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The answer was standing in front of the butcher’s shop. The gold ornaments on Louis’s cousin’s carriage would have fed not only the butcher but the whole of Champlitte for a year. Sitting on the coachman’s box was the dog man who trained the princely cousin’s hounds. In Vena, he already used to stare at Nerron in a way like he’d love nothing more than to set his dogs on a Goyl for a change. And he’d brought two of them with him. Bloodhounds. They sat next to him on the coach box and bared their fangs as soon as they caught sight of Nerron. Damn. He hadn’t even tried to cover his tracks. He’d clearly underestimated the Bug.
‘Get in!’ Lelou shoved him towards the carriage.
Louis was lying on one of the gold-upholstered benches with his mouth open, uttering grunting snores. Lelou shook him by the shoulder. ‘Wake up, my prince. We found them!’
Wake up? Hardly.
But Louis did indeed open his eyes. They were swollen and bloodshot, but the princeling was awake.
Lelou gave Nerron a triumphant look.
‘Toad spawn!’ His lips pouted into a self-satisfied smile. ‘Two treatises from the seventeenth century list it as an antidote to Snow-White apples.’
Nerron had never heard about that, but the spawn seemed to work. Never mind that Louis looked even more moronic than before.
‘How did the dogs find our trail so quickly?’
Lelou looked at him with compassionate disdain. Your pathetic performance in the well has for ever negated the effect of your Three Souvenirs, Nerron. ‘We didn’t need the hounds. Louis has been saying nothing but “Champlitte” for days.’
Yes, Snow-White apples did have that effect. Most victims, should they ever awaken, spoke nothing but the words they’d said as oracles.
Louis began to snore again.
Lelou frowned. ‘I think we may have to up the dose,’ he said to the dog man. ‘Fine. That obviously takes care of the question of whether we still need the Waterman. I’m sure he’s very qualified to find us more toad spawn.’
He looked at Eaumbre, who was just being hauled out of the well by Milkbeard. The people of Champlitte shrank back as the dripping Waterman was shoved across the market square.
‘Right then, Goyl.’ Lelou looked at Nerron. ‘Before I start wondering whether you’re still any use to us. Where is the heart?’
‘Show the hounds the sack with the head,’ Nerron said.
If they were lucky, it would still have enough of Reckless’s scent.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
BRING HIM TO ME
The window behind which Fox had stood was dark by the time they reached the house. Jacob forced himself not to think what that might mean. Donnersmarck leapt up the steps as though if he only hurried, he could have his sister back. The heavy door simply swung open as he pushed his shoulder against it. Donnersmarck did not need Jacob to explain that an unlocked door on a house like that was best treated with caution. Both drew their sabres. Pistols were as useless against a Bluebeard as they were against the Tailor in the black forest.
he leant against the silk-covered wall that gave the room the colour of the insides of an animal. Troisclerq waited.
And Fox saw her fear trickling into the pitcher.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
THE WRONG RESCUERS
In a well. They threw him into a damned well.
Why? All he did was repeat Louis’s unintelligible mutterings in a few shops around the market square. White as milk. Black like a sliver of night. Set in gold.
And, Nerron? Shouldn’t the way the fat butcher stared at you have been warning enough?
He clawed at the slippery wall. Eaumbre was drifting in the briny water deep below. The Waterman was staring up at him as though it was his fault they’d ended like that. Eaumbre could probably survive for years down there in his scaly skin.
The best? My foot! No more eternal glory as a treasure hunter. Into a well, Nerron, a well! The good people of Champlitte now clearly used it only to dispense with unwelcome visitors. Running water, gaslights . . . wherever all that wealth came from, they didn’t like strangers, and definitely not ones with a stone skin.
Nerron put his forehead against the damp wall. Do not look down. Water. The Goyl’s ultimate fear.
