The Crooked Sixpence (15 page)

Seb smiled. ‘Oh, of course. I should've guessed you were the lynchpin that holds everything together.'

Valian gritted his teeth. ‘You don't understand anything. Uncommoners have a vital role in the world. It's their responsibility to keep commoners safe from uncommon objects. Sometimes Special Branch have to interfere and then wipe everyone's memories afterwards; sometimes it's just a simple case of covering something up. It's a fine balance.'

Seb sighed. ‘Come on, Ivy. Let's sit down.' He stretched his leg over the bench and took a seat. At the far end of the table sat an old lady with white hair. Valian muttered something before slinking over to the bar with his stolen breakfast.

The old lady shuffled up as Ivy took a seat next to Seb. Ivy liked the look of her immediately. She wore spectacles and a voluminous powder-blue dress that, along with her straw bonnet, made her look like Little Bo-Peep's grandmother.

‘Morning, dears,' she cooed. She reached for the handle of her teacup but missed.

Seb chuckled. Ivy elbowed him in the side. ‘Morning,' she said, giving her brother a stern look.

‘I think I saw you two come in last night,' the lady twittered. ‘You're staying in the room next to me. I'm Violet.'

Ivy looked into her cornflower-blue eyes, which appeared cloudy behind her thick glasses. She doubted she could see anything at all.

‘Not many people arrive
after
the start of Trade these days,' she continued. ‘Heard there's going to be some sort of flash sale today at the Wanderer's Warehouse on Makeshift Avenue. I expect you're here for that.'

Ivy gave an awkward cough and looked at Seb. It wasn't as if they could tell anyone what they were
really
there for.

Just then, a girl wearing a pale pink ballet tutu and a tattered waistcoat approached the table. ‘What'll it be then?' she asked, a feather poised in her hand.

Ivy looked at Seb.

‘Um, can we just have a drink?' he asked.

‘Of course,' the girl said. ‘Hundred Punch OK?'

Ivy shrugged. ‘Sure.'

The girl winked and laid two pairs of spectacles down in front of them before heading back to the bar.

Ivy stared at them, puzzled, while Seb rubbed a hand through his hair. ‘This day is only going to get weirder, isn't it?' he muttered.

Violet smiled kindly. ‘First time drinking from glasses, eh?' she guessed. ‘Just open them up – they'll do the rest.'

Frowning, Seb carefully opened out his spectacles – half moon, with golden frames. Once the second arm had been fully extended, the glasses leaped up off the table and transformed into a drinking goblet – the lenses spiralled into a tall glass trumpet, while the frames formed a handle. Seb almost fell off the bench. ‘Whoa!'

Ivy studied the sunglasses in front of her. She opened them carefully and watched, astonished, as they morphed into a smoked-glass goblet.

The girl in the tutu came over with a large porcelain jug, poured a fizzing transparent liquid into both glasses and left.

Ivy looked at it nervously. ‘Bottoms up, I guess,' she said before taking a sip. The Hundred Punch was the strangest, most amazing thing she had ever tasted. At first it was cool and sweet and fizzy like apple-ade; then it became thick and foamy and tasted of buttery shortbread; then it went warm and gooey and filled Ivy's mouth with the sharp tang of rhubarb. ‘It's like three flavours in one,' she exclaimed.

Seb nodded, his mouth twitching into a smile.

‘Actually there's a hundred,' Violet explained. ‘That's where it gets its name from. A hundred different tastes, a hundred different ways to make you feel better.'

Seb smacked his lips. ‘Mine's super sweet, like liquid candyfloss.'

Grinning, Ivy took another mouthful and let the tastes roll around her tongue. ‘I think my one might be apple pie – or maybe apple and rhubarb crumble . . .' She felt light and happy, as if she was about to fly away on one of the bubbles. Seb laughed at her, making her snort into her goblet.

Her exhilaration was short-lived. All at once she remembered why they were there:
Mum and Dad.
How could she enjoy herself while they were in mortal danger? Just thinking about her parents locked away somewhere made her want to cry. They might not even be together.

She looked over at Violet. Maybe this was a good time to start investigating. ‘Er – what is it you sell?' she asked.

‘Me?' The old lady's cheeks turned pink. ‘You really want to know?'

Seb stared at Ivy and shook his head, but she ignored him.

‘Yeah, really.'

Violet beamed. ‘I'm a button trader,' she said. ‘Violet Eyelet's Button Apothecary – you'll find me on the Gauntlet, just past Dragon Lane.

‘Buttons do all kinds of things,' she continued. ‘I love buttons – always have. I'd rather have a button than anything.' She reached into a pocket and brought out an avocado-green plastic button with ridges around the edge. ‘They treat ailments, mostly. There's a button for everything these days. All you have to do is put it in your top pocket and the problem goes away. I've been using this one for a few days now to treat a little twinge in my left knee.'

Seb fought to keep his face expressionless. Ivy couldn't tell whether he was about to laugh or gasp with shock.

‘Not many uncommoners use them any more,' Violet went on. ‘I guess people think they're old fashioned, or . . . what is it they say? Alternative?' She fished around in another pocket and brought out a second button. This one was ivory-coloured, with three holes and an old trail of pink thread. ‘This one works a treat for restoring health. The number of holes equates to the number of times you can use it, so this has three good uses. Here you go.'

Ivy stuttered, ‘Oh – oh no, you don't have to . . .'

Violet Eyelet shook her head. ‘No, no, don't be silly. You keep it. Payment for listening to me go on.'

Ivy smiled and took the button gratefully, stowing it away in her jeans pocket. She looked at the soft creases in Violet's face and wondered how old she was.

‘I'm Ivy, by the way,' she said. ‘This is my brother, Seb. We're not here for that sale thing you were talking about. We're here to find out more about our granma. She used to be a trader here, years ago.'

Violet managed to get a grip on her cup and took a sip of tea. ‘Anything I can do to help?'

Seb leaned forward. ‘Yeah, actually. Her name was Sylvie Wrench. Do you know anything about her?'

Violet's face lit up. ‘Sylvie! Well, knot my cottons! She's back? Is she OK?'

Ivy winced. ‘Yeah, sort of.'

‘We were never meant to be friends, Sylv and I,' the old lady said. ‘Octavius Wrench – Sylvie's father – he didn't like his workers mixing with his children. It wasn't seen as proper.'

Ivy straightened. ‘Wait . . . You worked for our great-grandfather? Is that what the Wrenches sold? Buttons?'

Violet chuckled. ‘Octavius Wrench interested in buttons? No, no. I was only able to sell buttons
later
. When I first took the glove, I became a scout; it was the easiest way to build a career in those days. Most people scouted for one of the big companies; I chose the Wrenches because they paid well and let you keep anything they didn't want. Octavius never wanted buttons – he thought they were useless.'

Seb asked, ‘Do you remember when you last saw our granma?' Ivy could see him trying to connect the dots.

‘Of
course
I do. I had to give enough underguard statements on the subject. It was back in sixty-nine; Twelfth Night . . . a few hours before the Great Battle. I'd just dropped off my last haul of scouted objects at the Wrench Mansion. Sylvie and I crossed paths as I was leaving.' She shivered, sending her glasses slipping to the end of her nose. ‘Creepy place, their house; always used to turn my stitches wonky, if you know what I mean. I'm quite glad it's disappeared really.'

Ivy thought she'd misheard. ‘Sorry –
disappeared
?'

‘Oh yes. The Wrenches were incredibly secretive. They didn't trust anyone; that's why they built their mansion with uncommon bricks so no one outside the family would ever find it. Uncommon bricks like to move, you see, so the house never stayed in the same place.' Violet took another sip of tea. ‘Only members of the Wrench family knew how to find the secret entrance. I had to be escorted blindfold every time I went to drop off my scout haul. Sylvie did it occasionally – that's how we became friends.'

‘Do you know
why
our granma disappeared that night?' Ivy asked hurriedly.

Violet shook her head, glancing around warily. ‘It's not for me to speculate,' she whispered. ‘I'm just glad she's OK.'

Ivy turned to Seb, her eyes wide. ‘What about the mansion? There might be answers there.'

‘No one has seen it since Twelfth Night 1969,' Violet told her. ‘The underguard looked for years but even they had to give up.'

Ivy had a pretty good idea who'd been involved in that search.
Smokehart.

‘The house was designed so that any member of the family could find it easily,' Violet said. ‘Theoretically it should still work for you two. Why don't you ask Sylvie?'

‘She's forgotten everything,' Seb explained. He propped his chin on his hand.

Not everything
, Ivy remembered. Granma Sylvie did have memories returning – they were just very vague. She tried to remember what her granma had said.
A woman with sad blue eyes, the sound of water . . .

‘Is there a map of Lundinor we could look at?' she asked. ‘I think I've got an idea.'

Violet brightened. ‘There's a street map on the side of the featherlight mailhouse in the centre of town, though I don't know how up to date it is.'

Ivy got to her feet and turned to Seb. ‘Come on,' she said. ‘There's no time to lose.'

‘Wait. Before you go . . .' Violet lowered her voice. ‘Sylvie was a good friend of mine, but not many people around here will tell you the same. Especially now. Something's got the underguard riled and there have been whispers about the Fallen—' She broke off and shook her head. ‘Well, let's just call them whispers about terrible things; things that would make the toughest of traders wish to stay silent.'

‘The street bell said to take a left here,' Ivy reminded the others as she turned the corner. Seb was striding beside her, with Valian plodding along behind them like an unwanted smell.

They came to a paved square dotted with café tables and traders leisurely sipping fizzing drinks – Hundred Punch, Ivy guessed. In the middle was a spindly redbrick tower that stood over thirty metres tall. There were holes in the walls that looked like small dark windows.

‘That must be it,' Ivy figured; ‘the featherlight mailhouse.'

Seb craned his neck. ‘It looks like it's gonna fall over any second.'

Ivy saw that the slate roof tiles were shaking and sliding over each other. Hundreds of different-coloured feathers flew out of a large hole where the chimney would be.

Valian shouldered his way past them. ‘Well, it's old enough. And so is the poor guy who runs it. Albert Merribus, he's called. He must have been mail-master for nearly half a century. The map's on the other side.'

As they got closer, Ivy heard the bricks crunching and cracking, as if they too were moving. She watched an uncommoner approach one of the dark windows and stuff his hand inside. He retrieved a feather, which he then used to scribble something in the air. When he'd finished, the feather disappeared back through the hole.

Ivy replayed Granma Sylvie's memory sequence in her head. She'd have to search the map thoroughly, but this might just work. Right now her parents could be—But she couldn't let herself think about it. Just then, she heard high-pitched voices.

‘Go on, throw it at him. I bet you can't make that third hole on the right.'

‘Yeah? Watch this!'

As they rounded the tower, Ivy saw a group of children holding something in their hands – though she couldn't quite see what.

‘Here goes!' One of the boys took aim and lobbed whatever it was at the tower. Ivy thought she saw a flash of shiny plastic before the object hit the wall with a squelch, turning into yellowy-green goo on impact.

‘Ha! Told you. Hear that, Merribus!' the boy called, cupping his hands around his mouth. ‘You're safe
this
time!'

Anger bubbled up inside Ivy. She herself hadn't come up against bullies before, probably because nobody was going to pick on Seb's little sister (his arms were bigger then anyone else's at their school). But whoever the old man inside the tower was, he didn't deserve this.

‘That's horrible!' she shouted, unable to bite her tongue. ‘Stop it!'

One of the boys started to taunt her, but when he saw Seb and Valian come up on either side, he re considered and made a run for it. The others scarpered after him.

Ivy shook her head and turned back to the tower. The map was easy to spot, although it wasn't what she had expected.

‘So . . . it's made of rubbish,' Seb said in a flat voice. ‘How eco-friendly.'

Ivy looked closely. The map was constructed from odd twigs and branches, tea bags, paper and glass – all nailed or tied with twine to the wall. Street names had been painted on in black paint, and there were deep white scratches in the bricks behind the map, as if the objects had been dragged over them again and again.

‘The map changes,' Valian explained, seeing her expression. ‘Things move in Lundinor, so they move on this.'

Ivy stepped back to try and get her bearings. ‘The Gauntlet's here' – she pointed, spotting a long straight road running through the centre of the main cavern – ‘so Ethel's must be about there . . .' She stretched up on tiptoe to indicate a spot a couple of metres above her head. But she was looking for something else.