The Golden Yarn (Mirrorworld 3)

“This specimen will throw off everything if one shouts the words hidden in its pattern. It was used to eliminate enemies.”

Great. And next?

Carpets that could serve sumptuous meals in flight, carpets that would float like canopies over crowned heads, carpets that could act as bodyguards. Carpets that could steal, kidnap... He’d probably fooled himself. There couldn’t be more than a dozen carpets in existence that did what he was looking for, and none of them had probably ever left their homelands, but were all tucked away in the treasure chambers of sultans and suleimans.

“Now this specimen”—Molotov had stopped in front of a carpet hung over a rod with golden Dragon heads at each end—“is the most precious in this collection, not only because of its size.” He mumbled his words as if he were talking about a bath mat. “It can carry six men and their horses, and it will find any destination desired.”

The carpet was bluish-green and not only covered the very high wall but spilled onto the floor in so many folds that Jacob estimated it to be at least fifty feet long. But size wasn’t important. The magic was in the pattern. This one was so convoluted that the words were all but invisible to even the most experienced eye. They were written in Lahkmid, the secret language of carpet weavers. Every treasure hunter worth his mettle knew at least the most important words, as well as how to pronounce the ones he didn’t know. Jacob found the words he’d been hoping for, in the very center, hidden among blossoms and fabulous birds:

I shall find the one you speak of.

It became almost impossible to listen to Molotov with a calm expression, but Jacob reminded himself that he’d never again get the opportunity to see this collection— and that he’d look rather stupid at his next audience with the Tzar if he offered to find a treasure Nikolaij already possessed.

He would find Will.

But what for? Because the Alderelf was trying to stop him? Was that enough?

What did his brother want?

“And now...erm...” Another staircase, another floor. Molotov was so winded, every step they climbed made Jacob fear for the old man’s life. “...we come to the final room of the collection.”

There—an end in sight.

I shall find the one you speak of.

Molotov stopped in front of the portal at the top of the stairs and wiped the sweat off his parchment-skinned face. The locks were secured with flame-wires and Pashtun copper, promising extraordinary treasures.

“He has a skin of stone.”

What did his brother want? But when had Jacob last been able to answer that question with any certainty? A long time ago.

Molotov instructed Jacob to turn around while he unlocked the portal. Jacob always carried a pocket mirror for such situations, but he didn’t bother. All this treasure made him think of the presents he used to bring back from this world for Will, the delight on his brother’s face, the absorbed wonder. Will had once been as enchanted by this world as he. Even more so, Jacob. She gave him a different skin. What if he liked it?

Yes, what then?

Did Spieler understand his brother better than he did? “Oh, please! You’re talking to an Elf. I know your most intimate wishes. It’s my business to fulfill them.”

The smell that assaulted them as Molotov pushed open the heavy portal made it very clear what kind of room they were about to enter. The despair of magical creatures smells just as sharply as that of ordinary animals. Therese of Austry had never been interested in collecting living creatures, which was why Vena’s Chambers of Miracles only contained stuffed and mounted specimens. All living creatures had been processed into tinctures or had met their ends in the imperial kitchens. The creatures in the cages Molotov was now leading him past would’ve probably preferred such a death to an imprisonment that, thanks to their long life spans, might have already lasted centuries.

A golden egg-laying goose, a blinded basilisk... What good did it do that their cages had gold bars and the landscapes of their native lands were painted on the walls? A Rusalka had to share the murky waters of her tank with a couple of water gnomes, while next to her two magic ravens were pecking at the hexed glass that kept their curses from reaching human ears. Jacob was glad Fox hadn’t come with him.

A buck with silver hooves (No, Jacob, it has nothing to do with the Elf), three bees of Vasilisa the Wise, and the Gray Wolf, savior of three Tzars. The third Tzar had shown his gratitude by locking up the poor immortal creature. The golden eyes lost some of their dull indifference as Jacob stepped closer to the bars. The wolf was almost as big as a pony, and even after decades of captivity, its fur still shimmered like moonlight. The wolf’s cage was the last one. There was a door beyond it, but Molotov bowed like an actor going offstage and gave Jacob a dusty smile.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed the tour, Mr. Reckless. The Tzar’s chauffeur will now take you to your audience with His Majesty. Please convey my utmost regard. As a young man, I served his father as a soldier.”

Jacob had one trait that was as uncontrollable as his impatience: his curiosity. He pointed at the door Molotov was studiously ignoring.

“What’s in there? As far as I know, the Tzar wanted me to see all his treasures.”

Leave it, Jacob! But there’d never been a closed door he didn’t want to open.

“That is the secret wing of the collection.” A note of disapproval dampened Molotov’s voice. “Its contents are known only to the Tzar and his closest advisors—for reasons of state security.”

See, Jacob? Leave the stupid questions. Every treasure hunter had heard about the secret wing of the Tzar’s collection. Varangia’s most famous treasure hunter (who, some said, was an illegitimate son of the Tzar) had once tried to enter it as part of a wager. He was now living out his days in a prison camp on Sakha.

The portal had a magic combination lock—that much Jacob could see, even though Molotov was trying to block his view. He’d once cracked a lock just like it in Pombal. Stop it, Jacob!

His careless question cost him dearly. Molotov never took his eyes off him, so as they made their way back, Jacob couldn’t even get a closer look at how the doors to the hall of carpets were secured.