The Golden Yarn (Mirrorworld 3)

The Dwarf cast a knowing look at Jacob.

Jacob approached the two figures who were now cautiously walking through the gate as though expecting to meet foe, not friend. Jacob was too relieved to notice it. Of course, none of that relief was in his voice when he shouted at Chanute to damn well hurry up.

Chanute pulled Jacob aside while Sylvain went to Fox. He was limping. Apparently, his night as an anarchist had taken its toll, but he certainly looked like he’d enjoyed himself.

“How do you think Jacob’s going to take it?” Sylvain whispered anxiously.

Badly. How else? Fox couldn’t hear what Chanute was saying, but she could read it on Jacob’s face. If he was trying not to show his disappointment, his surprise, the hurt, his jealousy of Sylvain, then he was failing miserably.

Fox went to his side, just in case he needed comforting or Chanute needed protecting.

“And what will become of The Ogre?” Oh, he was angry. Hurt like a boy who’d lost his best friend to another. Chanute, of course, pretended he didn’t notice.

“I telegraphed Wenzel. He can have it. You’ll see. We’ll come back with our pockets full of gold.”

Jacob didn’t look at Sylvain. He liked him, but right now he wished him to the Devil, or back into his Elf-prison.

Ludmilla joined them.

“You have to leave.”

Jacob nodded. Did you know about this? his eyes asked Fox. He could probably see the answer.

Sylvain almost crushed them both with his embraces. He couldn’t even find a curse word to relieve his heart.

“Send a telegram to The Ogre when you get there,” she said to Chanute. Wherever “there” was.

“Telegram? Nonsense. You shall read about our adventures in the papers!” Chanute always got loud when he got sentimental. He squeezed Fox almost as hard as Sylvain had.

“Look after Jacob,” he whispered. “You know how bad he is at looking after himself.”

Yes. Nobody knew that better. But if she kept looking after him, she’d break her heart one day.

Orlando was already on the carpet, studying its patterns. He probably recognized the words hidden there, but he didn’t know about the memories Jacob had fed into the weave. How quickly would he notice they weren’t flying to Albion? A gander could read the stars as well as a vixen could.

Ludmilla and the Wolfling led four of the horses onto the carpet. Brunel looked wary. He probably would’ve preferred to travel in one of his airplanes. Fox didn’t know what to think of him, and that didn’t happen often.

The carpet was soft and firm at the same time, like a mossy bed of pebbles. One had to step on it slowly to allow it to adjust to the weight. “You have to kneel on a flying carpet, like for a prayer,” an old man in Maghreb, whose fingers had knotted the colorful patterns since his fourth birthday, had once told Fox. “They all have a soul, and they demand respect and a firm belief in their ability to defy gravity. Without that belief, they are nothing but rugs.”

Jacob was still with Chanute. Finally, he embraced the old man as though he’d never let him go. Nobody had earned the title father more than Albert Chanute. Brunel watched them with a strange expression on his face.

Ludmilla was right. They had to leave.

Orlando knelt down next to Fox. It was good to feel him by her side again. It still seemed unreal how familiar he was, even though they’d spent only a few days together. His hands were blistered with burns, his neck showed signs of strangulation, and his eyes had a weariness Fox hadn’t seen there before. He reached for her hand, and

she returned the gentle pressure, yet the gesture felt like a betrayal, and her eyes sought Jacob.

When he saw Orlando kneeling by her, Jacob hesitated for the briefest moment. Then he knelt down as far away from her as the carpet’s pattern allowed. And Fox’s heart was sliced in two.

Chanute actually wiped a couple of tears from his unshaved cheeks as he stepped back to stand next to Sylvain. Brunel only knelt down when the Wolfling prompted him with a curt nod. Ludmilla looked up at the sky, but if the Tzar’s winged spies were looking for them, they were not looking at Privideniy Park.

A shudder ran through the carpet as Jacob read the hidden words aloud. Fox could read them as clearly as he, and she whispered along:

“Ride the wind

until my hand

touches the sky.