“Drop the journal!” Ivy shouted, catching sight of it in his fingers. “You need two hands to climb up.”
Alexander’s face flashed with fear, but, rather than taking Ivy’s advice, he scowled and attempted to haul himself up with one arm. Ivy tried to think of a way to save him. Perhaps if she aimed a tornado under his feet, it would keep him from falling….
“Ivy, look out!” Seb shouted.
She turned. Monkshood was gliding straight toward her. He swiped the Sword of Wills from his back and pointed it at Alexander, who was still dangling in the mist. The katana rotated in midair, faster and faster.
Valian fell to his knees. His gaze sharpened.
“Valian!” Seb hollered, walled in by metal crabs. “Get away from the edge!”
When Ivy looked back at Alexander, his body had gone taut and his face was expressionless. She understood what had happened: the Sword of Wills had relinquished its control over Valian and focused on Alexander instead.
“Throw me Amos Stirling’s journal,” Monkshood demanded.
With all the strength he could muster, Alexander hurled the journal toward the top of the colossus. His body was left swinging precariously. The vacuum nozzle creaked.
“Foolish boy.” Monkshood laughed as he caught the journal and tucked it securely inside his robes. Then, with the Sword of Wills in his grasp, he turned and vanished into thin air—his crab army dematerializing with him.
Alexander’s face twitched; light returned to his eyes. “What—?” In the confusion of remembering where he was, his hand slipped—
Before Ivy could shout, however, a carpet emerged from the spray. Riding atop was Curtis, gripping the shirt collar of a wriggling Alexander.
Ivy slid over to Valian and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”
But, despite having been just moments from death, there was only one thing on Valian’s mind. “Rosie…,” he murmured. “We have to find Rosie.”
The underguard station was buzzing with activity when Ivy, Seb and Valian returned. A constant stream of Tidemonger agents—Ivy could tell because of the divergent arrow symbols on their clothing—flitted to and fro across reception, disappearing through different doors. Short puffs sounded every few moments as featherlight messages arrived for the underguard officers on duty behind the coffin desk. Scribbling feverishly, they sent responses while other guards hurried in and out of the discocommunicator room. The walls of the building vibrated with the rumble of the growing crowd outside, eager to learn what was happening.
Water dripped from the hem of Ivy’s duffle coat as she shifted in her chair, drawing the unwavering stares of three underguard officers standing opposite. Their hands rested threateningly on their toilet brushes, their expressions unflinching. Valian and Seb had been made to sit a chair apart in the same row so they could all be watched closely. Judy—who arrived after hearing what had happened from a street vendor near Breath Falls—had been allowed to sit beside Ivy.
“Seeing as we’re not allowed to leave here again,” Seb muttered, shivering, “can one of you officers get us some hot drinks? Or maybe even a dry blanket?”
The underguards didn’t react. Ivy wondered if the post-ordeal care package had been canceled in the aftermath of her and Valian’s break-in to the discocommunicator room. Or maybe these three just weren’t the warm fuzzy types.
“What do you think they’re doing?” she asked, squinting at the darkened glass door through which Johnny Hands, Curtis and several senior underguards had stepped almost an hour ago. “They’ve been in there for ages.”
“They’re probably contacting more Tidemongers and other underguard cohorts to tell them about Monkshood,” Valian said, folding his arms. “They’ve got to plan their response to stop people from panicking.”
Ivy wished she could un-see the stunned and terrified faces of the traders in Nubrook’s streets as they’d flown down from the waterfall on Curtis’s carpet. Everyone knew that another member of the Dirge was out in the open. Security would be heightened throughout the uncommon world. Thanksgiving celebrations would be canceled.
“What about the Dirge?” Seb said quietly. “Monkshood will soon give Octavius Wrench the Sword of Wills and Amos’s journal. After that, New Dawn could start at any moment.”
Ivy thought of all those cities around the world that would be overrun by races of the dead…and London first. Her nerves felt as damp as her clothes. She sniffed and looked at Judy. “We have to find Rosie and the Sands of Change,” she said firmly. “Did you see Mr. Rife at the auction house?”
“Not personally, no,” Judy said, sounding irritated. “Uncommon bridal veils have been placed around the building since yesterday—they prevent any travel through the walls. Without an invitation I couldn’t get in, but, according to a couple of guests I asked outside, Mr. Rife is there. He just doesn’t want any unwelcome guests.”
“Even if we do somehow escape from this place, we’ll be too late to catch him.” Valian sounded almost defeated. “The auction is due to finish any moment now. We know Mr. Rife is going to visit Midas, his buyer, afterward. As soon as he gets in that pram, we have to be ready to go after him. He’s the only person who might know what happened to Rosie.”
Just then, the darkened glass door opened and Curtis and Johnny Hands emerged. Ivy scrutinized them to see if she could work out what had happened. Curtis’s head scarf was blotchy from water stains, the sleeves of her trench coat rolled up past her elbows to reveal another layer of clothing beneath. A sheen of sweat coated her skin. It looked like she’d been busy. Johnny Hands looked no less exhausted. Even his wobbling red-and-blue jester’s hat didn’t detract from the grim look on his face.
Curtis marched over to the reception desk and spoke urgently with the underguards sitting behind it. The officers watching Ivy and the others stood up and went over to join them.
“We don’t have much time,” Johnny Hands said, sitting down on a seat opposite them. He leaned forward, gathering them around. “Alexander Brewster’s been charged. The officers here believe there’s plenty of evidence to have him convicted, so I doubt he’ll be trying to kill you again anytime soon.”
Ivy felt conflicted at the news. She knew that Alexander needed to pay for his crimes. And yet…the overwhelming feeling she had when she thought about him wasn’t anger; it was pity. She wanted to believe there was still hope in the future for him.
“Turns out Alexander wasn’t very loyal to the Dirge,” Johnny Hands added. “He actually gave us the identity and location of Nightshade in exchange for a nicer cell. We’ve deployed a team of agents to go and arrest her.”
So Nightshade was a woman, Ivy thought, but then her surprise and relief were tainted by another thought: having another member of the Dirge unmasked was a positive step, but it didn’t solve the bigger problem. “What about Monkshood and the Sword of Wills?” she asked.
“That is slightly more complicated,” Johnny Hands admitted. “But it’s not for you to worry about. My orders are to send you and your brother home.”
“Home?” Seb’s voice faltered. “You mean, London?”
“London, the Old Smoke, Thames City—whatever you want to call it. Agent Curtis has organized everything with your parents, who are expecting you back today. I thought you’d be concerned about them, so I’ve pulled a few strings and arranged for a couple of Special Branch officers to be stationed outside your house in case Octavius Wrench turns up.” He gave Valian and Judy a wonky smile. “You’re both free to join them, if you’d like.”
Valian shook his head. “Er—thanks, but I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Me too,” Judy said, her shoulders drooping as she looked across at Ivy and Seb.
“We can’t go home yet,” Ivy told Johnny Hands. “There’s something we need to do.”
He winced. “I thought you might say that. The thing is…your parents aren’t considered high-priority assets, but you are. The only way to protect them is for you all to be in the same building. So if you remain here, those Special Branch officers will be deployed on other duties, and your parents will be all on their own.”
Ivy flashed her brother a panicked look. The Dirge could attack London at any moment and their parents would be defenseless….Then again, they couldn’t abandon Valian now. Four heads were better than two: they’d have a better chance of finding Rosie if they stuck together.
“Curtis has arranged for you to travel to London via uncommon drawer,” Johnny Hands explained. “Whatever your decision, I wish you luck. In the meantime, I have work to do. Goodbye, Ivy Sparrow.”
* * *
—
After the furor of the morning’s celebrations, the streets of Nubrook were quiet now. The shops had shut early, but a few bars and restaurants were open, a sprinkling of customers watching sports on huge materializers inside. Steam fragranced with roast turkey escaped from the occasional kitchen window, and chatter spilled from terraces. Ivy considered how many of Nubrook’s residents might have changed their traditional Thanksgiving Day plans after the events on top of Breath Falls.
After returning from Guesthouse Swankypants with a small bundle of singed clothes, Curtis escorted Ivy and Seb to the drawer-station. Walking alongside them, Judy and Valian were unusually quiet.
“Keep up, you four!” Curtis called from up ahead.
Every time Ivy caught the look of disappointment on Valian’s face, the bagel she’d nibbled at the underguard station that morning threatened to reappear. With time running out, in the end she and Seb had agreed to Curtis’s plan. Her legs tightened as they walked by a troop of severe-looking underguards marching in the opposite direction. There were more around than normal. Groups of two or three stood on street corners, patrolling with their toilet brushes on show. Ivy guesstimated how big the underguard force was in Lundinor and whether there would be enough of them to defend London from the Dirge’s army.
They passed the bench that Seb had turned into an Andy Warhol installation with Rosie’s Missing posters. As Ivy studied the different-colored versions of Rosie’s picture, a new detail suddenly jumped out at her. “Seb, hold still,” she said.
She took out her ping-pong ball and threw it at his back: Rosie’s poster appeared on his hoodie. He yanked it up at the shoulders to see what she’d done. “Ivy!” he spluttered.
“It’s important,” she told him. “I need to take a closer look at the photo and I can’t slow everyone down.”
As they walked, Ivy examined Rosie’s necklace with fresh consideration. It had a metallic rope chain and a large pendant featuring a black crystal in a silver mount. “Valian,” she asked, “that necklace Rosie is wearing—do you have another photo of it?”
Valian took a fifty-pence coin from his pocket and flipped it over between his fingers. A different image of Rosie appeared with each turn. Ivy knew that uncommon coins were used a bit like photo albums. “No, I don’t think so,” Valian said. “She’s not wearing it in any of these.” He looked again at Seb’s back. “Why do you ask?”
Ivy hesitated, thinking of the discussion she’d had with Seb about the strange “bathed in breath” phrase from Amos’s riddle. “The rhyme in Amos’s journal—‘crystal droplet, bathed in breath, clasped within silver hands’…well, Rosie’s necklace would fit the bill perfectly. Her crystal pendant has a silver frame; and wearing it around her neck, she’d breathe on it all the time.”
“You think her necklace is the Sands of Change?” Judy had skated closer and was resting a hand on Seb’s shoulder to examine the photo too.
“Look, I could just take my hoodie off,” Seb pointed out as they continued to peer at his back. “That way we could all see.”
Valian rubbed his forehead. “I wish I could remember more clearly what I saw through the Frozen Telescope. There might have been a necklace on that table….”
“If there was, it could easily have slipped off when you and Rosie jumped out at your parents—and it would be the right size to fit in Rosie’s pocket,” Ivy said, easing the facts into place. “Is it something she would have been likely to take?”
“She liked glitter and sparkly stuff, so yeah.” He looked again at Rosie’s photo, his brow hardening.
“Hold everything,” Judy said, lifting an uncommon cufflink closer to her face. “The coordinates on this have changed—Mr. Rife has moved. Here, take this—”
Without stopping, she unfolded a world map from her pocket and gave it to Valian, then relayed the numbers. “He’s in Tibet,” Valian said, tracing his finger across the page. “Strassa.”
Ivy peered closer. The gradient lines on the map were compactly spaced, indicating steep mountains. She remembered seeing the advertisement for Strassa on the boarded-up shop two days ago—the WORLD’S FIRST SKYMART! “That’s aboveground,” she observed. “It’ll have natural light, so Octavius Wrench could exist there without help from Alexander’s potion.”
“There’s no time to lose,” Valian said, folding the map away and stuffing it back in his pocket. “Judy, we have to leave now. Ivy, Seb…get home safe.” Then he turned in the opposite direction. Judy smiled weakly at Ivy and Seb before she and Valian hurried away.
Ivy’s legs twitched, wanting to join them. She felt awful.
Curtis, Seb and Ivy turned into a marble courtyard where stationmasters in red uniform were standing in a grid formation. Resting beside each of them was a set of drawers labeled with a different number. Uncommoners stood waiting between the chests, fidgeting and chatting. Ivy assumed it was the equivalent of a major transport depot.
Curtis approached a mirrored dressing table with six drawers. The stationmaster dipped his head. “Miss?”
“These two are to travel to drawer 262 in London,” she told him. “I will be accompanying them.” She gave him a piece of paper stamped with the divergent arrow crest.
The stationmaster read it quickly. “As you wish.” He handed them a ticket each and signaled to chest number 36. “Please join that line.”
Curtis herded Ivy and Seb over, checking the faces in the crowds. Ivy examined her ticket. It had been stamped with two words: ONE JOURNEY.
“I wonder if there’s a drawer in one of these chests that goes to Strassa,” Seb whispered in her ear.
“What difference does it make?” Ivy asked, watching Curtis double-check she had her common mobile phone stowed in her pocket. “Mum and Dad are at home, waiting for us. You heard what Johnny Hands said: they’ll only be protected if we’re with them.”
“We can’t just sit at home waiting for New Dawn to happen,” Seb argued. “I’ve been thinking: maybe the best way to safeguard our parents is to help save Rosie first. The Dirge are still hunting for her and the Sands of Change; if we can find her before they do, we can stop them from using another of the Great Uncommon Good. That might give the Tidemongers and the underguards a better chance of defeating them.”
“I don’t…” Ivy hesitated, feeling torn. The last thing she wanted to do was destroy the one chance their parents had of being safe when New Dawn began…but Rosie’s life was at stake too. And Seb was right: if the Dirge got hold of the Sands of Change, they would be unstoppable.
London or Strassa? Both options seemed like the right thing to do, but she could only pick one. In the end she listened to the sinking feeling in her gut that had started when Valian and Judy left. “You’re right,” she told her brother. “We should be with Valian. We’ve got to see this through to the end.”
Seb lowered his head to Ivy’s pocket. “Scratch, buddy, you listening? Can you read Farrow’s Guide and see which one of these things goes to Strassa?”
Ivy’s bag vibrated. “One hundred and sixty-six,” Scratch said in a muffled voice.
“I can see it.” Ivy pointed to a rickety wooden chest with a fabric top, a few chests along in the same row. “We’ll have to switch drawers at the last minute, once Curtis is inside the drawer to London.”
The stationmaster checked his pocket watch before finally opening the top drawer in the chest. Ivy scrutinized the uncommoners lining up in front, who took turns boarding. “Adults to load first, please,” the stationmaster instructed. “They take up more space.”
The pavement rumbled as their bodies turned into tiny golden lights that flew into the drawer, like dust being sucked into a vacuum cleaner.
Ivy nervously adjusted her coat as they approached the head of the line.
“First time?” the stationmaster asked Ivy and Seb. “You won’t feel a thing. Just place your hand inside the drawer. After you, madam.”
Curtis assessed Ivy and Seb carefully. “I’ll be waiting for you in there. Just be quick.” She scanned the nearby faces one last time before moving her hand into the drawer.
Ivy noticed Curtis’s head scarf ruffle as a strange wind passed over her, and then, with a golden flash, she disappeared. Ivy went leaden with guilt, hoping they were about to do the right thing. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Seb’s hand. “Let’s go save Rosie.”
The drawer to Strassa was dark and smelled overwhelmingly of talcum powder, making Ivy’s nose twitch. She tried to peel her foot away from someone’s thigh, but there was no other space to put it. She understood now what Valian had meant by “those impossibly cramped drawers.”
“Scooos me,” Seb mumbled in a muffled voice. Ivy glimpsed him a few bodies away, his sweaty forehead pressed against the shoulder of a woman wearing a flamenco dress. She wondered how Curtis was faring in the drawer to London, and whether she’d yet realized that Ivy and Seb wouldn’t be joining her.
The Uncommoners #3 Page 13