The Crooked Sixpence (12 page)

‘He's right,' she decided. ‘We need an uncommon glove to open it.'

Seb jerked his head back. ‘Wait – you understand what it said?'

Ivy stared back at him.

‘OK. Well, where do we get those from?' he asked.

Ivy could only think of one possibility. When she told Seb, he exclaimed, ‘No way! Absolutely not! That guy is the whole reason we're down here. We can't trust him.'

Ivy knew they didn't have a choice.

Valian rose from his bench slowly, his eyebrows raised. ‘You've got to be joking. You two?
You
got inside this place?'

Ivy couldn't help flashing him a smug smile but it lasted barely seconds. ‘There's no time,' she said. ‘We need you to open the stable door.'

Seb grunted in agreement, but didn't seem happy.

Looking slightly dazed, Valian grabbed his leather jacket from Ivy as he sauntered out of his cell. His shoulders relaxed as soon as he'd put it on. Following behind, Ivy wondered whether she and Seb had done the right thing in freeing him, or if they'd live to regret it.

At least her idea worked: when they made their way back to the stables, the door sprang open easily to Valian's gloved touch.

Soon they were out on the road, heading for Ethel's. Ivy couldn't quite believe their luck.

They fell through the front door of the House of Bells like three skittles.

‘Valian!' Ethel shouted as soon as she saw him. ‘Ivy! Sebastian . . . ?'

Ivy shoved Valian off her and struggled to her feet. She was surprised that Valian had followed them all the way, especially after what she'd read on his cell.

Seb got up and brushed the hair out of his eyes, puffing hard. Ivy wasn't sure if he was out of breath because of the run or because of what he'd seen in the streets. She guessed the underguard hadn't exactly given him a tour of Lundinor on the way to the station. She had a lot of explaining to do. So much had happened in such a short space of time.

He looked warily at Ethel and whispered down to Ivy, ‘How does that lady know our names?'

Ivy narrowed her eyes. ‘I don't know . . .' She was quite sure she hadn't told Ethel her name before she escaped earlier.

‘I traced Sylvie's position using a map of mine,' Ethel said, locking the front door. ‘I spoke to 'er 'alf an hour ago.'

‘You've spoken to Granma?' Seb repeated.

That explains it, then
, Ivy thought. Her stomach clenched as she remembered that Granma Sylvie had been visited by Smokehart. ‘How is she?'

Ethel sighed. ‘Bloody terrified, I should say. She's had God knows who down there this morning, trying to prise answers out of 'er.' She looked them both up and down, wiping dust off Ivy's shoulder and frowning at Seb's grazed face. ‘Your gran's reappearance 'as started something,' she said in an ominous tone. ‘Something that involves the Dirge. A lot of people may be in danger. I 'ave to see Sylvie and work out what's going on. And you're both coming with me. It's too risky to let you out of my sight.'

Ivy could feel the relief washing over her. ‘We're going to see Granma Sylvie?' She didn't think she'd ever wanted to see her granma so much in all her life. And it was evening by now – her mum and dad might be at the hospital too.

Seb looked from one to the other. ‘Er – you might have forgotten, but I've just been locked in a cell for three hours,' he said sharply, turning to Ethel. ‘So who are you and how do you know Granma?'

Ethel placed a hand on Ivy's shoulder. ‘Looks like you've got a tale to tell. Best go out the back for it.' She looked sternly in Valian's direction. ‘This one and I 'ave business to discuss.'

Ivy was happy to leave the shop floor for the quiet of the storeroom, and for the chance to talk to Seb alone. She returned the canvas, hammer, string and paintbrush to Ethel's shelves and then got out the photo of Granma Sylvie and Ethel. ‘Remember this?'

Seb's eyes widened. ‘Whoa . . .' He dropped onto the piano stool in the corner of the room. ‘No way. That's her. That's Ethel.'

Ivy sat down opposite him and told him what she'd learned in the last few hours.

‘I don't know if . . .' Seb put his face in his hands. ‘Do you really believe that uncommon objects contain part of someone's' – he tapped his chest – ‘you know?'

Ivy nodded as she passed Scratch to him. ‘I know it sounds weird, but it's true. How else do you explain it?' She watched carefully as Seb picked up the bicycle bell. There was no reaction. ‘All uncommon bells can talk,' Ivy said. ‘I think Scratch speaks funny because he got damaged.'

Seb gingerly turned the bell over, holding it a distance away, as if it might explode at any moment. Scratch giggled. ‘Do you think he can see?' Seb asked. ‘It's not like he has eyes.'

‘Scratch hearing you can,' Scratch whirred. ‘Scratch seeing can also. Eyes don't need seeing to.'

Seb jumped. ‘Uh – here, you have him back.' He leaned over and dropped Scratch into Ivy's lap.

She chuckled as she put Scratch back into the handbag. She caught Seb giving her a sidelong glance: the same list of questions was running through his mind as was running through hers. There was so much they needed to talk about – but for the moment she was just glad to sit quietly with him. She'd missed him, she realized. She wouldn't tell him that, obviously. But she had.

The silence was slowly broken by voices in the front of the shop. Valian and Ethel.

‘What do you mean
every waking moment
?' Valian snapped. ‘I'm not following them everywhere.'

‘Oh yes you are,' Ethel replied. ‘They don't know nothing about the Trade. They'll be eaten alive down 'ere. You're a scout. You're street-smart by nature and they need someone to protect 'em.'

Valian sighed. Ivy could hear him pacing. ‘And if I do this, you'll drop the charges? Immediately?'

‘Gone,' Ethel said simply. ‘But I want the bell returned, mind you.'

There was a long pause. Ivy looked at Seb. She could tell that he didn't trust Valian either. He obviously
had
stolen that bell.

‘If you shake,' Ethel said, ‘then this is a binding deal. Your glove is your word.'

‘I know,' Valian groaned. ‘Let's just get it over with.'

When Ivy and Seb left the storeroom, they found the atmosphere in the shop like ice. Valian was looking out of the window into the street, his arms folded. Ethel was sitting at her desk, tapping a feather on the table top, staring into space.

‘Company's here,' Valian announced.

Ethel turned to Ivy. ‘Yes – nice to see you both again. Everything sorted?'

Ivy shrugged non-committally; she heard Seb murmur something under his breath.

‘No, no,' Valian said. ‘I didn't mean
them
.' He stepped away from the front door as it sprang open, a black cloud rushing in.

The desk bell shouted, ‘
Officer Smokehart of the First Cohort of—
' Ethel laid her hand on top to silence it.

Ivy inched backwards.
Smokehart
.

‘What in the name of the dead do you think you are doing, Ms Dread?' His voice boomed around the room, making all the bells shake. They started whispering feverishly.

‘Harbouring criminals?' he continued. ‘Deceiving officers? There's two charges right there.' He thumped his fist into his other hand as he marched in, followed by two constables, neither of whom Ivy recognized.

Smokehart scowled at her and Seb, and pointed a long gloved finger at Valian. ‘And you must have aided their escape. Don't think I won't add it to your list of charges, boy.'

Valian took a step towards Smokehart, but the two constables blocked his path.

Ethel rose from her seat. She was only a wisp of a woman, and yet when she spoke, she sounded huge. ‘You will do no such thing!' she exclaimed. ‘I've dropped the charges against 'im. It was a mistake. There was no missing bell.' She swept out from behind her desk and walked right up to Smokehart.

Ivy tensed.

‘No one in this room 'as done anything wrong,
Officer
,' Ethel insisted. ‘I suggest, seeing as this is private property, that you kindly leave!' She jabbed a finger into Smokehart's chest. The bells on the walls gasped.

Smokehart stiffened as Ethel touched him and his face became speckled with red dots. Ivy was becoming more and more familiar with the reaction, even though she didn't know why it happened. ‘Ms Dread,' the underguard said. ‘You are treading a fine line. You do not want to make an enemy of the law.'

Ethel stood a little straighter. ‘Prove it, then,' she said. ‘Prove the crimes against 'em, if you can. If not, then clear off – or I'll be featherwriting to Lady Grimes about you.'

Smokehart tightened his fists. Ivy could hear the squeak of his leather gloves. ‘Let me be clear about one thing,' he said, his voice sharp. ‘I will get to the bottom of what happened to Sylvie Wrench and the rest of her godforsaken family on Twelfth Night. And you' – he gestured at the four of them – ‘
none
of you will stand in my way!' With that, he stormed out, his constables hurrying behind.

When he was gone – and only when he was gone – Ethel's shoulders crumpled and she gave a big sigh. Valian opened his mouth.

‘You can keep your comments to yourself,' she barked, pointing at him.

Ivy gazed over at the front door. ‘What's Smokehart's problem?' she wondered.

Ethel shook her head. ‘Smokehart loves the law above all else. There is no good or bad with him, there are just law-abiders and law-breakers. It blinds him.' She signalled to the door. ‘Come on, all of you – we've got to get to Bletchy Scrubb.'

Valian sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Where the hell is
Bletchy Scrubb
?'

‘In the common world,' Seb declared cheerfully, slapping him on the back. ‘You know – the place where carpets stay on the floor and gloves just keep your hands warm and stuff.'

‘Not again,' Seb moaned as he looked down at the large bag that Ethel had opened on the floor. The material was thick and tufty, covered in a flowery print. Ivy thought it looked suspiciously like carpet, but she didn't want to say anything in case she offended Ethel.

The thought that she would soon see Granma Sylvie warmed Ivy's insides, but she still sighed as she got down on her knees: she remembered how confused she'd felt crawling through Valian's suitcase the last time. She thought about shrinking again. ‘Isn't there another way out of here?'

Ethel threw a tasselled pashmina over her shoulder. ‘There are other ways in
an'
out,' she said, ‘but not for you. Uncommoners 'ave to 'ave taken the glove at least a year ago to travel via uncommon rug, and everything else requires a licence, for which you need to pass a test.' She ushered Ivy forward.

‘But why?' Ivy asked. ‘Surely if I can do this, I can—'

Ethel rolled her eyes. ‘Dontcha think it'd look a bit suspicious to a mucker if they saw someone riding an uncommon vacuum cleaner over Blackheath?' She pursed her lips. ‘You need special training to use uncommon objects outside of undermarts. That's left to Special Branch. They're underguard whose entire job it is to 'ide Lundinor from common eyes. It's for commoners own good, of course. Clements knows the kind of chaos there'd be if everyone started using uncommon objects willy-nilly.' She laid a hand on Ivy's back. ‘Now no more questions. Let's go!'

Bletchy Scrubb hospital was lit up like a giant doll's house against the black sky. Ivy could almost peek into every room, where the greenish lights illuminated a doctor typing at a desk, or a hurrying nurse, or a hallway dotted with staff. The car park was emptier than it had been that morning. Ivy brushed herself down as Ethel rubbed soothing circles on Seb's back: he already looked nauseous. In the shadows beside them, Valian slunk out of Ethel's bag and snapped it shut behind him.

‘Just take some deep breaths,' Ethel advised Seb. ‘The feeling should fade after a few minutes.'

Seb frowned at her, his mouth pinched shut. Ivy was glad he couldn't see Valian grinning over his shoulder.

As they approached the main entrance, Ivy looked around. There were people going in and out, smoking in huddled groups or heading for the car park. The night air was still. Ivy could hear the drone of distant traffic.

She remembered the man in grey. ‘I'm pretty sure there was an uncommoner here this morning,' she told the others. ‘He was acting oddly and his hands were all shrivelled and rotten.' She saw Ethel give Valian an anxious glance. ‘That means he must have made an illegal trade, doesn't it?'

Ethel pursed her lips. ‘For 'ands to get that damaged you'd 'ave to make lots of illegal trades. Very illegal ones. Mem—' She hesitated. ‘Members of the Dirge were known to do it on purpose, as a mark of loyalty.'

Ivy had already guessed that the man in grey was looking for Granma Sylvie; it made even more sense if he was a member of the Dirge.

As they went into the hospital, Ethel got out a piece of paper and glanced at it. ‘It's ward six B.'

Ivy tried to picture the man in grey again. She hadn't seen his face because of his hat, but she remembered the way he moved: stealthy and quick. Calculated.

While Ethel went to ask a nurse for directions, she whispered to Seb, ‘What if the man in grey was a member of the Dirge? What if he was the one who stole Granma Sylvie's notes? That way, he'd have seen her address and . . .' She shuddered. ‘Maybe he went straight to her house and searched it while we were on the bus?'

Seb had his mobile phone in his hand. He shoved it back in his pocket and rubbed his neck. For a second Ivy thought he was going to tell her she was being paranoid again, but he only shook his head.