Bring Me the Head of Ivy Pocket

by Caleb Krisp

  He babbled on about the great work done at Prospa House, about their compassionate treatment of the remedies and how Justice Hallow was quite possibly the greatest woman who ever lived.

  “Where are the remedies?” I said when he paused to take a breath. “I don’t mean to hurry you, dear, but we’re dying of the plague over here.”

  Professor Finsbury bobbed up and down on his feet. Tried to smile. “Your impatience is perfectly understandable, my young friend. There are just a few things each of you must be aware of before we can begin.” He walked to the back of the room and stood with his finger poised on a shiny gold button set into the wall. “During the healings, there is to be no communication with the remedies. None at all. If you violate this rule, the healing will be terminated and the offender charged with crimes against the kingdom.”

  Which was rather harsh. I sat forward in my seat. Anticipating the moment the curtain would part and I would see the remedies. How I prayed Rebecca would be one of them!

  “Do they suffer?” said a frail-looking woman sitting in the chair next to me. “I heard that the remedies find healing very painful.”

  “Incorrect,” said Professor Finsbury. “It is true the remedies experience a slight stinging sensation during the process, but it is very mild.” He cleared his throat. “Now, let us begin.”

  He pressed the button. A faint whirring sound rang out as the curtain rapidly parted to reveal the other half of the chamber. This is what I saw: two guards standing at the back, heads shaved, wearing ghastly orange coats. Batons and daggers at their waist. In the middle of the room was a row of six plain chairs. And in front of each chair was a contraption of iron and wood. It was rather like a table or a workbench with an embroidered screen blocking the view behind it—each tapestry depicted the white woodlands of Prospa. Cut into the bottom of the tapestry was an iron bracket held by a bolt. And shackled within each bracket was a hand. Just a hand. No sign of the person connected to it—for they were hidden behind the embroidered screen. I wanted to cry out. To tear down those tapestries. To bash Professor Finsbury in the head.

  “I will select six of you to go first,” announced the Professor. “Please take a seat at the healing table—you may sit anywhere you like, it makes little difference.”

  The remedies made no sound. I scanned the six hands, desperately looking for one that might belong to Rebecca. Which is why I didn’t notice Professor Finsbury pointing at me. Not at first. I leaped up and hurried over. A few of the sick were already taking their seats. I peered intently at the disembodied hands. They were of different sizes and colors—the skin so thin and faded it was largely transparent. One was large and brown. Another thin and slender. Only one caught my eye. It was small. Lightly freckled. Trembling. Rebecca. It had to be!

  There were only two chairs left. One in front of Rebecca’s hand, and the other, a rather coarse and lumpy set of fingers. The sickly fellow I had been walking behind in the corridor was heading for Rebecca. I moved swiftly, knocking him with my shoulder and grabbing the seat. This elicited a few gasps from the others. I responded by poking out my tongue and discreetly blowing a raspberry.

  “When I say the word,” said the Professor, pacing back and forth behind us, “you are to reach out with both hands and touch the remedy. There is no need to squeeze or press tightly—just touching the remedy is enough to begin the healing.” He stopped at the back of my chair. “Do not move your hand from the remedy until I tap you on the shoulder.”

  I wanted desperately to call out to Rebecca. To know if it was really her on the other side of that screen. The shackle around her wrist was a problem. As was the bolt. My forehead began to perspire. So I wiped it quickly with the sleeve of my dress.

  “You may now touch your remedy,” instructed Professor Finsbury.

  My fingers trembled as they moved toward the hand before me. I held my breath. Then touched the translucent flesh of her fingers. And I heard her gasp. Her fingers curled around mine. It was Rebecca, I was sure of it!

  Around me there were a great many groans and moans. I glanced over and saw the man in the chair next to me shuddering. The gray of his flesh rippling like the surface of a windy pond. Then his ashen skin began to fade, washed away by a healthy glow. Behind the screens there were noises too. Shudders of pain. Stifled sobbing. Whimpers aplenty. If healing the sick was as painless as the Professor described, why did these poor souls sound like wounded animals?

  “Help is at hand, dear,” I whispered.

  “Ivy?” came a fragile voice.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. Professor Finsbury was above me. Looking at my face with growing alarm. He tilted back my head, pulled out his pocket square, and wiped my cheek. Too late I glimpsed the gray smear on the sleeve of my dress from where I had wiped my sweaty forehead. The Professor’s eyes bulged as he looked at the pocket square now streaked with gray. He thrust it into the air and hollered, “Guards!”

  I jumped up before the Orange Coats reached me and gave Professor Finsbury a mighty shove. Then I ripped the tapestry down with my hands. And there was Rebecca. Fastened into that hideous contraption. Her skin glowed as if the faintest of light blossomed under her flesh. Her wavy blond hair was limp. Her brown eyes sad and vacant.

  I pulled on the padlock shackling her arm. It didn’t budge.

  “She’s gone mad!” cried one woman.

  “I knew that girl was trouble,” declared another.

  “Watch out, Ivy!” shouted Rebecca.

  I looked up. The two guards were upon me. I ducked, slipping underneath them with great skill—possessing all the natural instincts of a jailbird—and took off. But one of them grabbed a clump of my hair. Pulled on it savagely. Suddenly I reeled back. His fist pulled so tightly on my hair, I feared he would rip it out. Which is when I threw my elbow back and struck him in the belly. He grunted loudly. So I thumped him a second time. He groaned and I pulled free, charging toward the table and picking up a stack of books. Then threw them savagely. I hit the female guard in the face, which was glorious. And got the other one right where it would hurt him most.

  The Clock Diamond began to glow beneath my dress, throwing orange about the room. This caused a few more gasps and comments. But I ignored the stone (while the Clock Diamond might allow me to leave Prospa, I had no idea if I could help Rebecca as well).

  I turned back and grabbed the biggest book in the pile. Then charged. Kicking one guard in the shin (a personal favorite of mine) and bashing the other in the side of the head with the book. As he fell against the wall, I heard the jangle of the keys at his belt.

  “Call for more guards!” shouted Professor Finsbury to a maid. “Now!”

  The Professor grabbed me by the neck, squeezing rather savagely. So I elbowed him viciously—landing right in the ribs. He howled, the feeble buffoon, and I thumped him with the book. Then reached for the guard’s keys, pulling them from his belt.

  “Somebody grab her!” shouted an older man, sick and gray.

  “Not me,” replied a gangly boy, shaking his head.

  “Quick, Ivy!” said Rebecca.

  My hands trembled as I fumbled, trying several keys in the thick padlock. At last I heard the magnificent snap of the lock. The bolt popped open. I pulled Rebecca’s hand free, and the girl leaped up. “Come, dear!” I shouted.

  “Stop them!” cried a maid, clutching a teapot.

  We were racing across the room by then. “Just you try,” I declared, “and I’ll knock your block off.”

  “Follow me, Ivy!” Rebecca ran through the back door. Into a kitchen, where a cook and a few maids were milling about. One of them gave a startled cry. But we bolted through in a flash. Rebecca led the way through a series of small hallways, then down a set of metal stairs.

  “Where are we going?” I called after her.

  “To the very bottom,” she called back.

  Down and down we went. How many floors I couldn’t say. Nor did I understand how Rebecca seemed to know exactly where sh
e was going. All I knew was that we were breaking out of Prospa House. I had found my friend, and we were going home!

  As we rounded the small platform between two floors, a guard flew out. Grabbing each of us by the arm. She was a frightfully ugly creature, with a ferocious grip and a snarl upon her lips. “Thought you’d get away, did you?” she hissed. “Thought it was that easy to escape Prospa House, did you?”

  Rebecca began to weep. Shaking her head. “Please don’t take me back.”

  “Not your lucky day, is it?” Then she glared at me. “And there’s worse in store for you.”

  “It does sound tempting,” I said brightly, my free hand slipping into my pocket. “But as it happens, I’ve made other plans.” And with that I lifted my fist and blew a handful of slumber rocks into the guard’s face. She coughed exactly once, then had the good sense to tumble to the ground. But there was little time to bask in our victory. Up above we heard a great many boots pounding the metal stairs. So we took off again.

  “Where are we?”

  Rebecca led the way down three more flights. Through two corridors. And finally a spiral staircase concealed behind a wall hanging. We emerged into a windowless chamber. It had lime floors and an arched ceiling made of brick. Stone pillars flanked each corner. Bare walls, moss clustered between the cracks. At the far end were steps leading down to a pool of water—the liquid glowed a vivid gold as if it were lit from within.

  I walked to the edge. Looked down. Small ripples brushed the surface, making it hard to see clearly—but there was something at the bottom. It was flesh colored. And large. Bubbling with great regularity, each puff breaching the surface in a little cloud of steam.

  “This is how I got here,” said Rebecca. “This is where everyone who wears the Clock Diamond comes out.”

  “Through the water?”

  Rebecca nodded. “I’m not sure what it is exactly, but the first thing I remember after putting on the stone was being pulled from that water.”

  How wondrously strange!

  “I escaped once before,” said Rebecca faintly, rubbing her wrist still marked by the shackle. “I managed to trick a guard into letting me walk about the hallway to stretch my legs. Somehow I found my way down here.” She pointed to an arched doorway in the far corner. “The passageway leads out to the woodlands. I made it out, Ivy, I was free until . . .”

  “Yes, dear, I know.” And I did. For Amos and Lily had helped to hide her. Until the locks swept the forest and dragged her back. “Come, let’s get out of here before we are discovered.”

  I ran toward the arched doorway. But Rebecca did not.

  “Where will we go?” she asked mournfully.

  “Home, dear,” I said. “I will take you home.”

  “I can never go home.”

  “Says who?”

  “Justice Hallow,” came the faint reply, “and Professor Finsbury.”

  “These fatheads lie about everything, don’t you know that? Why do you suppose they are telling the truth about this?”

  Rebecca thought on that for a moment. “Oh, Ivy, do you think it’s possible?”

  “I know it. I’m not certain about all the details—though I’m confident the Clock Diamond will provide the solution. We just need to get far from this house of misery first.”

  Rebecca smiled—the first smile I had seen on her face since Butterfield Park. We joined hands and ran toward the passageway, toward freedom. But the sound of voices coming from that very place sent us racing back. Without a word we flew to the farthest pillar and cowered behind it.

  Peeking rather artfully, I saw two Orange Coats come through the arched door, followed by a figure in a dazzling silver cape, embroidered with an intricate pattern of swirls and loops. The figure threw off the cape as she walked. Beneath it was a much simpler dress of brown muslin.

  “Justice Hallow,” whispered Rebecca timidly.

  “Two girls were able to outsmart and outflank my royal guards?” said Justice Hallow, her voice rich and pleasant. “Search this house until you find them—then bring the intruder to my chambers.”

  “Yes, Justice Hallow,” the two brutes said in perfect unison.

  Justice Hallow was tall and solid. Her gray hair was shorn close to her head just like the guards. She had piercing blue eyes. Large cheekbones. As for her age, it was impossible to say—her neck was rather wrinkled, yet the skin on her face was as smooth and fair as a butter bean.

  The guards marched toward the spiral stairs—terribly close to where we were cowering. Rebecca and I shifted around the side of the pillar to stay out of sight. Which was a grave mistake. For Justice Hallow had slipped quietly behind us. She tapped Rebecca on the shoulder, causing her to cry out as if in pain.

  “How lovely to see you again, Rebecca.” Justice Hallow allowed a thin smile as she gazed at us both. “Tell me, dearest, who is your friend?”

  14

  The room was beastly and dim. Neither a bed nor a chair. Just four walls. A bucket of water. A tall cabinet in the corner. And a door. The guards had separated us. Rebecca was marched up the stairs, screaming my name. Her cries a hammer to my heart. How close we had come to freedom! I was taken to the first floor and led into a sparsely furnished room. Then locked in this horrid cell.

  I did a great deal of yelling. Making threats and such. Demanded that they bring Rebecca to me that instant. They didn’t. I slid down the wall and sat. Time slowed to a trickle. I may have dozed. I’m not certain. But a key in the lock roused me. The door opened, pale light spilling across the floor of the dim cell. Then Justice Hallow walked slowly in.

  “This cell is connected to my private quarters,” she said. “That makes you rather special. I do hope you are comfortable?”

  I stood up. “Oh yes, frightfully content.”

  “That will be all,” said Justice Hallow to the guard at the door. When he was gone, the imperious woman came to a stop just inches from my face. “The whole of Prospa House is talking about you.”

  “Can you blame them? Now I really must insist that you bring Rebecca to me—I want to see that she hasn’t been hurt.”

  “Hurt?” Her chin lifted proudly. “Remedies are revered in this house. They are treated with the greatest kindness and respect.”

  “Is that why they groan and sob during the healings?”

  “I offer hope in a hopeless world,” said Justice Hallow calmly.

  Then she pulled a cloth from the sleeve of her dress. Walked over to the bucket and dunked it. Then returned to my side. “My guards report that you had a strange glowing object beneath your dress.” Justice Hallow began wiping the gray paste from my face rather gently. “I assume it was the Clock Diamond?”

  I tried to look baffled. “What on earth is a Clock Diamond?”

  Justice Hallow smiled. I thought of Anastasia Radcliff—her very own daughter. Did I dare to mention her name? Something flared inside me like a warning. Telling me to keep quiet. Justice Hallow wrung out the cloth. Then set about cleaning my neck and hands. “I know you have the stone,” she said softly, “and I know where you are from. We cannot have you slipping back to your world, now can we?”

  She dropped the cloth and felt around my neck for the Clock Diamond—finding only a silver chain and nothing more. When she realized it wasn’t there, something wild flashed in her eyes. She proceeded to search my pockets. And my boots.

  “Where is it?” she said at last.

  “Where’s what, dear?”

  “Things will go much better if you cooperate.”

  “I want to see Rebecca.”

  “She is resting, Ivy.”

  “How did you know my name? Do you know me?”

  Justice Hallow pressed her hands together as if she were praying. “Should I know you?”

  “Hard to say—I’m frightfully well known in England. Also Paris and certain pencil shops in Istanbul. Your guards seemed to know who I was the last time I was here.”

  “Now that is strange.” She turned and wa
lked to the tall cabinet in the corner. Pulled a key from around her wrist and unlocked the top drawer. Pulled out a small bottle of purple liquid. Slipped it into her pocket. “Who sent you here, Ivy? Was it Miss Frost? Miss Always?” She released a low chuckle. “There was a time when they answered to me—but these days they do as they please.”

  “Frost and Always?” I shrugged. “Never heard of them.”

  “Miss Frost and Miss Always have certain abilities,” said Justice Hallow. “They can travel between worlds under the right moon, and Miss Always can summon a small army of tiny foot soldiers as easily as opening her mouth—these things must seem very impressive to someone from your world.” A smile played on her lips. “But the powers they have come from the portal. Did you know that, Ivy? Without it, they would be ordinary women.”

  I ignored her and tried to look as bored as possible.

  “Many years ago, Prospa was a kingdom that indulged in dark magic,” she said, looking around the cell as if it fascinated her. “The Shadow is proof of how horribly it can go wrong. Ivy, I will ask you one more time—where is the Clock Diamond?”

  Being a remarkable sort of girl, I’d had the good sense to hide the stone as soon as I was locked in that tiny chamber—removing the diamond from the chain and slipping it beneath the top of my braid. There was a slight bulge, but nothing that called attention to itself. As hiding places went, it was rather perfect.

  “I want to see Rebecca,” I said again.

  Justice Hallow made no reply. She took a long, calm breath, smiled warmly, and walked from the cell. The door swung shut behind her. I was once again in darkness.

  The house was dark and grim. No lights burned in the windows. We stood in the bitter cold looking upon it. “Come, Ivy, we . . .”

  My mother coughed violently, doubling over. Drops of blood fell from her mouth into the crisp white snow. She covered her face with a tattered scarf. “It’s not the prettiest house, but it will do for the night. I . . . I must rest awhile.”