The Smoking Hourglass

by Jennifer Bell

  Ivy considered the question carefully. With a sense of unease, she wondered whether the Dirge had found the answers.

  A voice buzzed in her ear, making her twitch. It had an echo – like someone speaking in a cave. It was strange; there seemed to be more fragments of soul in the Dead End than in the Great Cavern. Perhaps, Ivy thought, her whispering also allowed her to sense the fragments of souls that had transformed into a race of the dead.

  They arrived at Hangman’s Square within minutes. It turned out to be a large brown field flanked by derelict cottages with festering swamps for gardens.

  ‘Well, spring in the Dead End is cheerful,’ Seb muttered, staring at some kids who were playing catch with a skull.

  In the centre of the field stood a rusty silver carousel. The pewter-skinned figures mounted upon it moved up and down very slowly, dancing an old-fashioned waltz. Their outlandish dresses, jackets and hats made Ivy think they might be wearing Hobsmatch, but she wasn’t sure. As the carousel turned, tiny squares of light spread across the grass, like the reflections of a mirror ball.

  ‘Seb, that’s got to be it.’ Ivy tugged him across the field. The carousel was busy: traders with sad faces massed at the foot of the steps as they waited for their turn. She wondered why they looked so forlorn.

  ‘I can’t see a black door,’ Seb noted. ‘Can you?’

  Ivy squinted. She could hear the structure creaking and moaning as it spun, but the flashing reflections of the pewter dancers made her eyes ache.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘On you get then – no need to wait!’ A dark-eyed man with a shepherd’s crook gave her a gentle push up the steps.

  ‘Oh no, I—’ Ivy’s legs started moving before she had finished her sentence. She tried to stop herself, but it was like she’d lost control of her body. As she climbed onto the carousel, out of the corner of her eye she could see Seb having the same problem.

  ‘Seb!’ Ivy attempted to get his attention, but as she stepped onto the revolving platform she became so light-headed she couldn’t speak. The glare from the dancing figures flooded her vision. She grabbed onto the nearest pole to steady herself. ‘Seb?’ she croaked. She couldn’t see him any more; everything outside the carousel was spinning, and all she could distinguish were the blurred faces of the pewter-skinned dancers, smiling eerily as they twirled.

  I’ve got to get off.

  She zigzagged her way through the silvery figures, shouting Seb’s name. Just as she thought she’d finally discovered an exit, she found herself back at the same spot she’d started from.

  She rubbed her eyes, trying to keep a grip on reality. She wasn’t trapped: the carousel didn’t have bars on it; there must be an exit.

  Suddenly one of the dancers broke ranks and came lumbering towards her, swaying from side to side like a possessed statue. It stretched a metallic hand towards her throat, its eyes solid white like marble.

  ‘Get off me!’ Ivy screamed, stumbling backwards. ‘Oomph!’ Her body slammed into something hard … and her mind cleared.

  She found herself on a fixed platform in the middle of the carousel. ‘Seb!’ she shouted again. She could see traders stumbling helplessly among the dancers, their expressions dreamy.

  Ivy knew she couldn’t risk going back to find her brother; she might never get off again. There must be a different way out. She did an about-turn and came face to a knocker with a tall black door. There were intricate designs carved into the ebony frame – ghoulish faces and swirly patterns – but no hourglass symbol painted anywhere. Smoke rolled out from under the doorframe, making Ivy cough.

  ‘Seb!’ she cried one more time. ‘I’ve found the door Johnny Hands was talking about!’

  As before, there was no reply. Ivy hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should wait there for Seb or go through the door without him. The only way to see if it was the door from Granma Sylvie’s memory was to discover what was behind it. Ivy put a gloved hand on the doorknob. She’d just take a peek …

  The door opened easily, but all Ivy could see on the other side was thick, sooty smoke. Covering her mouth, she shuffled forward over the threshold, squinting through the fog.

  Just one step further …

  The smoke started to thin, and gradually Ivy discerned a small room beyond.

  Maybe one more …

  Emerging on the other side of the smoke, she found herself standing in a circular room. The wood-panelled walls were adorned with antlers, animal skins and mirrored cabinets gleaming with trophies and satin rosettes.

  There was a white chalk circle drawn on the floor, and in the middle stood a high square table with a chopping board on it. The smoke was coming from the base of a large crystal chandelier suspended from the middle of the ceiling. It spread to the walls and over the door, forming a misty curtain.

  Ivy ventured in slowly; she was still buzzing with adrenalin. There was no one else there; the room was empty. She stepped over the chalk line and approached the table, wondering if she might find anything important. She batted smoke out of her eyes as she inspected the chopping board. It had a black band painted around the outside, with a bright red square in the centre. She pulled back her glove and touched it; it felt tingly and warm. Uncommon.

  Just then, someone came stumbling into the room behind her. Her nerves jangled as she spun round.

  ‘Ivy!’ Seb cried, falling towards her.

  Ivy was overcome with relief. ‘Seb?’ He looked like he’d been in a fight. His lip was bleeding, his skin pale. ‘What happened? Are you OK?’

  ‘It’s those silver figures on the carousel,’ Seb explained hastily. ‘They’re alive! Well, I mean, they’re dead, but …’ He flapped his hands. ‘You know what I mean. They are not friendly! One of them winded me when I tried to get through to the door.’ He leaned against the table, panting. ‘Just let me get my breath back. Then we’ll go and tell that idiot who pushed us on here where he can shove his carousel.’ He rested his hands on the chopping board.

  ‘That’s uncommon,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know why it’s here.’

  Seb looked at all the trophy cabinets. ‘Is there anything else? Have you seen the smoking hourglass anywhere, or anything Dirge-related?’

  Ivy was about to say that she hadn’t yet explored the place when she heard voices outside. Seb shot a look over her shoulder. He scanned the room and then, without explanation, grabbed Ivy by the elbow and shoved her behind a white bearskin rug hanging on the wall. There was just enough room for her to fit without making a noticeable bulge, but Seb was left in plain view.

  All at once Ivy heard footsteps in the room.

  ‘Well, look at this: the grimp’s turned up early,’ a sly voice announced.

  ‘Must be keen to lose,’ a second voice said.

  The first speaker laughed menacingly. ‘He’s new. Perhaps he’s never heard of us.’

  Ivy needed to see what was going on. She spotted a mirrored cabinet against the wall to her left. By tilting her head, in one surface she could see a reflection of the whole room. She saw two figures emerge through the smoke and knew that they were dead. One was the size and build of a grizzly bear – except that instead of fur it had slimy yellow skin and a drooling mouth, like one of those jelly aliens she’d played with when she was younger. It was wearing thick black rubber gloves with tight elasticated cuffs that dug into its gelatinous skin. The other looked more human, with raggedy orange hair on its head and chin, and freckles on its nose … and it also had three arms. Tucked under one was a metal box with a hinged lid.

  Seb ran a hand through his hair while covertly wiping the sweat off his forehead, trying to appear relaxed. He glanced surreptitiously in Ivy’s direction, his eyes flashing with panic. Hurriedly he slid off his rucksack and lobbed it towards the rug. Ivy flinched as it landed with a thud on her feet. She looked down, not realizing they’d been sticking out.

  ‘If I’ve said it once,’ the sly voice continued, ‘I’ve said it a hundred times.’ The three-armed
man was speaking. ‘I’ll never be beaten at Grivens by a blasted grimp.’

  Three Arms thinks Seb is a grimp …? Ivy had come up against grimps before – they were shapeshifters; they ate the body parts of living humans in order to resemble them. Three Arms and his slimy friend must think that Seb had assumed the appearance of a living boy.

  ‘Er … hi,’ Seb said in a deeper voice than normal.

  The slimy guy lowered his head in greeting, goo dripping onto the floor.

  Three Arms grinned. ‘I hope the silver security didn’t give you too hard a time on the way in – they might look like harmless dancers, but they can be fierce.’ He rubbed his hands together as he stared at the chopping board. ‘You know what it’s like – can’t have any law-abiding folk getting in to see the game. They’d snitch.’

  ‘Talking of which,’ the slimy guy began with a snigger, ‘better take these off so the Ugs don’t know where we are.’ He pulled off his rubber gloves and flexed his greasy fingers, sighing happily.

  Three Arms removed his own bobbly black wool gloves before noticing Seb’s bare hands. ‘Where are yours then?’

  Seb rolled his eyes, searching for an explanation. ‘Took them off earlier,’ he muttered. ‘Had some, er … business to take care of.’

  The two dead creatures took up positions opposite each other, next to Seb. Ivy wished she was closer to her brother so that she could reassure him; instead she had to just watch him try to keep up the pretence.

  ‘Jack’s bringing the snacks,’ Three Arms said, opening his metal box. ‘You’ll probably just want toenails. That’s all right – eh, grimp?’

  Seb nodded quickly as Three Arms offered the box to him. ‘Choose your pieces. No cheating now,’ Three Arms said. ‘Just pick one of each and put ’em on the board.’

  Seb stared hard into the box and eventually withdrew three carved wooden objects, each small enough to fit in his hand – a suitcase with catches, a ship’s bell and a single glove with a buttoned cuff.

  Next Slimy Guy selected a different-looking bell, suitcase and glove from the box. ‘What’s your name?’ He was addressing Seb.

  Three Arms placed his bell, suitcase and glove on the board in front of him. Set out on three sides of the board, the models looked a bit like chess pieces.

  Seb cleared his throat. ‘My name?’ His voice wobbled. Ivy hoped the two dead guys couldn’t read his face as well as she could; to her it was obvious that he was about to lie.

  ‘Aye,’ Three Arms said. ‘Don’t much fancy calling you “grimp” all evening. I’m Mick the Stretch, and this here is Squasher.’

  Ivy had no idea what Seb was going to say. His legs were trembling.

  ‘Ripz?’ he answered, almost like it was a question.

  Ivy’s heart sank. Ripz. Really? That was all he could come up with – the name of his favourite band?

  The other two laughed. Squasher drooled. ‘Sounds bloodthirsty.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Mick the Stretch added. ‘I hope you’re as tough a Grivens opponent as your name suggests – then we might have some real fun.’

  Ivy didn’t like the sound of this.

  There was a creak and the sound of odd, scratchy footsteps outside. Then the black door swung inwards.

  No.

  Emerging through the smoke came the tall thin shape of Selena’s henchman, Jack-in-the-Green. He was wearing the same emerald-green wool suit she had seen on the MV Outlander, this time teamed with a pale fedora that had holes for his antennae to poke through. His mandibles clicked in greeting. ‘Gentlemen.’

  Ivy pressed herself back against the wall, remembering Jack-in-the-Green’s WANTED poster: Assassin guilty of murder on six continents … Master of disguise. It couldn’t get much worse.

  Or could it …?

  With a cold trickle of horror, Ivy realized that Jack-in-the-Green might recognize Seb from the ship.

  ‘There you are, Jack. Got the snacks?’

  The assassin’s gaze moved slowly around the table, but he didn’t react. Instead he held up a grey drawstring gym bag, jabbed a claw into the opening and retrieved two crinkly transparent packets. Their contents shuffled noisily as he dumped them on the table.

  Ivy’s chest deflated with relief. She could only suppose that, in the darkness, Jack-in-the-Green hadn’t got a clear look at Seb’s face.

  He also tugged a thick leather-covered notebook from his bag and tapped it. ‘You were right about the formulas written in here,’ he said in his strange, tuneful voice. ‘There was a tracing serum that was particularly useful. We should do business again.’ He stuffed the notebook back into his bag and scanned the room with his headlight eyes.

  Ivy held her breath as his gaze lingered on the bearskin rug. That WANTED poster hadn’t mentioned anything about X-ray vision …

  He lowered his head towards Seb’s rucksack and chucked his drawstring bag in the same direction. Ivy flinched as it hit her feet, but her body flooded with relief.

  Jack-in-the-Green scuttled into the only remaining position at the table – opposite Seb. Ivy could see the outline of the black door in the smoke behind him.

  As far as she knew, it was the only way out.

  ‘Here you go, Ripz,’ said Mick the Stretch, proffering one of the plastic bags brought by Jack-in-the-Green. A handful of thin yellowish toenail curls shuffled out into a little mound beside Seb’s elbow.

  Seb stared at them, straining for a smile. ‘Er, thanks. Every grimp loves toenails.’ He sounded like he was going to vomit. Ivy began to feel sick herself.

  ‘Well,’ said Mick the Stretch, ‘give them a try. Folks don’t call me the best Grivens host in Lundinor for nothing, you know.’ He waited, looking at Seb expectantly.

  With a shaking hand, Seb picked up a toenail.

  Oh, no, no. Ivy couldn’t watch.

  Her brother opened his mouth and forced his fingers onto his tongue. His face went grey as he closed his lips. Ivy was certain he was going to be sick, but instead he chewed once and swallowed.

  Ivy’s jaw dropped.

  Jack-in-the-Green made a buzzing noise with his antennae. ‘Before we start the game, I need information.’ He slid a square of paper onto the uncommon chopping board. Mick the Stretch grumbled as some of the pieces were knocked over, but one look at Jack-in-the-Green’s razor-edged pincer arms made him think twice about complaining. Seb and Squasher leaned closer to see.

  ‘The tracing-serum formula from the notebook isn’t working as well in Lundinor. I need you to tell me if you see the jar.’ Jack-in-the-Green pointed at the paper. ‘These are the dimensions. It should have arrived here this morning.’

  Ivy’s skin tingled. The Jar of Shadows. She glanced at Jack-in-the-Green’s bag with the notebook tucked inside.

  Seb shrugged. Squasher shook his head, splattering slime across the table. ‘Haven’t heard nothing about a jar,’ Mick said, stroking his wiry orange beard, ‘but I’ll let you know if I do … for a price, obviously.’

  Jack-in-the-Green tipped his head. ‘I need it by the evening of May Day.’

  In two days’ time … Ivy wondered what the urgency was.

  Mick the Stretch smacked his three hands against the table. ‘Right then, now that’s done, let’s get this game started.’ He offered his metal box to Jack-in-the-Green, who picked a suitcase, bell and glove, and placed them on the board.

  ‘Here’s my rules,’ Mick the Stretch began. ‘We play traditional Grivens: you only move one piece per round. Last person still fighting after three rounds wins.’

  Ivy imagined Grivens must be some kind of board game, but the chopping board had no grid, just the outer black section and the inner red square. Her gaze drifted across the trophy cabinet to a mahogany shield studded with two silver plates. They were engraved with the words:

  INTERNATIONAL GRIVENS CHAMPIONSHIP 1979

  MAI MASIMA, THAILAND: RUNNER-UP

  INTERNATIONAL GRIVENS CHAMPIONSHIP 1781

  MOSVOK, RUSSIA: WINNER

  She bit
her lip, growing more and more anxious. Seb looked like he was about to run away at any moment. Ivy could only imagine what was going through his mind. The dead players would turn murderous if they realized he wasn’t who he said he was.

  ‘Right, gentlemen,’ said Mick the Stretch. ‘Time to select your first weapon and move it into the red.’

  Using a long green claw, Jack-in-the-Green pushed forward his suitcase piece. Squasher chose his glove, Mick the Stretch his bell. Seb’s eyes flicked between the three pieces on his side of the board before he gave the suitcase a panicked nudge.

  ‘See you on the other side!’ Mick declared gleefully. He struck the chopping board, sending it spinning with a loud thrum.

  The air stirred.

  With a sinister hiss, everything within the chalk circle went blurry. Ivy rubbed her eyes, assuming it was some kind of illusion, but as clarity was restored, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Seb and the three dead players were still standing around the square table, but their surroundings – up to the edge of the chalk circle – had completely changed. The dark hunting-lodge decor had been replaced by a tarmac helipad, blue skies and a view of a sprawling glass metropolis in brilliant sunlight. It was as if they had been transported to another part of the world entirely.

  Seb’s chest was going up and down, though Ivy couldn’t hear him panting. Everything in the room was silent – but now the Grivens pieces were moving, changing shape.

  Jack-in-the-Green’s suitcase opened to reveal a miniature samurai sword, which then materialized – much larger – in his claws. He drew away from the table and began swiping it back and forth. Ivy held a hand over her mouth. Mick the Stretch was swinging a rusty axe. She didn’t understand … Had the pieces turned into weapons?

  Seb looked like a trapped animal as he glanced from one opponent to the other. Ivy wasn’t sure what to do to help him. A red-and-white American football helmet appeared in his hands and, after a moment’s hesitation, he shoved it on his head.

  Jack-in-the-Green aimed his sword at Squasher. There was a flash of silver, and then, with a whoosh, sound flooded back and the four players returned to the room, exactly as they had been before …