The Frozen Telescope

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The Frozen Telescope Page 9

by Jennifer Bell


  ‘Hold on!’ Valian cried.

  Something cold and heavy shoved against Ivy’s side and, when she opened her eyes again, she found herself slumped under a wide stone arch. Immediately ahead of her, a fountain spurted, set inside a small circular garden next to a busy road. The roar of a huge city filled the cold air. Next to her Valian was rubbing his ribs as he sat up; Seb appeared opposite from under a pile of leaves.

  ‘This isn’t Forward and Rife’s,’ Seb mumbled, stating the obvious.

  ‘No,’ Ivy said, staring at the skyline. ‘I think we’re in New York.’

  The late-afternoon sky was grey and getting darker. Ivy noticed clouds swirling around as if they were sizing each other up before a fight. She trod carefully between the trimmed yew hedges surrounding the fountain. Something silver glinted between the leaves. Ivy reached down and picked up the dolphin-handled soap dish to examine it.

  ‘Anything?’ Valian asked.

  ‘Yes – there’s a crack in one side,’ Ivy replied. ‘It must have got damaged when we were escaping the gravellers.’

  ‘That explains why we’ve ended up here,’ he said. ‘Broken soap dishes will throw you out at random points on your journey, wherever the nearest water outlet is.’

  Seb removed his plastic poncho and brushed off the wet leaves that had stuck to his jeans. ‘So what do we do now? If we want to contact Johnny Hands, we have to get back to Nubrook.’

  ‘I know of one entrance beneath a disused subway platform,’ Valian said, collecting all three of their ponchos and stuffing them in a nearby recycling bin. ‘We just need to navigate our way to the nearest subway station. We’ll be able to access the disused platform once we’re underground.’

  Seb reached for his phone. ‘I’ll find us a route,’ he offered. ‘At least we already know where we’re starting from …’ He pointed behind them. Flanking the stone arch were steps leading up to the terrace of an impressive building with a sloping red roof. Engraved across the balustrade in capital letters were the words:

  THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY FOUNDED 1869

  For the briefest of moments Ivy wondered what it would feel like simply to be in New York on holiday. She’d love to explore the museum and see the city’s other sights, just as a normal tourist.

  ‘The nearest subway station is on the corner of Eighty-first Street and Central Park West,’ Seb said, tapping at the screen. ‘It’s a five-minute walk from here. Follow me.’

  The noise of a crowd greeted them as they headed onto nearby Seventy-seventh Street. People crammed the pavements, laughing and pointing: the road was filled with a line of giant inflatables, secured under nets in preparation for the Thanksgiving parade the next day. Keeping the museum building on their right, they ventured along Columbus Avenue. ‘I’m glad we dressed warm,’ Ivy commented, watching her breath condense in the frosty air. ‘It’s freezing up here.’

  ‘Minus two, according to my weather app,’ Seb told her. ‘Apparently, Storm Sarah is due to hit the city today. New Yorkers have been advised to stay inside.’

  ‘You mean the same Storm Sarah that was in London yesterday?’ Ivy wasn’t a meteorologist, but it seemed impossible that a storm could travel as quickly as that across the Atlantic Ocean and still be as powerful.

  ‘Yeah,’ Seb said. ‘They’re calling it a phenomenon.’

  Ivy remembered noticing the similarities between Storm Sarah’s path across Europe and Alexander Brewster’s crime trail. She hadn’t given it any thought since first spotting it back at the Tidemongers’ base, but now she considered whether the two might be connected. Could Alexander Brewster somehow be controlling the storm? But before she had time to share her theory with Seb and Valian, she caught the murmur of a sinister voice in her ear. It was chanting, over and over.

  … The sun will rise, the night is done, what is lost will be won. The sun will rise, the night is done, what is lost will be won …

  Her skin prickled as she realized it belonged to the dead creature who had been following them the day before in Nubrook. She shook her head clear and shuffled closer to Seb and Valian. ‘We need to get out of here,’ she said simply. ‘Now.’

  Straight away, Valian looked alert. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Ivy scanned the road. A tall man in a black suit and bowler hat was walking steadily through the parade floats, an ebony cane swinging in his left hand. He was too far away for Ivy to see him clearly, but his face was pale, with sharp cheekbones and a dark moustache. Nobody seemed to be paying him any attention; perhaps the spectators thought he was part of the show. ‘A strange race of the dead was tailing us yesterday,’ she said. ‘Scratch warned me away from it. It’s here again now. We’ve got to move.’

  It started to rain as they turned the corner and hurried down Eighty-first Street towards the subway station. People opened umbrellas, making it more difficult to dodge between them. Ivy sensed the dead creature behind, the voice of its broken soul growing louder. ‘It’s coming in this direction!’ she warned.

  ‘We’ve got to lead it away from all these commoners,’ Valian decided. ‘Central Park’s emptying; let’s turn off into there.’

  Crossing the road, they dashed towards one of the entrances to the park. New Yorkers seeking shelter darted past them in the opposite direction. Inside the park, a few joggers bobbed by, some with dogs leashed to their belts scampering beside them. Men and women in business suits paced along, the steam rising from their coffee cups.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us about this dead creature before?’ Seb asked, his cheeks flushed from hurrying.

  ‘Because it vanished as soon as some underguards appeared,’ Ivy replied. She looked over her shoulder and saw their dark-suited pursuer emerge onto the puddled path, fifty paces behind them. She couldn’t understand how he was so close when he was only walking. He stopped and tapped his cane twice on the ground. As she watched, his nose extended into a long snout, his skin grew coal-black fur and he sprouted pointed ears and a tail. His suit disappeared completely as he dropped onto all fours.

  ‘OK, now he looks like a grim-wolf,’ Valian said. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ivy admitted, ‘but he’ll be able to chase us even faster now. Run!’ She swung her satchel round to her back as they broke into a sprint. Her arms pumped by her sides, her feet pounded the wet asphalt. Valian and Seb raced ahead.

  When next Ivy looked, the grim-wolf was no more; in its place stood what looked like yet another race of the dead. This one had a bulky body dripping with black slime and a head featuring two hollows for eyes. Ivy shuddered as it fixed its gaze on her and grinned, flashing a mouth of shark-like teeth.

  A selkie. Ivy had escaped one before … just.

  With a loud slurp, the selkie dived into a puddle and disappeared. Ivy had a horrible feeling she knew what was coming next. ‘You two – wait!’ she yelled, skidding to a halt. Seb and Valian came to a standstill just in time as the sludge-covered body of the selkie rose from the water on the path ahead. Rather than being the colour of seaweed, its hairy scales were charcoal black. An acrid whiff of chemicals hit Ivy in the face, making her gag.

  ‘Don’t move,’ the selkie warned, in a voice so clear and deep it made Ivy’s ribs shake. Selkies normally sounded as if they were speaking underwater; whatever race of the dead this one was, it was nothing like any she’d encountered before. Lifting a slimy finger, the creature pointed to a trail of gunge encircling them on the path. Valian and Seb stumbled back as the substance fizzed and a wall of mist rose out of it, obscuring Central Park. The tarmac beneath frothed like harsh chemicals reacting.

  ‘Acid-rain selkies are by far the most useful kind to transform into,’ the selkie remarked in the same sonorous tone. ‘Remain within the ring of acid, and we may all talk without any of you getting burned.’

  They all took a nervous step towards the centre. Ivy projected her senses inside Scratch. Do you know what race of the dead this is? I know it looks like a selkie now, but it
was a grim-wolf before.

  Nothings ideas, Scratch replied shakily. Farrow knowings might; Scratch can readings Guide.

  It took Ivy a moment to realize what Scratch meant. Farrow’s Guide to Nubrook was still in her satchel; it contained an index of the dead. Ivy wasn’t sure how Scratch could read it inside her bag. Then again, Scratch not having a brain or eyes, she wasn’t sure how he read it at all.

  Seb angled his body defensively, slipping the ends of his drumsticks out from his sleeves. ‘What do you want with us?’ he growled.

  ‘Only to become better acquainted,’ the creature said charmingly. ‘We are family, after all.’

  Family? Ivy racked her brains and came up with two names: Silas Wrench and Norton Wrench – Granma Sylvie’s two missing brothers. They’d both disappeared after the Great Battle of Twelfth Night. She hesitated. ‘Are you … one of our great-uncles?’

  The creature laughed, spilling drool from its lips. ‘Guess again.’

  She felt her satchel vibrate against her leg.

  Has findings Scratch. He read from Farrow’s Guide:

  Augrits are the only creatures able to transform into any race of the dead at will, allowing them to take advantage of their respective strengths. Although immensely powerful, they have a major weakness – they draw their power from natural light and are therefore only able to operate above ground. Many scholars argue about their existence, claiming that it would be easier to find a fresh-smelling selkie than it would a real Augrit …

  ‘It is disappointing that you are having trouble working it out,’ the selkie muttered. ‘I had hoped you’d inherited my intelligence.’

  Ivy ignored him, trying to analyse the information from Farrow’s Guide. If this creature was powered by natural light, they might be able to escape it if they could get underground. Squinting through the veil of acid smoke, she scanned the park. They hadn’t ventured in too far; she could still make out the road. The subway station they’d been heading towards couldn’t be that much further.

  ‘Why don’t you try the generation above?’ the selkie suggested. ‘That should narrow it down.’

  Ivy went cold. There was only one person the creature could be: ‘Octavius Wrench?’ she gasped. ‘But – you were killed in 1969!’

  ‘Indeed I was,’ Octavius Wrench agreed, with a hint of amusement. ‘And here I am. You could say that I’ve enjoyed the ultimate last laugh: the underguards I fought in the Great Battle thought they’d vanquished me, when in actual fact they had only made me stronger. It was a perfectly executed plan with a satisfying conclusion.’

  Seb rocked on the spot. Ivy could see him piecing together the information: this monster was their great-grandfather. ‘But – you died in a shower of uncommon bolts during the battle,’ he said, recalling what he and Ivy had learned last winter. ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘I can see you lack the family imagination,’ Octavius Wrench muttered. ‘Shame. Listen to me: my death was conceived in advance. With all the forbidden knowledge the Dirge have … collected over the years, effecting my transformation into my chosen race of the dead was easy: I simply had to die by revealing my darkest secret …’

  ‘… that you’re Blackclaw,’ Ivy finished, ‘the leader of the Dirge.’ She clenched her jaw, wishing she’d considered before now the possibility that their great-grandfather had never become Departed. She looked over at Valian; his hands were curled into fists, his expression seething.

  ‘Do you know why members of the Dirge are named after poisons?’ Octavius Wrench asked them, slithering forward. ‘In the natural world, certain plants are poisonous to stop creatures eating them. Animals with the intelligence to identify plants that are dangerous survive; animals that are weak or stupid will be killed. The Dirge exists to protect the uncommon world from weakness and stupidity. People like your friend Mr Punch, or the Tidemongers I saw you visiting yesterday, are weak – they lack vision.’ He bared his jagged teeth. ‘Muckers are the same. Their numbers need to be controlled.’

  Ivy stiffened. ‘Muckers’ was a nasty term for commoners.

  ‘Murderer!’ Valian charged forward, reaching for something in his inside pocket, but Octavius Wrench was too fast. His gloopy selkie body dissolved into a sheet of black powder which swooped closer. Valian dropped to his knees, gasping for air.

  Seb ran over to help him.

  ‘Wait – he’s a wraithmoth!’ Ivy warned, recognizing the flakes of skin and hair within Octavius Wrench’s new dusty form. Wraithmoths were toxic up close.

  Valian’s skin turned bluish purple and his eyes rolled back inside their sockets. Seb, protecting his mouth with his arm, shuffled towards his friend, trying to reach him. ‘He’s choking!’ he cried.

  The dust shivered as Octavius Wrench spoke. ‘If only you could see the truth as I do: uncommoners shouldn’t scurry around underground like rats, as if we’ve got something to be ashamed of. There is no need to hide from muckers – we are their superiors.’

  Valian gasped for air. Ivy squealed: ‘Stop it!’

  ‘It is a pity that neither of you have the insight to join me,’ Octavius Wrench continued. ‘I do so like to keep the Dirge in the family.’ He sighed. ‘Still, New Dawn is coming, whether you like it or not.’

  ‘We know you’re planning to attack all those undermarts, but you won’t win!’ Ivy shouted. ‘Everyone will stop you.’

  ‘Attacking undermarts?’ Octavius Wrench sneered. ‘Oh, our ambitions are far greater than that. New Dawn will change the future of the entire planet, not just the uncommon world. Now, your friend’s brain will be starved of oxygen in moments unless you answer me this: where is Amos Stirling’s journal?’

  Ivy’s fingers twitched towards her satchel, but she remained calm. ‘We don’t know! Let Valian go.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ Octavius Wrench snarled. ‘I was reading your mind as a selkie: you’ve seen the journal recently. Sources assure me that Mr Punch doesn’t have it any more, and without the instructions inside it I cannot wield the sword.’

  The sword?

  Ivy’s mouth went dry. Octavius Wrench could only mean one thing. ‘That’s what you’ve been looking for – the Sword of Wills?’

  ‘Of course,’ he answered. ‘Only with that blade’s unique powers can I forge a new path for this planet. The sword will be used to complete a series of specific tasks. Ah, but I understand your confusion.’ His sheet-like body crinkled, pointing in Seb’s direction. ‘You are far more concerned with another of the great five, aren’t you? The Sands of Change …’

  Seb’s face flashed with fear. ‘We don’t know what you’re talking about!’

  ‘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 any more. 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 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 p
yroach. 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 collar of her duffel coat.

  As they approached the road, a stout figure in a long trench coat came hurtling out of the crowd towards 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 headscarf. ‘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 round 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’ dishevelled head poked out. ‘Get in!’ he cried. He was wearing a flat cap and a grubby white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  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 still 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 swivelled 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.’

 

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