The Crooked Sixpence (22 page)

Seb inspected them from a distance, still looking embarrassed by the damage he'd caused. ‘They moved after Ivy said
The Great Uncommon Go—
'

Before Seb had even finished his sentence, both bells were swinging wildly.

‘OK, OK,' Ethel hushed, stroking them. ‘It's all right.' She pulled up a chair and sat down, stirring her tea. ‘Story bells . . .' She frowned as she stared into her cup.

Eventually she looked up. ‘My parents used to tell me this fairy story when I was a girl,' she said, as if just remembering. ‘It was about five uncommon objects thought to be grade ten or beyond.'

Valian raised an eyebrow. ‘Some fairy story.'

Ivy remembered the poem she'd read in the street that morning.
The Great Grade Ten . . .
No one had ever found one before.

Ethel coughed disapprovingly before continuing. ‘The story went that thousands of years ago, a group of muckers discovered five truly extraordinary uncommon objects, which they used to wield great power in the common world. The very first uncommoners fought those muckers and won. They managed to get the five objects to safety, where they were hidden for hundreds of years – until the next common fool tried to get 'old of 'em. The uncommoners always prevailed in the end. That's why, according to the fairy story, the five objects occasionally appear in common stories – ancient mythology and the like. The story was called “The Great Uncommon Good”.'

Ivy tensed.

‘That's not good,' Seb said. ‘That's definitely
not good
.'

Ethel sipped her tea. ‘Like I said, it's just a fairy tale. I think these bells must have told the story before they were tortured. That's probably where my parents got it from. But why the Dirge would want to—'

‘That selkie,' Valian interrupted, visibly shaken. ‘It asked you about the Great Uncommon Good?'

Ivy nodded. ‘It thought I knew where one of them was. The Dirge
must
be looking for one of the Great Uncommon Good,' she told Ethel. ‘That's what Granma Sylvie's stolen from them. And now they want it back.'

‘
What?
' Ethel's face drained of colour. She looked at each of them in turn, and then down at the two story bells. ‘These five objects –
if they really exist
– they'd be extremely dangerous in the 'ands of the Dirge; dangerous to every single mucker and uncommoner on the planet.'

Just then there was a noise in the street outside. Ivy heard voices shouting and hoofbeats ringing on the cobbles.

Valian got up and hurried to the window, pulling back the blinds. ‘It's just Ugs,' he murmured. ‘Must be some kind of emergency – they've got the coach out.' He continued watching a moment longer and then turned back. ‘Weird . . . They've stopped right outside the—'

‘Sweet Clements!' Ethel leaped to her feet, sending her chair flying. She held a hand to her chest as a brilliant green parakeet feather flicked through the air in front of her, writing.

Ivy read through the message at lightning speed.

Ethel
,

Come quickly. Violet has been attacked. The underguard are on their way, but I need your help.

Derek Littlefair

Proprietor of the Cabbage Moon Inn

Ivy followed Seb as he elbowed his way through the crowd that had gathered outside the Cabbage Moon. ‘Excuse me!' he shouted, swiping aside a blue tutu. ‘We need to get through!'

Ivy felt a chill as she passed the underguard's black coach. There was someone in the back, but the nodding feathered hats and glittering headdresses obscured her view.

Inside the inn Valian and Ethel slammed the door behind them, shutting out the buzz of the crowd.

‘Derek?' Ethel screeched into the empty lounge. ‘Derek! Where are you?'

A door in the far wall swung open, and they all dashed through, finding themselves in a long galley kitchen. Bowls of freshly prepared vegetables sat next to stone jugs steaming with hot liquids. A pot of Bugtop – Ivy could tell by the aniseed smell – sat frothing on the stove, while above hovered jars, bottles and jugs containing jams, stews and soups.

At the far end stood the doughy-faced innkeeper, Mr Littlefair, fanning himself as he answered questions from a rotund man in underguard uniform. It was the constable Ivy had seen on the doorstep of Granma Sylvie's house. And if
he
was there, it was likely that he'd be joined by—

‘Smokehart,' she breathed. The tall, pale officer was standing by the oven with a feather in his hand. Beside him, Violet Eyelet sat slumped on a chair. Ivy winced as she saw that her face was wet with tears. The spectacles hanging round her neck were smashed and her huge dress had been badly singed. Her white hair wobbled as she gestured with her lace-gloved hands.

As Ivy drew closer, she heard what Violet was saying.

‘Like a hundred little black moths it was, at first. I thought they'd all got stuck in the room, so I went to the window to let them out, and then' – she sniffed, wiping her eye with a lace handkerchief – ‘they kind of swarmed together into a great cloud and turned into darkness; pure darkness with a hundred eyes.'

‘Violet!' Ethel hurried over, ignoring Officer Smokehart, and threw both arms around her. ‘Are you OK?' She pulled away and assessed her.

Violet sniffed. She looked woozy and disorientated. ‘I thought I was a goner, Ethel, honestly. I'd forgotten to put on my specs and stumbled into the wrong room upstairs.' She poked around in her pocket. ‘It's all right – I've taken a button for the shock.'

Ethel rubbed her shoulder encouragingly. ‘Derek,' she called. ‘Best brew up some fresh Raider's Tonic for Violet's injuries.'

Mr Littlefair nodded. ‘Right-o!' he said, and started pulling jars out of cupboards, mixing something on the worktop.

Smokehart cleared his throat. ‘Ms
Dread
.' His voice sliced through the air. ‘As you can see, I am in the middle of an investigation.'

Ethel grumbled but stepped back.

‘Now, Violet,' Smokehart began. ‘You said that the room you found the creature in was the one next door to your own?' He turned to the innkeeper. ‘Who is staying there at the moment, Mr Littlefair?'

Mr Littlefair gulped. ‘Just some other paying guests.'

‘Indeed.' Smokehart lowered his feather. ‘But their names?'

The innkeeper wiped a hand down his apron and looked at Ivy and Seb guiltily. ‘Well, er . . . Ivy and Sebastian Sparrow.'

Smokehart's shoulders stiffened. ‘
Sparrow?
' He quickly spun round to find Ivy and Seb standing behind him.

Ivy shuddered. There was nowhere to go. She winced as he shouted.

‘
YOU!
' The feather in his hand shook. ‘Grandchildren of Sylvie Wrench. I might have known it.' He threw the feather over his shoulder, where it disappeared into thin air, and marched towards them.

Ethel reacted fast. ‘Now wait just a moment.' She jumped into his path, arms spread wide. ‘Just because the creature was in their room, it doesn't mean—'

‘Ms Dread.' Smokehart smiled at her and pressed his fingers together. ‘Do you know what it was that attacked Ms Eyelet?'

Ethel pinched her lips together, falling silent.

‘I thought not. It was a wraithmoth.' He let the name hang in the air for a few seconds. Violet squeaked and brought her handkerchief to her mouth. Mr Littlefair stepped back against a cupboard, fanning his flushed cheeks.

‘Wraithmoths are one of the few races of the dead who haven't been seen since the Fallen Guild were in power,' Smokehart reminded them. ‘And who, I wonder, is the only person ever to be convicted as a member of the Fallen Guild?'

Every face in the room turned towards Ivy and Seb. Ivy could feel their eyes boring into her.

‘Octavius Wrench is the name you're all searching for.' Smokehart moved Ethel aside and continued towards Ivy.

‘Do you know what finally happened to your great-grandfather?' he asked her.

Ivy glanced anxiously at Seb as he reached for her arm. Everyone must already know the truth about Octavius. She wished someone had had the courage to tell them before.

‘No? Then let me enlighten you . . . After Octavius Wrench lost the election on Twelfth Night 1969, an army of the dead took to the streets of Lundinor, led by six masked figures with rotten hands and black hoods. We all knew who they were.'

The Dirge
, Ivy thought.
And Octavius was among them.

‘I was only a constable at the time, but the entire underguard force – myself included – stood against them. We were completely outnumbered: many good people lost their lives. At the last minute, back-up arrived from other underguard forces around the world. The increase in emergency bag-travel even sparked a geothermal disturbance, creating a temporary snowstorm over London. Only then did the tide start to change.'

Ivy wondered about Granma Sylvie's accident that night, in the snow. She must have fled Lundinor during the battle.

‘Five of the hooded figures escaped,' Smokehart recalled, ‘but one fought till the bitter end. When this sixth one realized he wasn't going to win, he ran into a shower of uncommon bolts and was killed. He was unmasked right there in the street, for everyone to see. Nobody could believe who it really was:
Octavius Wrench
, one of the pillars of the uncommon community.'

Ivy's mouth was dry. She didn't know how she was meant to feel about Octavius Wrench. Surely you weren't automatically bad just because someone in your family was.

Smokehart jabbed a finger at Violet Eyelet. ‘Back then, the Fallen Guild used wraithmoths as spies because they lived in the shadows and you never even noticed they were there till it was too late. Maybe you'd feel a chill, or as if someone was watching you.'

Ivy remembered having that exact feeling that morning, in her room.
The wraithmoth must have been there.
The Dirge had sent it to spy on her, no doubt.

She straightened as Smokehart lowered his finger. He had it all wrong. She had to convince him that she and Seb were innocent and the real bad guys were still out there. ‘Whatever you think about the Wrenches,' she said in a quiet voice, ‘Seb and I haven't done anything wrong.'

‘That's right,' Seb agreed. ‘We didn't have anything to do with this. Why would we want to hurt Violet?'

Smokehart glared at them. ‘That's something I will no doubt discover during your interrogation, but the facts are clear: a wraithmoth was hiding in
your
room, and
your
great-grandfather was a member of the Fallen Guild.' He lowered his head till he could look Ivy straight in the eye. ‘And on top of that, every instinct I have is telling me that you're up to something in Lundinor.'

Ivy looked around the room for support. Mr Little-fair shrugged. Violet was sobbing again. Valian . . .

Hang on . . . Where was Valian? Ivy looked behind her. The door was open.
Great.
He'd disappeared again. She wondered if he was going to explain himself this time . . .

Only Ethel stepped forward. ‘Officer, I don't think—'

She was cut off by the sound of panting and scuttling little footsteps on the tiles behind them. Ivy turned to see a tall, dark-haired lady in a long silk dress approaching from the lounge. There was a sand-coloured dog sniffing around by her ankles. Ivy had seen them both before.

‘Lady Grimes?' Smokehart exclaimed. ‘What—?'

‘No need to be alarmed, Officer,' Selena Grimes insisted, raising a dainty hand. ‘I was just passing and wanted to see why the crowd had gathered outside. I heard them talking about a wraithmoth?'

Smokehart straightened the front of his uniform. ‘Yes,' he said gravely. ‘I'm afraid there is evidence of a wraithmoth attack.' He slipped a paperclip out of his pocket and gestured towards Ivy and Seb. ‘The creature was found in their room. They're the Wrench grandchildren I was telling you about.'

Selena Grimes brushed her long fishtail plait over her shoulder and looked from Seb to Ivy. ‘I see.' She sounded disappointed. ‘It seems I should have allowed you the freedom to question these two back then, Smokehart.' She tilted her head slightly. ‘I apologize.'

Ethel's jaw dropped. As she started to protest, Ivy felt the cold, prickly arms of inevitability wrap around her.

Smokehart tossed his paperclip at Ivy; it jumped onto one of her hands. Her whispering kicked in as her wrists were pulled together by some invisible force and the paperclip fastened itself around them. When she tried to pull them apart, it felt like they'd been glued to each other.

‘You are both under arrest for hiring a wraithmoth,' Smokehart growled, throwing a second paperclip at Seb's hands. ‘I'll read you your rights at the station.'

Ivy winced as her head scraped under the doorframe of the underguard coach, Smokehart's bony fingers pressing into her shoulder. Once inside, she shuffled along the seat with her back to the glass and her paper-clipped hands resting on her knees.

Opposite her was another prisoner – a slim, bony man with skin the colour of coffee beans and a short fuzz of black hair on his chin. His Hobsmatch consisted of jeans and a fur-trimmed tabard embroidered with gold flowers. When Ivy caught his eye, he smiled wearily at her. There was an absent look in his turquoise gaze that made her think he wasn't entirely awake.

The coach rocked as Seb was bundled in beside her. She tried to ignore the crowd outside, but it was difficult. Murmurs of ‘Fallen Guild' and ‘Wrench' kept breaking into hysterical cries or angry shouts. Through the windows, Ivy picked out a few of the faces. They were seething with anger. A woman carrying a basketful of baby's dummies reached into the pile and grabbed one. There was a look of blind rage in her eyes.