Judy gave Ivy a hug. ‘Valian said you needed some help, so I put together my most practical Hobsmatch ensemble and – here I am. What do you think?’ She did a twirl, fanning out her denim skirt. She was wearing thick woollen tights, roller skates and a green satin bomber jacket. A sweep of matching green shadow on her eyelids made her wide hazel eyes pop.
‘You look great,’ Seb said, hastily combing his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s good to see you.’ They exchanged an awkward smile. Ivy remembered Seb murmuring Judy’s name to the uncommon mirror at the Tidemongers’ base. Although he’d never actually admitted to liking Judy, Ivy could guess his secret.
‘Valian described to me what he saw in the Frozen Telescope,’ Judy explained, sombre now, ‘and everything the three of you heard at the Tidemongers’ base. It doesn’t sound … good.’
‘That’s an understatement,’ Seb remarked. ‘We have to find Rosie as soon as possible.’
Judy nodded. ‘Valian and I have just come from the featherlight mailhouse. We wanted to find out whether Rosie could have been travelling by pram too, like Mr Rife. So we made enquiries with both of our trade contacts, but no one’s heard of an uncommon pram being sold in the last seven years. Another dead end, I’m afraid.’
By the set of his jaw, Ivy could tell that Valian was disappointed.
‘Still,’ Judy continued, smiling, ‘you’ve got one lead on Mr Rife – you know from the sheet music that he did meet Rosie, so that sounds promising. As does that riddle in Amos’s journal.’
As the four of them set off in the direction of the auction house, Ivy told Valian and Judy about Mr Punch’s mysterious featherlight message. ‘I couldn’t understand any of it,’ she admitted.
Valian scrunched his brow. ‘If there were different sets of handwriting, it almost sounds like the message was written by more than one person.’
‘Maybe it was,’ Judy commented. ‘Mr Punch is a Hob, remember – his race of the dead have several broken souls trapped inside them. I only ever recognize him when he appears as a quartermaster, looking like a young man with a red beard, but he must have many more guises.’
Ivy tried to count how many different versions of Mr Punch she’d seen. He had appeared as an old man with a crooked back, as a softly spoken shopkeeper, and as the fresh-faced quartermaster whom Judy knew. His distinctive aquamarine irises were the only feature that never changed. ‘I just hope he’s OK,’ she said. ‘He’s never acted like this before.’
The streets grew busier as they walked along. It seemed that even more Thanksgiving decorations had appeared overnight – rust-coloured pumpkins and gilded pine cones were now arranged on the steps leading up to most shops, and the air was starting to smell of apple pie and cinnamon. Arriving at the entrance of Forward & Rife’s, they found the door to the courtyard closed. Seb grabbed the handle and gave it a yank, but it was definitely locked. He examined a note fixed to the knocker, then held it aloft for all to see.
‘What could be so important that Mr Rife and Mrs Bees have decided to shut up shop?’ Ivy asked, peering up at the roof. Security guards patrolled around the edge of the garden. ‘It’s a pity my senses don’t reach far enough to check whether that pram is still there. If we knew it had gone, then at least we’d know they’ve left Nubrook.’
‘Mr Rife wasn’t planning on visiting his buyer, Midas, until after the auction,’ Valian reminded them. ‘Perhaps we made him nervous by asking questions about Rosie. We know he’s hiding something.’ He bent down and squinted through the keyhole. ‘Great. They’ve got uncommon shuttlecocks inside.’
Seb jerked his head up. ‘Those weird things you hit when you’re playing badminton? What do they do?’
‘They fly around acting like mobile security sensors,’ Judy explained. ‘If they detect something that appears out of place, they sound an alarm.’
Ivy took a closer look. Flitting through the air as fast as dragonflies, the shuttlecocks made a whirring sound as they moved. Occasionally, they hovered in one place long enough for Ivy to see how they worked – their feather skirts rotated at high speed like propellers. ‘So I’m guessing that means we can’t sneak inside to check if the pram’s still there or not. Or search for other clues either.’
‘Unfortunately not,’ Valian said. ‘Even if I used my boat shoes to move through the walls, one of the shuttlecocks would likely spot me.’
‘What if we divert the shuttlecocks’ attention?’ Seb suggested. ‘Anyone got anything we can use to create a distraction?’ He turned out his pockets, flashing his phone, a wallet and – Ivy noted – the pair of cufflinks he’d collected the day before at the Tidemongers’ base. ‘I’ve got my drumsticks too, but, with the amount of noise and destruction they’d cause, we’d be bound to attract the interest of the security guards on the roof – and everyone out here as well.’
Valian patted the inside pocket of his leather jacket. ‘Same problem with everything I’m carrying.’
Ivy knew her yo-yo – which generated tornadoes – would cause all sorts of chaos. She contemplated asking Scratch to make a loud noise, but that would only draw the shuttlecocks’ attention to her satchel.
Judy hesitated. ‘I can’t promise this will work, but I’ve got an idea. Can you give me some cover?’ she asked, indicating the passing crowds.
Seb and Valian positioned themselves between Judy and the street, hiding her from the wandering gazes of the passers-by. Judy considered the marble wall of the auction house very carefully – running her fingers over it and studying the way it looked in her shadow before flattening herself against it. She scrunched up her nose, and gradually her skin, hair and clothes all turned a perfectly matched shade of marble grey.
Ivy blinked, unsure how Judy was achieving the effect, or even whether it was permanent. The reddish-pink of the inside of Judy’s mouth appeared hovering in mid-air. ‘Can you see me?’ she asked.
‘Not if you don’t speak,’ Seb said. ‘It’s brilliant.’
In a streak of colour, she reappeared – still with her back flat against the wall, as she had been before.
‘Judy – it’s better than brilliant,’ Valian said. ‘The camouflage will fool the shuttlecocks and the security guards, so you’ll be able to slip into Mr Rife’s office easily. We can even use the cufflinks Seb took from the Tidemongers. If you plant one of them in Mr Rife’s pram, then we’ll be able to track him if he does leave Nubrook.’
Ivy could hear excitement rising in Valian’s voice. It was a good plan. ‘How did you even do that?’ she asked Judy.
‘Every race of the dead has its own strengths and weaknesses, as you know,’ Judy explained. ‘Phantoms like me have the ability to manipulate light. With a little concentration I can make something appear a different colour.’ She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. ‘I’ve never actually attempted to camouflage myself before.’
‘You’re a phantom?’ Seb’s face brightened. ‘I should have guessed sooner … you can touch the ground, but only on wheels; you’re fun-loving and colourful … it makes sense now.’
Ivy gave her brother a sidelong glance. All that homework he’d been doing with Scratch now made sense: he’d wanted to know more about Judy.
‘So … where do you stand on the whole “soulmates” thing?’ he asked casually – although Ivy noticed his neck stiffen, like he was bracing himself for the answer. ‘From what I read, the dead community is pretty divided on the issue. Not everyone wants to be Departed.’
Judy arched an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been reading about the dead?’ She smiled. ‘Personally, I’d rather be alive if all things were possible but, as they aren’t, being a phantom is as good as it’s gonna get. I’ve got no desire to find my soulmate.’
‘Right … cool.’ Seb’s posture relaxed, although his cheeks flushed as he handed Judy the cufflinks. ‘Good luck sneaking past the shuttlecocks.’
‘I’ll come and find you when I’ve hidden the cufflinks in the pram,’ Judy told them. ‘You shouldn’t wa
it around for me; time is against us.’ She walked over to the door and disappeared through it, leaving behind a glittering metallic outline, as if gold-dust had been sprinkled in the air.
‘Judy’s right,’ Valian said, ignoring the goofy grin on Seb’s face. ‘If we can’t question Mr Rife right now, we need to investigate another lead. Why don’t we retrace my parents’ steps on the afternoon they were in Nubrook? If we can find out where they found the Sands of Change, we might get an idea as to what it is – and solve that riddle.’
‘The only trade they made that day was by Breath Falls,’ Ivy reminded them. ‘We’ll have to start there.’
Valian stuffed a hand in his pocket and retrieved his ping-pong ball. ‘It’s not too far from here. We can bounce on the way.’
‘Are you sure this is OK?’ Seb asked, holding his ping-pong ball above a wooden bench. ‘I’m not going to get arrested or anything?’
Valian aimed his ball at a nearby lamppost; Rosie’s image appeared on it a moment later. ‘It’s within GUT law to put up posters, as long as they’re not being used to generate business.’ He pointed to the boarded-up windows of a shop on the other side of the road. ‘Look there – you see what I mean?’
Ivy picked her way across through a river of traders. A sky driver swooped low over the street, hauling a woman up onto his flying vacuum cleaner. As the woman had been waving her hand in the air a moment before, Ivy guessed that was how you hailed a ride in Nubrook.
Planks of chipboard covered the old shop fascia. They were affixed with various IUC trading announcements, several lost property notices and advance warnings of road closures. There was even a poster proclaiming the opening of Strassa, THE WORLD’S FIRST SKYMART! in Tibet: The technological capital of the uncommon world. A market hidden in the clouds of the Himalayas. Ivy examined the picture of Strassa. It looked like a city exploding out of the side of a mountain. Brightly coloured mosaic towers rose from the rock, separated by star-shaped platforms filled with fountains and market stalls.
She pushed aside a couple of trading notices and threw her ping-pong ball at the space she’d made in between, but it rebounded unexpectedly. She had to leap to catch it before it sprang out into the crowd.
‘Finished,’ Seb announced when Ivy returned. He was standing by his bench with a smug look on his face. Not one inch of the wood remained uncovered: he’d printed so many copies of Rosie’s poster that the colours bled into one another, making the prints resemble a series of Andy Warhol portraits.
‘Er – thanks,’ Valian said, wincing. ‘Let’s move on; the waterfall’s along here.’
They continued through several wide, uncluttered streets of a beautiful district of the First Quarter, where all the shopfronts were decorated with ornate Art Deco mouldings and stained glass. Ivy noticed more of the dead traipsing around with ‘soulmate’ signs round their necks, and she also spotted materializers playing official underguard announcements addressing the issue: ‘Please remain calm,’ a senior underguard officer announced in one video. ‘We are actively searching for ways to locate your soulmate.’
Valian found a trio of disposable red plastic ponchos in a rubbish bin and, handing one each to Ivy and Seb, he said, ‘Here, put these on. You’ll need them as we get closer.’
Ivy slipped the garment over her head, trying not to laugh at Seb, whose sleeves only reached his forearms. ‘Why do I have to wear a child’s one?’ he complained, dangling his arms like a scarecrow.
Ivy smirked. ‘You are a child, Seb.’
They turned onto a terrace heaving with traders, all wearing the same red ponchos over their Hobsmatch. Many were clustered near a barrier on the far side, peering into a wall of dense mist. Ivy couldn’t see what lay beyond but, judging by the deep rumbling noise resonating in the air, she assumed it was the Falls.
Shadowing Valian, she and Seb edged through the crowd. They passed a tall man with a shaved head wearing a bib promoting NUBROOK SIGHTS. He was addressing a group of people holding uncommon snow globes. Ivy guessed they were tourists and he their tour guide, and as she moved closer she heard him saying, ‘… Breath Falls is one of the great wonders of the uncommon world, an entirely uncommon-made waterfall in the downtown district of the First Quarter in Nubrook. The silver colossus was designed in 1934 in the Art Deco style by Vermillion Spruce, the famed Danish architect. The water has its source in Hudson Bay and is filtered by uncommon devices before reaching Nubrook …’
As Ivy drew level with the railing, alongside Seb and Valian, the air felt cooler and full of the crisp scent of ice. Moisture settled on her cheeks. She blinked, gazing up through the spray. Looming above them was a gigantic silver statue of a man in a long cape; his head alone was the size of a block of flats. He had sleek wavy hair and smooth round eyes like an ancient Greek figure. His hands were cupped under his chin so that the water gushing from his mouth fell over his fingers before tumbling into the foam below. The cascade was so ferocious, mist clouded around his lips like breath.
‘I can see where the waterfall gets its name,’ Ivy shouted. She traced the statue down; the trunk of the man’s body disappeared into the froth.
‘I’m going to ask some of the local sky drivers if they’ve heard of this Lucien Brown who provided transport for my parents,’ Valian said. ‘You two see if you can find the photographer my dad traded with. The name of his company was Snowy Snaps.’
Ivy and Seb dipped through the crowd, checking the lanyards of every person shaking an uncommon snow globe. Ivy watched one family posing for a photo in front of the barrier. She found it hard to believe that anything other than white mist would show up behind them in the picture. The snow-globe photographer was busy giving loud directions to the family to get the shot he wanted. ‘Madam, if you step to your right,’ he called. ‘That’s it – we can frame you right between the statue’s silver hands …’
Silver hands …?
Ivy recognized the phrase instantly. It gave her an idea. ‘Seb …’ She tapped him on the arm. ‘The waterfall … it could be the answer to Amos’s rhyme – “crystal droplet, bathed in breath, clasped within silver hands, deep within hide the Sands” …’
‘What?’ he shouted.
‘The rhyme in Amos’s journal,’ she repeated, more loudly. ‘“Crystal droplet” could mean water. The statue, it’s got silver hands that are “bathed in breath” …’
Seb tugged on his earlobe. ‘I still can’t hear you.’
‘I can,’ Valian said, appearing over Ivy’s shoulder. ‘I’ve had no luck with the sky drivers, but you’re right about that rhyme – it could refer to Breath Falls. We know my parents flew down here. Perhaps they found the Sands of Change hidden nearby.’
The three of them hurried back to the railing and searched through the mist, looking for clues. Ivy scoured the colossus, but it was difficult to discern anything other than the rushing water and the statue’s silver torso. A narrow pebble beach ran round the edge of the plunge pool.
‘There,’ Seb said. ‘Wait— Is that something? I’m not sure.’ He pointed to the water’s edge on the far bank. The shape of a building lurked in the mist.
‘I’ll ask the tour guide,’ Ivy suggested. In his luminescent NUBROOK SIGHTS bib, he was easy to find, and Ivy returned in moments with the information. ‘It’s a shop called the Old Seafarer’s Place,’ she reported, ‘which opened in 1970. But it’s closed now. The man who owned it sold nautical objects. It’s the only shop down there.’
Valian gazed suspiciously at the building. ‘My parents could have visited it, I suppose, looking for objects to trade. Let’s check it out.’
Ivy hailed a sky driver, who agreed to fly them down on his rug on condition they paid extra if any water damage was caused. Dropping them on the shore, he anxiously inspected his dripping tassels before zooming away.
The Old Seafarer’s Place was the size of a small bungalow. It had barnacle-encrusted walls, porthole windows and a mossy green roof. Slimy red plastic streamers hung from the d
rainpipes like the bloody entrails of a monster. ‘What are those?’ Ivy asked.
Valian peered at them as they plodded across the shingle. ‘They look like decorations from the Nubrook Christmas parade. I guess the shop must have still been open last winter.’ Seb tried the door but it was locked.
‘Good, I can’t see any shuttlecocks,’ Valian said, pressing his face to the window. ‘I’ll unbolt it from the other side.’ He bent down and retied the laces of his boat shoes with more complicated knots. Ivy could see through the hole in the heel that his socks were soaking wet. ‘Wait here,’ he said and, filling his lungs with air and pushing his shoulders back, he walked through the wall.
Seb gawped. ‘He has to let me try those things.’
There was a clatter and the door swung open. ‘You might want to hold your nose,’ Valian told them. ‘It stinks like a stagnant pond in here.’
Ivy covered her face with her sleeve as they stepped inside. The shop had jagged, rocky walls and was filled with rope shelving units, each stocked with a variety of sea-themed objects – from anchors and lanterns to vintage lifebuoys. In the corner of the room stood a driftwood desk and, behind it, a large ship’s wheel fixed to the floor.
‘Anyone got any ideas what we’re looking for?’ Seb asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Valian said. ‘My parents didn’t buy anything in here, or else it would have shown up on their trading records. They must have just browsed. Perhaps if we look around we’ll find answers.’
The Frozen Telescope Page 7