Nomad

by R. J. Anderson

  “That’s because I am older,” said Ivy, relieved that her sister had taken the bait. It was as devious a trick as Martin had ever played, and she was half ashamed of herself for doing it. But at least she’d distracted Cicely from asking any more questions. “Did Molly say when she’d ring back?”

  “Later,” Cicely said resentfully. “I don’t know when. And Mum said to tell you she’ll be late tonight, so we should have dinner without her.”

  Again? Ivy thought as she walked out into the yard, Cicely hurrying after her. A cold drizzle was falling on the cobbles, and the sky above was the color of old tin. A jackdaw perched on the corner of the roof, regarding them with wary black eyes.

  “Mum’s been working a lot lately,” Ivy said as they came up to the front door. “Some days it seems like she’s hardly home at all.”

  Cicely opened her mouth to reply, and her face crumpled. She plunged past Ivy into the house and fled down the corridor, sobbing.

  Ivy unlaced her boots and hung up her coat, giving her sister time to calm herself. Then she walked into their room and sat down on the edge of the bed. “What did I do wrong?”

  Cicely’s answer came thickly, muffled by the pillow. “It’s not you. It’s—” She turned over, rubbing her eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but nobody ever tells me anything, and I’m tired of being treated like a baby. And now I’m scared we’re going to lose the house.”

  “What?” Ivy was startled. “Why?”

  In halting words Cicely spilled out her story: a few days ago, their mother had taken a call from her human friend Serita, the owner of the Rising Star Dance and Theater Academy where Marigold worked. She’d gone into the study and shut the door, but Cicely had crept up and listened at the keyhole—which was when she found out that Serita had recovered from her long illness, and was coming back to teach at the school again.

  “And that means she won’t need Mum anymore,” said Cicely, “or at least not nearly as often. We’ve used up all the money Martin left us—I know, because I looked—and when I asked Mum if he was coming back, she said she didn’t think so. Ivy, what are we going to do?”

  Ivy heaved an inward sigh. Cicely had always been fretful and prone to worry, but in the Delve she’d at least had her chores and her friends to keep her distracted. Since they’d come to live in the house, however, she’d had little of either. There were no children nearby for her to play with, and after one of the neighbor women had asked why she wasn’t at school, she’d become nervous about leaving the house alone. No wonder even the smallest troubles seemed so large to her, when she had nothing else to think about.

  “Cicely, there’s no reason to be anxious,” she said. “Mum’s been in the human world long enough to know how it works, and she can find another job if she needs to. I’m sure Mr. Menadue will understand—”

  “He won’t,” wailed Cicely. “I know he won’t, he doesn’t at all, because last night he rang and Mum talked to him for ages, and I heard her saying ‘Please be patient with me, give me more time,’ and when she came out of the study, her eyes were all red. And you saw what she was like this morning.”

  Marigold had seemed preoccupied, true. She’d put the milk in the cupboard and the sugar in the refrigerator, and then gone for a long walk without inviting either of the girls to come. And she’d looked paler than usual, as well. Perhaps she’d just slept poorly, but what if Cicely was right?

  Ivy would have liked to believe Molly’s father would never be so unkind. But when she thought back, he’d called at least twice in the past few weeks, and the one time Ivy had answered he’d asked a number of pointed questions about how Dodger was doing, as well as whether the house was still in good repair and everything was still working correctly. If he didn’t trust them to take care of his property and they couldn’t pay the rent in time, he might decide to sell the place instead…

  Ivy straightened in determination. She wouldn’t let it come to that, not when she had the power to stop it.

  “Don’t worry,” she told Cicely. “If money’s what we need, I know where to get some. Give me a few days, and you’ll see.”

  When Marigold returned to the house that evening, Ivy studied her mother’s face closely for signs of strain. She seemed tired and distracted, but after four hours of teaching dance classes, that was nothing unusual. Still, even if Cicely had been wrong about the house, they’d need more money soon. Ivy waited until Cicely was asleep and Marigold had retired to her bedroom, then took an old rucksack of Molly’s and willed herself to the carn.

  An icy wind raced across the hilltop, nipping at Ivy’s cheeks and tossing her hair in all directions. The clouds had fled before it, and now a thousand stars glittered like gemstones in the black vault of the sky. Ivy gazed up at the moon, coin-round and swollen with power—and a faint, almost forgotten hope stirred inside her. She dropped the rucksack and climbed the rocks to the carn’s summit, shivering with anticipation.

  Make me a peregrine, she pleaded silently. Let me fly. Then she spread her arms, leaped onto the wind—

  And tumbled to the foot of the rocks in her own shape, wingless as ever.

  For a moment Ivy lay there winded, clutching her bruised elbow against her chest. Then she picked herself up and limped to the carn.

  Unsurprisingly, it refused to open. But Ivy had her own way of getting inside, or so she hoped. She closed her eyes, formed a picture of the carn’s interior in her mind, and willed herself into it.

  She’d never leaped such a short distance, let alone into an enclosed space, and she’d been half afraid of bouncing right back to the hillside. But the wind died at once, and she opened her eyes to stone walls all around her and a square of darkness at her feet. Ivy kindled her skin-glow, pushing up her sleeves to let the light shine from her arms and hands. Then she picked her way down the stairs to the treasure chamber—and stopped dead.

  The Grey Man’s hoard had been ransacked.

  A few coins lay scattered across the floor. The bulkier armor and jewelry had been tossed in a heap to one side of the crock, weapons piled up like so much rubbish on the other. And the crock that had once brimmed with necklaces, brooches, and other small items was now barely half full.

  Ivy paced the room, her mind churning. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought some greedy stranger had done this. Yet what thief would leave so much of the treasure behind? Whoever had done this had been in a tearing hurry, and taken as much as he could… but he hadn’t touched Ivy’s share.

  A tide of relief flowed over her. Martin was still alive—and he hadn’t forgotten her.

  Yet it wasn’t like Martin to be so careless, especially with treasure. What could have driven him to raid the hoard so ruthlessly? He’d hinted that Thom might expect some reward for leading him to Walker, but surely not even the greediest human would demand so high a price.

  Well, whatever the answer, she wouldn’t find it here. The night was getting colder, and if she didn’t get back to the house soon, Cicely might notice her missing. Ivy flexed her bruised elbow, wincing. Then she opened her rucksack and began scooping treasure into it.

  She’d taken as much as she could carry and was turning to leave when her toe bumped the short sword she’d admired before. Ivy stooped and picked it up. It was too big to fit in her pack and too awkward to easily sell, but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to keep just one thing for herself? Carefully Ivy buckled the sword at her side, and walked in a circle to make sure she wouldn’t trip over it. Then she swung the pack onto her shoulders and headed for the surface.

  She had more than enough treasure to pay her family’s debts. Now all she needed was someone to buy it.

  When Ivy came to the adit the next day Mattock was already inside, building the fire. She crunched through the debris and sat down next to him, putting her hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. By the time she’d hidden the rucksack in the rafters of the barn and crept back to the room she shared with Cicely, it had been nearly midnight—a
nd after that she’d lain awake for hours, too full of nervous excitement to settle. She hadn’t had a single spriggan dream since the night Martin left her, but she hadn’t slept soundly since then, either.

  “Jenny’ll be here soon,” said Matt, rummaging in his pocket for tinder and flint. “Or at least she ought to be. She’s been down in the Silverlode all morning.”

  The Silverlode was the lowest and most spacious tunnel in the Delve, with the washing-cisterns and Market Cavern at one end, and the Joan’s stateroom and private chambers at the other. So there were any number of reasons Jenny might need to go there—but after what she’d told them yesterday, Ivy doubted she was buying vegetables or scrubbing laundry. She could only hope that her meeting with Betony had gone well.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said, watching wood shavings curl and blacken in the heat of the newly lit flames.

  Matt’s body tensed. “What is it?”

  “When we—I mean we piskeys—need money to buy things from the humans, we sell some of our ore and gemstones to a buyer in Redruth. Someone we trust to handle our business secretly, and not ask too many questions. Isn’t that right?”

  Matt relaxed and sat back. “That’s right. We’ve been dealing with the same family for nearly a hundred years.”

  “So who are they?” asked Ivy.

  “The only one I know is Ralph Pendennis,” said Mattock. “His great-great-grandfather was a miner who made a bargain with the knockers, and as the oldest son of the family, he’s the one responsible for upholding it. He keeps a little gem and mineral shop in town. Why?”

  Pendennis—the same last name as Martin’s dealer in London. That couldn’t be a coincidence, surely? But Mattock was waiting for her answer, and Ivy had no time to waste thinking about it.

  “I have some coins and jewelry to sell,” she said. “My Mum needs money, and this is the only way I know to get it. So I was wondering if you’d come to Redruth with me, and help me talk to this dealer.”

  Mattock looked pained. “Ivy…”

  “I know,” Ivy said quickly, “we’d be gone for hours, and if you go off without Mica he’ll wonder where you’ve got to.”

  “It’s not that. Mica spends most of his time in the diggings now anyway, so he probably wouldn’t notice.” He sat up and poked the fire, sending up a flurry of sparks. “But I’ve already gone to Ralph’s shop once this month, and I’m not sure—”

  “Ivy?”

  The dry brush rustled, and Jenny scrambled into the tunnel. Her eyes looked wild, unnaturally huge and dark, and beneath her woolen shawl she was shivering.

  “Jenny!” Ivy jumped up. “Are you all right?”

  The piskey-girl gave a distracted nod. She allowed Ivy to guide her to the fire, but she did not sit down.

  “I’ve just come from seeing Nettle,” she said. “I went to tell her Betony had accepted me as her new attendant, and—” She swallowed. “She knows, Ivy. She knows I’ve been talking to you.”

  Ivy had thought she was cold, but Jenny’s words froze her to the marrow. If Nettle, the Joan’s most trusted servant, had guessed that Jenny and Ivy were meeting in secret… how long would it be before Betony knew as well?

  “But she says that’s our business, not hers,” Jenny went on. “All she wanted was for me to give you a message. She says…” She let out a shaky laugh. “She wants to see you. That her last wish, before she dies, is to talk to you again.”

  Ivy stared at Jenny, unable to believe what she’d just heard. No matter what everyone else thought, Nettle of all people must know that Betony had declared Ivy a traitor and banished her from the Delve. If Ivy were caught inside the mine, she could be arrested, imprisoned—even executed. What could the old woman have to say to her that could possibly be worth the risk?

  “I thought at first Nettle was asking me to bring her to you,” Jenny went on, “but she said no, you have to come down. I told her you couldn’t possibly, but she said it wouldn’t be the first time you’d disobeyed your aunt when you thought it was important. And, well…” She gave Ivy an apologetic look. “She’s right, isn’t she?”

  Ivy edged closer to the fire, but she still felt cold. Part of her longed to do as Nettle was asking, if only to see the Delve again. But if she went back, it wouldn’t just be her own life she was risking. Jenny, Mattock, Nettle herself—they’d all be at Betony’s mercy, if anything went wrong.

  Yet Ivy wasn’t bound by any oath that would keep her from answering Nettle’s summons. And the old woman was no fool: she wouldn’t make such a request of Ivy unless it was vitally important.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  “I don’t like this,” muttered Mattock as he strode up the slope to the Delve, Ivy following invisibly at his heels. Jenny had already gone ahead of them, fluttering down the Great Shaft to tell Nettle that Ivy was coming. “What if it’s some trick of the Joan’s, to give her an excuse to arrest you? Nettle’s been loyal to her all these years—it doesn’t make any sense that she’d turn against Betony now.”

  “I don’t like it either,” said Ivy, “but I trust Nettle. I’m sure she wouldn’t betray me.”

  “Why?”

  Because I know what she is, thought Ivy, but she could hardly say that to Mattock. Still, the knowledge that the Joan’s attendant was a pure-blooded faery like her own mother, taken captive at a young age and raised up as a piskey, gave Ivy confidence. Nettle had spent a lifetime hiding her true nature, so she wouldn’t do anything that might tempt Ivy to give that secret away. Especially since Ivy knew that Nettle was Gillian Menadue’s long-lost sister, and that her abduction by the piskeys was one of the reasons Gillian had been so bent on seeking vengeance.

  “I can’t tell you exactly,” Ivy said at last, “but I have good reasons. If you can get me safely to Nettle’s quarters and back, we’ll be all right.”

  Mattock sighed, but made no further protest. He ducked into the thicket of gorse that hid the Delve’s nearest entrance, and kindled his skin-glow to light their way into the Earthenbore. This baked-clay tunnel was the hunters’ traditional route in and out of the Delve, and every sound they made echoed. So Ivy had to tread lightly—and Matt extra-heavily—to be sure no one would hear her.

  Soon they left the Earthenbore behind and descended the Hunter’s Stair into the Narrows, a thin, sloping passage with smooth granite walls and a pebbled floor. Ivy had passed this way many times, and her chest started to ache with memory. Right around the corner was the chamber where they kept the chickens, with its soft day-lamps and honeycombed roof for ventilation. A few steps to the left lay the Upper Rise, covered in bright mosaics of plants and animals to help the piskey-children with their learning. And beyond that stretched the tunnel that had once been Ivy’s favorite, with its sky-colored tiles of china clay. Even creeping behind Mattock with his skin-glow her only light, the Delve looked more beautiful to Ivy than ever before.

  But it wasn’t merely craftsmanship that made the Delve special; it was the piskey folk who lived there. Yes, they’d been warlike and ruthless once, but they’d raised their children and grandchildren in peace. And as they walked into Long Way, the door-lined passage where Ivy’s home cavern used to be, her senses wakened and her heart beat faster with the hope of seeing just one familiar face. Perhaps it would be Quartz, Jenny’s scamp of a younger brother, jumping up to surprise them with his gap-toothed grin. Or Mattock’s mother Fern, rosy-cheeked from hauling her laundry basket up the stairs…

  “Matt! There you are.”

  Oh, no. Mica. Instinctively Ivy flattened herself against the wall, willing her invisibility glamor not to fail as her brother strode toward them.

  “Where’ve you been, anyway?” Mica asked, pushing the cavern door wide and holding it so Mattock could go in. “Seems like half the time I come looking for you these days, you’re off somewhere mysterious. If this keeps up, you’re going to have to tell me who you’re courting.” He lowered his voice in mock menace. “And it had bette
r not be Jenny.”

  “Not on your life,” said Matt, with a feeble attempt at a smile. “But I’ve got something to look after just now, and I’m in a hurry. I’ll stop by later, all right?”

  The humor in Mica’s face faded, and a pang went through Ivy as she realized how much he looked like their father. Not just the broad handsome bones or the dark brush of hair across his brow, but the deep lines about his eyes and mouth that made him seem older than his years. How much time had he been spending in the diggings?

  “Is that so?” he asked flatly. “What would you say if I decided to come with you, and see what this something is?”

  The two boys stared each other down, and Ivy bit her lip. Mica was a hunter, trained to detect any unusual sound or movement. If he insisted on accompanying them even a short distance, it wouldn’t take him long to sense Ivy was there. What were they going to do?

  She was on the verge of shrinking herself tiny and creeping into a crack somewhere when Mattock put his hand on Mica’s shoulder.

  “I’d say that friends ought to trust one another,” he said quietly. “And that not every secret I keep is mine to share, even with you.”

  If Ivy had said anything like that to Mica, he’d have scoffed at her. But faced with Matt’s gentle reproach, her brother deflated. He nodded slowly, all the fight gone out of him. Then he went into the cavern and shut the door.

  As Ivy followed Mattock through the Delve the tunnels grew busier, and she saw more and more people she knew. A knot of piskey-children sat by the gem-studded entrance to the Treasure Cavern, playing with dolls and tin soldiers. As they walked through Potters’ End they met Hew and a couple of other knockers trudging up from the diggings. And when they came down the steps to the Silverlode there were piskeys of all ages about, from the old uncle drowsing on a bench outside the Market Cavern to the young hunters arguing over a game of dice.