Swift

by R. J. Anderson

  ‘Oh,’ Cicely said in a small voice, and Ivy could tell the news had troubled her. Well, maybe that was for the best — it would make it all the easier for Mica to talk to her when the time came. Ivy slid a copper arm-ring up above each elbow and pinched it tight, then stooped to kiss her sister’s forehead.

  ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she said. ‘Wish me luck.’

  ‘You’ll need that and a hammer to get Aunt Betony to listen to you,’ said Mica from his alcove. He swept the curtains aside and clambered out of bed, scratching his bare chest. ‘What’s for dinner?’

  ‘There’s plenty of adder in the cold-hole,’ said Ivy sweetly, and walked out.

  As Ivy headed down the stairs to the next level, she was struck by how quiet the Delve was. Usually at this time of day there’d be children chasing each other through the corridors, matrons carrying baskets of laundry up from the wash-cistern, knockers returning from the diggings with their thunder-axes over their shoulders. But right now most of her fellow piskeys were still sleeping, and Ivy walked the passages alone.

  Soon another set of stairs took her down to Silverlode Passage, where threads of the precious metal still shone bright against the granite. The tunnel was wider here, as it was one of the main thoroughfares of the Delve, and the most direct route to the cavern where the piskeys held their market. Yet even this passage was empty, which made Ivy feel lonely and strangely liberated at the same time. She appreciated the close-knit community of the Delve, where everyone looked out not only for their own interests but also for everyone else’s. But there were times when her fellow piskeys’ company became stifling, and it was a relief to be by herself for a while.

  The Joan’s stateroom was at the far end of the Silverlode, the entrance marked by lit torches on either side — a sign that Betony was inside and ready to hear her people’s petitions. But the door was closed, and Ivy had to knock three times before anyone answered.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Nettle’s gravelly tones from within, ‘I’m a-coming.’ The door opened with a creak, and her thin, wizened face appeared. ‘Right then, what’s your business?’

  ‘I need to talk to the Joan. I think…’ No, she didn’t just think. She’d looked into those cold eyes, and she knew. Ivy stood a little taller and said, ‘I saw a spriggan last night.’

  For an instant Nettle seemed taken aback, but then her expression softened. She leaned closer and murmured, ‘Ah, Ivy-lass, your mother was a good woman, and what happened to her was a terrible shame. But you can’t go about-’

  ‘Let her in, Nettle.’ Betony’s voice carried across the cavern. ‘I’ll deal with this.’

  Nettle shut her mouth so hard her teeth clicked, and opened the door at once. Ivy walked through into a broad, firelit chamber, its daunting size made cosy by copper panels, a patterned rug, and draperies in rich, earthy hues. The far end of the room was dominated by a table of carved granite, and Ivy’s aunt was seated in the chair behind it.

  ‘So you think you saw a spriggan,’ said the Joan. ‘Where?’

  There was something about Betony that always made Ivy feel small. Her aunt’s strong bones and striking features, the smooth waves of hair falling over her shoulders, made Ivy keenly aware of her own unruly curls and slight, unpiskeylike figure. And then there were those creamy wings with their shimmering patterns of bronze, so much like Cicely’s that Ivy could never look at them without being reminded of what her own wings might have — should have — been.

  ‘In the valley below the Engine House,’ she said, subdued.

  ‘And what were you doing there?’

  This was the awkward part. Exasperating as Mica could be at times, he was still Ivy’s brother, and she didn’t want to make trouble for him. But she wasn’t about to take the blame for his carelessness, either. ‘Mica and I needed to talk in private,’ she said at last. ‘He said I’d be safe as long as he was with me.’

  ‘So he was with you when you saw the spriggan?’

  Ivy winced. ‘No.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Joan. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He didn’t mean to leave me,’ Ivy said. ‘He thought I was right behind him when he ran up the hill. But the spriggan arrived before I could catch up, and then…’

  ‘Arrived how? From which direction?’

  All these pointed questions were making Ivy feel defensive. ‘I don’t know. He turned up behind me, all of a sudden. It was like he was just…there.’

  ‘And yet he didn’t touch you, or put a spell on you, or harm you in any way?’

  ‘No,’ Ivy said, ‘but I’m sure he would have if Mattock hadn’t come looking for me.’

  ‘So Mattock saw the spriggan, then?’

  ‘No. It ran off before he arrived. I tried to point it out to him, but-’ She spread her hands, feeling more foolish than ever. ‘It was already gone.’

  The Joan leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping the edge of the table. ‘And when you told Mattock and your brother about this spriggan, what did they say?’

  ‘They said it was Keeve playing a prank. Only I know it wasn’t, because-’

  She was about to say he talked to me, but Betony cut her off. ‘Clearly you feel that wasn’t the case. But for a spriggan to appear the moment you happened to be alone, frighten you without doing you any harm, and vanish before anyone else could see him… It does seem unlikely, don’t you think?’

  ‘But I felt him watching me, when I was sitting by the wakefire,’ Ivy said in desperation. ‘He could have singled me out then, and waited until I was alone to-’

  ‘But how could he know that you would go outside the Engine House, much less that your brother would leave you alone? And when he had his opportunity, why didn’t he take it?’ She paused, then went on in a gentler tone, ‘No one could blame you for hating the spriggans, or wanting to see your mother avenged. But you were not yourself last night, and the mind can play tricks sometimes.’

  What was that supposed to mean? Just because she’d showed up late to the Lighting with old clothes and dirt on her face, the Joan thought she was losing her wits? Ivy gripped her arm-rings, calling on their cold strength. ‘I didn’t imagine it! Why doesn’t anyone believe me?’

  But her aunt only looked at her, a faint pity in her gaze. And all at once Ivy remembered Cicely’s words: Have you ever seen a spriggan? Has anybody?

  She drew in her breath. ‘You don’t believe in spriggans.’ And neither did Mica or Mattock, judging by their reactions. How could she have been so naive?

  ‘You mistake me, Ivy. I would never deny that spriggans exist.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Ivy was angry enough for sarcasm, though she knew she might regret it. ‘When was the last time anyone saw one?’

  ‘Must be thirty years ago,’ came the rasping answer, and Ivy started; she’d forgotten Nettle was there. ‘A thin, miserable bit of a thing it was too, all by its lonesome. But it fought like a demon till young Hew smashed its head in, or so he and the other lads said.’

  Thirty years… Could it be true? She’d spent her whole life terrified of spriggans, and all the while they’d been practically extinct?

  ‘Then why are we still hiding underground?’ Ivy asked, rounding on her aunt. ‘If I only imagined what I saw, and my mother wasn’t taken by the spriggans after all-’

  ‘There are more dangers in the world than spriggans,’ said Betony, with a hard look at Nettle. ‘And good reason for our people to stay underground, even now. As for your mother… I would let that be, Ivy, if I were you.’

  ‘You think she left us,’ Ivy said, struggling to breathe. ‘Don’t you. You think my mother went away on purpose.’

  ‘I don’t know what became of Marigold when she left the Engine House that night,’ the Joan replied, unruffled. ‘She may indeed have been caught by the spriggans, for all I know.’ She rose and walked around the table. ‘But you will not bring her back by making yourself miserable — as I have told your father many times.’ She put her fingers under Ivy’s chin and tip
ped her face up. ‘You have been working too hard. It would do you good to get more rest. Let Mica and Cicely look after you for a change.’

  I’m not sick, Ivy wanted to protest, but she’d heard the warning in her aunt’s tone: the discussion was over. And Nettle was holding the door open, in case she hadn’t taken the hint. Hiding her resentment, Ivy bowed her head. ‘Yes, my Joan.’

  It wasn’t self-doubt that made Ivy pause halfway through her journey home and choose a different route. It was sheer stubbornness, and as she turned west into Tinners’ Row where Keeve and his family lived, Ivy clenched her fists in anticipation. She’d get to the bottom of this, never mind what Betony said; she’d prove she hadn’t been pranked, or imagining an enemy that wasn’t there.

  ‘Keeve!’ she shouted at his door, her knocks loud as a thunder-axe in the narrow tunnel. ‘Wake up! I need to talk to you!’

  ‘He’s not here,’ came the muffled reply.

  Ivy was surprised. Last night Keeve had danced harder and drunk more piskey-wine than anyone else she knew; it didn’t seem possible that he’d recovered so quickly. ‘Where is he, then?’

  The door creaked open and Keeve’s mother, Teasel, looked out, her face pinched with anxiety. ‘He didn’t come back last night. Hew’s gone looking for him.’

  That was even more odd. Keeve had good reason to fear Mica’s wrath after that prank with the adder, but he liked a comfortable bed as much as anyone. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, then,’ Ivy said. ‘But when Keeve gets back, would you let me know? I’ve got something of his I need to return, and-’

  Teasel didn’t wait for her to finish. She gave a tightlipped nod, and shut the door.

  ‘He’s still not back,’ said Mica several hours later, as he returned to the cavern. ‘And they didn’t want the adder.’

  By then it was night-time, and Ivy was brushing out Cicely’s hair before they went to bed. Not that any of them would be likely to sleep well, knowing Keeve was still missing.

  ‘So Hew couldn’t find him?’ Ivy asked as she gave Cicely’s hair a final stroke and started to braid it again. ‘Are they going to send out a search party?’

  ‘Two of them,’ Mica said shortly, heaving the adder back into the cold-hole. ‘Gem and Feldspar are leading the first, and Matt and I’ll be on the second. But I doubt it’ll be worth the trouble. He’s probably just gone off to town for a pint.’

  ‘You mean with the humans?’ asked Cicely, twisting around so eagerly that Ivy lost hold of her braid. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Mica said. But Ivy could see the crease between his brows, and knew that he was more worried than he let on. And rightly so — Keeve might be reckless at times, but he’d never stayed away from the Delve this long before.

  ‘They’ve checked the milking barn, I suppose?’ Ivy asked. The piskeys kept no cattle, but one of the nearby human farmers did, and Keeve was an expert at coaxing the cows to give up a few extra pints for the piskeys. ‘The cows are bound to miss him, if nobody else does.’

  She’d tried to make light of the situation for Cicely’s sake, but her little sister wasn’t fooled. ‘Do you think the spriggan took him?’ she asked in a small voice.

  Mica’s eyes flicked to Ivy’s and then away. ‘What would a spriggan want with Keeve?’ he said. ‘He wasn’t carrying any treasure, and he’s far too tough to be good eating. Now off to bed with you, skillywidden.’ He tweaked Cicely’s nose and went out.

  That was all the reassurance Cicely needed, and she went to sleep without so much as a whimper. Even Ivy managed to argue herself into a few hours’ rest, telling herself there’d surely be good news in the morning.

  But the search parties found no sign of Keeve, and by the time another day had passed, even Mica stopped acting casual. The atmosphere in the Delve grew tense and the piskeys spoke in whispers, as though at a funeral. Gifts began to pile up in front of Hew and Teasel’s cavern.

  And before long, Ivy’s story about the spriggan wasn’t a story any more. Mattock came to the door and apologised, his square face sober beneath his mop of rusty hair. Betony called Ivy back to the Joan’s chambers and questioned her again, this time without condescension. Cicely woke sobbing that a spriggan had come to get her, and when she found Mica pulling on his boots for the evening hunt, she clung to him and begged him not to go.

  ‘Don’t be such a pebble-head,’ he said in a gruff tone, prising her off. ‘I’ll be safe enough with Mattock at my back, and we can always jump down a hole at the first sign of trouble. Or run like rabbits, if it comes to that.’

  It was the right thing to say to Cicely, who managed a wavering smile. But Ivy wasn’t so reassured. Mica might be lazy and given to boasting, but he was no coward; what he could do if a spriggan came after him and what he would do were two different matters. ‘Be careful,’ she said, as Mica headed for the door.

  Two days ago, her brother would have rolled his eyes and told her not to be such an old auntie. Now he gave a sober nod, and left without another word.

  ‘Ivy! Wake up!’

  What time was it? It surely couldn’t be morning. Ivy raised her head blearily from the pillow to find Mica stooping over her. ‘Ugh,’ she said, ‘you stink. What have you been doing?’

  ‘Guess,’ said Mica, wiping sweat off his brow and baring his teeth in a grin.

  Ivy sat up, abruptly wide awake. ‘You found him?’ Alive, it would seem, or Mica wouldn’t look so pleased with himself. ‘Is he all right? Can he talk?’

  Mica gave her an odd look. ‘After Mattock and I jumped on him and beat him senseless, I should say not. Why, did you want to question him? I’d leave that to the Joan, if I were you.’

  ‘ Beat him-’ For a moment Ivy was too shocked to speak. Then her sleep-addled brain caught up with her, and she understood. ‘You don’t mean Keeve.’

  Mica gave a snort. ‘I wish,’ he said. ‘No, we didn’t find him, or at least not yet. We caught the spriggan.’ three

  ‘Won’t speak a word, I’m told. Just sits there with his ugly mouth shut, and stares.’ Keeve’s mother tugged a fresh coil of roving onto her shoulder, her drop spindle whirling as she spun the soft mass into yarn. Only someone who knew her well would have noticed the tremor in her hands.

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t know how to speak,’ piped up one of the younger girls from her seat on the rug. Teasel’s cavern was as cosy and well-furnished as any in the Delve, but not even she had enough chairs for twenty. ‘Has anyone ever heard a spriggan talk?’

  I have, thought Ivy. But the memory of that soft, insinuating voice made her feel slimy all over, and it wasn’t as though he’d said anything useful. Teasel needed answers, not mockery.

  ‘Tch! You’d get more sense out of an animal,’ said another woman. ‘It’s useless, if you ask me — meaning no offence to you, Teasel,’ she added as Keeve’s mother bristled. ‘Of course we all want to see your lad safe home again. Only that I can’t see how that nasty creature down below is going to help us find him.’

  ‘Well,’ said Teasel, pinching the yarn tight between finger and thumb, ‘if the creature won’t give me back my son, then at least we can make him pay for it. That’s what I say, and Hew’s of the same mind. My man killed a spriggan all by himself once, you know. Stove its head in with his thunder-axe, and kicked its carcass into the sea.’

  The other women exclaimed and sat up, eager for details, but Cicely edged closer to Ivy. ‘I don’t like it when people talk about killing,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s a spriggan,’ Ivy replied, not looking up from the wool she was carding. ‘And if he won’t tell what he did with Keeve, then he deserves it.’

  Yet later that evening, after she’d tucked Cicely into bed, Ivy found herself wondering why the spriggan wasn’t talking. Perhaps he was afraid of being executed for his crimes, but he must realise that he was never going to get out of the Delve anyway…

  Make him pay for it, murmured Teasel in her memory, and then with grim relish, M
y man killed a spriggan all by himself once.

  But that had been thirty years ago, according to Nettle. If the spriggans had managed to elude the hunters of the Delve for so long, how had her brother and Mattock caught this one so easily? Especially if he’d killed Keeve and eaten him right down to the bones, as no one was saying but everybody feared. Surely after committing such a horrible murder, he’d want to put as much distance between himself and the Delve as he could?

  ‘How am I supposed to know what goes on in a spriggan’s head?’ asked Mica irritably, when Ivy asked him. By that time Cicely was sound asleep, so they could talk freely. ‘Ask the Joan, if she can get him talking before he starves to death.’ He poured himself a tankard of small beer and sat down at the table. ‘Anyway, why should you care? I thought you’d be happy to see him caught. Revenge for our mother, and all that.’

  ‘And all that?’ Ivy repeated in disbelief. ‘You caught a spriggan with your own hands! How can you talk as though-’ She dropped onto the bench across from Mica. ‘You can’t still think our mother left us on purpose.’

  ‘Why not?’ he snapped, then flinched as Cicely mumbled and turned over. ‘All I’m saying,’ he went on more quietly, ‘is that nobody knows what happened that night. And I don’t see how you can keep on about spriggans, when you of all people should know-’ He broke off and pushed back from the table, his lip curling. ‘Oh, what’s the point? You never listen to me anyway.’

  ‘I’m listening now,’ said Ivy, making an effort at patience. Maybe Mica had forgotten the tenderness in Marigold’s face as she kissed her children good night, or her radiant smile as she danced to the music of Flint’s fiddle. Maybe he truly thought there was some reason their mother would have wanted to leave. ‘Go on. What is it I’m supposed to know?’