The Crooked Sixpence (27 page)

A chill slid down Ivy's spine. She should have guessed.

‘In the mansion a trail of animal tracks led us to a door in the basement,' Smokehart continued. ‘We realized it was uncommon when it opened into a different room every time. This place was the first that held any interest.'

Ivy wondered if Seb and Valian had survived the fight with the wraithmoths and selkies in the whispering hall. Smokehart couldn't have found it yet.

She turned to her parents. Her mum was slumped against the wall, her head tilted to one side. Ivy wasn't sure if she was unconscious, but her eyes were closed and her body was still. Her dad was moving feebly, trying to sit up.

‘My parents,' Ivy wheezed, in a small voice. ‘Are you going to help them?'

Officer Smokehart drew closer: Ivy could feel his cold, dead breath against her cheek. He shot a glance at the constable, checking he was otherwise occupied. ‘Oh, don't worry about your parents, Ivy Wrench. I intend to keep them nice and snug back at the underguard station. And as soon as you and your brother are locked away beside them, I might even consider releasing your mucker mother. If you try and escape again, though . . . Well, let's just say I don't think your parents will fare too well against some of our more . . . interesting inmates.'

‘What?' Ivy realized that there was no point in trying to explain about the uncommon alarm clock.

‘Constable?' Officer Smokehart called. ‘Are you ready with the transport?'

The constable was busy pulling two pieces of folded grey plastic out of his tool belt. ‘Almost there, sir.'

Smokehart turned towards the uncommon door, which was propped open with a bucket. Through it, Ivy caught a glimpse of some dark room in the Wrench Mansion.

He sighed with pleasure. ‘That house has been out of my reach for over forty years, but not any longer. Everything that happened to the Wrenches on Twelfth Night 1969 will soon become clear: how they disappeared, where they ended up, what their real motives and identities were. No more mystery. No more lies. The truth will be revealed, order will be restored and the law will finally be upheld.'

Ivy turned away. Smokehart had no idea of the real truth . . .

Something glittered at the corner of Ivy's eye. She turned to find a feather bobbing in the air, scrawling a message in front of the constable. ‘Uh, sir, Lady Selena Grimes is asking what we found down here. She wants to know if there's anything to report and whether she should be concerned for traders' safety?' He looked at Ivy and her parents nervously.

‘Tell her we have found one of the runaways in very incriminating circumstances and we are taking her and her parents back to the station immediately. Everything is under control.'

The constable nodded enthusiastically and began writing a reply.

Ivy gritted her teeth, wishing she could tell Smokehart the truth.
Selena Grimes is Wolfsbane. She is a member of the Dirge!

Ivy remembered the respectful way Smokehart had acted around Selena Grimes – bowing to her orders, scared of contradicting her. She had fooled him, just like she had fooled everyone else. As Quartermaster of the Dead End, Selena Grimes had the whole of Lundinor wrapped around her little finger. Ivy wondered, with a shiver, if any of the other Dirge members had taken important positions.

Officer Smokehart grabbed her arm with his gloved hand, tightening his fingers. ‘No paperclip for you this time. I'll keep hold of you; that way I can be certain you won't escape.' With his other hand, he pointed to Ivy's parents. ‘Get them bagged up now!'

Ivy reached for her dad, who was trying to sit up beside her. ‘
Dad!
' she screamed. ‘Dad!'

‘Ivy?' he murmured. ‘Is that you?'

The constable stepped forward; he was holding a large brass whistle on a gold chain. He bent down next to Ivy's dad and quickly blew the thing in his ear. It made no sound at all, but Ivy's dad went very still. His eyes began to glaze over.

‘Leave him alone!' Ivy croaked frantically. She tried to pull herself free, but Smokehart yanked back so hard she thought her arm might be ripped out of its socket.

‘Make sure you erase everything from the last two days,' Officer Smokehart ordered. ‘I don't want a single memory escaping, even from the uncommon father. It is our duty to protect all uncommon secrets.'

After counting for a moment, the constable hurried round to Ivy's dad's other ear and repeated the procedure. Ivy's dad slowly closed his eyes, as if drifting off into a pleasant sleep. The officer used the whistle in exactly the same way on Ivy's mum, before unfolding two pieces of grey plastic sheeting. There was a zip down the middle of each and the words
BODY BAG
printed on the side. He dragged Ivy's mum onto the first.

Ivy watched in horror: her mum's body was quite limp. Maybe she should have left Violet's button in her mum's pocket for longer; the healing effects seemed to be wearing off.

Once the constable had zipped the bag over Ivy's mum's head, the material went flat as her body disappeared. While he started to move Ivy's dad, Smokehart pointed at the uncommon door.

‘Make sure you keep that propped open,' he reminded his constable. ‘I don't want to spend another five hours trying to get back here.'

Ivy's head felt fuzzy again.
Five hours? Wait . . .
‘What time is it?' she asked. She pictured the hands of the uncommon alarm clock counting down to midnight, when her parents were going to die. She could see the words of the Dirge, written by that black feather:
The clock is ticking.

‘Just past eleven,' Smokehart said curtly. ‘So by my calculations you've got a little under an hour in the cell till midnight and then' – he grinned – ‘
Happy New Year.
'

Ivy started. ‘New Year . . . ?'

A smile creased Smokehart's lips. ‘Oh, don't tell me you haven't realized.' He looked around the room, over at the ghoul hole and then back to Ivy. ‘You've been stuck in that ghoul hole for over four hours.'

No . . .

No, this can't be happening.

Ivy stumbled along at Smokehart's side as he dragged her through the gates. He was holding both her wrists together with just one of his strong hands. Now that she knew he was dead, she was no longer surprised that he seemed like a robot.

She heard the gates clang shut behind her as she stumbled out into a shadowy street in some other part of Lundinor. The place was bustling with underguards. Several constables were scraping samples of cement from the brick wall. One sergeant had bagged up a handful of leaves from the fountain basin, while another was experimentally prodding the metal surround.

Ivy tried to ignore the pain – though her body hurt all over.
It's almost midnight
, she reminded herself, her stomach turning over.
There's no time left.

Ragwort and Selena Grimes were still out there, and in under an hour Ivy's parents would be dead if she didn't do something. She couldn't assume that Seb or Valian had escaped. It was up to her now.

Smokehart tugged her into the street. Getting away from him was the only way to save everyone.

He must have a weakness
, Ivy thought.
Everyone has a weakness.

A few underguards spoke to Smokehart as they passed by.

‘Congratulations, sir,' one of them said, straightening. ‘I can't wait to read your report on Twelfth Night.'

Smokehart paused to reply, still holding Ivy in his crushing grasp.

‘As I have said all along, the key to the whole mystery is what happened in the mansion that night – that's the evidence we've been lacking all these years.'

Smokehart's words triggered a thought in Ivy's head.

What happened in the house on Twelfth Night . . .

Ivy knew some of that already. Violet Eyelet had been there that evening, dropping off the objects she'd scouted for the Wrenches. Ivy wondered if there were any clues hiding in the details of Violet's story; clues she'd previously missed.

All at once a deafening siren went off. Ivy couldn't tell where the noise was coming from, but it was almost as loud as a selkie.

‘Not now,' Smokehart groaned.

‘Sir!' one of the underguards cried. ‘That's Mr Punch's alarm. We need to go to the Market Cross immediately. It's the law – even for underguards.'

‘I know, I know,' he grumbled. He raised his voice as he turned to the other underguards. ‘Make sure you leave everything where it is. I don't want any evidence tampered with.' He glared at Ivy. ‘You stay with me. Remember: I have your parents.'

In a matter of seconds the pavement was heaving with uncommoners. Smokehart shouted at them to let him through and, on the whole, they obeyed. Still, Ivy knew that this was her best chance to break away. She just needed to get away from Smokehart's iron grip.

The crowd gathered at a T-junction as everyone turned onto the Gauntlet. Smokehart was jostled, and his fingers tensed around Ivy's wrist. She noticed tiny crimson spots spreading over the pale skin of his neck. It had happened several times before, but Ivy had no idea what it meant.
Farrow's Guide
had mentioned something about Smokehart's race, the Eyre Folk. If only she could remember . . .

There was a clatter of hoofs behind them. Smoke-hart stepped aside, pulling Ivy with him, and turned to see an underguard coach. The red-faced constable was driving it.

‘What are you doing here?' Smokehart spluttered. ‘You're meant to be in the mansion. You've got to let us all back in!' The red spots on his neck began creeping up to his face.

‘But I heard the alarm!' the constable argued, one hand securing his hat. ‘It's the law. We have to go,
don't we
?'

Ivy's head spun as the information came to her:
Farrow's Guide
had said that Eyre Folk ‘spook' when they're emotional – that's what the ‘sweating blood' thing was called. And it was
uncontrollable
– Smokehart couldn't stop it. If she was going to escape, now was the time.

She thought for a second. Smokehart was keeping her parents at the station and she had no doubt that his threats were real. If she ran away, it might put them both in more danger . . .

But then, the Dirge's threats were real too, and they were infinitely more dangerous. After seeing the whispering hall, Ivy understood what they were capable of. It wasn't just her parents' lives at stake – it was the safety of everyone in Lundinor and beyond.

The decision was made. She had to go.

‘Constable!' Smokehart roared. Ivy could see blood bubbling everywhere through his skin. ‘What have you done?'

The constable slid lower in his seat. ‘
Sir?
'

Ivy's wrists and hands were slippery. She could see the scarlet fluid running down her arm from Smokehart's fingers; as he grew angrier, so his grip was loosening. Suddenly, with all her might, she yanked her wrists free. She dived into the crowd, pushing and squeezing until she reached the other side of the street. She could hear Smokehart's cold voice rising out of the throng behind her.

‘Your parents, Ivy Wrench! I have your parents!'

Tears poured down her cheeks as she ran. She didn't care where she was heading, as long as it was away from Smokehart. Once the crowd was far behind her, she stopped in the doorway of an empty shop to get her breath back.

She pictured the uncommon alarm clock ticking away in Valian's room. There was only one sure-fire way to save her parents in time: stop the Dirge. If they got their hands on one of the Great Uncommon Good, who knew what kind of evil they'd unleash on Lundinor and on the rest of the world. She had to reach it first. Granma Sylvie
must
have left Lundinor with it on Twelfth Night. Now Ivy had a little under an hour to find out where she'd hidden it.

‘Violet was in the mansion that night,' she whispered to herself as she ran through the clues. Something told her that she needed to go back and talk to Violet. She'd probably be in the Market Cross now, along with everyone else. It would be risky to go back there, though; that's where Smokehart would be.

If only Seb and Valian were still here
, Ivy thought. At least then she could get a second opinion. She wondered if she had enough time to check the room above Hoff & Winkle's Hobsmatch Emporium to see whether they'd made it. She weighed up the risks . . .

There wasn't a moment to lose.

There was a tension in the air at the Market Cross. Uncommoners stood around muttering to each other.

Flinching from the noise of the siren, Ivy pushed her way through chain mail, lace cuffs and crinoline petticoats. The crowd had gathered in a circle around the middle of the square. Stopping a few rows back, Ivy spotted a couple of familiar faces on the opposite side, but no Violet. Ethel and Mr Littlefair were standing behind a family dressed in karate gis; Johnny Hands was beside a group of traders wearing sombreros; and Albert Merribus, whose white hair was sticking out as if he'd had an electric shock, was waiting by some underguards: these ones had silver-braided epaulets and the letters SB on their lapels.
Special Branch
, Ivy realized. She noticed with a sinking feeling that Selena Grimes was nowhere to be seen.

In the centre of the square a huge oyster shell had been placed on a wooden table. Once the crowd had hushed, the shell closed, swallowing the throbbing siren with it.

Ivy stood on tiptoe to see an exceedingly tall man in a ringmaster's red tailcoat and black top hat take centre stage. A name ran in whispers through the crowd . . .

‘
Mr Punch . . .
'

‘
It's Mr Punch . . .
'

‘
. . . the Guardian of Lundinor.
'