He tucked the sacks into his coat pocket and leant into the carriage.
‘Keep searching,’ Fox heard him say. ‘There is a door. No onyx on the other side, no Thumblings, but there are some princes. Only a few of them wear crowns, though.’
‘Cut me loose!’ the Goyl replied with a hoarse voice. ‘Let’s find out once and for all which of us is the best.’
Jacob stepped back.
‘Another time,’ he said. ‘This one I can’t afford to lose.’
‘You would have lost a long time ago if the vixen didn’t keep saving your skin!’ The Goyl sounded like he was choking on his rage.
‘That’s correct,’ Jacob replied. ‘But it’s also nothing new.’
Then he slammed the carriage door shut.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
HEAD. HAND. HEART.
The Giantling had already covered the body of his companion with stones. He’d also arranged the bodies of the other dead at his feet like offerings: the kitchen hand, the dog man and his two bloodhounds. The two who’d survived his rage lay bound and gagged by the wall of the watchtower: Louis and the Bug. Valiant was pacing up and down in front of them. He didn’t look happy at all.
‘Look at that!’ he yelled at Jacob. ‘What’ve you got me into this time? The Lotharainian crown prince! Luckily, he’s still alive, but that probably rules out Crookback as a buyer. Wasn’t it enough to make the Empress your enemy?’
Jacob felt Fox’s arms around him before she slipped off the horse. Her warmth lingered like a promise as he swung himself from the saddle.
All will be well.
He ignored Valiant’s muttering and went to the fence behind which the ruins lay. The Dead City. Not a place he’d ever wanted to see this close. Even Chanute had always steered clear of it. Jacob thought he could hear voices, some kind of chanting, interrupted by hoarse howls. Maybe the lunatics who lived among those ruins sensed that this was going to be a special night. Supposedly, it was enough to merely touch the walls to succumb to the same madness. Jacob’s eyes searched for a path through the dead streets that led up the mountain. The city once had thousands of inhabitants. He saw stairs and bridges, crumbling churches. He saw towers and houses, their empty windows outlined by will-o’-the-wisps, and palaces with walls pocked with the nests of plague finches – the only kind of bird that thrived in places like this. If the palace really appeared, it was going to be a long way to reach it. And Jacob could feel his life slipping away with every breath.
‘I hear the Goyl’s still alive?’ Valiant appeared by his side. ‘Why didn’t you shoot him? Competition’s good for business?’
‘I’m not quite as quick with the shooting as you, remember?’ Jacob looked at the watchtower.
Fox was waiting by the door.
‘Did you have the body brought here?’
‘Indeed.’ Valiant let out a pitiful sigh. ‘I hope you have at least some idea of how difficult that was! I had to bribe the Giantling guard by the tomb with a year’s supply of elven dust, and then I had to hire the other two to bring the coffin here. I had to give a master performance in front of the Dwarf council to convince them that I was as disgusted as they were by the sudden disappearance of the body. I neglected my other business interests to come here. I want that crossbow. And I want to make a fortune from it! I’m planning on travelling to Albion myself, as soon as you have it. Wilfred the Walrus seems to be our most likely buyer, don’t you agree?’
‘Sure,’ Jacob answered.
He was just glad that Valiant didn’t know about his promise to Robert Dunbar. If that crossbow really did save his life, then he’d have to be careful the Dwarf didn’t shoot him.
The inside of the watchtower was empty, except for a few rusty lances and the remnants of a goat that had perished in its walls. The Witch Slayer’s body lay in one of the simple wood coffins in which the Dwarfs buried their dead mine workers.
Fox helped Jacob open the lid.
The simple coffin made the gown on the headless corpse look even more sumptuous.
Fox looked at him.
It had been a long hunt. But they’d made it this far, together. Just as they had promised each other in Valiant’s castle. Just the way their fellowship had shaped not only his but also her life for more than six years. There was hardly a memory from those years that was not shared by both of them. His second shadow. By now she was so much more than that. Nothing had ever made that clearer than these past months. She was a part of him, inseparably connected. Head, hand and heart.
‘What are you waiting for?’ His impatience was making Valiant stand on tiptoes in his bespoke boots. They had not only high heels but also soles that made him taller. Dwarf cobblers were very skilled at giving their customers a few extra inches.
Jacob first pulled the sack with the hand from his bag. As with the head, he barely felt anything when he touched the dead skin. He felt a brief twinge of worry that Guismond’s magic might have lost its potency after so many centuries. You’ll know soon enough, Jacob. The fingernails still had remnants of gold on them, but they were not mouldy, as one usually saw on the hand of a Warlock. Maybe Guismond had found a way to protect himself from that effect. The regular intake of Witch blood had terrible consequences. It attacked the brain and caused strong hallucinations. All Warlocks went mad at some point. If the archives in Vena were to be believed, already years before his death Guismond had began to distrust even his most loyal knights, and he had friends and enemies executed indiscriminately, usually by starving them to death in golden cages he’d hung from the walls of his palace.
The hand in the south.