A small fanfare sounded, and then a woman carrying a flag decorated with Grivens pieces appeared on the arena floor. Behind her followed a line of excited uncommoners who were jumping up and down and waving to the audience. Only one of them looked unhappy to be there: Seb.
When the spotters reached the Grivens tables, they took their places. Captain Macintosh was the only other player on table four to have a spotter, so Ivy knew he must be alive. She stretched an arm out behind her to see whether Seb was within touching distance, but felt nothing. Assessing the positions of the other spotters, she gathered that he was standing more than an arm’s length away …
But not so far that she couldn’t hear him.
‘You’re gonna be fine,’ he murmured. ‘Just try to think clearly. You’re good at that.’
Easier said than done when you’re in this stadium, Ivy thought.
‘See the second row of the stand in front of you?’ he added quickly.
Ivy scanned the seating and picked out Judy and Mr Littlefair. They had made a banner from a strip of uncommon wallpaper, which kept folding itself into different messages: YOU CAN DO IT, IVY SPARROW! WE BELIEVE IN YOU!
She gave a glum smile. She was either about to prove them right, or come to a decidedly messy end playing the world’s most dangerous board game.
‘Valian’s in the stand on our right,’ Seb said. ‘Third row back in the middle. Next to a woman with a yellow hat.’
Ivy searched and found Valian sitting hunched with his hands in his pockets, scowling. The woman beside him kept waving towards the arena, shaking the feathers of her yellow bonnet in his face.
‘I can’t see Mr Punch,’ Seb added flatly. ‘I’ll keep searching.’
When all competitors had taken their seats, Nix Wolf picked up a conch shell and announced the opening of the contest. There was a huge round of applause and everyone stamped their feet. Ivy’s legs shuddered as the vibrations worked their way up through the floor. Her heart was racing.
The spectators hushed as four frilly tablecloths flopped down from the conservatory roof and hovered in mid-air. Everyone turned towards them as images appeared on their surface. Materializers. Ivy glimpsed herself in HD and resisted the temptation to cover her face with her hands. Her eyes were puffy and her messy curls were sticking to her pale forehead; it looked as if she had a fever. She wouldn’t have blamed the audience for assuming she was a race of the dead, if she hadn’t had a spotter with her.
She lowered her gaze to the chopping board and ran over what Ethel and Johnny Hands had told her. Nix Wolf passed by each table with a box of approved Grivens pieces. When it was Ivy’s turn to choose, she shakily pushed her gloved hand inside and wiggled it around. It was easy to tell which piece was which: suitcases had sharp corners, bells were round and gloves had fingers. The stadium was nearly silent now. Ivy could feel the eyes of a hundred thousand uncommoners on her as she made her decision. Hoping that luck was on her side, she removed one of each piece and placed all three on the black area of the chopping board.
She started when she realized what she’d chosen. The glove piece was ornate, carved from a glassy purple stone a bit like amethyst. The bell had been turned from pale wood and the suitcase appeared to be made of stiff lightweight cardboard.
She studied her opponents’ pieces as each placed them on the board. Some were fairly plain, while others were covered in gold leaf or studded with gems. Each time a piece was laid down, an ‘Oooh’ rang out around the stadium and a close-up appeared on the materializers.
Nix Wolf cleared his throat. ‘Players choose your first piece.’
Ivy steadied her nerves and tried to ignore Colin Mint, who was flexing his fingers while sizing up his pieces – before finally choosing his suitcase. The other opponents made their decisions without hesitating, each pushing a piece forward. Lady Crammington chose an ebony glove while Captain Macintosh picked a wicker suitcase. A chorus of gasps and boos filled the stadium. Ivy hastily nudged her bell forward.
Nix Wolf grinned as, still standing outside the chalk circle, he used a long stick to spin the chopping board. Ivy tried to catch a glimpse of Seb on a materializer before she entered the Krigvelt, but all too soon the stadium, with its bright lights and roaring stands, vanished.
The air shifted.
Ivy found herself in a large glass tank, somewhere underwater. Outside, she could see shoals of fish flitting through the glittering depths, but beyond them everything faded into shadow. The Grivens table and chopping board were bolted to the floor, the chalk outline smeared on the outside of the glass. The muffled echoes of the ocean filled her ears, while a salty tang permeated her nostrils.
She gripped the Grivens table for support. Her head felt woozy, as if she might faint at any moment, but her opponents showed no sign of discomfort.
The Grivens pieces wobbled – and then there was a disturbingly loud crack, and sea water began trickling through fractures in the glass onto the floor.
Ivy’s chest constricted. She knew she wasn’t the strongest swimmer; if the room filled up, they’d have to do combat in water.
Before she had time to really panic, the two suitcase pieces on the chopping board unfolded like origami boxes, reminding Ivy of the matchbox archive at the Barrow Post.
A miniature gleaming metal sword appeared in Colin Mint’s suitcase, while a burning branch rose from Captain Macintosh’s. The items flickered like images on a TV and disappeared before reappearing full-size in the hands of Colin Mint and Captain Macintosh. Both players’ faces were set as they swung the objects defensively to and fro between Ivy and Lady Crammington.
Ivy leaned away as heat from the burning branch swept past her cheek. She splashed her way towards the chalk line, but when her foot came into contact with it, she felt herself being pushed back and went sliding over the wet floor. Johnny Hands had warned her about this. She wouldn’t be able to leave the circle, even if someone was wielding a burning branch. Seb was the only one who could pull her out.
Come on, little bell, she thought, glancing at her Grivens piece. Please do something awesome.
Opposite, Lady Crammington’s ebony glove flexed its fingers. It wiggled them in the direction of Captain Macintosh, and a jet of water shot towards him, dousing the burning branch. As the flames were extinguished, the jet grew stronger. Captain Macintosh gasped for air and staggered backwards, arms flailing.
There was a loud pop, and then he disappeared. As there was no trace of him in the Krigvelt, Ivy reasoned that his spotter must have saved him.
She looked at her feet. The sea water was up to her knees now, the icy cold making her toes numb.
Ignoring Ivy, Colin Mint turned his long sword on Lady Crammington. As he lunged forward, her glove piece made a ‘stop’ sign and the sword simply froze. Colin Mint tugged on the handle, desperately trying to move the blade, but it was as if it had become lodged in the air.
Lady Crammington grinned maliciously and slammed her fist down on the chopping board, her glove piece mimicking her. Colin Mint stumbled back through the rising water as, out of nowhere, a swinging blade appeared in front of him, cutting forcefully through the air and disturbing the water below.
Ivy turned her head away just before the blade hit home. She expected some sort of gruesome noise to follow, but instead there was another loud pop.
When she looked round again, Colin Mint had vanished and Lady Crammington was glowering at Ivy – the last player standing between her and the final.
Ivy stared at her bell piece, willing it to do something. The water was almost at her waist now and she was freezing. She wasn’t sure she’d even be able to move, let alone swim. Lady Crammington made a punching action with her fist and the glove piece copied her, aiming for Ivy’s bell.
Ivy thought of Seb before squeezing her eyes shut and preparing for the impact.
Where is he?
The force hit Ivy’s bell and then crashed into her, leaving her winded. She bent over, holding her stomach,
the pain spreading to her chest.
‘Stop!’ she called, hoping Lady Crammington might pause and at least give her time to think. The water was so cold; the surface bubbled as more water rushed in through the cracks in the glass tank. The stench of the sea was beginning to make Ivy feel sick.
She reached for the edge of the Grivens table and heaved herself upright. Her bell was still swaying with the force of the blow …
And then it started to sing. There were no words as such, just sounds. The bell had an operatic voice that filled the air, making the water tremble. As the vibrations travelled through Ivy’s body, the cold she’d felt faded away. The sound energized her tired muscles, sharpening her mind and relaxing her. She didn’t know what it was doing exactly, but it felt amazing.
Opposite her, she saw that the bell’s voice was having a very different effect on Lady Crammington, who looked as if she was battling to stay awake. Her glove piece drooped and then lay flat on the Grivens board. Lady Crammington yawned and slipped down into the water. As it began lapping at the chopping board, just under Ivy’s armpits, Lady Crammington faded away like smoke.
Ivy tilted her head back as the water reached her throat. ‘Seb?!’
Everything went dark – and then the Grivens stadium took shape around her. The spectators roared. Ivy gasped with relief as the water disappeared.
‘In the first round, winner of table four, using a bell to disarm her opponents,’ Nix Wolf shouted, ‘Ivy Sparrow!’
Ivy’s head pounded. Her tunic and cargo trousers were soaking wet. Her damp face appeared in close-up on one of the materializers as the crowd began chanting, ‘Ivy, Ivy, Ivy!’
Her cheeks glowed. She wasn’t used to uncommoners shouting her name in a good way.
‘Yes!’ Seb cheered, behind her.
She could see him on the materializers, punching the air and jumping up and down. ‘I knew that bell of yours would do something! Valian said it was bells you had to look out for.’
Ivy’s knees almost buckled with shock. All right – she’d survived that game, but only by luck.
There was no longer anyone at her Grivens table, so she searched for her three opponents. Captain Macintosh was being propped up by his spotter; he was coughing up water as if he’d half drowned. Colin Mint was being bandaged by a team of medics, while Lady Crammington was lying snoring on the stadium floor.
Ivy checked the other Grivens tables. Not all players had been so fortunate; two contestants from table two were being carried out of the stadium on stretchers, their spotters pale-faced and trembling.
Nix Wolf announced the winners of the three other tables. Their games had all lasted at least two rounds; only Ivy’s had been over after the first. She was surprised but delighted to find that Alexander Brewster had beaten his opponents on table three. Their eyes met as his face was projected onto a materializer, and he smiled with relief. Carson Crevitch was the winner of table one and, with a sinking feeling, Ivy saw that François Filigree was table two’s champion.
As the winners took their places around the final table, an eerie silence came over the stadium. Ivy combed the stands, searching for Mr Punch. He should be back by now. She spotted Selena Grimes sitting in a VIP area, surrounded by other traders wearing elaborate Hobsmatch. The Jar of Shadows wasn’t with her; Ivy wondered where she was hiding it.
Focusing on the game again, she smiled glumly at Alexander Brewster opposite. She couldn’t believe that he had no spotter. Using her whispering, she checked to see if he was alive. The silence confirmed it.
Without a spotter, Alexander was putting himself in great danger. He gazed into the audience, his arms trembling. Ivy assumed he was looking for his father.
François Filigree stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the table. Ivy wished she had X-ray vision so she could see the expression behind his Noh mask.
Nix Wolf cleared his throat into the uncommon conch shell. ‘Let the final game COMMENCE!’
Goose pimples rippled across Ivy’s skin; she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
As Nix Wolf offered Alexander the first choice of Grivens pieces, Ivy studied Carson Crevitch. He had no spotter, so she checked with her whispering: he was one of the dead.
Nix Wolf handed the box of Grivens pieces to Filigree. Ivy concentrated hard, trying to block out the noise from the stadium. Filigree selected a glove, a suitcase and a bell carved from dark red wood and placed them on the chopping board. The spectators oohed and aahed, but Ivy didn’t hear them.
What she heard was a very different sound: a hushed voice. It didn’t drift around like the whispers of the dead; it sounded trapped. Ivy scanned the Grivens table. The only uncommon object on it was meant to be the chopping board, but this garbled voice originated somewhere else.
Filigree’s bell – she was sure of it; she’d practised enough with her abilities to pinpoint where it was coming from. It’s uncommon.
From what Johnny Hands had told her, she knew that Filigree must be cheating. Perhaps he’d planted the uncommon bell in the box before the contest … She already suspected him of being up to no good; he could be working for Selena Grimes. With a sickening jolt, Ivy considered the possibility that Selena had ordered Filigree to kill her during the game …
A cold feeling washed over her. There was no way Seb could know that Filigree’s bell was uncommon. Ivy could only hope that he had the sense to pull her out of the chalk circle before things got really bad.
‘A-hem.’ Nix Wolf coughed, holding out the box of Grivens pieces towards Ivy.
She shook her head and put her hand inside. Her fingers curled around three pieces. She withdrew them and placed them on the Grivens board. She’d chosen a bell and glove carved from red marble, and a small white polystyrene suitcase.
While Carson Crevitch made his choice, Ivy weighed her options, trying to work out the best way to deal with Filigree’s uncommon bell piece.
There was a real risk that Alexander would be killed when Filigree played that bell. Perhaps if she could warn him somehow, the two of them could work together. She tried to attract Alexander’s attention with a cough, but he was focused on his Grivens pieces.
The light in the stadium dimmed and a spotlight fell across the board. Ivy imagined the uncommoners watching the game all around the world, engrossed in her every move. Through the glass roof she could see that it was pitch-black outside in Lundinor. Inside the stadium, technicians whizzed around on uncommon rugs, directing lemon squeezers towards the action.
Fans leaped to their feet, waving. Ivy heard a ripple of shouts of ‘Ivy Sparrow!’ Uncommoners I’ve never even met before, willing me to do well. She used their voices to steady her nerves as she turned back to the chopping board.
Nix Wolf’s voice whipped around the stadium like a gust of wind. ‘Let the first round begin!’
Ivy had no idea which piece to play. If Valian was in her shoes right now, he would probably pick the bell, whereas Seb would go for something more likely to attack – the glove. Instead, Ivy pushed the suitcase forward. Her opponents had already made their decisions: Alexander his glove, Crevitch a bell, and Filigree, of course, his uncommon bell.
Nix Wolf spun the board.
Learning from the last game, Ivy grabbed the edge of the Grivens table to stabilize herself. The dark stadium swirled out of focus and she saw a rich orange sunset against a purple sky. Blue sand dunes appeared – along with a fearsome howling wind. Ivy found herself on a small wooden platform at the top of a shady dune …
In a desert.
She took stock of her opponents. Carson Crevitch was standing with legs apart and arms outstretched, ready to leap into combat. Alexander had a steely glint in his eye, though his thin frame was shaking. Filigree’s mask revealed nothing.
The Grivens pieces lay still. Then, with an unimpressive flutter, Ivy’s polystyrene suitcase flapped open and a rusty metal shield appeared in her arms.
She slumped with disappointment. She didn’t know what s
he’d been hoping for exactly; she just knew that a medieval knight’s shield wasn’t it. Still, she adjusted the leather strap over her arm and aimed it towards the other three players, preparing herself.
Alexander’s glove flexed its fingers, made a fist and then slammed down onto the chopping board with a loud bang!
Three giant cracks appeared in the wooden platform under the table, each snaking towards one of Alexander’s opponents. Ivy steadied herself as the ground rumbled. The wind over the dunes picked up, the platform trembling beneath her feet. The crevasses were deep; she guessed that if she fell in, it would be the end of her game. She clutched her shield tightly, bracing herself as the fissure reached her toes.
Her shield wobbled, but the fault line came to a stop. She gave a crooked smile. Maybe the rusty piece of metal on her arm wasn’t so useless after all.
Filigree managed to out-jump his crevice on unnaturally springy legs, though it left him stranded on a wooden island a few metres from the table. Judging from Carson Crevitch’s darting eyes, he hadn’t formulated a plan to avoid Alexander’s attack – when his bell piece rang loudly and the wood stopped splintering.
Crevitch smiled wickedly as an imperious voice emerged from the bell, talking in a language Ivy didn’t understand. Outside the chalk circle, a mass of skinny black-and-yellow snakes wriggled out of the sand, their tongues tasting the air.
Ivy turned her back on the Grivens table and directed her shield towards the snakes, though she didn’t know what good it would do. She looked over her shoulder at her opponents: Alexander had managed to hop onto a snake-free island, but Filigree wasn’t reacting at all. Instead, his legs jerked; it looked as if there was something trapped under his jacket.
As the snakes crossed over into the chalk circle, Ivy flattened herself against the Grivens table, her shield trembling on her arm. Alexander was shouting. Only Filigree’s uncommon bell was left to play. Ivy doubted that her shield would be powerful enough to protect her from it; Alexander was already defenceless; and Carson Crevitch’s snakes might not help him at all.
The Smoking Hourglass Page 20
