“Come now, I’ve seen inside both your heads,” Octavius Wrench teased. “A small girl with pale hair possesses the Sands…someone you care about. But who is she?”
As Valian spluttered for breath, Octavius Wrench hovered closer to Ivy and Seb. Ivy’s lungs heaved as the air thinned. She stumbled back.
“If you don’t tell me,” he boomed, “I will kill you, family or not.”
Ivy realized that the river of acid encircling them had vanished, now that Octavius Wrench wasn’t a selkie anymore. Remembering that Seb had once been able to keep a wraithmoth at bay using his drumsticks, she hurriedly began to formulate a plan.
Lightning flashed overhead. Octavius Wrench tilted, as if he was peering into the sky. “Ah, Monkshood arrives and New Dawn draws closer,” he muttered.
Ivy took a deep breath and shouted, “Seb—chuck me your drumsticks. Then get Valian. We need to get out of the park!” Seb hesitated for a second before hurling his drumsticks through the air. Ivy caught one in each hand and began clashing them in Octavius Wrench’s direction. At once, his powdery body ripped open with holes, but he quickly started to change form—back into the suited man with the bowler hat.
Seb had just enough time to throw Valian’s limp body over his shoulder before he and Ivy both turned and ran.
Ivy heard the crackling wing beats of a pyroach. Octavius Wrench was chasing them, now as a nasty flesh-eating race of the dead—but she didn’t dare look over her shoulder. Sprinting through the freezing rain, she led Seb in the direction of the subway station they’d been aiming for earlier. Her pulse throbbed against the shoulders of her jacket.
As they approached the road, a stout figure in a long trench coat came hurtling out of the crowd toward them.
Curtis?
Their babysitter-spy had a look of grim determination on her face—her mouth drawn into a straight line, her brow lowered beneath the edge of her moss-green head scarf. “Keep going!” she shouted, turning to run alongside them. “These should slow that creature down”—she dropped what appeared to be silver safety pins in their wake—“I’ve fought pyroaches before with them. They unfold into insect traps.”
Ivy didn’t risk looking around to see how they worked in case it affected her speed. As they reached the street, they began elbowing their way through the mass of people on the pavement.
“This way,” Curtis told them. “I’ve already called for a ride.”
A yellow cab pulled up alongside them. The driver’s window lowered and Johnny Hands’s disheveled head poked out. “Get in!” he cried. He was wearing a flat cap and grubby white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
Seb slid Valian off his shoulder while Curtis opened the rear door, and together they propped Valian’s limp body between them on the back seat. Ivy got in the front, slamming the door shut. “We need to go underground,” she wheezed, peering behind them to see if Octavius Wrench was chasing after them. “Somewhere without natural light.”
“There’s a basement garage a few blocks away,” Johnny Hands said, fiddling with the cab’s sat-nav. He swiveled the steering wheel; the car made a sudden turn and sped forward.
Ivy checked on Valian. He looked pale and weak, but he was conscious. Seb fumbled for the flask of raider’s tonic in Valian’s jacket pocket and helped him take a sip. “Just breathe slowly. You’re going to be OK.”
Curtis inspected Ivy and Seb for wounds. “Are either of you injured?”
Seb shook his head while panting heavily. Ivy’s heart was still going a hundred miles an hour. Octavius Wrench is back. He’s here, in New York. She pushed off her hood and scraped the wet hair away from her face, trying to clear her head. From what Octavius Wrench had said, Ivy wasn’t sure whether he already had the Sword of Wills, or soon would have. Either way, it didn’t bode well. And now he knew who had the Sands of Change….
They headed along Seventy-Ninth Street before driving down a ramp into a basement car park. A car horn sounded behind, quickly followed by another. “All right, all right!” Johnny Hands depressed the accelerator. “Honestly, I’d forgotten how tedious driving is. Give me a horse, I say. Those fine beasts got me around for hundreds of years before the motorcar was invented.”
Ivy noted the lighting in the garage, all of it artificial.
“Won’t Octavius Wrench be able to attack us in here?” Seb fretted as they cruised around, trying to find an empty bay.
“Octavius Wrench!” Johnny Hands squeezed the steering wheel. “What on Earth do you mean?”
“He’s back, and he’s an Augrit now,” Ivy explained, shakily. “They’re powered by natural light.”
Curtis scowled. “Yes. I’ve never crossed one before, but you’re right—as long as we’re underground, we should be safe.”
Ivy pondered how Octavius Wrench had been able to chase them underground, through Nubrook, the day before. Perhaps it had something to do with the bright light she’d seen behind him. If that was what was helping him, she had to hope he hadn’t followed them here, or their defenses would be useless.
Valian rubbed the back of his head and tried to sit up. Ivy examined his face; the color was slowly returning to his cheeks. “How do you feel?” she inquired.
“Like someone tried to strangle me,” he slurred. “We were lucky to get away.”
Johnny Hands snorted as he slid the cab into a parking space. “Luck had nothing to do with it. Agent Curtis had an alert put out on your aqua-transport vessel. As soon as you hit the waterways she was able to trace you. Do you know what Octavius Wrench wanted?”
“Information,” Ivy said. “As a selkie, he looked inside our heads, trying to uncover what we knew about Amos Stirling’s journal.”
“And…?”
She fixed her gaze on Valian, her heart breaking. “I’m so sorry—he must have seen Rosie’s image. He knows what she’s carrying.”
“What?” Valian’s voice faltered.
“I don’t think he’s realized who she is yet,” Ivy added, hopefully—though she knew it was only a matter of time before he found out.
Valian’s face flooded with panic. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he declared, and stretched across Seb’s lap, reaching for the door.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Curtis said firmly, pushing Valian back in his seat. “It’s not safe for the three of you to be going off alone anymore.”
“It’s not safe for anyone,” Ivy said. She pulled the Dirge’s map out of her satchel and thrust it at Johnny Hands. “We found this at an entrance to the Hexroom near Breath Falls. The Dirge are going to attack hundreds of undermarts, one after another.”
Johnny Hands’s face darkened as he examined the document. “Nevertheless, you are in more danger than you know, Ivy Sparrow.” Opening the glove compartment, he withdrew a small red wooden box with a brass crank on one side. “Agent Curtis installed this uncommon jack-in-the-box in your house before she left for Nubrook on your trail. The voices inside were recorded last night.”
Ivy didn’t know what uncommon jack-in-the-boxes did, but, based on what Johnny Hands had said, she thought she could guess. She hesitated before turning the handle. A creaky, high-pitched tune played from somewhere within. On the final note the lid popped open to reveal a bouncing clown puppet on a spring. Its fat red lips moved as it spoke with two different voices. The first was low and grisly, making the box shudder. “You have done well to bring the Dirge this, but without being able to control it, we cannot initiate New Dawn. Prove your loyalty by sharing what you read inside that journal.” The voice was familiar to Ivy, but she couldn’t place it.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” whined the second, younger-sounding voice. Ivy recognized it as Alexander Brewster’s instantly. “I don’t care about your New Dawn. What does it matter if muckers know the truth or not? I want vengeance.” Then came the sound of things clattering to the floor. “Why aren’t they here? This is where they live.”
“This grudge of yours is a waste of
your energy,” the first speaker snapped. “Your enemies will soon be scorched in the light of the New Dawn. Once we give this to Blackclaw, New Dawn can be—”
“You don’t understand!” Alexander interrupted, almost shouting now. “This won’t be over till I’ve avenged my father. I’ll tell you what I read in that stupid journal as soon as you do what you promised and help me exact revenge. Ivy Sparrow and her friends must pay.”
With a rattle, the puppet finished speaking. Ivy swallowed as she watched it bobbing up and down, Alexander’s last words ringing in her head.
“Perhaps I should have warned you about that bit at the end,” Johnny Hands said. “It’s a trifle personal. We know the identities of both speakers, and I’m guessing you do too. Mr. Punch told me you might be familiar with the voices of some of the members of the Dirge.”
Ivy’s skin still tingled with shock from Alexander’s threat. But she ran through the handful of occasions she’d ever heard members of the Dirge talking and realized who the first voice belonged to. “Monkshood,” she growled, remembering his gruff tone. “Both he and Alexander Brewster are at our house?”
“Were at your house,” Johnny Hands said with a sigh. “Alexander Brewster took a flight to New York from London, arriving here this morning. He’s been traveling on common transport to avoid detection; we had to hack commoners’ airport security to find him.” He snapped the lid of the jack-in-the-box shut and rammed it back inside the glove compartment. “Now you see why Mr. Punch is so concerned about keeping you safe.”
“But we didn’t kill Alexander’s dad,” Seb protested. “Why does he want revenge on us?”
“We were there when it happened,” Ivy said sadly, remembering the dreadful events that had taken place in Lundinor the previous spring. A blast from Alexander’s weapon—meant for Ivy—had hit his own father instead. “I guess it’s easier to hold us responsible than admit it was an accident that was his own fault.”
Johnny Hands slipped a feather out from under his cap. “I’ll let Agent Curtis explain what’s going to happen from here. I need to send a communication.” With the Dirge’s map tucked under his arm, he stepped outside. Ivy watched him walk behind a nearby car to write a message. She wondered who he was contacting and hoped it was someone who could warn every undermart on that map of the Dirge’s intentions.
Valian sat with his arms folded. “You cannot hold us here against our will. We haven’t broken any GUT laws.”
“I assure you, theft from the Tidemongers’ base is a crime,” Curtis insisted.
Ivy squirmed in her seat. The Tidemongers must have discovered their trip through the mirror.
“Although, in this instance, it’s more for your own security,” Curtis continued. “You heard Alexander Brewster: he’s looking for the three of you, and it’s quite possible that Monkshood is traveling with him. My orders are to bring you all back to Nubrook, where you’ll spend the night at an underguard station. Tomorrow morning, when we deem it safe, I’ll escort you to your hotels to collect your belongings.”
Valian scowled at her, but he stayed quiet. Ivy suspected he was hatching an escape plan for when they arrived back in Nubrook. Now that Octavius Wrench had seen Rosie’s image in Ivy’s and Seb’s minds, time was running out for them to find her before the Dirge did.
“While we’re aboveground,” Curtis continued, addressing Ivy and Seb, “the three of us need to video-call your parents, to reassure them that everything’s OK. It’s eight-thirty p.m. in London right now. I’ve told them we were going to the cinema this evening, so they’ll think we’re in the back of a taxi on our way home.” She squinted at the rain-smeared windows, blurring the car park outside. “If we all play along, they won’t suspect a thing.”
Ivy contemplated being uncooperative, but she decided it would be better to participate in Curtis’s ploy. She and Seb couldn’t leave Valian, so smoothing things over at home would allow them to remain in Nubrook by his side without fear of their parents’ worrying.
Curtis took a mobile phone out of her coat pocket; it was so new it still had the protective film covering the case. She held down the power button and studied the screen carefully as the light came on. Judging by the lines of concentration on Curtis’s face, Ivy guessed she didn’t use common technology all that frequently.
“Hmm…” Curtis muttered. “The device is having difficulty getting reception.” She waved it around, growing more and more frustrated.
“It’s probably because we’re underground,” Seb told her. “You might get a signal somewhere else in the garage.”
“Yes, you could be right,” Curtis agreed. She opened the door. “Stay here,” she growled. “I’ll be watching the car. If any of you move, I’ll know.”
As soon as she’d left the vehicle, Ivy lowered her voice. “Valian, I’m so sorry.” Her stomach twisted with regret, wishing she could turn back time and undo their encounter with Octavius Wrench. “The Dirge were never looking for the Sands of Change at all, but they will be now. I should have realized sooner what Octavius was up to.”
“You’re not to blame,” Valian said firmly. “Mr. Rife is our last chance now. We have to focus on finding him and hope he’ll tell us something that can lead us to Rosie.”
Ivy wondered if Judy had managed to plant that cufflink in Mr. Rife’s pram. If she had, they’d be able to trace Mr. Rife’s location and catch up with him. She made a mental note to send Judy a message about it as soon as they were back in Nubrook.
“Did anyone else think it was weird,” Seb asked, “what Octavius Wrench said when that lightning struck? It was like he knew straightaway that Monkshood had arrived in New York, as if the storm was a signal.”
Ivy shared her theory with them about Storm Sarah being uncommon. “It started in Paris, four days ago,” she explained, “right when Alexander broke into that vault in Montroquer. Now the storm is here, and so are Alexander and Monkshood. Perhaps whatever they stole from that vault generated the storm? Although…I can’t see why they’d want to do that.”
“The only uncommon object I know that can affect the weather is a bag,” Valian said. “And that’s only when thousands of them are used to travel to the same place all at once.”
Gazing at the raindrops on the front windshield, Ivy remembered something she’d been taught at school. “Rain and wind are only ever caused by a change in temperature in the atmosphere. Is there something uncommon that can manipulate that?”
“What about a knife like the one I used to alter the state of water?” Seb suggested. “Mr. Rife said that uncommon blades all do the same thing—they control forces.”
Blades…
Ivy’s mouth went dry as understanding crept through her. “The Sword of Wills! That’s what Alexander stole! We know the sword was hidden in Montroquer…and Octavius Wrench told us he’s going to use it to begin New Dawn…so Alexander and Monkshood must be bringing it to him.”
“Whatever they’re planning to do with it,” Seb muttered, “it’s gotta be a lot worse than a bit of thunder and lightning. Mr. Rife said that the higher the grade of the blade, the greater the number of forces it can control, so I guess there’s no limit to the things the Sword of Wills can manipulate—the laws of physics, emotions…people’s minds?”
Ivy considered what the Dirge might be plotting. Octavius Wrench had said that he was going to use the sword’s “unique powers” for a series of tasks. She replayed the jack-in-the-box conversation in her head and had a sinking feeling it was something to do with what Alexander had said about “muckers” knowing the truth. “Remember what Monkshood said: the Dirge can’t wield the sword without Amos’s instructions.” She clasped her satchel firmly. “That means we have to keep the journal protected at all costs. Maybe we should go along with Curtis after all?”
There was a loud click and the car door flew open. “Quick, get into position,” Curtis said, shuffling in. “It’s ringing.”
The next morning, after complying with the Tidemo
ngers’ protection scheme, Ivy sat tapping her feet against the polished ebony floor of the underguard station. The windowless waiting room was a lot bigger than the one in Lundinor but featured comparably creepy décor: pumpkins with carved screaming faces adorned the flint gray walls, and uncommon lime squeezers spilled eerie green light over the ceiling. Officers in navy blue uniforms peered out from behind the main desk, which was constructed from three lacquered coffins stacked on top of each other. If it wasn’t late November, Ivy would have thought they were getting ready to celebrate Halloween.
“I cannot believe they put us in the cells overnight,” Seb growled, folding his arms. “I had to sleep on a bench made out of an old gravestone with a blanket that only came up to my knees.”
Valian huffed. “At least you had fresh air. I was sharing with a sootsprite named Claude who had a serious wind issue.” He scrunched up his nose and shuddered, as if revisiting the experience.
For Ivy, the hard bed and small blanket had been the least of her problems. Without the lava lamp at Guesthouse Swankypants to soothe her to sleep, she’d been haunted by nightmares about the Dirge’s army of the dead. At one point, she’d dreamed of Octavius Wrench rising from the bowels of the earth as a giant—his bowler hat as big as a football stadium—stomping around the planet, gobbling up undermarts. It made her shiver just thinking about it.
Over by the main entrance, Ivy spotted Judy skating through the automatic doors. A pair of underguard officers stopped her before she could come any closer. With the handles of their toilet brushes resting over their shoulders, they looked like soldiers holding bayonet rifles. They grumbled a few words, and Judy shook hands with them. Finally she was allowed to pass.
“I can’t stay long,” Judy whispered as she reached them and took a seat opposite. “Visiting time is half an hour, apparently.”
The Deadly Omens Page 10