The Frozen Telescope

by Jennifer Bell

  Hemlock shook her only moving fist at Ivy and Seb. ‘You’ll pay for this!’ She tried to turn her head to address the army, but her neck was fixed. ‘Loyal supporters,’ she shouted instead, ‘attack everyone – now!’

  The dead hesitated. Angry muttering flitted through their ranks. A few winged beasts bolted into the sky; a couple of scarecrows scarpered. The grim-wolves which Octavius Wrench had ordered to search the area sniffed the air, snarled and scurried back into Lundinor.

  A horn sounded in the morning air, like the rallying call of a mythical army.

  ‘Is it just me, or does that sound familiar?’ Seb asked Ivy.

  She scanned the area and spotted people emerging from the surrounding fields and roads. They looked like commoners in regular winter clothing – gloves, thick coats and boots; some had handbags or rucksacks. They were all carrying an empty lantern of one sort or another: some were made of glass and were highly decorated; others had been constructed from scrap metal. Ivy could sense they were all uncommon. Two women wearing puffa jackets and knitted scarves appeared from behind Ivy, and she spotted forked-arrow pins attached to the rims of their woolly hats. ‘They’re Tidemongers …’ she told Seb as the women walked by. ‘That sound – it was the same alarm we heard at the Tidemongers’ base in Nubrook.’ Hope burst within her like a firework.

  They heard the flap of wings, the rustle of bodies and the stomp of feet as the dead scattered. A cry went up from one of the Tidemongers, and in unison each opened the door of their lantern. Ivy stared as a group of selkies that had been slithering away suddenly changed direction against their will, and sped towards a large railway lantern being lugged along by two Tidemonger agents. A metre from the lantern, the selkies vanished in a slimy green flash and reappeared inside the lantern casing. Squashed behind the glass, they looked like strange green trifles with layers of seaweed limbs and jagged teeth. It couldn’t be comfortable, Ivy thought. The two agents hastily shut the door of the lantern, trapping them within. And in fact, all around, Ivy and Seb saw that the dead who hadn’t managed to get away fast enough were being sucked inside the Tidemongers’ lanterns, as if they were formed of nothing more than gas. In a matter of moments, every lantern was filled.

  A small group of agents had trapped Octavius Wrench in a brass fuel-burning lantern and then used an uncommon chair to detain Hemlock. As soon as she sat down, the chair crossed its armrests over her lap like it was folding its arms, buckling her into place. Ivy ran over to where the Sands of Change was glinting in the mud. She picked it up and, after checking that the clasp was safely unfastened, she wiped it clean on her sleeve and stuffed it in her pocket.

  When Ivy returned to the others, she saw a familiar figure in a long coat striding through the Great Gates towards them. ‘So, you’re still alive,’ Curtis said, holding a hand to her chest, although she was scowling. ‘Your gloves were flagged at the gates of Strassa; I was about to come after you when Nubrook went into lockdown.’

  ‘Seb and I didn’t want to get you into trouble,’ Ivy said honestly, ‘but we had to sneak away. It was a matter of life and death.’

  Curtis glared at them for a long moment, saying nothing. Over her shoulder, Ivy noticed the remaining army of the dead fleeing as officers from Lundinor’s Special Branch – Ivy recognized their silver-braid epaulettes – arrived and filed out into the surrounding area. Ivy knew that it was their job to hide the uncommon world, although she wasn’t sure how they were going to cover up the mess.

  ‘This morning will be marked in uncommon history,’ Curtis told them, surveying the scene as, under heavy guard, a chair-strapped Hemlock and Octavius Wrench’s lantern were returned to Lundinor. ‘The Tidemongers will see to it that the Hexroom is incinerated and those two are detained in ghoul holes until their trial. From this day forward there will be no remaining trace of the Dirge.’

  Ivy’s nerves relaxed as the muscles in her body unwound. The attack had been averted and the people of London were safe. She smiled at her brother. ‘Mum and Dad are going to be OK.’

  ‘About that …’ Curtis pursed her lips. ‘Your parents were expecting you home five hours ago, and I’ve yet to devise an explanation for where the three of us have been or why we haven’t contacted them.’

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ Seb said dismissively. ‘We can always use the tea technique. It works every time whenever Ivy and I have to lie about uncommon stuff.’

  ‘The tea technique?’ Curtis looked bemused.

  ‘First you offer to make them a cup of tea,’ Ivy explained. ‘Then you put sugar in each of their cups. At least two teaspoons.’

  Curtis frowned. ‘How will a sweet beverage convince your parents that we’re telling the truth?’

  ‘It won’t,’ Seb said. ‘What you’ve got to do is wait till they’ve taken their first sip before you start talking. They hate sugar in their tea. As soon as they taste it, they’ll be so distracted they won’t really listen to a word we say.’ He chuckled. ‘You know, you should feel privileged – we’ve never told any of our babysitters that tip before.’

  A faint smile traced Curtis’s lips. ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to everyone paralysed by Alexander’s Statue Salt?’ Valian asked, his arm clamped around Rosie’s shoulders. ‘Will they be OK?’

  Curtis gave a respectful nod to Rosie and Mr Rife. ‘After what you both did in Strassa – freeing the citizens with that music box – we have sent instructions to other underguard forces around the world. They now know what to do in order to reverse its effects.’

  Mr Rife gave a brief smile of acknowledgement, but his gaze was focused on the old lady still sitting beside Seb. Her face glistened with tears as she stared up at them all. He bent down and offered her his polka-dot handkerchief. ‘Madam,’ he said graciously, ‘is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Who are all these people?’ she asked, dabbing at her cheeks.

  ‘Why don’t we get you to your feet and I’ll explain,’ Mr Rife reassured her. ‘Take my arm,’ and he and Seb helped the woman up. She seemed weak and unsteady.

  ‘You need to be seen by a medic,’ Curtis said. ‘I’ll show you the way.’ She escorted Mr Rife and the old woman towards a couple of Special Branch officers. Ivy saw one of them fetch a whistle from his pocket. She had seen an underguard officer use one before, on her parents.

  ‘They’re going to clean her memory, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘She won’t have a clue what really happened here.’

  ‘That’s the law,’ Seb reminded her. ‘It’s either that or she has nightmares about Octavius Wrench for the rest of her life. I know which I’d rather have.’

  Three people, one of whom was floating, advanced across the cave floor. As they passed Curtis, she bowed her head and muttered, ‘A rising tide lifts all boats.’

  Seb squinted. ‘Hey, is that Judy?’

  ‘And Mr Punch?’ Ivy’s skin cooled with relief as she recognized the fresh-faced quartermaster. His neatly trimmed auburn beard fell over the lapels of his red, tailed ringmaster’s jacket, and his black top hat sat imperiously straight on his head. Judy skated next to him, her knee now free of the effects of the Statue Salt. Hovering beside them both was Johnny Hands, whose jester’s hat wobbled as he came to a stop. Ivy spotted the long handle of the Sword of Wills poking above his shoulder blades.

  ‘Don’t worry, my dear, I know very well how to use it,’ he said, noticing the direction of her gaze. ‘I’ll have the Great Gates buried and everything returned to normal before you can say “Scaramouche, Scaramouche, can you do the fandango?”’

  ‘Right …’ Seb commented.

  Judy embraced Seb, Ivy, Valian and Rosie in turn. ‘Here you go,’ she said, returning Scratch and the satchel to Ivy. ‘Thanks for lending him to me. It would have been lonely back there without him.’

  Ivy closed her fingers around the little bell. ‘Good to see you again,’ she told him.

  ‘You is too,’ Scratch replied. She could sense
the broken soul inside him, restless with energy now that they were back together.

  ‘What happened to the Sands of Change?’ Judy asked. ‘It’s so powerful – did Octavius Wrench use it?’

  Ivy slipped her free hand into her pocket, intending to pull out the Sands of Change, but then she hesitated … No one knew that she had the necklace … If she wanted to, she could use it on Scratch …

  ‘Not that we saw,’ Seb said to Judy. ‘Maybe Octavius didn’t have the mental strength to wield the Sword of Wills and use the Sands of Change at the same time.’

  ‘I have the Sands of Change right here,’ Ivy said, quickly deciding it would be safer if she handed it over to Johnny Hands. She retrieved it from her pocket and held it up for all to see. The gem glittered in the morning sun. ‘I picked it up after Octavius Wrench dropped it. What will the Tidemongers do with it?’

  Johnny Hands collected the jewel into a handkerchief and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. ‘We will keep it safe,’ he said firmly. ‘Judy has explained how it has changed her; there may be a way to utilize its powers to help any dead who wish to become Departed, and so end this soulmates crisis once and for all.’ Regarding Scratch in Ivy’s grasp, Johnny Hands winked and lowered his voice. ‘I’m sure – for special cases – we may be able to loan it out.’

  ‘Agent Hands?’ a voice called from the trees. ‘Sir, we need you.’

  Johnny Hands waved. ‘On my way!’ He patted Ivy on the head as if she was a small puppy. ‘See you around, Ivy Sparrow. I hope our paths cross again.’

  After he’d left, Mr Punch crouched to address them all. He peered into their faces, one after the other – Rosie’s, Valian’s, Seb’s and then Ivy’s. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply.

  ‘What happened?’ Ivy asked him. ‘The army burst through the gates; we couldn’t see you …’

  ‘I got trapped inside Lundinor during the fighting,’ he explained. ‘If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, the Dirge would have won.’ He bowed his head in respect. ‘Uncommoners everywhere are in your debt.’ From behind his back he brought out Amos Stirling’s journal. Ivy noticed that the pages were badly water-stained and crinkled; she assumed the damage had occurred on top of Breath Falls.

  ‘This was just recovered from Octavius Wrench,’ Mr Punch said. ‘I wanted to return it to its rightful guardian.’

  ‘Me?’ Ivy replied as he handed the notebook over. ‘Surely it would be safer if you kept hold of it from now on.’

  He gave her a kind smile. ‘There is no secret among those pages greater than the one you have just protected. Because of your actions, the entire uncommon world remains hidden. I doubt there is anyone better qualified to watch over Amos’s journal than you.’

  Ivy mumbled a bashful ‘Thank you’ as she slipped the journal back into her satchel. She looked at the old lady Mr Rife was looking after. ‘Will commoners ever learn the truth about us, do you think?’

  ‘Not all secrets can remain hidden,’ Mr Punch pronounced, glancing at Rosie and Valian. ‘Maybe one day commoners will learn who we are, but until then we must continue to protect them from the dangers of our world and the dangerous people in it …’ He gestured towards Ivy’s satchel. ‘Amos spent his life trying to do that. Perhaps, in time, you’ll continue where he left off.’

  As Ivy placed her hand on the door-knocker, she heard the thud of feet and the door swung open.

  ‘You’re here!’ Judy laughed as she ushered Ivy and Seb inside Hoff & Winkle’s Hobsmatch Emporium. It was the winter trading season in Lundinor and, in keeping with all the other shops, Hoff & Winkle’s was situated on the ground floor of a rickety old Victorian house with a crooked black roof and dusty leaded windows.

  ‘Sorry we couldn’t come sooner,’ Ivy said with a smile. ‘We had school.’

  Judy was wearing faded jeans, a cropped leather jacket and one of Seb’s long grey RIPZ T-shirts. Now they were dating, Judy occasionally borrowed his clothes.

  In the hallway they bumped into Mr Rife, hanging his cape over a hook on the wall. He was holding a bunch of flowers. ‘These are for the birthday girl. Sky-blue sun orchids, all the way from Tasmania. I picked them myself.’

  ‘You’re travelling again?’ Ivy asked. Sasspirits like Mr Rife, she’d learned, healed very slowly. After the injuries he’d sustained during the Thanksgiving Battle, she hadn’t been sure he’d be able to operate his uncommon pram so soon by himself.

  ‘Yes, I can’t abide staying in one place for too long,’ he admitted. ‘Anyway, there’s a new skymart opening in the Canadian Rockies next month, and Fred Farrow has been invited along for a preview. I can’t miss it.’

  They crossed the shop floor, which was flanked by clothes rails stocked with everything from ball gowns to Hazchem suits, and entered a small, sparsely furnished living room. The air smelled of vanilla and icing sugar.

  ‘Valian’s been baking,’ Judy whispered, ‘and decorating.’ Brightly coloured bunting hung from the ceiling. Each pennant was printed with a different letter or number so that, all together, they read HAPPY 7TH, 8TH, 9TH, 10TH, 11TH, 12TH and 13TH BIRTHDAYS, ROSIE! Ivy spotted the greetings cards she and Seb had sent, propped up along with several others on the windowsill. A heap of torn wrapping paper lay in the middle of the floor, evidence of where Rosie had been opening some of her presents. On the mantelpiece over the fireplace was the Frozen Telescope of the North, gleaming like a Christmas bauble.

  Rosie stood by the table in the adjoining dining room, snacking on mini sausage rolls. Her Hobsmatch – which Ivy had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks – combined a brightly coloured flower-print dress with a tasselled brown suede jacket and an old green army helmet, which was far too big for her. ‘You made it!’ She rushed over to give them all a hug. ‘Valian said it might be difficult for you to get here.’

  ‘Nothing we couldn’t handle,’ Seb said. ‘Happy birthday!’ He handed her a glittery gift bag stuffed full of presents. Beneath the wrapping paper was a selection of common items that had caught Rosie’s interest after Ivy and Seb had spoken about them – wash-out hair mascara, six mini Bakewell tarts, a sheet of edible paper, a jewellery-making kit, the DVD boxset of Star Wars and a packet of extra-strong mints.

  Scratch vibrated in Ivy’s pocket. ‘Happying of the birthdays!’ he cried as she brought him out and placed him on the table.

  ‘Thanks, Scratch.’ Rosie giggled.

  Ivy wondered if the next birthday party they all attended would be Scratch’s. After much thought he’d decided that it would be brilliant fun to be a human boy again, but he was happy to wait his turn to use the Sands of Change. The Tidemongers were using the necklace to help those of the dead who were far more desperate than Scratch was, and in any case Ivy still needed to organize where Scratch would live when he became human again. He wouldn’t be able to fit in her pocket any more.

  Valian peeped his head through the kitchen doorway. His dark brown hair was neatly combed and parted on one side; he’d replaced his usual leather jacket with a smarter cotton version. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘everyone’s here. Judy – can you do the honours?’

  Judy reached for the switch and dimmed the lights as Valian brought a cake through from the kitchen. It was designed like a world map, with green and blue royal icing. Little models of Rosie in different Hobsmatch outfits stood on each of the seven continents; a small gold candle burned on top.

  ‘It’s amazing!’ Rosie squealed, taking a seat at the head of the table. ‘All the places Mr Rife and I went to on our travels.’ She signalled to the Frozen Telescope on the mantelpiece and added, ‘I’ve been learning all about our adventures.’

  Everyone gathered around her. In the candlelight, Ivy scanned their faces. Mr Rife looked tired but happy. Judy and Seb were laughing. Valian locked eyes with Ivy, clamping his lips together as though he was trying to stop himself from bursting with joy. She wondered whether, during the last seven years, he had ever dared to dream about a moment like this – with Rosie back in
his life, the Dirge gone, and his friends around him.

  ‘All right, everyone!’ he called. ‘“Happy Birthday”, after three. One … two …’

  There was a communal inhaling of breath.

  ‘… three!’

  And then the group began to sing. It was disjointed and out of tune, but full of vigour. Rosie grinned and rocked her head from side to side in time with the melody; her army helmet wobbled. A murmur fluttered into Ivy’s ear, the voice of a broken soul. It stood out from all the others in the room because it was singing ‘Happy Birthday’ with them. She scanned the dining room carefully and tensed as she realized what it was. ‘Rosie, wait! The candle—’

  Her warning came too late: Rosie puffed out her cheeks and blew. The flame flickered and died, leaving behind minute glowing embers. Judy turned the lights up and everyone clapped. Ivy hurried round the table, surprised that Rosie was still visible. ‘That candle was uncommon,’ she said. ‘How can I still see you?’ She knew that extinguishing the flame of an uncommon candle turned you invisible – she’d used one before.

  ‘That wasn’t just any old candle,’ Valian explained, leaning closer. ‘It was a birthday candle. They have an additional uncommon power … they grant small wishes. Our parents always gave us one every birthday when we were little.’ He stared at Rosie. ‘What did you wish for?’

  She wound a strand of blonde hair around her finger. ‘I just wished for a birthday like this every year, with all of you there too.’

  ‘Well, I don’t see why that won’t come true,’ Mr Rife commented. ‘I’ll certainly travel back from wherever I am to celebrate with you.’