Nomad

by R. J. Anderson

  Cicely’s expression was mutinous, but she sat. A minute went by in silence, while Ivy watched a car thread its way up the narrow street and vanish over the crest of the hill. At last Cicely said in a small voice, “I really thought it was Mica.”

  “I know,” said Ivy.

  “I just don’t understand how he could turn his back on us. I don’t—” She pulled her knees close to her chest and dropped her chin onto them. “I don’t understand him at all.”

  Ivy put an arm around her, and they sat quietly until Martin came out. “Your mother wants you,” he told Cicely, and she leaped up and ran inside.

  “What did she say?” Ivy asked.

  “Well,” said Martin, “she wasn’t entirely pleased with the idea of us sharing Molly’s house, since she’s worried that Rob and the other faeries are still hunting for me. And she wasn’t convinced she could depend on me to keep paying my share of the rent. But in the end, I talked her around. She’s going to ring David Menadue this morning—”

  Ivy flung her arms around him and hugged him. “You did it! I’m so grateful, Martin!”

  Martin went rigid. Then his fingers closed on her shoulders, pushing her away. “Enough of that nonsense,” he said roughly. “I owed Molly a debt, so I took the opportunity to repay it. There’s nothing special about that.”

  He was so close that she could see the flecks of darker grey in the silver of his eyes. He looked shaken—no, terrified. Ivy drew back. “What kind of ‘nonsense’ do you mean?” she asked. “Gratitude?”

  “Cultural differences,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Faeries may be grateful, but they aren’t usually so… demonstrative about it. I’d appreciate a warning next time.”

  “I see,” said Ivy, her color rising. “Well in that case, you needn’t worry. I won’t do it again.” She stepped around him, heading for the door.

  “Where are you going?” asked Martin.

  “Back to the flat,” Ivy said. “I want to be there when Mum calls Mr. Menadue.”

  True to her word, Marigold telephoned Molly’s father later that morning, and chatted to him for some time in a very human-sounding way about what good friends their daughters were and how sorry she was to hear that Molly had lost her mother, until Ivy thought she would go mad with impatience. But by the time the conversation turned to business, Mr. Menadue seemed more than willing to consider their idea. In fact, he suggested that they visit the house that very afternoon, to see if it would suit them.

  “But you’ve already seen it,” said Cicely, after Marigold had rung off. “Why can’t we just tell him we want it now?”

  “Because he doesn’t know that I’ve seen the house before,” replied their mother, “and it’s only polite to accept his offer. Humans aren’t the same as piskeys, my darling. They have their own way of doing things, and it’s important to respect that if you want them to trust you.”

  So when Marigold, Ivy and Cicely arrived at the house some hours later, they had to follow David Menadue on a tour of the house and barn and try to look interested in all the details, when the whole time Ivy was chafing to know whether he’d agree to their terms or not. Only Molly’s presence at her side made the wait bearable.

  “I hear you have a cousin who’d like to share the rent,” David Menadue said to Marigold as they came out of the barn. Molly had stayed behind to saddle the horses and take Cicely out for a ride, but Ivy was determined to stay close to both their parents until she knew what the outcome would be. “Apparently Molly did some sort of drama training with him last year? It’s a small world.”

  Marigold gave a vague smile—the safest response for someone who, unlike Molly, couldn’t actually lie. “Martin is an accomplished actor,” she said.

  “The only thing is,” Mr. Menadue continued with a hint of apology, “I’m afraid you’ll find the house a bit tight for four. There’s only the two bedrooms, you see. So perhaps you’d be better looking elsewhere.”

  Ivy held her breath, but Marigold stayed serene. “Oh, that wouldn’t be a problem,” she said. “Martin told me he doesn’t expect to stay with us often, or more than one or two nights at a time. I’m sure he’ll be quite happy in the study.”

  “Well, as long as that’s settled,” said Molly’s father. He jingled something in his pocket and glanced around the yard, then turned back to Marigold. “Shall we continue this over tea? Molly’s made some rather drippy jam, and she’ll be disappointed if we don’t try it.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Marigold, and the two of them walked off together. As soon as they disappeared, Ivy dashed back into the barn.

  “Foot in the stirrup,” Molly was telling Cicely, “and swing your leg over. There you go!” She waited until the younger girl was settled on Dodger’s back, then looked at Ivy. “Well?”

  “They’ve gone for tea,” said Ivy. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  Molly broke into a grin. “Knowing my dad, it’s as good as done. He never invites anyone for tea.” She hugged Ivy. “This is brilliant. I can’t thank you and Martin enough. Where is he, anyway?”

  Ivy took Dodger’s bridle and led him out into the yard. “Here, Cicely,” she said, handing her sister the reins even though she probably wouldn’t need them—piskeys had a natural rapport with horses, so the two of them would be galloping about in no time. She watched as they trotted down the slope into the field, then turned to Molly.

  “Martin’s all right,” she said, “but he’s been… odd. I think something’s bothering him.” Following the other girl back into the barn, she went on to tell Molly all that had happened since Martin’s return that morning.

  “And when I hugged him,” she finished as Molly tightened Duchess’s saddle girth, “he reacted like I’d done something horrible. He’s never behaved that way before.”

  Molly tilted her head to one side, considering. “It’s hard to know with Martin,” she said. “But he does seem to enjoy catching people off-guard, and he doesn’t like it when they do the same to him.”

  True, thought Ivy. Perhaps it was that simple.

  “Or maybe,” Molly continued in the same musing tone, “he’s in love with you.”

  “What?”

  “It was just an idea.” Molly slipped the bridle over Duchess’s nose and patted the mare reassuringly. “Don’t you think it would explain a lot, though?”

  “No,” spluttered Ivy. “Martin? It’s ridiculous.”

  “Why? Because he’s never said so?” Molly folded her arms. “My mum never said she loved me either. But you told me you were sure that she did.”

  Ivy looked at the cobbles, unable to meet the other girl’s accusing eyes. How could she explain her certainty about Martin’s feelings—or lack of them—without calling Gillian’s into question?

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said at last. “It’s just that Martin and I are different. Too different to be anything more than friends, and sometimes I’m not even sure we’re that.”

  Besides, the idea of anyone being in love with Ivy was ridiculous. Growing up she’d been reminded at every feast and festival, if she hadn’t known it already, that a scrawny, wingless piskey-girl wasn’t fit for dancing, let alone wooing. Keeve had joked at Ivy’s last Lighting that not even a spriggan would want her…

  “Anyway,” Ivy added more firmly, “he’s too flighty to settle down with anyone. It was all I could do to talk him into renting your house, and he’s already told my mother he doesn’t plan to be here any more than he has to.” And it was hard to imagine how Martin could possibly care much for Ivy, if he found it so easy to leave her behind. “Not to mention that he’s—”

  “Well, it’s obvious you don’t think much of the idea, at any rate!” Molly sounded exasperated, but when she caught sight of Ivy’s face she relented. “Never mind. I just worry about Martin sometimes, and I think it would be nice if he had someone to look after him.” She handed Duchess’s reins to Ivy. “Go on, then. Your sister’s waiting.”

  When Ivy returne
d to the hotel that evening she found Martin pacing the room. Surely he hadn’t been waiting for her all day?

  “It’s all settled,” she said. “We’re moving into Molly’s house this Saturday morning.”

  “All right. I’ll be there.” He pulled a thick envelope from his pocket and tossed it on the table. “You can give that to your mother, when you see her. It should be enough for now.”

  “Where are you going?” Ivy asked.

  “Well,” said Martin, “Since I’ve just given your mother all the money I had, it’s back to the carn for me. Then I’ll pay another visit to Theo Pendennis. He’ll be delighted, I’m sure.”

  He spoke lightly, but Ivy felt a stir of unease. “I thought you said you weren’t going back to London without me,” she said.

  “That was when it was just the two of us. You have your family now.” He pulled out his wallet and peered into it, then put it back in his pocket. “But you needn’t worry about Rob and the others, even if your mother does. They won’t catch me.”

  “Are you sure? You’ve been caught before.”

  “True. But I didn’t have you looking out for me then.”

  Ivy stared at him. “Are you mocking me?”

  “Absolutely not. Believe me, after the way I’ve spent the last few years, having someone I can actually trust to watch my back is a revolutionary experience.” He glanced in the mirror and flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Besides, there’s no use wasting jokes on someone with no sense of humor.”

  “I do so have—”

  “You do not. Not that I’ve ever seen, anyway. But that’s all right.” He quirked a smile at her. “There are worse faults. I’ll see you on Saturday, Ivy of the Delve.”

  Then he was gone.

  “She’s not coming back, boy.” The Grey Man crouched close to him in the twilight, his expression grimmer than ever. “Our luck’s run out.”

  The rest of the search party—old Helm and a young tracker named Dart—had already headed into the fogou for a meal and some well-earned sleep. It had been Helm who’d told the boy that the chief wanted to see him, but one look at the old warrior’s face had warned him the news would not be good.

  The boy swallowed. “Is she…?”

  “Dead? No.” The chief straightened, folding his arms and gazing out across the valley. “Though it might be better for all of us if she were. Her trail crossed the path of some knockers bound for their diggings, and that was the last we could find of her.”

  Knockers. Sturdy, pickaxe-wielding miners who also served as the piskeys’ soldiers and enforcers, they feared and hated spriggans as much as the boy’s people hated them. If the knocker-men had captured his mother, they’d never get her back without a fight…

  But that battle would never come. How could the Grey Man ask his warriors to risk their lives and the lives of their families, all for the sake of a faery woman who’d despised his treasure and run away?

  “Our best hope now,” his father murmured, “is that they don’t question her too closely about where she came from. Because if they do…”

  The boy didn’t have to ask what he meant. Nomads though his people were, it was no small matter to move their clan from one wintering place to another. By now all the other carns and caves large enough to hold such a band had already been claimed by other spriggan tribes, so if they lost the fogou they’d have nowhere else to go.

  “Let this be a lesson to you, boy.” The Grey Man spoke coldly, his features hard as granite. “Ayes, a lesson for us both. Never give your heart to a woman, even if she begs for it. And never trust a faery’s bargain…”

  Ivy blinked against the pillow, then rolled over with a groan. Last night she’d taken off the copper bracelet and hung it on the coat-stand, clear across the room. Yet the instant her eyes closed, she’d been back with the spriggans. And if the boy’s conversation with the Grey Man hadn’t been painful enough, she’d gone on to relive his rough awakening later that night, his desperate escape with the treasure, and all the horrific details of the fogou’s destruction.

  Had the dreams come full circle, and this was the end? Or was there more memories that Ivy had yet to witness? Either way, Martin would want to know what she’d seen. She’d been too caught up with Molly to tell him about her previous dream, and now he was gone. But when he returned—if he returned—she would remember.

  Ivy climbed out of the bed and put on the fresh set of clothes she’d brought from her mother’s house, reveling in their cleanness. She hadn’t realized how much baths and fresh clothes meant to her, until she’d started traveling with Martin and had to go for days without them. Though it had been easy enough to forget when she was in bird-shape…

  Only now Ivy had no bird-shape to hide in, and she missed the comforts of flight. Yesterday she’d walked along the beach until the moon rose, and tried turning herself into a peregrine again—but like all her other attempts, it had failed. She’d rallied herself for a second try and then a third, but when she found herself in swift-form, the terror that gripped her was so overwhelming that she’d dropped back into her own piskey shape at once. And on her fourth attempt, she’d been so determined to only become a falcon that she’d tumbled onto the shingle without changing shape at all.

  It was no use telling herself she was being a fool, or a coward: she’d called herself all those names and more, but it hadn’t given her back her courage. Perhaps when the other swifts returned next spring she’d feel confident enough to fly again, but for the time being, Ivy was grounded.

  Still, now that Martin had shown Ivy how to travel by magic, she didn’t actually need wings unless she wanted to go somewhere new, and she had no time for exploring now. She’d promised to meet Jenny and Mattock this afternoon, for one thing. Perhaps they’d have good news for her about what was happening in the Delve.

  “Sorry we’re late,” said Jenny as she and Mattock joined Ivy in the shelter of their meeting place, the old mining adit Matt had shown them before. The opening was shallow, the passage behind it caged off to keep humans from wandering into the abandoned tunnels. But there was ample room for three piskeys to shelter beneath the overhang, if they didn’t mind sharing the space with a few cigarette stubs and discarded beer bottles. “It was my fault. Yarrow asked me to deliver something to the Joan.”

  “What was it?” asked Ivy, sitting up. If Betony was ill, perhaps she’d be more sympathetic to her people’s plight.

  “Just a sleeping potion,” said Jenny. “Seems you aren’t the only one in the family who finds it hard to settle.”

  Ivy hadn’t found it hard at all, lately. But with the dreams she’d been having, she wasn’t sure the extra sleep was worth it. “So you’ve been helping Yarrow,” she said, trying to stay hopeful. “Did you ask if she’d be willing to talk to the Joan?”

  “I tried,” Jenny said, “but she gave me a strange look, and asked where I got that idea. So I told her I’ve been worried about Mum’s chest, and thinking more fresh air would be good for her. And she said it might help a little, but it wouldn’t solve the real problem, and we just have to be patient until the Joan’s finished dealing with it.”

  “But that’s nonsense,” said Ivy. “If Betony’s spells were working, our people would be feeling better, not worse.”

  “I know. But when I suggested that to Yarrow, she—” Jenny paused to cough into her sleeve, then went on hoarsely, “She said that if I was going to talk instead of work, she’d find another helper. She was practically rude, and that’s…”

  “Not like Yarrow at all,” finished Ivy, as Jenny coughed again. “But she’s still got you running errands?”

  “Oh, yes,” Jenny said. “Really, she can’t afford to lose me. I’ve been taking medicine to all the old aunties and uncles for her, and even with my help she’s busy most of the day.” She sighed. “I don’t think she was angry, anyway. I think she was frightened.”

  “We can’t count on her, then,” said Mattock. He sat down heavily, wiping his
arm across his brow. “That’s much the same as I found, when I talked to the knockers. They all said there was nothing odd about feeling a bit under the weather sometimes, and that the important thing was to keep busy and not let it get you down. And when I asked whether they didn’t think that there was more sickness in the Delve now than before, they blamed it all on Gillian.”

  Ivy was not surprised. When Marigold had first become ill, she’d faced a similar resistance from her piskey neighbors. There were a hundred excuses and explanations for the sicknesses and premature deaths that had touched nearly every clan among them, from spriggan mischief to old faery curses to “a bit o’ what they call rheumatism, it runs in the family, you know.”

  “I asked my Mum to talk to her friends, too,” said Jenny, “but they said they were sure the Joan knew all about their troubles already, and was doing the best she could.” She sighed. “Then Mum said they were probably right, and that piskey folk ought to stay cheerful and not fret over things we can’t change. She won’t even let me take her to the Great Shaft now.”

  Ivy pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. How could they prove to Betony that their people’s way of life needed to change, if they couldn’t even convince the piskeys who were suffering the most?

  “Then we’ll have to try something else,” she said at last. “If the older ones are too afraid or too set in their ways to help us, we’ll go to the younger piskeys instead. They may not be sick enough to change Betony’s mind, but if we can make them understand the danger our people are in, they might be willing to do something about it.”

  “Do something?” asked Jenny. “You mean… without the Joan?”

  “Yes,” said Ivy. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Mattock. “You want us to go behind your aunt’s back? There’s no way, Ivy.”

  “Why not? Don’t you think saving our people is worth the risk?”

  Matt made an impatient gesture. “It’s not about risk, it’s about what’s right! I know Betony’s not perfect, but she’s still Joan the Wad, the Torch that lights the way for our people. It’s our duty to follow where she leads—”