chapter FORTY-THREE
LOST
Jacob wished he had a ball of untearable yarn, or one that could find the way on its own if he placed it on the gravelled path that disappeared into the hedgerows ahead. But Donnersmarck had searched the Chambers of Miracles in vain for such an item. The yarn Jacob was now tying to a bush at the entrance of the labyrinth came from a tailor’s shop in Vena, and there was nothing magical about it except for the skill involved in spinning common sheep’s wool into a firm thread. This was going to be their thread of life, their only hope of not losing themselves between the shrubs.
Jacob carefully ran the thread through his fingers as he and Donnersmarck stepped into the twilight between the branches. The predator had cast his green web very wide. Just a few turns in, they stumbled over a rusty sabre. They found bones that had been nibbled clean, rotten boots, an old-fashioned pistol. Soon enough they no longer knew which direction they’d come from, yet their greatest worry was the white flowers growing in the shade of the shrubs. Forgetyourself. No point in crushing them or pulling them out. Their effect just got stronger when the blossoms wilted. Jacob and Donnersmarck tied kerchiefs in front of their mouths and noses and walked on, repeating each other’s names, or places and things they’d done together. But their memories faded with every step, and their only connection to the world they were fast forgetting was a thread of yarn.
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.