The Uncommoners #2

by Jennifer Bell

  A clatter sounded downstairs. Ivy felt the floorboards creak. “What’s that? Is there anyone else here?”

  Granma Sylvie stiffened. “There shouldn’t be.”

  Using her whispering, Ivy searched past the walls of the bedroom and out into the mansion. One of the dead was approaching from below.

  Before she could shout out a warning, a figure rose through the floor. A long dark braid, pale skin and thin red lips: Selena Grimes. Her stone-gray dress shifted around her body like a shadow and her face was frozen in an expression of disgust. She glowered at Ivy and Granma Sylvie, brandishing an ebony walking cane in her hand.

  It sliced through the air like a scythe. “That journal belongs to me!” She lunged toward them, cane aloft. Crack! Several thorny creepers shot from the end of it, flying straight for Ivy’s face.

  She ducked out of the way just in time. The brambles ripped into Granma Sylvie’s bed, tearing open the pillows.

  Selena laughed. “You cannot hope to escape this time. I’m going to kill you all, as I should have done a long time ago.” She whirled the uncommon cane above her head and a forest of thorns ripped through the floorboards, shredding anything in their path. “Give me that!” she screeched, lunging for the journal in Granma Sylvie’s hands. “How dare you touch it!”

  Granma Sylvie spun away, causing Selena to trip over a pile of books and end up on her hands and knees, hovering eerily above the floor. Smacking his drumsticks at Granma Sylvie’s old wardrobe, Seb sent it toppling over onto Selena with a loud bang.

  “You three, get to the stairs,” Granma Sylvie ordered, grabbing Ivy’s satchel and tugging out the Sack of Stars. “There’s a car in the drive; I’ll meet you there. Go—now!”

  Her voice spurred Ivy into action and she ran over to the door. Selena was stirring, her body appearing through the wardrobe. Ivy dodged several leaping brambles before escaping onto the landing, Seb and Valian right behind her.

  “What about Granma?” Seb called, looking back into the bedroom. Granma Sylvie was by the window, tossing Amos’s notebook into the Sack of Stars.

  “It sounds like she has a plan. Do what she says,” Valian urged. “Selena’s trying to kill us. More of the Dirge could be on their way. We need to run—now.”

  Ivy tore down the stairs ahead of Seb and Valian, shooting through the front door and out into the night. The house was surrounded by a neat lawn and a trimmed box hedge; a vintage Volkswagen Beetle was parked in the drive. Ivy heard a scratchy thud on the lawn and saw Granma Sylvie touching down, lowering an uncommon belt to her waist. Ivy had used one before—they enabled you to fly.

  “Kept one in my room for emergencies,” Granma Sylvie called, shaking out the belt. “Get in the car! I’ve trapped Selena with an uncommon paper clip, but she’ll break free at any moment.”

  The doors were unlocked. Seb took the front passenger seat while Valian and Ivy squeezed into the back. Ivy was all fingers and thumbs as she struggled to get her seat belt on. It was strange being in a common mode of transport again. Granma Sylvie got the engine running and pulled away.

  “Where are we going?” Seb asked, still panting.

  Ivy looked through the rear window as vines burst through the first-floor windows of the mansion and spread out across the front garden. Selena was nowhere to be seen.

  “To the gardens,” Granma Sylvie said. “We have to get back to Lundinor and find Ethel and the others. If Selena’s risking using that cane on common land, it can mean only one thing.”

  “What?” Ivy asked, impressed by how much Granma Sylvie now understood.

  “The underguard must be busy dealing with something else,” she said. “Something very bad.”

  There was no underguard from Special Branch in the potting shed to escort them down the uncommon hose, so the four of them helped themselves to a garden sack each and took turns clambering inside. “Why couldn’t we use the Sack of Stars to get there?” Ivy asked before pushing off.

  “I’ve sent something else through it,” Granma Sylvie said. “You can’t use bags for two different journeys at the same time.”

  As Ivy twisted around and around the helter skelter into the main arrivals chamber, a scent began to fill her nostrils—charcoal and sulfur, like the smell of fireworks. By the time she touched down at the bottom and stood up, she was coughing.

  On the opposite side of the chamber the Great Gates stood open, but their intricate design featuring orange and lemon trees had been altered to show something else:

  The smoking hourglass.

  “Stay close to me,” Granma Sylvie said, leading the way through the Great Gates onto the Gauntlet. “Selena can’t be far behind.”

  Ivy scanned the area. “Where is everyone?” The wide gravel road was deserted, and the only sound came from the wind rustling through the empty fields on either side. The thatched cottages had their blinds drawn and windows shut. Ivy knew it was late, but she had expected the place to be teeming with supporters leaving the Grivens contest.

  Valian cast wary glances up and down the street. “I’ve never seen Lundinor like this.”

  They continued along the Gauntlet, searching for clues.

  “Over there.” Seb pointed to a blackened spot by the roadside: a small muddy hole surrounded by a ring of singed grass.

  “What is it?” Ivy asked.

  Valian bent down to inspect it. “A drain hole. Lundinor might seem different every season, but the core structure—the air filters, the sewage system, the road layout—is always the same. The drain network runs through all four quarters.”

  “They’ve overflowed.” Granma Sylvie took out a pen, poked it into the sludge and held it under her nose. Ivy grimaced.

  “This isn’t drain water,” Granma Sylvie said. “There’s something uncommon going on here. You smell…”

  Ivy screwed up her face, giving the pen a sniff. The mud smelled smoky and sweet, just like…“Dragon’s Breath Ale,” Ivy exclaimed.

  “Ale? Interesting.” Granma Sylvie wiped her pen on the grass and straightened up. “We’d better keep walking.”

  More scorched drains appeared as they continued. As the House of Bells came into sight, Granma Sylvie gasped. The thatched roof was smoking and half the wooden porch had collapsed, blocking the door. Chunks of splintered masonry lay scattered across the street. “Ethel!” she cried, hurrying closer. “Ethel, are you in there?”

  Ivy shot Seb and Valian a look of concern as they followed her.

  There was silence at first, and then a muffled voice called out, “Sylvie?” Ethel appeared at a broken downstairs window, her face sweating and pale behind the jagged pieces of glass. “What are you doing out there? Get inside; they’ll smell you.”

  “Smell us?” Seb repeated. “What are you talking about?”

  Before Ethel could answer, Granma Sylvie turned and stared into the distance, going very still. Ivy followed her gaze. Smoke was rising over a far-off hill, forming into a huge cloud that loomed under the cave ceiling.

  “Ivy,” Granma Sylvie said in a tight voice. “That cloud—what does your whispering tell you about it?”

  Ivy concentrated hard, focusing on the distant patch of smoke. There were lots of broken souls there, with angry voices talking at the same time. “It’s made of dead creatures,” she said. “I think they’re coming toward us.” Suddenly she caught a sound on the air—a rumbling, crackling noise like a giant bonfire.

  “Pyroaches,” Granma Sylvie growled. “They shouldn’t be here; there isn’t any fire.”

  Ivy recalled Mr. Littlefair’s chilling warning about the creatures during the fire at Brewster’s Alehouse. “Dragon’s Breath Ale allows people to temporarily breathe fire. Could the flooded drains have something to do with it?”

  Valian scuffed his foot on the blackened grass. “If the ale is in the sewers, any number of pyr
oaches could have drunk it. It would allow them to create fire themselves—to move around freely.”

  In the distance the dark swarm was getting bigger. Granma Sylvie’s face was white with horror. “They’ll be here in minutes. We need to get inside now!”

  “Over here,” Seb called, scrambling across the porch and lifting aside a plank of wood. “There’s a hole in the wall we can fit through.”

  Ivy could hear the crackling noise getting louder. “Hurry—I think I can see them.” A gigantic ball of fire turned onto the Gauntlet. Inside the flames was a mass of long dark bodies flying in warplane formation. Thatched cottages on either side burst alight as they passed.

  Without a second to spare, Ivy, Seb, Valian and Granma Sylvie scrambled through the splintered hole into the House of Bells. Seb speedily covered it up with wood from the other side.

  The cottage walls trembled.

  “Get down!” Ethel whispered, kneeling on the floor.

  They all crawled toward a window and peered over the ledge. The timbers rattled as the swarm of pyroaches shot past. With every glimpse, Ivy was able to build a more complete picture of the creatures, and it made her skin crawl. Each pyroach was the size of a small dog, with long wings the color of molten lava and a body that scraped and crunched as it flew. Its head was disturbingly human, but four black legs hung from the segment between its neck and chest.

  Ivy tucked herself down under the window frame; she was shaking. The pyroaches’ wings thudded through the air, making the walls of the House of Bells rattle.

  After a minute or so the crackling noises began to fade.

  “The pyroaches were waiting outside the Grivens stadium,” Ethel said. “I managed to escape on a mop, but most of the audience fled to Mr. Punch’s big top. Violet sent me featherlights to explain what was going on. Mr. Punch ’as protected everyone in the tent, but ’ow long ’e can hold out, I don’t know. No one ’as any weapons to defend themselves.”

  Ivy thought of Judy—she must have left the stadium before anyone had discovered the pyroaches waiting outside. “Perhaps the sewers were flooded with Dragon’s Breath Ale while the contest was going on.”

  Ethel blinked. “Ale? No one at the big top knows anything about that.”

  “Where’s the underguard?” Valian asked as Ethel headed for the door at the back of the shop.

  “A second swarm of pyroaches are besieging the station,” she replied over her shoulder. “A few officers may ’ave escaped using body bags, but if they’ve tried to reenter Lundinor through the Great Gates, they’ll ’ave just been driven inside.”

  The others followed Ethel into the storeroom.

  “We’ve got to rescue them,” Ivy said, curling her hands into fists. “We could evacuate people using the Sack of Stars.”

  Granma Sylvie reached into her handbag and pulled it out. Ethel cast the burlap sack a startled look.

  “We can’t,” Valian said. “You remember what Mr. Punch told us: it’s our responsibility to keep the bag hidden, no matter what. If the Dirge found it—”

  “Evacuation wouldn’t work anyway,” Granma Sylvie cut in. “The pyroaches would overwhelm Mr. Punch before everyone was able to escape. It’s him we need to help, only we’ll need some more equipment.” She patted Ethel’s shoulder. “We can’t fight pyroaches without putting out fires.”

  Ethel frowned at Granma Sylvie’s hand. “You sound strangely sure of that, Sylv….’Ave you remembered something?”

  Granma Sylvie’s lips twitched into a smile. “It’s all come back, old friend,” she said, tapping her temple. “Everything.”

  Ethel started. “What?” She took a few steps closer. “Are you certain?”

  Granma Sylvie exhaled. “Oh, will you just come here?” She threw her arms around Ethel, squeezing tightly.

  The shrill grate of pyroach wings suddenly made the shop walls tremble. Ethel’s face fell. “Better catch up later.”

  Granma Sylvie turned to Ivy, Seb and Valian. “You three go through the bag first. As soon as you reach the big top, go and find Mr. Littlefair and Violet, and stay with them until this is over. Ethel and I will see what we can do to aid Mr. Punch.”

  While Granma Sylvie went to help Ethel find an uncommon watering can, Valian lowered his voice. “Keep a lookout for Selena. The pyroaches won’t bother her—they only feed on living flesh.”

  Ivy took her yo-yo out of her satchel and stuffed it in her trouser pocket, ready to use. She listened in as Granma Sylvie and Ethel discussed their plans.

  “Pyroaches can smell you and see you, but they ’ave poor hearing,” Ethel was saying.

  Granma Sylvie tucked a plastic spade—just like the ones the castleguards had used to fight the fire at the alehouse—into her belt. “Agreed. Staying quiet and hidden is our best line of defense.”

  Ivy took note of their advice. With Selena on their tail, she didn’t know when it might come in handy.

  Granma Sylvie fixed her long hair into a ponytail and smoothed down her blouse. “Ready?” She laid the Sack of Stars on the floor in front of them. “Good luck, everyone.”

  * * *

  —

  The air in the big top was humid and filled with panicked conversation. As Ivy got to her feet, she searched for Mr. Littlefair and Violet. The majority of the uncommoners sat huddled in the center of the sandy floor; some were busy constructing a barricade at the entrance using the heaviest of Mr. Punch’s chests. Pyroaches still circled the tent, the roar making Ivy shudder.

  As she scanned the injured, her spirits fell. Casualties ranged from singed hair and minor burns to serious wounds. Young children were sobbing, hiding in the folds of their parents’ Hobsmatch.

  Ivy had never seen the traders of Lundinor look so vulnerable and helpless before. Her throat tightened as she glimpsed each anxious face. They were trapped, not only in the tent but in Lundinor itself—a gigantic cave now plagued by flesh-eating monsters.

  At the edge of the tent she spotted Alexander Brewster, his face scratched and bleeding. Violet and Mr. Littlefair stood close by in a group of other Gauntlet traders.

  “There they are,” Seb said. The Sack of Stars rustled on the floor behind them as Ethel scrambled out. “Let’s go.”

  They made their way across the tent toward Alexander.

  “Ivy?” His eyes were watery. “My pa is outside—trapped in a building on the opposite side of the green. He’s got nothing to defend himself with.”

  Seb winced. “Isn’t there someone out there who can help?”

  “Everyone’s hiding.” Alexander’s voice sounded resigned. “Here—I’ll show you.”

  They wove their way through to a small section of tent wall that was dotted with golf-ball-sized holes. “They’re big enough to see through but too small to let a pyroach in,” Alexander explained briefly.

  Ivy pushed her face against the purple canvas and peeked through the gap.

  Outside, the place looked like a deserted movie set. The dark streets were empty and the only flicker of movement came from an orange light that flashed across the ground as the pyroaches patrolled overhead.

  “Mr. Punch is outside the main entrance,” Alexander said. “My pa is on the right, in the hotel with the stained-glass windows. We’ve been staying there while the alehouse is being repaired.” He paused. “He didn’t want to watch me in the Grivens contest; I think he’s still angry about the fire and that business with the photo frame.”

  Ivy spied Mr. Punch in his red and black ringmaster’s coat, standing alone on the grass. In his hand was a closed black umbrella, dripping with water. Above his curly orange beard, his face was stiff. A cloud of pyroaches plunged toward him, but Mr. Punch merely pointed his umbrella at them and opened it up. A barrage of icicles and raindrops shot out, slicing through the air and spearing pyroaches. The water droplets doused their fire and, wea
kened, they disappeared down the nearest drain.

  Drummond Brewster was more difficult to spot, but Ivy eventually glimpsed his red face and barrel chest in the window of a three-story cottage across the green.

  “There must be some way to get to him,” she said, drawing back. “Maybe we can distract the pyroaches….”

  As Alexander peered through the hole again, Seb lowered his voice. “Ivy, there are too many of them, and we’re their food.”

  “Yes, but pyroaches have bad hearing,” she argued. “Perhaps if we’re quiet, we can sneak over without being noticed.”

  Valian chewed the suggestion over. “We’d have a better chance if we split up. Seb and I could create a diversion while you and Alexander fetch his dad.”

  After sharing their makeshift plan with Alexander, they found a spot behind a wall of cabinets where no one could see them, and Seb used his drumsticks to blast a hole in the soil under the tent. “I’ll fill it in once we’ve crawled through,” he said. “We don’t want the pyroaches getting in.”

  Outside, the roar of the pyroach swarm was ferocious. The four of them dashed over the scorched grass and ducked down behind a smoking tree stump, staying as quiet as they could.

  “The pyroaches are just rounding the tent,” Valian said, pointing. “Seb and I will try to lure them down there, away from the big top. That should give you enough time to reach your dad.”