The Crooked Sixpence (26 page)

‘If you let us know where the object is,' Goblin purred, baring sharp teeth, ‘then this can all be over.'

‘I don't know!' Ivy shouted. ‘I don't even know what it
is
!'

The grim-wolf tossed its head back and laughed. The grimp took a lumbering step towards Ivy and thrust the toilet brush in her face. Blue sparks leaped into the air. Their power thrummed against her cheeks.

‘Listen carefully, little girl: our mistress is a very clever woman, but not renowned for her patience. She knows the object is somewhere in the basement of the Wrench Mansion – else why would Ragwort have been down here looking for it? Have you told
him
where it is?'

Ragwort
. . . Ivy shook her head, trying to decipher what the grimp meant. If their mistress, Wolfsbane, wasn't sure what Ragwort knew . . . then she couldn't have been working with him; she must be working
against
him.

Wolfsbane and Ragwort, each trying to claim one of the Great Uncommon Good for themselves.
That
was why they'd given her and Seb a deadline. It had turned into a race between them. Ivy paired her enemies up. If Goblin and the grimp were working for Selena Grimes, then the selkies, wraithmoths and others must be employed by Ragwort, or the man in grey – whoever that was.

Goblin's red eyes glowed. ‘Why not tell us where the object is, Ivy? You're going to die anyway.'

‘And so are your parents,' the grimp added, still grinning.

Ivy staggered backwards in shock. She wasn't going to let them kill her parents. ‘Where are they?!' she yelled, but her throat was raw and it came out as a croak.

The grimp waved the toilet brush back and forth. ‘It's too late for them, little girl.'

‘What have you done with them?' Ivy felt tears welling and brushed them away firmly.

‘Nothing . . . yet,' it said. ‘I was under specific instructions to keep them alive and in one piece until midnight tonight.' It sniggered – a kind of hissing snort. ‘But that was
then
. This is
now
.' It advanced towards her, lunging with the toilet brush. Ivy looked around again, but there was nowhere left to go.

She saw that the grimp's eyes were now black, like two holes in a skull. ‘I'll give you one more chance to tell us where it is. And then it's goodbye.'

Ivy shook her head furiously. ‘I don't
know
!' she repeated.

The grimp shrugged. ‘Oh well. I'll try asking your brother. Maybe he can be . . . persuaded with other methods.'

Goblin growled, teeth bared.

Burning rage spread through Ivy. ‘You leave my brother alone!' She leaped towards the grimp, the belt lashing out behind her like a whip.

The grimp simply disappeared like a ghost, and she went crashing headfirst into a dark computer screen.

When she clambered to her feet, the grimp was in front of her again. She could hear Goblin snorting with laughter. The grimp looked at her with a cruel, amused expression. ‘Maybe I won't kill you just yet; maybe I'll just toss you in the ghoul hole; then I can take my time later.'

Ghoul hole . . .
The name tugged at the edges of Ivy's memory.

The grimp licked its lips. ‘Don't worry. You'll have company.' It thrust the toilet brush towards Ivy's heart.

Ivy groaned as the brush made impact, her body shaking violently. Pain ripped through her chest. She was aware of the grimp dragging her somewhere: she heard the creak of metal bars and saw a flash of green light as she was pushed over. Then she was falling. There was a loud crack before a wave of cold spread through her body and everything stopped.

Acid-green light pierced Ivy's eyes as she tried to lift her head. The first thing she felt was pain . . .
everywhere
. Her head was sore, her ribs felt bruised and her eyes stung.

The floor felt smooth and icy, like metal. Using both hands, she pushed herself up against the curved wall behind her, forcing her eyes open. She appeared to be at the bottom of a cylindrical steel shaft around two metres in diameter. Above, she could see only darkness. On the floor beside her lay the uncommon belt and two crumpled bodies.
Mum and Dad
.

As fast as she could, Ivy shuffled towards them, using the wall to support her. Her mum was lying face up with her eyes closed, strands of hair clinging to a film of sweat on her forehead. She was wearing her blue nurse's uniform and only one shoe. Ivy's dad lay curled on his side next to her. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and his hands were bloodied and swollen. Ivy flinched as she saw that some of his fingernails were missing and his neat grey hair had been shorn off in patches. When Ivy was close enough, she reached out with a trembling hand and touched his arm. His skin was cold.

‘Dad?' Her throat was dry and crackly. ‘Can you hear me? It's Ivy.'

Her dad whimpered and moved his head slightly. His eyelids fluttered. ‘Ivy?'

Tears poured down Ivy's cheeks. She squeezed her dad's arm, avoiding his damaged hand. ‘Don't worry,' she said softly. ‘I'll get you out of here.' Then, ‘I love you, Dad; you're going to be OK, I promise. I love you.'

She wriggled over to her mum and pushed the hair off her face. Her mum's skin was warmer than her dad's, but there was a nasty lump on her head and she didn't open her eyes. ‘Mum?' Ivy sniffed. ‘Mum? It's going to be all right. We're gonna get out of here.'

Ivy quickly scanned her surroundings, looking for some fissure in the steel that she could use as a foothold.

Please, please . . .

But the walls were as smooth as liquid silver. She felt around in her jeans pocket, remembering the button Violet had given her yesterday. Her hands pulsed with heat as they brushed against it. She held the ivory disc in her palm. It wasn't going to get them out of there, but Violet had told her that the button restored health, so it might help her parents. She counted the holes in the button's centre: three. That meant it could be used at least once on each of them.

Carefully Ivy placed the button in the top pocket of her mum's tunic. To her relief, her mum stirred almost immediately. Her blue eyes fluttered open, but she seemed unable to speak. Patting her mum on the cheek, Ivy removed the button and put it in her dad's shirt pocket. She noticed her mum watching, a glazed expression on her face. Ivy's vision started to blur. She shook her head, but it only made it worse. Her mind felt cloudy, like things were slowing down. Her thoughts wandered out of control, as if she was falling asleep. Slowly – or was it quickly? – the events of the past two days seemed to drift away . . . until all she knew was the cold, dark oblivion of a hole at the end of everything . . .

‘Ivy?'

Ivy. I like that name.

‘Ivy? Can you hear me?'

There it is again.

‘Oh, blast. Maybe this thing hasn't worked. Ivy, it's Mum. Wake up; come back to me.'

It sounds familiar . . .

‘Ivy, listen to me!' the voice said sternly. It sounded clearer. ‘Ivy, open your eyes!'

Ivy blinked. Everything went green. A fuzzy face hovered in front of her: large watery eyes, mousy brown hair, and a mouth that crinkled. ‘Ivy? Sweetie?'

Ivy knew that the face was important; it meant something to her. She clenched her teeth against the pressure in her head. Somehow she had to remember who this was. She
had
to.

Then . . .

‘Mum?'

‘Ivy!' her mum croaked, louder. She was struggling to push herself upright. There was a pinch of colour in her cheeks, but her shoulders were trembling.

Ivy's mind was suddenly washed with clarity, as if she'd just bobbed up onto the surface of the ocean and was heaving in fresh air, the darkness gone.

The ghoul hole . . .

The grimp had pushed her into a ghoul hole. Now she remembered why the name was familiar. She had seen a ghoul hole in the underguard station. Scratch had told her about them – they use them for muckers because they disorientate captives and make them lose their memories of their time inside, so that when they leave, it feels like no time has passed at all.

Ivy had to stop herself forgetting. She looked at her mum and then at her dad, who was stirring. She tried to picture the faces of Seb and Granma Sylvie; of all her friends at school, her favourite teachers. She reminded herself of Valian, of the selkies, the wraithmoth, and the grim-wolf. Shakily she reached for her mum's hand and tried to help her sit up. They were both trembling and Ivy wasn't sure she had any strength left.

‘Mum!' She reached over and hugged her. Tears spilled out and soaked into the lapel of her mum's tunic. She sniffed and pushed her mum back, awash with relief. ‘Mum, I need you to trust me and do what I say. Do you think you can hold this and not let go?'

She held the uncommon trouser belt out towards her mum.

The deep worry-lines on her mum's forehead crinkled, but she did as she was told.

Ivy smiled as best she could and wriggled over to check on her dad. There was more colour in his cheeks now. She reached for the button in his shirt pocket.

‘It's not there,' her mum croaked.

Ivy turned back to face her. ‘What?'

‘The button. I saw what you did with it for your father, and when you didn't come round, I put it in
your
pocket, hoping it would help.'

Ivy reached into her own pocket and, sure enough, felt the little button resting inside. As the warmth of her whispering spread through her, the stinging in her eyes disappeared and the pain in her head began to dull. Her legs were feeling strong again. Maybe she could even stand up. The button was working. ‘We're gonna have to hold Dad between us,' she told her mum. ‘The belt will do the rest. It'll work – just don't let go.'

Ivy's mum looked at Ivy. Her eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark circles, but they were trusting. She nodded, then reached for the belt.

Ivy shifted over to her dad and, with her mum's help, pulled him upright.

‘Ivy?' he murmured as they put their arms round him. Ivy clamped her other arm round her mum's waist. They stank of selkie slime, but Ivy didn't care. They were her parents. And they were alive.

‘Now raise your arms, Mum, if you can.' She remembered how the belt simply carried you.
She should be able to do this, no matter how weak she is.

They floated up steadily, cold air blowing through their hair. As they approached the top of the shaft, Ivy saw the rotating cage – a whirring haze of grey through the green light. She wondered who or
what
might be waiting for them behind the bars.

Suddenly the cage screeched to a halt. A shadow moved behind the bars. Ivy tried to wriggle away from it. ‘Mum, Dad, hang on!'

A hand shot through one of the gaps and grabbed Ivy by the neck, sucking all the air from her lungs. She recognized the black gloves – the knuckles encrusted with steel studs. A severe but polished face hovered at the other end of them: smooth, pale skin; long straight nose, dark glasses; thin white lips . . .

Officer Smokehart.

Emerging from the ghoul hole, Ivy collapsed onto the cold steel floor, her mum and dad falling beside her. Around her were the silvery walls of the tin-can room – the one with all the old monitors and switchboards – only this time, everything looked blurry and distorted. Officer Smokehart's face floated in front of her eyes. She could hear his voice, but his words were out of sync with his lips.

‘. . . no one else here. The boy must have had warning we were coming and got out.' He was talking to another underguard – the squat, red-faced constable who had arrested Ivy and Seb earlier. ‘Get some transport ready for the adults and prepare two uncommon whistles for use. They will need to have their memories stripped before we take them back to the station.'

Memories stripped . . . ?
Ivy didn't even want to imagine what that involved. She couldn't let that happen – this was her mum and dad! Her head was swimming as she searched the room for Seb or Valian. She couldn't see either of them.

‘Sir,' she heard the constable say, long before she saw the word form on his lips, ‘do you want me to send a featherlight back to the station? Get some help down here to search the rest of the mansion?'

Smokehart stiffened. ‘No, I'll do it myself. I don't want any stone left unturned.'

Ivy tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. She croaked out two words. ‘What . . . happened . . . ?'

Smokehart approached almost in slow motion, his dark glasses fixed on her face. ‘You can hear me?' He sounded surprised. Ivy managed a nod.

‘In that case,' he hissed, ‘let me enlighten you.' He crouched down till he was level with her and curled his lip into a snarl. ‘After you and your brother escaped from the coach, I suspected you might meet up with Valian Kaye again, so I tracked him down. I found the three of you by that fountain. I had a hunch you'd lead me somewhere interesting, but when you opened the gates to the Wrench Mansion, I couldn't quite believe it. I snuck in behind you and, once you were up the hill and out of sight, I opened the gate again to let my constable through.'

Ivy frowned, even though it hurt. She wondered
how
Smokehart had come through behind them. She hadn't seen anything.

He must have read her expression because he smiled and slowly lowered his dark glasses.

Ivy recoiled.

Smokehart's eye sockets were empty – or, no; not quite. There was a swirling cone of black dust in each of them, drilling back into his skull. Looking at them, Ivy felt cold despair. ‘I'm dead,' Smokehart said matter-of-factly. ‘One of the Eyre Folk, to be specific. We make excellent underguards. Strong, fast and, like many of the dead, we can disappear. So you wouldn't have seen me strolling
through
the gate behind you and waiting in the darkness.'