Fearless (Page 41)
‘It was about my brother!’ Jacob hissed into his ear. ‘What would you have done? You put on their uniform so you wouldn’t have to end up in a dungeon like your former Empress. So drop the self-righteousness and tell me what you know about a Bluebeard who’s been hunting in these parts.’
He could feel Donnersmarck take a deep breath.
Bluebeard. They’d hunted one together. Years before.
‘Tell me. You’re Amalie’s watchdog. You know the answer.’
‘That’s a filthy trick!’ Donnersmarck’s voice had turned hoarse, roughened by ghosts only he and Jacob had seen.
‘Spit it out!’ Jacob let go of Donnersmarck so his old friend saw the fear in his face. ‘Is there a Bluebeard in Vena?’ Donnersmarck stared at him. Show him your fear, Jacob, even though you’re usually better at hiding it.
‘Yes.’ Donnersmarck spoke haltingly. ‘He took the first girl ten years ago. There have been four so far. He’s supposedly from Lotharaine, but he prefers hunting here. You know what they’re like – never in their own back yard. Why are you looking for him?’
‘He’s got Fox.’ Jacob pushed past him. Always the same image: Troisclerq’s hand pinning the flower on her dress. Why did he do it in Jacob’s presence? So he’d be haunted by it every night? He had fallen for Troisclerq’s charms, just like the women he killed. But Fox only went with him because of you, Jacob. You handed her to him like a gift.
‘Where in Lotharaine?’
‘It’s all just rumours.’
‘Such as?’
‘That he lives somewhere near Champlitte.’
Champlitte. Troisclerq hadn’t even tried to lie. What if I take what’s dear to your heart, Jacob? Will you come to get it back?
He shoved the Dwarf out of the way and stepped into the alley. Donnersmarck quickly caught up with him, despite the limp he had from fighting his Empress’s wars.
‘Where did you see her last?’
‘At the train station.’
He had to find the cab driver . . .
None of the moth’s bites had made his heart beat as fast. Reason drowned in fear. He’d never known he could be that scared.
You will find her. And she’ll be alive.
If only he could believe himself. He just knew one thing: he was going to kill Troisclerq.
He’d kill him.
FLOWERS
Wilted flowers, in a cab and on a station platform. No. Troisclerq wasn’t even trying to cover his tracks. Donnersmarck was by Jacob’s side as he picked up the flowers from the platform. Bluebeard. The one word had turned Donnersmarck’s hostility into the unquestioning support Jacob had always been able to count on until the Blood Wedding.
It was three years since the Empress had asked Jacob to find a Bluebeard who’d taken one of her maids. Donnersmarck had requested to be his military aide. The maid was his sister. They’d found her in an abandoned castle, together with seven other girls, all dead. The killer had already left. They had searched for him for months, but then he’d lured them into a trap from which they’d barely managed to escape alive. After that his trail had gone cold, and he died, years later, peacefully in his bed – having killed six more girls.
Bluebeards always went on the hunt clean-shaven so the blue facial hair they were named after wouldn’t give them away. Supposedly, there had never been fewer than a dozen of them, but Chanute had always maintained there were hundreds. It was said they all shared one common ancestor, a man with black blood and a blue beard who’d found a way to live for ever by feeding off the fear of others. Bluebeards only killed their victims after they had milked all their fear. That was Jacob’s hope: Fox wouldn’t easily give Troisclerq what he craved.
One of the station supervisors remembered a young red-haired woman who’d been so tired that her husband had to support her as they boarded the train. The effects of the flower . . .
That train stopped in Champlitte. The next one wouldn’t leave before the following morning, but Jacob couldn’t wait. When he asked the cab driver to take them to the outskirts, where the air was thick with soot and destitution, Donnersmarck did not have to ask why. They needed fast horses, even faster than the ones in the Empress’s stable, and Donnersmarck knew as well as Jacob that such horses could only be found in the darkest corners of Vena. The farmers called them devil-horses because they ate raw meat and their breath was hot enough to scald you. They were caught in swamps and moors – pale white nags, their manes hanging like a tangle of roots around their necks. They were twice as fast as normal horses, but they also ate unwary owners in their sleep.
Jacob purchased two that even their Giantling handler could barely control. Donnersmarck hadn’t said much since their brawl, but they both knew the house of a Bluebeard should not be entered alone. Darkness was falling as they turned their backs on Vena and rode westwards together.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
AIR
Air. They had disappeared into thin air. Both Reckless and the man Kami’en had put on him. Not even Hentzau knew where they were. And the spider had pulled her legs under her blue belly and refused to dance.
And, Nerron, still glad the wolves didn’t get him?
He returned to the palace of Louis’s cousin, his mood as dark as his skin. The building looked like one of the overwrought cakes sold in Vena’s bakeries. It had more rooms than Lelou had hairs on his head. But Louis was always easy enough to find. You just had to follow the giggles of his current favourite.
There. The linen room. Louis left no room untouched. Nerron pressed his ear against the door.
Time to move beyond civilised methods. He needed the hand. He needed the heart before Reckless could find it. And he needed to get rid of his companions. There was only one way to accomplish all of that. Three birds with one stone.
‘What are you doing?’ Eaumbre’s whispers sounded even more damp than usual. Nerron turned around.
The Waterman’s wet hair stuck to his angular head, as though he’d just climbed out of a pond. And he probably had. Nerron thought he could detect a slight scent of goldfish. Watermen dried out if they didn’t take a dip in a pond every now and then, the muddier the better. They also dried out if they were fed firemoths. Probably an interesting sight. Stop it, Nerron. Stay on good terms with him, He’s much more useful that way.
Nerron pointed at the door to the linen room. ‘Your royal master is getting impatient. Crookback wants the crossbow, but how can I concentrate on the search while his son does nothing but try to seduce every girl in Vena?’
Eaumbre’s face stayed as inscrutable as ever. Only his eyes hinted at what he felt on the inside: six eyes, filled to the rim with boredom and injured pride. Louis had let everybody in Vena know that his Waterman was nothing but an annoying babysitter his father had forced on him. There could be no doubt that Eaumbre despised his princely charge, but that didn’t mean he liked anyone else. And he was strong. Very strong. He could easily break every bone, even in a Goyl body, with one hand. Probably not a pleasant experience.
‘And? What should we do, in your opinion?’ The whispers filled Nerron’s ears like pond muck.
Through the door came a sigh that made even the portraits on the walls blush.