Fearless (Mirrorworld 2)

Cunningham’s eyes followed Jacob as he bade the men farewell. Brunel, however, had already turned his attention to the ship again. Albion’s new magician.

Relief and disappointment. An old hope, all but forgotten. Jacob barely saw where he was walking. Barrels, ropes, crates . . . everything around him was blurred like his face on the dark glass of the mirror. ‘Look at that, Jacob. This bridge is weightless and as perfect as a spider’s web – but it’s made of iron.’ Did he even remember what his father looked like? He remembered his voice, the hands that had lifted him on to the desk so he could touch the model planes that hung above it.

‘Jacob!’

Someone grabbed his arm. Fox.

‘The outfitter wanted a fortune.’ She shot a furtive glance at the sailors hauling sacks of coal to the Titania’s cargo hatch. ‘I only had enough for one uniform. Have you found a way to get us on board?’

Damn. He’d found out nothing. He’d so lost himself in memories that he had nearly forgotten he soon would have no future.

‘What’s with you?’ Fox looked worried. ‘Did something happen?’

‘No. Nothing.’ And that was the truth. Nothing had happened. He’d seen a ghost, the same ghost he kept stumbling after in his dreams. It was high time he buried not just his mother but also his father. He’d thought he’d done so already.

He took the bundled uniform off Fox. A few sailors were staring so openly at her that Jacob gave them a sharp look. ‘How will you get on board?’

Fox shrugged. ‘I’ll let the vixen find a way.’

‘That’s too dangerous.’

‘Mister Reckless?’

Jacob turned around. He’d expected Brunel’s slender face, but it was Cunningham who was standing behind him.

The officer bowed stiffly to Fox and gave Jacob a slightly awkward smile. ‘We . . . eh . . . only set to sea in an hour. I would like to introduce you to our captain. I’m sure he’d find some of your adventures very interesting.’

Jacob quickly had a polite refusal on the tip of his tongue, but Fox interceded. ‘Which ship do you serve on, Mr Cunningham?’

Cunningham pointed behind him. ‘The Titania. We’re escorting a shipment of arms to Flanders. We sail at sunset.’

Fox gave Cunningham her most seductive smile. ‘It will be our pleasure,’ she said, taking the bundle with the uniform from Jacob’s arms and quickly hiding it behind her back.

Cunningham’s bearded face beamed with delight, and Jacob sent a silent apology to all the reporters he’d ever cursed for the lies and exaggerations they had published about him.

‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘We’re in no rush. I wouldn’t even mind coming along for the whole journey. I love going on voyages.’ A more brazen lie had never left his lips.

Cunningham looked as though he couldn’t believe his luck.

The captain of the Titania shared his first officer’s passion for treasure hunting. He put them up in the cabin the King himself used whenever he paid a visit to his flagship. When Cunningham introduced them as Jacob Reckless and wife, Jacob had to explain that Fox was only blushing because they hadn’t been married long. It was just one of the many lies he’d have to come up with over the next hours.

The captain served them a dinner opulent enough for a journey of three hundred days instead of three. As the Titania weighed anchor, the ship’s cook was serving dessert, and Jacob found it increasingly difficult to ignore the movements of the ship while Cunningham quizzed him about adventures that had been completely made up by some newspaper. When the captain, whose moustache was just as dreadful as his King’s, began quizzing Jacob about the butchering techniques of Ogres, Fox used the bloody subject as a pretext to excuse herself. Jacob would have loved to follow her, but Cunningham wouldn’t let him go. Jacob had to console himself with the fact that by the time he’d be able to get away, Fox would have checked all the guards and escape routes on board. Through the stern windows of the captain’s cabin, Jacob could see lanterns of other frigates, and ahead were the moonlit iron flanks of Brunel’s ship.

‘Would Mr Brunel be on board the Vulcan on a voyage like this?’ Jacob was proud of the nonchalance with which he asked the question.

The captain shook his head with disdain. ‘To my knowledge he’s never even left Albion. Isn’t that right, Cunningham?’

His first officer nodded as he poured himself another glass of port. ‘Brunel’s not too fond of the sea.’

‘And his ship shows it.’ The captain downed his glass as though he could wash away the iron ship with it. ‘Sadly, our King has been smitten with Brunel ever since he built that horseless carriage. You see them everywhere now. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. That iron monstrosity out there is making us the laughing stock of the world. Our metal babysitter.’

Jacob’s eyes were glued to the Vulcan while Cunningham and the captain waxed lyrical about past military engagements at sea and the beauty of wooden ships on fire. When the two officers began to discuss the penetration power of modern cannons and the annoyance of smashed-up limbs, Jacob quickly made his excuses – though they would have certainly loved the story about Chanute’s missing arm.

The silver moon, which resembled the one in the other world so much, was standing between the black clouds. Its red twin stained the waves like rusty metal. Fox was waiting at the bow. Below her, the figurehead stretched over the frothy waters.

‘How’s your stomach?’ Nobody except her knew about his dislike of sea travel. Not even Chanute. ‘You’re lucky the sea is calm.’

And lucky that an officer of the Regal Navy had recognised him after he mistook Albion’s leading engineer for his father. Maybe his luck had returned. About time . . .