Bring Me the Head of Ivy Pocket

by Caleb Krisp

“You cannot do this,” I declared. “I won’t let you.”

  “What choice do you have?” chuckled the Countess. “You will live as a prisoner until you have paid for your sins.”

  “She will rot there!” hissed Estelle. “They both will.”

  “Grandmother?”

  We all looked over and saw Matilda coming down the stairs. The girl was gawking at us with wonder and unease. Then her eyes fell on me. “Pocket . . . what are you doing here?”

  I said nothing.

  “Grandmother, what is going on?” said Matilda with growing urgency.

  “I am restoring the Butterfield name,” said the old bat proudly.

  “And felling a public menace,” declared Countess Carbunkle.

  Matilda pointed to Anastasia. “Who is that?”

  “A poor, wretched woman who has been horribly mistreated,” I said, rushing to Matilda’s side. “Locked in a madhouse for no other reason than that she fell in love with Sebastian Dumbleby.”

  “She killed my brother!” shouted Estelle, her eyes blazing with hatred. “Killed him and then spun a web of lies about other worlds and mystical necklaces.”

  “It was all true, you mad cow!” I thundered. “Every word. And instead of believing her, you took away her baby and locked her in a lunatic asylum—when you’re the one who’s barking mad!”

  Estelle scooped up one of the shackles and lunged at me. Trying to fasten the chain around my wrist. But I was full of fight, yanking the shackle from her grasp and throwing it aside. She responded by pulling my hair and scratching my face. And I responded by slapping and kicking for all I was worth. We ended up on the ground, rolling about like two quarreling schoolgirls.

  “Liar!” cried Estelle, biting my hand.

  “Nutter!” I hollered back, pinching her arm.

  “Stop it at once!” barked Lady Elizabeth.

  “Knock her block off, Pocket!” offered Matilda.

  As we tumbled across the dirty floor, a strange buzzing began to charge the dank air. No, not strange. Familiar. My heart was pounding, and the blood tore through my veins, making my body tingle. Estelle rolled over and pinned me with her arms. As she did, I felt the Clock Diamond waking up—the stone suddenly warm against my skin. The angrier I got, the hotter it became. Then it began to glow, giving off a pulsing golden light that pushed through my dress and filled the gloomy dungeon.

  There were several gasps. But the most violent was from Estelle. I pushed her off me with great force and stood up. Then fished the Clock Diamond from under my dress. Held it out toward her. “This is the stone Anastasia spoke of,” I said, panting. “It is real.”

  “It c-c-can’t be,” she stammered, her eyes swelling in astonishment. “It can’t be true.”

  I crouched down beside her. “It can’t be, yet it is.” The diamond churned and cleared, leaving in its heart a quarter moon high over Butterfield Park. “All of it.”

  Estelle looked bewildered. Then horrified.

  “You have to stop this, Estelle,” I said. “Your brother died because he followed the woman he loved to her world. They shared a few happy months, and a child was born from their union. It is cruel and ghastly what your family has done. You must let it go before it consumes you.”

  “Claptrap!” thundered Lady Elizabeth. “This necklace has always been cursed. It changes nothing.”

  From behind me, Countess Carbunkle lunged, grabbing my arms and dragging me back. “The girl must pay for her crimes!”

  “Enough!” Lady Amelia had found her way down to the dungeon—perhaps looking for Matilda. How long she had been there, I wasn’t sure. But there was a strength in her plump face I’d never seen before. She looked at me with a certain amount of confusion. “Ivy?”

  “It’s a long story, dear,” I said, elbowing Countess Carbunkle in the belly and pulling away. “This pack of deranged jackals is involved in a wicked conspiracy to lock myself and this poor woman away.”

  “We were wrong,” sobbed Estelle, covering her face with her hands. “We were wrong.”

  I hurried over to Anastasia. She was rocking back and forth. Humming. All I could do was pat her hand, though she flinched at my touch. The Clock Diamond began to dim and cool against my dress, so I tucked it away.

  “I won’t stand for any more vengeful plots,” said Lady Amelia.

  Lady Elizabeth stared daggers at her daughter-in-law. “What did you say?”

  “It ends tonight,” said Lady Amelia with calm certainty. “Ivy and this sad creature will go free, and I won’t hear a word of opposition—that you planned to lock them away like animals is vile and shocking. Do you imagine this vengeance will bring back the dead? Do you imagine it will bring you peace?” Somehow she found the strength to look squarely at Lady Elizabeth. “A very wise girl told me I should stand up to you, and although the thought made me tremble, now that I am here, I can’t imagine why it took me so long.”

  The old bat pointed her cane like a pistol. “Think carefully before you say anything more, Lady Amelia. You may not appreciate my methods, but you certainly enjoy my money.”

  “Matilda and I shall leave tonight,” said Lady Amelia. “We have been under your roof and under your thumb quite long enough. As for your money—if being cut off is the price we must pay for our freedom, then I consider it a bargain.”

  “Mother, let’s not be too rash,” said Matilda with a mad grin. “I know this all looks slightly mental, but I am to be heiress of this house.”

  “We will make a home of our own, darling,” said Lady Amelia. “You can be heiress of that.”

  “What a revolting thought,” said Matilda, folding her arms.

  “You can’t leave,” said Lady Elizabeth.

  “We can and we shall,” said Lady Amelia firmly.

  That might have been the end of it. But the evening was not done with us yet. The sound of boots upon the stairs rolled down into the dungeon. I saw the hem of her dress first. Black as night. Then her gloved hands. Her tightly buttoned collar. Finally her head, concealed behind a veil. The woman in black stepped silently into the damp cell and walked toward me.

  “Who in the blazes are you?” Lady Elizabeth demanded to know.

  The veiled lady gave no reply. She stood perfectly still and silent.

  “Actually, Lady Elizabeth,” I said, walking around the mysterious figure, “this woman was once a guest in your house.” I stopped and stared into the dark veil. “Weren’t you, Miss Always?”

  At that, the woman in black lifted her shroud. While her face was wretchedly plain and unremarkable, her eyes sparkled as she gazed at me. “You knew?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “I’ve been expecting you all night.”

  “What’s she doing here?” snapped Matilda. “Has she come back to bore us to death?”

  “Who is this woman?” asked Countess Carbunkle.

  “A writer,” huffed Lady Elizabeth. “As if this evening wasn’t bad enough!”

  “I confess, Ivy, I am terribly impressed,” said Miss Always, adjusting her spectacles.

  “You weren’t hard to spot,” I replied. “I first saw you watching the house yesterday, and then when you turned up in the ballroom, prowling about, I knew there could only be one bloodthirsty hag under that veil.” I allowed a satisfied smile. “Besides, tonight is a half-moon—the perfect time for you to strike.”

  Miss Always had always been my plan B. I knew she was on the hunt for me, seeking to drag me into Prospa and prove that I was the Dual, and I was confident she would try to make her move on the next half-moon—the ideal time for the gatekeeper to cross between worlds. So I had intentionally walked about London, hoping she would be on my trail and that she would follow me to Butterfield Park—even as I assumed the ingenious disguise of Esmeralda Cabbage. And my plan had come off rather perfectly.

  “I demand to know what in hickory is going on!” snapped Lady Elizabeth.

  Miss Always ignored her. For her attention was elsewhere. She stalked slowly over
to the corner of the dungeon and looked down at Anastasia Radcliff. The poor creature was humming and hugging her knees. “What have we here?” she said. “Who have we here?”

  “No one important,” I said, rushing over. “Clearly you came here to drag me into Prospa. So let’s get to it, dear.”

  Miss Always crouched down. Her gloved hand reached out and parted the curtain of matted hair covering Anastasia’s face. The madwoman cried out and pulled away, curling up in a tight ball, her body pressed into the corner.

  “Could it be?” whispered Miss Always.

  “No it couldn’t, you bloodthirsty, book-writing, blackguard!” I shouted. “The woman you are looking at was once the mistress of Butterfield Park, but she lost her marbles after her husband fell into a pot of chicken broth and sank to the bottom. All very tragic. Her name is—”

  “Anastasia Radcliff,” said Miss Always with a faint grin. “How you ended up here, I cannot imagine—but what a lovely surprise.”

  “How does she know that lunatic’s name?” barked Lady Elizabeth.

  Miss Always stood up, still fixed on Anastasia. “You will make quite a trophy! Justice Hallow isn’t terribly fond of me at present, but when she sets eyes on you, she will be forever in my debt. They say nobody loves more ferociously than a mother.” She laughed icily. “What fun.”

  “Ivy, what is Miss Always talking about?” said Lady Amelia.

  Estelle wiped the tears from her eyes and made a sudden dash for the stairs. In a flash, Miss Always blocked her path. “Going somewhere?”

  “I wish to leave,” said Estelle, her face pale and afraid. “Please, let me pass.”

  “But things are just getting interesting,” said Miss Always.

  Plan B had taken a turn for the worse. While I intended for Miss Always to drag me into Prospa, I hadn’t figured on Anastasia being ensnared in the scheme. I knew nothing of Justice Hallow, but from the way Miss Always spoke of her, I doubted that it would be a pleasant mother-and-daughter reunion. My heart was pounding madly. I could feel the Clock Diamond begin to warm against my chest again—and it occurred to me that I would no longer need the gatekeeper’s help in reaching Prospa. Miss Always noticed it too. Which is why she began walking toward me.

  “Well, well,” she said playfully, “I gain Ivy Pocket, Anastasia Radcliff, and the Clock Diamond in a single evening. The gods must be smiling upon me.”

  Luckily, an idea popped into my head.

  “Miss Always, please leave this poor family alone!” I said, looking suitably distraught. “The Butterfields will be ruined if you write about what you have seen here in your new book.”

  “What book?” huffed Lady Elizabeth.

  I sidestepped Miss Always and ran to the old bat. “Miss Always is doing top-secret research for a book about Butterfield family history.” I spoke loudly into Lady Elizabeth’s good ear. “She intends to dedicate an entire chapter to the tragic love triangle between you, the Duchess of Trinity, and the doomed Nathaniel Farris.”

  “Blasted writer!” thundered Lady Elizabeth.

  “What are you talking about?” said Miss Always with some amusement.

  “Am I to be in the book?” asked Matilda hopefully.

  I spotted Bertha coming down the stairs, looking thoroughly alarmed. “That is not the worst part,” I said, this time directing my attention to Countess Carbunkle. “Making a living as a writer is frightfully difficult—most are irritable hacks who will do anything for a hot meal.” I patted the Countess’s burned hat. “You might be familiar with her work, dear, for she has written about you—though not under her real name.”

  Countess Carbunkle gasped. “Miss Anonymous?”

  I nodded. “The very same.”

  It was all nonsense. But terribly helpful in my current pickle.

  “Enough of this,” declared Miss Always, grabbing my arm. “You are coming with me, and so is—”

  But she never got to finish her sentence. For Countess Carbunkle had snatched the cane from Lady Elizabeth’s hand and was bashing Miss Always about the head and body with it. “Shame on you!” she bellowed.

  Miss Always tried to shield herself, but after one particularly harsh whack to the head, she stumbled to the ground. By which point Lady Elizabeth began kicking her rather savagely.

  “You’ll write that book over my dead body!” she thundered.

  “Ivy is lying, you fools!” shouted Miss Always.

  “Stop it, all of you!” demanded Lady Amelia.

  But they did not. While the pummeling was taking place, I called to Bertha. We hurried over and gently lifted Anastasia Radcliff to her feet. She struggled at first, but we did not let go.

  “You must trust me, dear,” I whispered. “Bertha is a good soul, and she will take you somewhere safe. Go with her and we will find your child, I promise.”

  Anastasia made no reply.

  “I’m scared, miss,” said Bertha.

  The Clock Diamond began to glow brightly under my dress. “I know you are,” I said, pushing them both toward the stairs. “But follow my instructions, and all will be well. There is a carriage waiting out front. Go to the cottage in Weymouth. I will meet you there.”

  “But what if Miss Always follows us?” said Bertha, gulping.

  “Miss Always will come after me, dear. Now do hurry!”

  Bertha nodded, grabbed hold of Anastasia, and took off up the stairs. The air was buzzing relentlessly now. The stone pulsed, throwing honey-colored flares around the dim cell. I knew what was happening. And so did Miss Always.

  Still on the ground getting pummeled, she threw back her head and gave a wild cry. And as she did, Lady Elizabeth and Countess Carbunkle were thrown sideways. The locks flew like shadows from the folds of Miss Always’s dark dress, hissing viciously. There were horrified screams. Estelle made a run for the stairs, but a lock rushed at her, spinning furiously—the wicked girl was flung against the wall most violently. I was already running by then. Matilda grabbed my arm as I took off up the stairs.

  “Find my cousin, Pocket,” she whispered. “Bring her home.”

  I saw the hooded locks churning around the dungeon like a tempest. I was halfway up the stairs when Miss Always leaped to her feet. She charged after me, but Countess Carbunkle was quick, thrusting the cane forward and catching her ankles. I wanted to cheer when Miss Always fell on her face.

  “Get her!” she thundered to her little henchmen.

  The stone’s urgent rhythm synced with the beats of my pounding heart as I reached the top step. The narrow passageway was now heaving like a boat on a stormy sea. I felt a lock grab my leg. But not for long. The walls of the narrow passageway began to slip away with all the force of a mudslide. The ceiling seemed to melt, falling around me in a torrent of drips. I heard Miss Always scream with rage again. Then Butterfield Park dropped like a curtain. I closed my eyes and let go.

  12

  My landing was something of a blur. The air buzzed. The ground trembled. And as I fell toward it, the dark soil cracked, and a great swarm of trees breached the ground. Trees the color of snow. They rose up like a ghost army, their branches bare, until an entire forest loomed before me. Then a thick blanket of vibrant green moss bled up, covering the forest floor. I tumbled along the ground at great speed, using my hands to try and stop myself. But a tree trunk did the job for me. I hit it with a violent thump, groaning loudly.

  I sat up and looked about for any sign of Miss Always—but the night forest was strangely quiet. The half-moon glowed emerald high above the treetops, lighting the woods in shades of green and blue. While I was confident that I had reached Prospa—exactly where I was, I hadn’t a clue.

  I got to my feet, my back aching, and began to walk. It seemed rather foolish to hang about. I had only traveled a short distance when I felt the air around me thicken. A faint buzz echoed through the white trees. It didn’t take a genius to work out what was happening. I took off. Running through the woodlands as fast as my legs would carry me. The buzzing
became a roar, and the air seemed to crackle and pop.

  “Find her—she cannot have gone far!” It was Miss Always. No great shock there. Then she gave a savage war cry. The ground trembled. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of locks, an army of them, trampling the forest in every direction. But I pushed on, running at speed until . . . until the ground was no longer beneath my feet. Something flew around me, catching me in its web. Before I even had time to scream, I was rising rapidly toward the treetops.

  Being caught in a net is a nasty business. You are wrapped within a cage of thick rope, hanging from a frightfully high tree branch. Which wasn’t ideal. But there were advantages. I was able to look down and see Miss Always and her locks roaming the woods, hunting for me.

  “She has to be here,” declared Miss Always, turning her head this way and that. “Find her!”

  The locks swept through the white woods, darting between the trees at tremendous speed. As I swung back and forth above their heads. I had feared it was Miss Always’s net that I was entangled in. But if it was, she seemed to have forgotten.

  It occurred to me that if the net didn’t belong to Miss Always, then perhaps I should be more concerned about who it did belong to. An ill-willed giant perhaps. Did Prospa have giants? I wasn’t sure. There was a steady breeze blowing through the treetops, making the net sway rather hypnotically. After a while, Miss Always and her pint-sized goons departed, off to search deep into the forest. By then my eyes had grown rather heavy. So I shut them for a spell.

  “Get ready.”

  I awoke with a start. The sun was coming up. And through the net, I saw a girl perched beside me. “Get ready,” she said again.

  “Get ready for what?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

  It was then that I saw the blade in her hand. It was raised overhead, right where the net knotted together, fixed to the tree branch. The girl sliced the rope like butter. And I was plummeting toward the ground, the net tangled around me. My landing was sudden. And firm. But not fatal. In fact, the ground beneath me was rather supple.

  I did not realize it at the time—for I was too busy kicking and struggling to free myself from the wretched net—but I had landed in a cart loaded with straw. Another set of hands appeared from overhead and helped untangle me from the rope.