The Crooked Sixpence

by Jennifer Bell

  Ivy gritted her teeth as she tried to push him aside – she could see her dad disappearing through the gate!

  ‘Please,’ Valian said gently. ‘You’ve got to trust me.’

  ‘Trust you?’ Ivy hesitated. The man they had followed looked exactly like her dad. She checked Seb. He looked just as torn as she was. ‘If you want us to trust you, then you have to tell us the truth. About everything.’

  ‘The truth.’ Valian’s voice was soft. He ran a hand through his long hair. ‘OK, fine. If it’s the only way you’re gonna trust me, then I guess I have to.’

  A sinking feeling swept through Ivy. Whatever the truth was, she had a hunch she wasn’t going to like it.

  ‘Go on then,’ Seb said, folding his arms. ‘We’re waiting.’

  Valian’s face was grave. ‘Not here. It’s too dangerous.’

  He led the way to a small shop with cracked green window frames and dirty glass. The sign above the door read: HOFF & WINKLE’S HOBSMATCH EMPORIUM, EST. 1847. Behind the shop was a rickety timber staircase.

  As they started to ascend, Seb mumbled into Ivy’s ear, ‘What’s he up to? Was that Dad back there or not?’

  Ivy didn’t know what to think. She was still confused by the shock of seeing her dad apparently alive and well. ‘Valian,’ she said harshly. ‘If that wasn’t our dad, who was it?’

  ‘I told you,’ he replied. ‘A race of the dead. They’re called grimps. They have the ability to shapeshift; that’s why it looked like your dad.’

  Ivy thought back to Farrow’s Guide . . . She didn’t remember Scratch reading about grimps in there. ‘How do you know it was a grimp?’

  Valian stopped in front of a plain black door at the top of the stairs. ‘Because that’s not the first time I’ve seen it. I met it when I was in the Wrench Mansion with you.’

  Ivy’s mouth dropped open. So that’s what he’d been up to. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

  ‘There’s a lot I haven’t told you. There’s a lot I haven’t told anyone.’ He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘We’ll talk inside.’

  Behind the black door was a small room with threadbare curtains. A metal-framed bed sat in the corner beside a chest of drawers and a wash basin with a rusted mirror. Ivy noticed scum around the taps and crumbs on the bare floorboards. The walls were covered with posters of various rock bands, none of which she had heard of.

  ‘You’d better sit down,’ Valian told them.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ Seb whispered into Ivy’s ear as he perched on the end of the bed.

  Ivy sat down slowly. Was this Valian’s room? She felt uncomfortable being in there. Valian stood by the wash basin, looking at them.

  ‘So . . . the grimp?’ Seb brushed a dead fly off the bedspread.

  ‘It was at the Wrench Mansion,’ Valian repeated. ‘It took a little investigation back at your gran’s house before I realized that it looked exactly like your dad. After that, I started following it.’

  ‘Wait – you went to Granma’s house behind our back?’ Ivy exclaimed.

  Valian sighed. ‘You’d understand why if you knew the whole story.’ He turned and looked into the rusty mirror. ‘When I found that crooked sixpence in your pocket, Ivy, I assumed you were working for the Dirge. Ethel’s deal for me to be your bodyguard was the perfect excuse to stay close and find out what you were really up to. All those times I disappeared, I was off investigating on my own. Just now, in the Cabbage Moon, I went to check out your room for evidence of the wraithmoth; I managed to retrieve those for you . . .’ He pointed to the windowsill behind the bed.

  Ivy started. Granma Sylvie’s handbag was there, along with the uncommon alarm clock. She reached across and gathered them up, thankful they were safe. ‘If you thought we were working for the Dirge, then why help now?’ she asked.

  ‘I know you’re not working for the Dirge. After the alarm clock and the selkie attack I realized you’d been telling the truth the whole time.’ He looked down and mumbled, ‘I’m . . . sorry.’

  Ivy shared an incredulous glance with Seb.

  Valian looked up at them again. ‘My name is Valian Kaye and I am a scout; that’s all true.’ He pointed to three framed photographs standing on the chest of drawers: two of a small girl with blonde hair, the third of a happy young couple. ‘That’s my family: my parents, and my little sister, Rosie.’

  Ivy wondered why he was mentioning them now. ‘Are they uncommoners too?’

  ‘They were,’ Valian corrected her. ‘My parents were both scouts, like me, but . . . they’re dead now.’

  There was a long pause while they looked awkwardly at the floor.

  Finally Ivy asked, ‘What happened?’

  Valian clenched his fists in their fingerless gloves. ‘They were murdered by the Dirge. I’ve always thought the Dirge member using Hemlock as a code name was responsible because that was the poison found on their lips.’

  Ivy gasped in horror. ‘How old were you?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Nine,’ Valian told her, sighing. ‘That’s why the underguard didn’t believe me about the crooked sixpences.’

  ‘Didn’t believe you?’ Seb’s voice cracked. ‘Why not?’

  Valian looked at him. ‘I found a crooked sixpence in each of my parent’s glasses; that’s how I know the Dirge murdered them. But the coins had disappeared by the time the underguard turned up to investigate. To this day they still think my parents died of accidental poisoning.’

  Seb puffed out a sigh. ‘That’s . . . awful.’

  Ivy’s attention moved to the photos of the little blonde girl. ‘Where’s your sister now?’

  Valian pushed himself away from the sink and slumped down on the floor. ‘Good question,’ he muttered. ‘After our parents were killed, Rosie and I had to leave Lundinor. Social services in the common world found us a place with foster parents. We came back to say our goodbyes one last time. There was a huge crowd in the Gauntlet and I got separated from Rosie. I saw her heading off into the Dead End. She was only six; I guess she thought she might find our parents amongst the dead traders.’ He sighed. ‘She never came back. The underguard stopped searching for her after a week or so, but I never gave up. I never will give up. Half of everything I scout for now is something to help me find her. That bell I took from Ethel . . . I had a hunch it might locate Rosie, but it didn’t work. It’s been six years since she went missing; I still don’t know what happened.’

  Ivy swallowed as Valian finished. What must it feel like to lose your whole family? No wonder he acted like an outsider half the time. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said weakly. She didn’t know what else to say. She felt cold with regret at the things she’d thought about him.

  ‘You must hate us,’ Seb muttered, ‘because of who we’re related to.’

  Something flickered in Valian’s eyes. ‘I did at first. I told you: I thought you were working for the Dirge. But I gradually realized it couldn’t be true. If I’d been given the chance to save my mum and dad, I’d have acted exactly like you.’

  ‘Why does the grimp look like our dad?’ Seb asked.

  Valian’s face darkened. ‘Grimps take the form of their host. There’s a GUT law that forbids any grimp from taking an unwilling host, but like I told you earlier – the dead break the rules all the time.’

  ‘So . . . the grimp is working for the Dirge and our dad is being used as this grimp’s host?’ Ivy summarized, connecting the dots. She couldn’t bear to think of it. ‘What does that mean?’

  Valian shifted position on the floor. ‘If the host is legal, then it donates hair or toenails for the grimp to feed off. Then, after a few hours, the grimp starts to resemble its host. If the host is taken illegally . . . Well, the grimp doesn’t get donations. It just takes what it needs.’

  Ivy was horrified. ‘Are you saying that Dad is being . . . eaten?’ Valian’s eyes told her all she needed to know. ‘Seb – no. We’ve got to do something!’

  ‘How do we stop it?’ Seb’s eyes glimmered with
purpose as he got to his feet.

  Valian held up a hand. ‘For the moment we don’t. We follow it back into the Wrench Mansion. But we do it carefully. It keeps returning for something. I’d bet everything I own that your mum and dad are being held there.’

  Ivy felt hot anger burning through her veins. She was more determined than ever to get them back.

  ‘I know I’ve lied to you,’ Valian said, ‘and you’ve got no reason to trust me, but what you’re feeling right now . . . that’s exactly the way I feel about my sister. You’ve only got till midnight before that alarm clock rings. Let me help you. We can save them together.’

  Ivy had already made up her mind, but Seb, she thought, might be more difficult to convince. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, looking up at her brother.

  Seb was staring at the photo of Rosie. He rubbed his eyes quickly, hoping no one would notice the welling tears. ‘I think we could do with a hand . . .’ His gaze fell on the posters adorning Valian’s walls and he frowned. ‘Even if it does come from someone without a single Ripz poster in their life.’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Valian felt around in his inside pocket. ‘You both remember the plan?’

  Ivy nodded as she leaned forward and splashed a cupful of water into the basin of the uncommon fountain. She wiggled her fingers around under the surface and immediately felt the ground groan and tremble. As the two black gateposts emerged on either side, she wondered how the fountain worked. It had activated when Seb had put his hand in yesterday, and now with Ivy, but it had also worked for the grimp. Maybe, she guessed, it was able to read their fingerprints under the water. The grimp must have taken their dad as a host so it could use his fingerprints to gain access to the mansion.

  ‘Remember, your parents will be behind the Ragwort or Wolfsbane doors,’ Valian said.

  Seb gave a nod. ‘Got it.’

  Ivy placed a hand in the centre of the gates. ‘And if something goes wrong, we get out any way we can and meet back at your place above Hoff and Winkle’s Hobsmatch Emporium, Valian.’ Her hand was trembling. The plan wasn’t foolproof, but it was all they had. Maybe that was why she and Seb had left anything of value back in Valian’s room. All Ivy had on her now was the uncommon yo-yo, and what remained of her dwindling confidence.

  ‘OK.’ Valian patted down his jacket pockets and gave a satisfied nod. ‘Let’s do this.’

  Ivy didn’t think it was possible for the Wrench Mansion to be any more creepy the second time round, but she was wrong. As they trudged up the hill towards the front door, dry leaves skittered across their path like rats and the wind whistled eerily. The dark sky swirled with a coming storm and the old house creaked and groaned as if warning them away.

  Inside, the entrance hall was pitch black. Ivy sniffed the air. The smell of wet dog still lingered, but there was something else, something much worse. ‘Ugh.’ It smelled like toilets and gone-off Brussels sprouts. ‘Seb, you didn’t just—’

  Even though he could barely see her, Seb still managed to hit her on the arm. ‘No, I didn’t! Even mine aren’t this bad.’

  Ivy heard Valian shuffling up beside her. ‘I know that smell. There’s only one type of creature that foul: a Victorian sewer selkie. It must have been here recently. Be on your guard.’

  Ivy shivered as she recalled the selkie that had attacked her – those empty black eyes and rows of razor-sharp teeth. She covered her nose and tried to pretend the smell wasn’t there. ‘There were lemon squeezers on the walls before,’ she said.

  Valian sighed and unzipped something, casting a silvery-blue light into the darkness. His face was eerily lit from below. ‘It’s from Johnny Hands . . .’ He nodded down at the glowing object. ‘Don’t ask me what it does exactly. I only know that it glows sometimes.’

  Ivy examined it more closely. It looked like a miniature spade with a curved steel blade and polished wooden handle. Only the metal part was glowing. ‘That was what he gave you?’ she asked, recognizing the tool with a frown. ‘A garden trowel?’

  He scowled. ‘Yeah. Compensation for giving you my yo-yo, apparently.’

  Ivy smiled awkwardly.

  Valian pointed across the hallway with the uncommon trowel. ‘Let’s just find the envelope.’

  They found it at the foot of the stairs. Ivy picked it up. ‘Ready?’ she asked. Seb grasped her shoulder and nodded; Valian laid a gloved hand on her elbow.

  Ivy opened the envelope, and suddenly the world was rotating around her. The silvery light from Valian’s trowel flashed through the air, round and round and round . . .

  When it stopped spinning, they were in total darkness. Valian took his hand away and stepped back, waving the trowel around. Its ghostly light revealed the brick walls of a long tunnel.

  Ivy shivered. ‘This isn’t Octavius’ study,’ she pointed out. ‘There should be bookcases and furniture.’ And it should smell musty and old, she thought nervously. This place still smells of selkie slime . . .

  Seb and Valian reached for Ivy’s shoulders. She closed the envelope and then opened it up again.

  Nothing happened.

  ‘Try it again,’ Valian said. She could hear the worry in his voice.

  She opened the flap on the back once more, in exactly the same way. Her fingers were still tingling with warmth. ‘It’s definitely the same envelope. It feels uncommon. I don’t get what’s wrong.’

  ‘It feels uncommon?’ Valian raised an eyebrow.

  Ivy gave a shy smile. She might as well tell him now. ‘I’m a whisperer,’ she said in a hushed voice.

  Valian’s eyes grew wide. ‘You’re a what?’

  Ivy looked down, hiding her face behind her hair. It felt weird having a secret that made people see her as special. Anyway, she still didn’t know how to use her gifts properly. ‘Don’t get excited,’ she told him. ‘I don’t see how it’s going to help us.’

  ‘Look, we’re still here,’ Seb said, holding one of his drumsticks aloft. ‘What’s wrong with the envelope?’

  Valian stared at Ivy as if he wanted to say something else, but then he pointed at the envelope. ‘Give it here.’ He sighed when he turned it over. Ivy looked down and read the ink stamp in the top right corner. It didn’t say direct mail any more, it said: redirected mail.

  ‘Great. Someone’s tampered with it. It must be some sort of trap.’ Valian looked down the dark tunnel. ‘This is our only way out now.’ He screwed the envelope into a ball and threw it on the floor. Ivy shivered as she stuffed her hand back into her pocket and clasped her yo-yo.

  They proceeded slowly, with Valian in front, holding out the trowel. The tunnel was around a hundred metres long, filled with cobwebs and scuttling shadows. At the very end, a small arch-shaped opening led into darkness.

  As Ivy put one foot in front of the other, her dream from the previous night invaded her mind – the black hands of the uncommon alarm clock slicing away fractions of time; her mum’s face disintegrating into maggots; her dad being eaten by a faceless monster.

  Valian’s trowel glowed brighter.

  ‘Isn’t there a dimmer switch on that thing?’ Seb asked, shielding his eyes.

  Valian lowered it. ‘I don’t think it’s glowing because it’s dark,’ he said, peering around cautiously. ‘It must be sensing something. That’s why it’s growing stronger.’

  Ivy coughed as they made their way under the arch. The smell was getting worse, she was sure of it. It was as if the contents of every Portaloo in London had been dumped there.

  Once they were through, Valian’s trowel started to blaze brightly. The tunnel walls on either side of them disappeared, and in the emptiness beyond Ivy spotted a small wooden desk covered with an inch of dust. On it sat an equally dusty old typewriter and a stack of yellowed, moth-eaten papers.

  ‘Where are we?’ Seb was holding his drumsticks close to his chest. His voice echoed off whatever lay in the darkness beyond.

  ‘This place sounds massive,’ Valian said. ‘Look for a light switc
h; the trowel won’t reach far enough.’

  Ivy saw that the walls were covered in moss. She felt the slimy, damp surface, searching for any change in texture.

  ‘Over here!’ Seb called, after a minute or so. ‘There’s some sort of handle.’

  Ivy turned to see a large stainless steel lever fixed to the wall. Seb forced it down.

  For a second nothing happened. Then a broken buzzing noise started above their heads; it sounded like a dying wasp. A grid of electric ceiling lights struggled into brightness and continued flickering, so that it looked as if everything below was being played in jerky slow motion.

  Ivy blinked. She caught glimpses of a giant hall, as large as the main arrivals chamber in Lundinor. The ceiling was vaulted like a cathedral’s, the same grey concrete as the walls and floor. Behind the small desk to Ivy’s right were a dozen narrow banqueting tables that ran the entire length of the hall. Each one was topped by a long conveyor belt – the kind used in supermarket checkouts – and bordered by a row of wooden chairs. Scattered on top of the conveyor belts was a mixture of what looked like rubbish: ripped bin liners exploding with odds and ends – tissue, fabric, glass jars, brass door handles, broken china and other random household items.

  Ivy searched for any sign of life, but the place appeared to be deserted. Cobwebs hung between the chairs and carpeted the conveyor belts like crocheted blankets, and dust hovered in the air. It was one of the eeriest sights Ivy had ever seen – like a ghostly recycling plant.

  ‘What is this place?’ Seb asked, stepping forward. ‘It’s like a creepy movie set.’

  Ivy approached the nearest table and examined one of the chairs. There was a small iron manacle chained to the concrete floor beneath it. ‘It looks like people were tied up here.’ She sat down and laid her hands on the table. The chair was the perfect height for her.

  Valian waved the glowing trowel in front of him. Ivy saw a look of horror in his eyes. ‘I think I know what this might be,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard rumours . . . It’s called a “whispering hall”.’ He looked at Ivy. ‘They’re used to harness the power of whisperers. It was barbaric. Whisperers were made to sort through rubbish all day long till they found something uncommon.’ He picked up a tin can from one of the piles of junk. ‘But they only existed in ancient times. This one looks as if it was built within the last fifty years.’