The Frozen Telescope

by Jennifer Bell

  ‘You know why!’ Alexander barked. He removed another test tube from the leather doctor’s bag, this one labelled TELEPORT, and held it threateningly close to his own lips. ‘I suggest you cooperate before I disappear out of here. I’m the only one who’s read the journal. I can tell you Amos’s instructions for handling the sword in a way that maximizes its power.’

  Ivy had a strong suspicion that Alexander was bluffing. She’d been reading and translating Amos’s journal for months now and she hadn’t discovered any sword-operating guidelines. Alexander had only possessed the journal for a few minutes.

  ‘You might be able to use the sword for small tasks,’ Alexander sneered, ‘but if you try wielding it to start New Dawn, you’ll cause another storm. You need me.’

  Monkshood made a hissing, snarling noise. His robes flickered.

  From what Alexander had said, Ivy realized she’d been right about there being a connection between Storm Sarah and the Sword of Wills. The Sword had been responsible for the storm – but it had been an accident. Without Amos’s advice, Monkshood had lost control of the sword, and Storm Sarah had been the consequence.

  ‘So be it,’ Monkshood replied. From within the folds of his dark cloak he withdrew a long black sword with a single-edged, curved blade. The circular guard and grip were patterned with silver stars. It looked a lot like the Japanese katana that Ivy had seen on the cover of one of her dad’s books, Weapons from History.

  Monkshood held the blade horizontally in his nimble fingers, just as Seb had done when he’d been using the uncommon paper-knife. After a moment’s concentration he released the sword. It hovered away from his gloved hands, the point towards Valian, and started spinning …

  Adrenalin shot through Ivy’s numb body. Her mind sharpened. She focused her whispering senses inside the Sword of Wills, desperately trying to communicate with the resident soul. After it failed to understand English, she tried sending it relaxing images, hoping to encourage it to slow down – a wave gently lapping the sand, a bird landing on water …

  … but the blade persisted.

  Eventually Monkshood controlled the sword to a stop. There was a leather cord attached to the scabbard which he slipped over his head so that the blade hung at his back. Except it wasn’t exactly ‘hanging’ – Ivy could see the handle hovering above Monkshood’s shoulders, powered by some invisible force.

  Valian, no—! Ivy shouted inside as Valian stepped into her line of sight. His movements were stiff and robotic as he stood to attention before Monkshood. Valian’s dark eyes had glazed over and his expression was blank, as if he’d been hypnotized. Ivy understood what had happened: the Sword of Wills had broken the effect of Alexander’s Statue Salt and taken control of Valian’s mind.

  ‘You will do exactly as I say,’ Monkshood told Valian. ‘Climb to the top of Breath Falls and jump off.’

  Ivy’s heart flinched. No! She tried to wrestle her limbs free again, but it was no use.

  Valian nodded once and, with Monkshood – and the Sword of Wills – carefully accompanying him, he marched out of the room without looking back.

  A satisfied grin spread across Alexander’s face. Desperately, Ivy skimmed the room with her whispering senses. The soul within the lava lamp spoke with a slow Southern American drawl. Help me, she begged. I have to save my friend.

  Then, without waiting for a reply, she moved her senses on and reached for the tin music box in the old doctor’s bag. Please turn backwards, she pleaded. My brother and I are trapped. We need to save our friend. You’ve got to help us.

  The lava lamp responded first, darkening the room with images of an erupting volcano. Fiery ash rained from the sky; the stink of sulphur filled Ivy’s nostrils. Alexander looked confusedly from the walls to the door, like he didn’t know whether to run or applaud. Visions of pterodactyls roared through the black sky before dive-bombing him. He ducked and covered his head, knocking his doctor’s bag onto the carpet …

  And that was when Ivy saw the music box roll out and the handle rotate backwards.

  The shrill tune sounded eerie played in reverse. As the melody penetrated Ivy’s ears, she felt her limbs loosen and her muscles rush with blood.

  ‘No!’ Alexander blurted, hastily recovering the music box from the floor. He fumbled for the handle and yanked it, but by then it was too late.

  Ivy kicked with all her might and stumbled forward. Seb punched his arms free, as though he was breaking out of a block of ice. He grabbed the object nearest to him: Alexander’s leather doctor’s bag.

  ‘That’s for Valian, you loser!’ he yelled, swinging it into Alexander’s side.

  Alexander thudded hard against the bed. Ivy heard the smash of glass, and a cloud of green vapour started rising out of the top of the bag.

  ‘Seb, we’ve got to save Valian,’ Ivy gasped as Alexander wobbled to his feet, looking stunned. Collecting her satchel, she dragged her brother into the lounge and grabbed Scratch, who had rolled under a coffee table.

  ‘Ivy curtains yo-yo beside,’ he told her helpfully.

  Dashing over to the window, she picked up her weapon from the floor. She stuffed it into her right pocket and Scratch into her left. Glancing at the buildings opposite gave her an idea. ‘Help me open this. We need to get out onto the balcony.’

  Seb slid up the pane of glass so that they could both squeeze out—

  Behind them there was a sudden loud clatter as Curtis burst through the door. She made a split-second assessment of the scene: the suite in ruins; Ivy and Seb about to escape through the window; Alexander Brewster on his feet, hurtling through from the next room …

  … and she rugby-tackled him to the floor. ‘Go!’ she cried to Ivy and Seb.

  With one hand on the railings, Ivy waved a thumb in the air, and a moment later a worn and dusty carpet appeared, hovering at the same level as the balcony.

  ‘Where you off to?’ asked the woman with dark curly hair riding on top.

  ‘The summit of Breath Falls,’ Ivy said, climbing over the railings. She heard Curtis and Alexander shouting as she and Seb sat down on the rug. ‘We need to be quick.’

  ‘You’ll have to pay extra for water damage,’ the lady noted firmly.

  ‘We know!’ Ivy insisted. ‘Please hurry!’

  As they zoomed over Nubrook, Ivy and Seb tried to pick out Valian in the crowded streets below. Everywhere Ivy looked, Thanksgiving festivities were in full swing: troupes of dancers paraded through the streets, music and confetti filled the air, and huge uncommon ribbons floated between buildings, writing messages of celebration.

  ‘Ivy, Alexander is after us,’ Seb warned. ‘Something must have happened to Curtis.’

  Ivy checked over her shoulder. Alexander was pursuing them on the back of a cylinder vacuum cleaner, the nozzle flapping in the wind.

  She hoped Curtis was OK. ‘He’s still got Amos’s journal,’ she observed, catching sight of it tucked under his arm. She was annoyed at herself for not grabbing it earlier. ‘We’ve got to slow him down. We can’t fight him and Monkshood.’ She whipped out her yo-yo and, aiming it carefully, flicked her wrist. Twisting torrents of air formed on either side of the spinning toy and merged into a single whirlwind which surged towards Alexander. Sucking clumps of confetti from the air, the cyclone quickly took on the appearance of a giant spool of rainbow candyfloss.

  Just as it was about to collide with Alexander, he managed to dodge aside –

  – right into the path of an uncommon ribbon looped into a HAPPY THANKSGIVING! message. Alexander tried to bat the ribbon away, but it got tangled around his arms, causing him to lose control of the vacuum cleaner. He went spinning across the road and landed on the awning of an Italian gelato stand. Two men wearing gelato-splattered aprons appeared below, shaking their fists and shouting furiously.

  Relief washed over Ivy as she turned back. ‘Now we just need to rescue Valian,’ she said. ‘Next stop, the Falls.’

  As the silver colossus came into sight, their sky d
river soared towards Nubrook’s concrete ceiling and then swooped down to land on the statue’s head. Water gurgled over the surface from where the mist condensed into shallow streams. Up close, Ivy saw that the structure was made of grey metallic rock that undulated with ripples, giving it the appearance of hair. The sky driver lowered them onto the surface, where the roar of the falls was so loud that Ivy couldn’t hear herself think.

  ‘Can you see Valian?’ she hollered, searching for any solid form in the mist. Her coat and skin were soaked in seconds.

  Seb pointed towards the statue’s hairline, where two dark shapes hovered in the spray. ‘Over there!’

  The rock was slippery underfoot so Ivy trod carefully, grasping the peaks of the statue’s hair to steady herself. As they got closer, the outline of Monkshood’s dark robe became clear. His hood had been pushed off in the wind: a few straggly dark hairs clung to the rear of his skull; the skin on his scalp looked like bathroom mould. Ivy could see the Sword of Wills floating at his back. ‘How do we release Valian from the influence of the sword?’

  ‘I think we just have to force it away from Monkshood,’ Seb said. ‘I only lost complete control of the paper-knife when I wasn’t concentrating on it any more. Perhaps we should cause a distraction.’

  Ivy grasped her yo-yo. ‘We need to be careful not to make Valian topple over the edge by accident. He’ll be trying to leap off the whole time.’

  ‘Do you think you could use your whirlwinds to push him away from the edge, while I tackle Monkshood?’ Seb said.

  Ivy had never used her yo-yo to do that before, but they were low on options. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she replied.

  They quickened their pace over the rest of the distance, concentrating hard to stay balanced – it was like running on selkie slime. Valian finally became visible when they were almost within reach of him. He stepped closer to the edge, his expression vacant.

  ‘Now!’ Seb shouted, striking out with his drumsticks. Monkshood tumbled back, sliding across the rock.

  Aiming more carefully than she ever had before, Ivy generated a trio of tornadoes with her yo-yo. One by one, they lined up at the statue’s hairline and forced the mist back. The water under Ivy’s feet began to ripple in reverse and, slowly, Valian glided to safety. ‘It’s working!’ she cried, although she could see Valian already leaning forward, trying to use his weight to resist.

  Monkshood pulled a steel tin opener out from his cloak and pointed it at the ground, where a glittering pile of metal filings appeared. Out of the filings, six steel-bodied crabs the size of small dogs came to life and scuttled towards Seb. They had razor-sharp pincers and beady black eyes that wiggled around on silver stalks.

  ‘Ugh! Get away!’ Seb yelled, trying to smash them with beats from his drumsticks.

  The glinting crabs gripped the wet rock as well as real crustaceans, dodging Seb’s blasts, snapping their pincers and drawing ever closer. Down through the mist, Ivy glimpsed a crowd looking up at them. Their presence hadn’t gone unnoticed; several people were already approaching on flying carpets.

  Too late, she heard the whirr of machinery—

  Alexander Brewster dropped out of the sky and clattered to the ground. His vacuum cleaner smashed into several pieces and washed over the side. ‘You will not ruin this!’ he shouted as he limped to his feet. His outfit and the journal tucked under his arm were smeared with several different colours of ice cream. ‘You and everyone you love will pay!’

  Ivy checked on Valian, who was wobbling a couple of metres from the edge, and sent another carefully positioned tornado to keep him in place. Seb was only just fending off Monkshood and the steel crabs.

  ‘I’m sorry that you lost your pa,’ Ivy shouted to Alexander, ‘but it wasn’t us who killed him.’

  He wiped his face dry, scowling. ‘You didn’t save him!’ he spat.

  Just then, one of the steel crabs caught Alexander’s heel with a snip of its pincer. Alexander howled and hopped around on one leg. His foot slipped –

  – and, in a streak of shadow, he washed over the waterfall. Ivy hurried to the edge. The nozzle of Alexander’s broken vacuum cleaner had become wrapped round one of the statue’s eyelashes; Alexander was hanging from it one-handed, his limbs flailing in the wind.

  ‘Drop the journal!’ Ivy shouted, catching sight of it in his fingers. ‘You need two hands to climb up.’

  Alexander’s face flashed with fear, but, rather than taking Ivy’s advice, he scowled and attempted to haul himself up with one arm. Ivy tried to think of a way to save him. Perhaps, if she aimed a tornado under his feet, it would keep him from falling—

  ‘Ivy, look out!’ Seb shouted.

  She turned. Monkshood was gliding straight towards her. He swiped the Sword of Wills from his back and pointed it at Alexander, still dangling in the mist. The katana rotated in mid-air, faster and faster.

  Valian fell to his knees. His gaze sharpened.

  ‘Valian!’ Seb hollered, walled in by metal crabs. ‘Get away from the edge!’

  When Ivy looked back at Alexander, his body had gone taut and his face was expressionless. She understood what had happened: the Sword of Wills had relinquished its control over Valian and focused on Alexander instead.

  ‘Throw me Amos Stirling’s journal,’ Monkshood demanded.

  With all the strength he could muster, Alexander hurled the journal towards the top of the colossus. His body was left swinging precariously. The vacuum nozzle creaked.

  ‘Foolish boy.’ Monkshood laughed as he caught the journal and tucked it securely inside his robes. Then, with the Sword of Wills in his grasp, he turned and vanished into thin air – his crab army dematerializing with him.

  Alexander’s face twitched; light returned to his eyes. ‘What—?’ In the confusion of remembering where he was, his hand slipped—

  Before Ivy could shout, however, a carpet emerged from the spray. Riding atop was Curtis, gripping the shirt collar of a wriggling Alexander.

  Ivy slid over to Valian and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe.’

  But, despite having been just moments from death, there was only one thing on Valian’s mind. ‘Rosie …’ he murmured. ‘We have to find Rosie.’

  The underguard station was buzzing with activity when Ivy, Seb and Valian returned. A constant stream of Tidemonger agents – Ivy identified them from the forked-arrow symbols on their clothing – flitted to and fro across reception, disappearing through different doors. Short puffs sounded every few moments as featherlight messages arrived for the underguard officers on duty behind the coffin desk. Scribbling feverishly, they sent responses while other guards hurried in and out of the discocommunicator room. The walls of the building vibrated with the rumble of the growing crowd outside, eager to learn what was happening.

  Water dripped from the hem of Ivy’s duffel coat as she shifted in her chair, drawing the unwavering stares of three underguard officers standing opposite. Their hands rested threateningly on their toilet brushes, their expressions stern. Valian and Seb had been made to sit a chair apart in the same row, so they could all be watched closely. Judy – who arrived after hearing what had happened from a street vendor near Breath Falls – had been allowed to sit beside Ivy.

  ‘Seeing as we’re not allowed to leave here again,’ Seb muttered, shivering, ‘can one of you officers get us some hot drinks? Or maybe even a dry blanket?’

  The underguards didn’t react. Ivy wondered if the post-ordeal care package had been cancelled after she and Valian had broken into the discocommunicator room. Or maybe these three just weren’t the warm fuzzy types.

  ‘What do you think they’re doing?’ she asked, squinting at the darkened glass door through which Johnny Hands, Curtis and several senior underguards had stepped almost an hour ago. ‘They’ve been in there for ages.’

  ‘They’re probably contacting more Tidemongers and other underguard cohorts to tell them about Monkshood,’ Valian sa
id, folding his arms. ‘They’ve got to plan their response to stop people from panicking.’

  Ivy wished she could un-see the stunned and terrified faces of the traders in Nubrook’s streets as they’d flown down from the waterfall on Curtis’s carpet. Everyone knew that another member of the Dirge was out in the open. Security would be heightened throughout the uncommon world. Thanksgiving celebrations would be cancelled.

  ‘What about the Dirge?’ Seb said quietly. ‘Monkshood will soon give Octavius Wrench the Sword of Wills and Amos’s journal. After that, New Dawn could start at any moment.’

  Ivy thought of all those cities around the world that would be overrun by races of the dead … and London first. Her nerves felt as damp as her clothes. She sniffed and looked at Judy. ‘We have to find Rosie and the Sands of Change,’ she said firmly. ‘Did you see Mr Rife at the auction house?’

  ‘Not personally, no,’ Judy said, sounding irritated. ‘Uncommon bridal veils have been placed around the building since yesterday – they prevent any travel through the walls. Without an invitation I couldn’t get in, but, according to a couple of guests I asked outside, Mr Rife is there. He just doesn’t want any unwelcome guests.’

  ‘Even if we do somehow escape from this place, we’ll be too late to catch him.’ Valian sounded almost defeated. ‘The auction is due to finish any moment now. We know Mr Rife is going to visit Midas, his buyer, afterwards. As soon as he gets in that pram, we have to be ready to go after him. He’s the only person who might know what happened to Rosie.’

  Just then, the darkened glass door opened and Curtis and Johnny Hands emerged. Ivy scrutinized them to see if she could work out what had happened. Curtis’s headscarf was blotchy with water stains, the sleeves of her trench coat rolled up past her elbows to reveal another layer of clothing beneath. A sheen of sweat coated her skin. It looked like she’d been busy. Johnny Hands seemed no less exhausted. Even his wobbling red-and-blue jester’s hat didn’t detract from the grim look on his face.