot from the iron jaws. The noise distracted Nerron for a fraction of a second, but that was enough. Before he could turn again, he heard the click of a pistol’s hammer.
Reckless was standing a step away, aiming at Nerron’s heart. Where had he been? Between the hay bales? Eaumbre took a hobbling step towards him.
‘I really wouldn’t.’ Reckless’s left hand was wet. His whole sleeve was dripping with blood.
‘Was that the payment for your wounded friend? How noble.’ Nerron waved the Waterman back. ‘Yes, child-eaters cut deep.’
Reckless shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. I can still pull a trigger.’
‘Yes, but how often? You’ll be dead before you get out that door.’ Nerron cast a quick glance behind Reckless, but the vixen was nowhere to be seen. ‘Come on now. Where is the heart?’
Reckless smiled.
Oh, Nerron, you are a fool.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
RUN
Fear. And more fear. Too short the peace in between.
She was so tired that even the fur gave her no comfort. Fox had drunk her own fear, but she could still feel it. Like a tremor deep inside her.
Places, clinging to her heart like mould . . . the shabby house that smelled like the sea. The red chamber. They couldn’t just be left behind. No matter how fast the vixen ran. Jacob was the only one who protected her from them.
Fox wanted to sleep by his side. Just be with him and feel his warmth wash away the memory of the red chamber. And the house that smelled of salt.
But she had to run.
She was carrying his life around her neck.
Nothing had ever weighed more.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CUNNING AND FOLLY
‘You should have let the dogs loose! My father puts vixens in their cages when they are puppies, so they learn to like the taste. You should see what they do with them!’
The same angry rant, every time they stopped for a break. The Snow-White apple had made Louis even more unpredictable – or was it the toad spawn? If it hadn’t been for Lelou, the princeling would have killed Reckless as soon as Nerron led him out of the stable. The future King of Lotharaine really was as stupid as he looked. No, Nerron, much stupider.
‘Foxes are smarter than dogs.’ The Waterman was sitting in the grass, examining his injured foot. He had smeared on it some ointment that he’d found in the Witch’s house, and now the scaly skin around the wound had turned as white as a mushroom.
‘You’re treating that filthy swine like a raw egg!’ Louis