Leaves. Branches. Paths ending in evergreen walls. Again and again.
Jacob had escaped from places where one lost oneself, but not even the Fairy island had turned his world into such a nothing. He touched the scar on his hand, which the vixen’s teeth had once left there so he wouldn’t lose himself in the arms of the Red Fairy.
Don’t forget her, Jacob.
Forget yourself, but not her.
And again the path ended in the shrubs. Donnersmarck cursed, ramming his sabre into the thicket. Left. Right. The very words seemed to have lost all meaning. Jacob rolled up the thread so it would lead them back to the last fork.
Don’t forget her.
How many hours had they been wandering like this? Or was it days? Had there ever been anything but this labyrinth? Jacob spun around and reached for his pistol. A man was standing behind him with his sabre drawn.
The stranger lowered his weapon. ‘Jacob! It’s me!’ Donnersmarck. Repeat the name, Jacob. No, there was only one name he couldn’t forget. Fox. She’s still alive. Again and again. She’s still alive. He leant against the evergreen leaves. The perfume of forgetyourself filled his head with sticky nothingness.
He stumbled on – and suddenly he clutched his chest. The fourth bite.
No. Not now.
The yarn fell from his hand as the pain forced him to his knees. Donnersmarck stumbled after the ball of wool and just managed to catch it before it disappeared beneath the hedge.
The pain set Jacob’s heart racing, yet all he could think was Not now, not here! He had to find her.
‘What is it?’ Donnersmarck leant over him. It’ll pass, Jacob. It always passes.
The pain was everywhere. It flooded his flesh.
Donnersmarck dropped to his knees beside Jacob. ‘We’ll never find a way out of here.’
Think, Jacob. But how, with the pain numbing his senses?
He pushed a trembling hand into his pocket. Where was it? He found the card in the folds of his gold handkerchief. It didn’t stay blank for long.
DO YOU NEED MY HELP?
Jacob pressed his hand to his aching chest. The answer didn’t come easily. A bargain that could only end badly.
‘Yes.’
‘What are you doing?’ Donnersmarck stared at the card.
It filled with new words.
ANY TIME. I HOPE THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF A FRUITFUL COLLABORATION. ARE YOU READY TO PAY MY PRICE?
‘Whatever you want.’ It could hardly be higher than the Fairy’s price. As long as he got out of this labyrinth.
I WILL TAKE YOU AT YOUR WORD.
Green ink. Nearly as green as Earlking’s eyes. Guismond had sold his soul to the Devil. Who was he selling his to?
The pain eased, but Jacob was still nauseous from the smell of the forgetyourself, and he barely remembered his own name.
The card stayed blank.
Come on!
The letters appeared painfully slowly.
TWICE LEFT AND THEN RIGHT.
TWICE RIGHT AND THEN LEFT.
SO GOES THE WEB THE BLUEBEARD WEAVES.
On your feet, Jacob! It was a pattern. Nothing but a pattern.
Donnersmarck stumbled after him. Left and left again. Then right. Jacob let the thread run through his fingers. Right. And right again. And left.
Through the hedges came the light of a lantern. They rushed towards it, both certain it would disappear again. But the hedgerows opened up, and they were standing in the open.
The house in front of them was old. Nearly as old as its owner’s ghastly clan. The crest above the door was weathered, but the centuries had not diminished the splendour of the grey walls and towers. Their dark outlines nearly melted into the night. There was one lantern shining next to the entrance, and there was light behind two windows on the first floor.
Behind one of them stood Fox.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
BLUEBEARD
No. Troisclerq’s labyrinth could not catch Jacob. Fox wished him far, far away; and she was so happy to see him. So happy.
Jacob was not alone. Fox recognised Donnersmarck only at second glance. She always thought his sister had been a fool for getting seduced by a Bluebeard.
Troisclerq’s servant dragged her away from the window. She bit his furry hand, even though her human teeth were so much blunter than the vixen’s, and tore herself free. The pitcher was already half full. Fox pushed it over before the servant could stop her. He grabbed her hair and shook her so hard that she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t care. Her fear was trickling white across the table. Jacob was here, and they were both still alive.
‘So it’s just like everyone says. Not that I would have doubted it.’ Troisclerq was standing in the doorway. He went to the table and caught the dripping liquid in the hollow of his hand.
He didn’t seem alarmed that Jacob had escaped his labyrinth.
‘You cannot kill him!’ What was she thinking? That if she spoke the words loudly enough, they would become the truth? Fox felt her fear return.
Troisclerq touched the white liquid in his hand. ‘We shall see.’ He nodded at his servant. ‘Take her to the others.’
Fox kept screaming Jacob’s name while the servant dragged her down the corridor. What for? To warn him, to call him, to wrap herself in his name, the way she would wrap herself in the fur the Bluebeard had stolen from her. Don’t call him, Fox.
The servant stopped.
Take her to the others.
The door was no different from the other doors, but Fox could smell the death behind it as clearly as if there was blood actually seeping through the dark wood.
‘You forgot something.’ Troisclerq was standing behind her. He was holding the bunch of keys he’d put next to her plate. Maybe he wanted to see her hands tremble as she tried to put the golden key into the lock.
Jacob hadn’t let her inside the house where the Bluebeard had killed Donnersmarck’s sister. Fox had mocked him for it. The vixen had herself killed too often to be shocked by death, yet the sight awaiting her behind the door still filled her with dread.
This hunter never let go of his prey.
Nine women. They hung, held up by golden chains, like string puppets killed by their own fear. Their eyes were empty, but the terror was for ever written on their pale faces. Their killer kept them in his red chamber like jewels in a casket. Frozen remnants of the pleasure they’d given him, of the life they’d fed him, of the love that had lured them to him.
The servant wrapped the golden chain around Fox’s neck and wrists as though he wanted to adorn her one last time for Troisclerq. There wasn’t much space left in his horrible doll’s house. Her elbow touched the arm of the dead girl next to her. So cold and still so beautiful.
‘They won’t let me go.’ Troisclerq put the empty pitcher on a table by one of the shrouded windows. ‘They become part of me. Maybe that’s part of why I kill them – to free myself from them. But they remain, silent and still, and they remind me. Of their voices. Of the warmth their skin once had.’
The gaslights that illuminated the chamber cast the shadows of the dead on the red wall. Fox could see her own among them. She was already one of them.
Troisclerq approached her. ‘You’re still afraid more of his death than of your own?’
‘No.’ Fox didn’t care whether Troisclerq knew that was a lie. ‘He will kill you. For me. And for the others.’
‘Many have tried.’ Troisclerq nodded at his servant. ‘Bring him to me,’ he said. ‘But only him.’
