Mica’s expression turned mutinous. He sprang to his feet and stalked out.
‘That one will make trouble,’ warned Nettle, as she poured the tea and handed a cup to Gossan. ‘He’s moody, like his mother. And if he’s not kept busy…’
‘He will be,’ said the Joan, and now she sounded weary. Then she turned to Ivy and said, ‘Did you bring something of Cicely’s with you?’
Silently Ivy got up and handed her the hair ribbon. Betony smoothed it out upon her palm, then laid her other hand over it and closed her eyes. She must be casting a spell to try and find Cicely, Ivy realised, and held her breath. Of course the Joan would have tried the same thing when Keeve went missing, but perhaps this time…
‘Nothing,’ said Betony. ‘I fear she is already beyond the range of my spells.’ She laid the ribbon down. ‘Tell me, Ivy. You said you and Mica had both warned Cicely against going to the surface. Do you have any idea what drew her there, or what made her disobey?’
‘I-’ Ivy’s throat was so tight she could hardly speak. ‘I don’t-’
‘My love.’ Gossan leaned close to his wife’s ear. ‘She has already lost her mother, and now her sister as well. Give her time to grieve.’
Gratitude rushed into Ivy, followed by a hot wave of shame. She didn’t deserve the Jack’s compassion, not after the things she’d done. But if she confessed, they’d lock her up in the dungeon. And then she’d never get the chance to go outside and search for Cicely as only a swift could do.
‘Very well,’ said Betony, waving a hand at Ivy. ‘You may leave.’
As Ivy walked to the door, Nettle followed her. ‘I know how it feels, to lose a sister,’ she said in a cracked whisper. ‘It’s a hard, hard thing. I’ll never see my poor Gillyflower again, but I hope you find your Cicely.’ She gave her a last, sad smile, and closed the door.
Ivy was left alone with Flint, who stood like a statue with his thunder-axe over his shoulder. ‘She’s gone, Dad,’ Ivy said, clutching at his free hand. ‘Cicely’s gone. What are we going to do?’
She searched his face for a change in expression, but Flint didn’t even blink. He pulled out of her grip, hefted his pickaxe, and walked away.
‘What is wrong with you?’ Ivy’s voice rose high, breaking on the final word. ‘Don’t you care about Cicely, or anything? Is this all you can do — bury yourself in the ground and hammer away until you drop dead, and we’re left with no parents at all?’
Flint’s head drooped a little, but he didn’t answer. He kept walking past the stairs and the entrance to the Market Cavern, heading for the trapdoor that would take him down into the diggings.
Ivy stared after him until he was nothing but a blur in the distance. Then she wiped her eyes angrily on the back of her hand, and ran to catch up with Mica.
‘I can’t believe Aunt Betony just dismissed me like that.’ Mica paced around the cavern, kicking at the rug. ‘Cicely’s my sister; I should be the one to look for her. And I was the one who caught the spriggan in the first place. But from the way she was acting, you’d think it was my fault he’d escaped!’
Ivy sank into a chair, arms wrapped around her chest to hold the hurt inside. ‘I know,’ she said unevenly. ‘It’s not fair. You’re not to blame.’
‘I can’t understand how he got out of there,’ muttered Mica. ‘The iron was pure — I made sure of that. He couldn’t have got past that pile of rocks in the tunnel, and he couldn’t climb the shaft either, not without a rope…’
Apprehension stirred in Ivy. If she let him go on like this, it wouldn’t be long before he came to the obvious conclusion — that someone had deliberately helped the prisoner escape. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked, to change the subject. ‘If Betony won’t let you go…’
‘She will. She’s got to.’ Mica flung himself onto the sofa across from her, fists clenched on his knees. ‘I know the surface as well as any hunter in the Delve. I’m not afraid of spriggans. And I won’t give up until I find Cicely, however long it takes. Who else can say that?’
I can, Ivy thought, but she didn’t dare say it. Not until she knew she could trust him. ‘But if she decides not to listen? What will you do then?’
His face creased with anguish. ‘What do you want me to say? That I’d disobey the Joan and Jack, break every rule in the Delve if I had to, just for a chance of finding Cicely again? You know I would. I know you would, too.’
Ivy’s eyes prickled, and she looked down at her lap. So Mica did understand how she felt, after all. If she could only explain to him that she’d felt the same way about finding their mother…
‘Then if someone told you that she was alive, and they knew where she was,’ she said, ‘then you’d do whatever it took to get to her? Even if — if everyone else said it was dangerous, and you shouldn’t go?’
‘Of course.’ His voice sharpened. ‘I’m not a coward. What are you getting at?’
She must be careful now, so very careful. If Mica guessed that Ivy had anything to do with Richard’s escape, he’d turn against her in a heartbeat. ‘I’ve heard stories,’ she said. ‘About our ancestors, and other magical folk. How some of them could change into the shapes of animals, or-’
His face twisted with revulsion. ‘You want me to try and turn myself into an animal?’
Ivy hadn’t even considered that possibility; she’d only meant to prepare him for the shock of seeing her change into swift-form. But perhaps it was a good thing he’d misunderstood. ‘Is that so bad?’ she asked.
‘Of course it is!’ He flung himself to his feet and began to pace again. ‘If you’d ever seen a wild animal, let alone hunted one-’
‘I don’t understand.’
Mica made an exasperated noise and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘Look, it’s common sense. Piskeys have a special relationship with animals — you know that much?’
Ivy nodded.
‘Well, when we become hunters, we swear to help any sick or injured creature we find, and never kill any animal for sport. But they’re still animals, and we still have to eat. If we started turning ourselves into them, how could we hunt them? That’s why it’s forbidden.’
‘Who says so?’ asked Ivy. ‘I’ve never heard such a thing. And anyway, animals eat each other all the time. Maybe you wouldn’t want to kill the exact kind of animal you become, but-’
Mica cut her off. ‘It’s not just a bad idea, it’s against our nature. We piskeys are solid like the earth, not changeable like air or water. That’s how we’ve survived all these centuries.’
That sounded like something Aunt Betony would say, though it made no sense to Ivy. If shape-changing was impossible for piskeys, then why bother forbidding them to do it? ‘But the droll-teller said that our ancestors used to change shape sometimes,’ she protested. ‘And some faeries still-’
‘Faeries!’ Her brother’s mouth worked as though he were about to spit. ‘We don’t go near their kind. Why should I want to do anything they do?’
‘Because,’ said Ivy, controlling her impatience with an effort, ‘if you could turn yourself into a bird and fly over the countryside instead of having to search on foot, you might have a better chance of finding Cicely.’
Mica gave a harsh laugh. ‘A bird! Do you have any idea-’ Then he stopped and repeated softly, ‘A bird,’ as though it were a revelation.
Had he finally understood what Ivy was saying? It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he was wrong about piskeys not being able to change — or even prove it, by transforming into a swift before his eyes. Maybe then he’d realise how foolish it was to cling to some old hunters’ superstition, and let her help him look for Cicely.
‘So that’s how he did it,’ Mica went on, gazing past Ivy as though entranced. ‘I wouldn’t have thought he could, but maybe…’
‘Mica?’ asked Ivy, wary now. ‘What are you talking about?’
He focused on her, eyes alight with fervour. ‘I know how the spriggan got out,’ he said. ‘And I know how to c
atch him, too.’
‘What? How?’
‘Never mind that. This is hunter business. I’m going to talk to Gossan.’ He started towards the door, then paused and turned back. ‘But if I were you, I’d forget all that dross about shape-changing. If the Joan knew you’d even suggested it…’ He gave her a bleak smile. ‘Trust me. You don’t want to know what she’d do.’
When Mica had gone, Ivy slumped in her chair, feeling more drained than ever. For one brief shining moment she’d dared to believe that she might not be alone after all, that she and Mica could put aside their differences and work together. And that if she explained it carefully enough, he might even understand why she’d gone outside the Delve and learned to change shape — because she’d truly believed it was the only way to find their mother.
But she’d been wrong, more wrong than she’d ever imagined. Because shape-changing wasn’t merely unusual, it was forbidden. And if Mica saw Ivy turn into a swift, he wouldn’t just be surprised — he’d be horrified.
And now she’d put Richard in danger, too. She’d never meant Mica to guess that the so-called spriggan could become a bird, much less use that knowledge to trap him again. Now he’d come up with a plan — a plan that might even work — and she had no idea what it was or how to stop it. All she could do was tell Richard what had happened, and urge him to be on his guard.
But how could she, without giving herself away? The whole Delve was buzzing with the news of Cicely’s disappearance, and there’d be searchers going in and out of the Earthenbore all day — not to mention plenty of friends and neighbours coming by to offer Ivy their sympathies. Getting up to the surface would be impossible until tonight at the earliest, and it wouldn’t be easy even then.
A knock at the door startled Ivy from reverie. She got up and opened it, to find Mattock standing there with a basket of flat cakes in one hand and a bottle of cream in the other. ‘My mum sent these for you,’ he said.
‘Did she make the hevva cakes or did you?’ asked Ivy, and he blushed. A few years ago Mica had caught Mattock helping his mother make saffron buns and had never let him forget it. ‘It’s kind of you,’ she added, managing a smile. ‘We’ll have them for tea, if Mica’s back by then.’
‘He’s not here?’ asked Mattock. ‘I’d have thought…well, with everything going on, I expected you’d be together.’
‘Mica doesn’t like brooding over bad things,’ said Ivy. ‘He’d rather be doing something about them. Right now, he thinks he’s figured out a way to catch the spriggan and get Cicely back before-’
Her throat closed up, and she couldn’t finish the sentence. She took the bottle and basket from Mattock’s hands and turned away before her face betrayed her as well.
He followed her to the kitchen, his big frame looming over her as she set the gifts down. She could feel his warmth like a solid wall against her back as he said quietly, ‘Ivy.’
‘I’m not crying.’ She ground the words between her teeth. ‘Cicely is alive, and I’m going to find her, so there’s nothing to cry about.’
‘ You’re going to find her? How?’
Ivy wanted to beat her head against the table and curse her own stupidity, but she managed to force a laugh. ‘I mean we are. All of us. Working together. Each in our own way.’
And now she was babbling. Why wouldn’t Mattock leave her alone? Surely he could tell she didn’t want anyone’s company, didn’t want to eat his stupid cakes or drink the cream that only Cicely had ever really liked, didn’t want anything except to find her sister, only nobody would give her the chance Then Mattock put his hands on her shoulders, and Ivy’s resistance crumbled. She turned around and buried her face against his chest. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone,’ she whispered. ‘I should have known, Matt. I should have seen it coming.’
He didn’t say anything, only held her tight. It felt amazingly good to lean against him, feeling his strength like armour all around her — the last person she remembered ever holding her like this was Flint, and that had been years ago.
But she couldn’t cling to Mattock forever, and surely he wouldn’t want her to. Ivy straightened up, brushing at her cheeks. ‘I appreciate you coming by,’ she said with all the dignity she could muster. ‘Please tell your mum I’m grateful.’
Mattock nodded and bowed out of the cavern, closing the door behind him with such exaggerated care that Ivy had to smile. Simple, honest Mattock. Sometimes she wished he were her brother instead of Mica, but that wouldn’t be fair to him.
And it wouldn’t be fair to involve him in her plan to look for Cicely, either. She could only hope he wouldn’t guess, after her foolish slip of the tongue, that she planned to do anything at all.
It was a grim and mostly silent meal that Ivy and Mica ate that night. Without Cicely’s bright chatter the atmosphere in the cavern was oppressive, and even phrases like ‘pass the butter’ fell with the weight of an anvil. Ivy soon found herself wishing that Flint would come and join them, just so she’d have someone else not to talk to.
But she hadn’t seen her father since the morning, and when she’d met Hew coming up grimy-faced and coughing from the diggings, he’d told Ivy that Flint meant to stay even later than usual to make up for the time he’d missed. As though losing Cicely had been merely another interruption to his work. As though it mattered whether he dug any more tin or copper out of that tunnel, or dug any more tunnels at all.
‘He’s a knocker, lass,’ Hew had reminded her gently. ‘He’s only doing what he’s made for. And maybe it’s the best thing for him. Same as your brother, with the hunting. It’s how we menfolk grieve.’
What about me? Ivy wanted to shout at him. I can’t sense ore or shape metal. I’m not allowed to hunt. All I want to do is help look for my sister, but that’s forbidden. How am I supposed to grieve?
But there was no answer to that, at least not that Hew could give her. So she’d held her tongue and nodded, and then she’d gone back to the cavern and made about a week’s worth of meat pasties to keep in the cold-hole, since that at least was something she could do.
‘What did Gossan have to say about your plan?’ she asked Mica, when he’d finished his last bite and she could endure the silence no longer. ‘Did the Joan agree to let you start looking for Cicely?’
‘They said I could go out tonight,’ replied Mica, wiping his mouth, ‘if Mattock and Gem go with me. Only we have to stay together and be home by sunrise, so what’s the use of that?’ He threw the napkin down. ‘We might as well not bother.’
‘But you will,’ said Ivy. She knew Mica too well to believe otherwise, no matter how much he complained. ‘When do you leave?’
‘In a couple of hours.’ He walked towards his alcove. ‘But Matt said he’d come by and wake me when it’s time, so you needn’t worry about it. I’m going to sleep.’
Ivy spent a few minutes putting what was left of the food away, then climbed into bed herself. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, too miserable to sleep but too tired to stay awake, when the door creaked and she heard Mattock tiptoe in. Mica groaned, there was a rustle, and a few minutes later the two of them went out.
Now was her chance. Ivy waited a little longer, to be sure Mica and Mattock were well on their way. Then hurriedly she dressed and slipped out into the passage, heading for the Great Shaft.
The sky above the Delve was clear, the moon a neat half-circle among the stars. To the west, a trio of dim lights bobbed along the ground — Mica, Mattock and Gem. Secure in the knowledge that they’d never recognise her in swift-form, Ivy glided over the ruins of the Engine House, then angled off towards the nearby wood.
It wasn’t a large wood: only a scattering of trees and undergrowth, with a well-travelled footpath through the middle. Ivy flew from one end to the other looking for signs of life, then landed in piskey-shape on the far side. ‘Richard?’ she asked, quietly at first and then a little louder. But though she listened until she grew impatient, there was no reply.
‘Richard!’ She was shouting now, not caring if anyone heard her. Surely Mica and the others wouldn’t recognise her voice at this distance. ‘I’m here! Where are you?’
Still no one answered, and Ivy’s restlessness grew. She couldn’t hang about here all night — she had to find Cicely. But she’d wanted to warn Richard about Mica’s plan. Why didn’t he answer?
Surely it was too soon to give up yet. Ivy walked to the centre of the wood, cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled ‘Richard!’ one more time. Then she sat down on a fallen branch and waited.
Minutes passed, each more slowly than the next. Something rustled in the leaves above her, and Ivy looked up in hope — but no, it was only a squirrel. A little while later a bird began to sing, but it was a liquid, melancholy tune, nothing like the trilling noises Richard had made back in the dungeon.
Ivy rubbed her palms on her thighs, fidgeting with anxiety. What if Richard had decided not to keep his promise after all? What if he’d decided it was too dangerous to stay, and flown off to some faraway place?
‘Richard!’ she called hoarsely. ‘You’d better come soon! I’m not going to wait forever!’
But still there was nothing. Not a word, not a sign.
The faery was gone.
Ivy took a deep breath and let it go. Then she leaped to her feet, snatched up a stick and hurled it into the underbrush. ‘Curse you!’ she stormed. ‘You liar, you oath-breaker, you — you demon blackguard wretch of a spriggan!’
There was a long silence, while the wind murmured through the treetops. Then a light, ironic voice said, ‘I see my reputation is at stake.’
Ivy spun around. There on the path, as though he had been there all along, stood Richard — but not Richard as she had last seen him, covered in filth and bruises and dressed in rags. His hair hung straight and clean almost to his shoulders, and his jacket and slim trousers looked new. If not for the purple shadow around one eye and the scab on his upper lip, she would hardly have recognised him.
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