The Uncommoners #2

by Jennifer Bell

  “You have proved beyond any doubt that you are capable of great things,” the stranger said in a hoarse voice. “The Rasavatum are fools not to accept you.”

  There was a sigh before Alexander replied, “Who are you?”

  “The Rasavatum are quite brilliant,” the stranger replied. “But they will never be great. There is only one truly great guild.” The back of Ivy’s neck prickled; that hoarse voice sounded strangely familiar.

  “You’re from…the Dirge?” Alexander asked.

  Amos’s lightprint. That’s where Ivy had heard the voice before. The speaker was the same Monkshood she’d listened to in 1967.

  “A boy like you could easily win a place with us someday,” Monkshood said. “You have already demonstrated rare talents, and now, I believe, you have something that could prove even more valuable.”

  “The journal,” Alexander said gruffly. “You want me to tell you what I read inside it, don’t you?”

  Ivy covered her mouth. Alexander hadn’t hidden Amos’s journal to protect her at all—he’d taken it to read what was inside. His curiosity had probably been pricked when he saw the smoking hourglass.

  A loud boom shook the air. Ivy saw a flash of blue light over by the big top. “Granma Sylvie and Valian…” She turned to leave, but then listened for Alexander and Monkshood again; they had disappeared. “Let’s go,” she said urgently.

  Seb hesitated for only a moment before sprinting back through the crowd and skidding to a halt on the other side.

  Selena was holding Valian around the chest, her uncommon cane pointing at his neck. Its thorny brambles tightened around his throat. “Stay back,” she spat, her voice full of venom. “Let me through.” As she edged toward the Gauntlet, people hurried out of her path.

  Ivy tried to catch Valian’s eye, but there were too many people around.

  Smokehart, his uncommon toilet brush sparking in his hands, stepped toward Selena carefully. “There is nowhere to go, Lady Grimes. No walls to walk through here. It’s just a one-way ticket to a ghoul hole for you.”

  “Never!” Selena screamed, jerking the cane.

  Valian tensed. Ivy could see blood dripping down his neck.

  Mr. Punch stepped forward. “There is another solution to this, Inspector,” he said wearily, inching toward Selena. “One where no one gets hurt…” His blue-green eyes picked out Ivy; she wondered what he was going to do. From under his ringmaster’s coat he brought out a chestnut-brown violin. Ivy could sense it was uncommon.

  She listened closely. The voice inside the violin was screaming and sobbing in alternate beats—just like the voice that floated inside Selena. They sounded as if they were crying out to each other, as if they desperately wanted to be reunited, like two halves of the same coin.

  It was the violin—the one Selena had given Monkshood in 1967. It contained the other half of her soul.

  Mr. Punch took a deep sigh. “Be at peace, Selena Grimes.” He gently tossed the violin at her; it tumbled through the air, then suddenly sped toward her like an arrow. Both she and the violin exploded in a burst of light.

  As Ivy shielded her eyes from the blast, she sensed a voice dancing at the edge of her hearing. She couldn’t be sure, but she felt—just for a second—that the voice belonged to Selena, a complete Selena.

  The steps of the Great Cavern Memorial were covered with bunches of daffodils. Ivy saw uncommon ribbons writing messages of condolence through the blooms. Some of them spoke of the tragic loss of Drummond Brewster or the casualties of the pyroach attack, while others commemorated past victims of the Dirge.

  Ivy shivered. Up until a few days ago she’d never seen anyone die. Now she’d witnessed not only Drummond Brewster’s passing but also the Departure of Selena Grimes.

  “They got the graffiti off, then,” Seb said, staring at the empty space, which had only recently been covered in garish purple paint.

  Ivy assumed Mr. Punch had had something to do with it. If anyone was able to undo Alexander Brewster’s handiwork, it would be a member of the Rasavatum.

  Valian scanned the shell-shocked faces of the traders. People were muttering, their arms around each other’s shoulders. “Everyone feels guilty that they didn’t realize who Selena Grimes really was, that they let her control them for so long.”

  Ivy sighed in understanding. She still couldn’t believe the scale of Alexander’s deception; she was angry with herself for not seeing through it earlier. “What do you think everyone will do now?”

  “After the cleanup I suppose they’ll elect a new quartermaster for the Dead End,” Valian said, “and things will return to normal.”

  “But the rest of the Dirge are still out there,” Seb pointed out. “We’ve thwarted their plans twice now—they’re gonna be angrier and more dangerous than ever.”

  Ivy had a sinking feeling Seb was right, though she wasn’t sure what the three of them could do about it. With the Sack of Stars destroyed, they had no way to spy on the Dirge, and she and Seb were due back to school next week anyway.

  “I don’t think their numbers have reduced as much as we think they have,” Valian said. “It was in all the papers this morning: a crooked sixpence appeared at Drummond Brewster’s funeral. I think Alexander’s joined the Dirge.”

  With Selena Departed, Ivy supposed there was an opening in the Fallen Guild for a new Wolfsbane. “I think we’ll see him again before this is all over,” she warned.

  On the other side of the memorial a tall gray-haired gentleman came strolling toward them. His swirly blue-green eyes were familiar. Ivy elbowed the boys. “That’s Mr. Punch.”

  He came to stand beside them and nodded at the memorial. “Remembering the past is not enough, of course. We must learn from it too.”

  “What happened to Selena…,” Ivy said quietly. “That’s going to change things now, isn’t it? The dead will know that in order to become one of the Departed, they must unite with the uncommon object that contains the other part of their soul.” She remembered what Johnny Hands had said about accepting his existence for what it was. This new information would change all that; it was going to stir things up in every undermart around the world.

  Mr. Punch straightened. “It is a powerful revelation—of that there is no doubt. The Dirge kept it to themselves in order to manipulate others. I hid it to prevent chaos. I see now that it was never my secret to keep.”

  Ivy could hear the regret in his voice and considered how many other tough decisions he’d had to make over the years. How strong he was to admit his mistake, she thought.

  He smiled fondly down at the three of them. “Can I expect to see you back in Lundinor next season?”

  Ivy shared a nervous look with Seb and Valian. If we survive that long. They knew that the Dirge would have the three of them in their sights; they’d want revenge.

  As if reading her mind, Mr. Punch added, “You know, it isn’t just the underguard that have been monitoring you over the past few months; a few friends of mine have been keeping an eye on you too. I will ask them to stay close this summer to make sure you’re safe. Also, I have something for each of you.” He brought three objects out of his jacket pockets: a small package wrapped in black cotton, which he gave to Seb; a gold envelope, which he passed to Valian; and a heavy rectangular parcel covered in brown paper, which he deposited in Ivy’s hands.

  “For us?” Ivy wasn’t expecting a gift.

  “You have proved to me that each of these is rightfully yours,” Mr. Punch told them, bowing his head. “Farewell, and good luck.”

  Seb unwrapped his black package. “They’re gloves,” he said. “Drummer’s gloves. Cool.” He tried one of them on, spreading out his fingers.

  Valian and Ivy smirked at each other. “They’re a bit more than that, though, aren’t they?” Valian remarked.

  “They’re from a quartermaster,
” Ivy added, hinting.

  “Wait, you mean…I’ve just taken the glove? I can trade now?”

  Ivy smiled. “It’s like Mr. Punch said—you’ve proved that they’re rightfully yours.” She was so proud of Seb. She recalled him riding that flying mop during the pyroach attack, facing his fears to save everyone in the big top. If anyone had earned the right to take the glove and become a proper uncommoner, it was him.

  Valian opened the gold envelope and pulled out a card. “OK…weird.” He flashed the front of the card to Ivy and Seb. It had a gold foil border and was embossed with the words:

  Dear Sir,

  You are duly invited to

  Forward & Rife’s Grand Globe-Trotting Auction of Uncommon Treasures

  Nubrook

  Thanksgiving

  Seb read it twice. “I don’t get it. Why has Mr. Punch given you that?”

  Valian frowned. “I…don’t know. It’s strange, though—I’ve seen that company name advertised before. Your phone has a map on it, right?”

  “Yeah. Here…” Seb pulled it out of his pocket and tapped the screen a few times before handing it over. “What is it?”

  Valian slid his finger across the screen. “Forward and Rife—their posters were up in every undermart the Sack of Stars took me to when I asked it to find my sister.”

  “So do you think Rosie has something to do with this auction?” Ivy asked.

  “It’s the only thing that connects each place.” Valian studied the screen. “The undermarts I visited were here…here…here…” He went still. “You two were right—there’s a pattern. They’re moving from east to west along every main undermart.”

  “It’s like the stops on a world tour,” Seb mumbled.

  “Or a Grand Globe-Trotting Auction,” Ivy reread from the invitation. “That must be why the Sack of Stars took you to a different place each time—Rosie was traveling.” Hope bloomed within her; after all these years, Valian might be on the verge of finding his sister.

  His eyes went glassy. “That’s where I have to go next,” he said, pointing to New York. “Nubrook undermart. It opens over Thanksgiving. That’s where I’m gonna find Rosie.”

  Seb put a hand on Valian’s shoulder. “That’s great! American Thanksgiving is in November, right?”

  Valian rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, but I’ve been waiting over six years. What’s six months more?”

  Ivy hadn’t yet opened her parcel from Mr. Punch. She tore off the brown paper. “Amos’s journal? But why has Mr. Punch given me this?”

  “Maybe he wants you to read it,” Valian suggested, passing her what was left of his flask of Raider’s Tonic. “Here—use this.”

  Ivy counted along to page forty-two and trickled the drink down the paper; a thick white vapor began seeping out. After the fumes had dissipated she flicked through the journal, glancing at the text on every page. There was too much information to take in at one sitting. She’d have to examine the journal properly to learn what Amos knew. Perhaps that was why Mr. Punch had given it to her—so she could find out more about his work.

  She stopped abruptly when she spotted a short list, underlined and numbered.

  “It’s a list of the Great Uncommon Good!” Seb and Valian peered over her shoulder to read it:

  THE STONE OF DREAMS—LUNDINOR

  THE SACK OF STARS—UNKNOWN

  THE SANDS OF CHANGE—NUBROOK

  THE JAR OF SHADOWS—UNKNOWN

  THE SWORD OF WILLS—MONTROQUER

  Valian scowled. “The Sword of Wills and the Sands of Change are still out there, and you can bet five grade that the Dirge will be looking for them.”

  Seb stretched out his fingers in his new gloves. “Maybe if we can get hold of the objects first, we might be able to hide them from the Dirge, like we did with the Jar of Shadows?”

  “The Sands of Change are in Nubrook,” Ivy read again, “the same undermart where Forward and Rife’s auction is taking place.” She examined Seb’s phone, which was still in Valian’s hand. The map had zoomed in on a long, rectangular-shaped island…Manhattan. Ivy had never been to New York; she suspected that before the year was out, that would all change.

  * * *

  —

  The Cabbage Moon was quiet. Most of the other guests had gone home early after the shock of what had happened at the big top.

  “It feels so long ago that I was stuffing my suitcase with clothes to come here,” Ivy said, cramming her pajamas inside.

  Seb jumped down from the top bunk, his rucksack over his shoulder. “Tell me about it. These last couple of days have felt like an age.”

  There was a knock at the door and Judy’s shiny dark bob appeared. “Hey.” She flashed them both an awkward smile. “Thought I’d come and say goodbye before you left.”

  Seb’s face froze.

  Judy rolled in on her skates, head down. “I bet you’re desperate to get home, aren’t you? Had enough of the freak show for a bit.”

  Ivy shut her suitcase and stepped closer. “I don’t know about that.” She was eager to see her mum and dad again, but she was going to miss her uncommon friends and the extraordinary sights of Lundinor.

  Judy gave a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  Ivy hesitated slightly before stepping forward and putting her arms around Judy. “Thanks for everything you’ve done to help us.”

  When they separated, Judy’s eyes were shining. “You’re welcome…of course.”

  “Even for saving Seb’s life,” Ivy added. “Which I don’t regret—yet.”

  Seb shuffled his feet, and Ivy and Judy turned toward him. He ran a hand through his hair. “Does it make me any less of an idiot if I say that I’m sorry—and that I was a total idiot?”

  Ivy could see the relief on Judy’s face. “Sounds like a riddle from the Well at the World’s End.”

  They both laughed. Seb gave Judy a hug, which made her blush.

  “All ready to go?” a voice called from the hallway. Granma Sylvie poked her head around the door. She was carrying a beautiful Persian rug, which she dragged inside.

  “We’re not flying on one of those again,” Seb moaned. “Are we?”

  Granma Sylvie rubbed her hands together. “What are you talking about? This carpet is top of the range—storm-resistant, temperature-controlled. It’s even got autopilot and a pop-up air freshener.”

  Judy stared at it. “Wow. That can’t have been cheap.”

  “Well”—Granma Sylvie winked at Ivy—“ten thousand grade of uncommon objects does buy the best.”

  Ivy grinned. She’d given half her Grivens winnings to Granma Sylvie to spend, with the understanding that Ivy and Seb were given a generous allowance every season. The other half she’d used to pay Valian back…with interest.

  “What are your plans after we get home?” Ivy asked. She assumed that Granma Sylvie wouldn’t be returning to her old life, not now that her memory had returned.

  She took a breath. “Ethel and I are going to do what we always intended to when we were younger—an undermart world tour.” She nudged the rug. “That’s why I got this. At my age, I plan to travel in luxury.”

  Ivy scooped Scratch up from her pillow.

  “Excited home to go, Scratch is,” he said, vibrating in her hand. “Seb promised with the Yoda.”

  Seb’s shoulders slumped. “I promised I’d let him watch Star Wars—I’ll be taking a bell with no eyes to the cinema when we get back. Life as an uncommoner, eh?”

  “Star Wars?” Granma Sylvie chuckled.

  “What?” Seb said, incredulous. “It’s a great movie!”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just that it reminds me where I sent those pyroaches through the Sack of Stars.”

  “Where did you send them?�
� Ivy asked.

  “To the farthest place I could think of where they’d be able to survive…,” Granma Sylvie said. “Jupiter.”

  Dr. Emmet Sparrow took another sip of coffee and put his mug down on the KEEP CALM AND WORK IN A MUSEUM coaster on his desk. He stretched and yawned. It was getting late and he needed to be home on time today—he’d promised his daughter, Ivy, that they’d finish their game of chess from the other night. She’d recently discovered a fascination with board games.

  He adjusted his glasses and began to remove the bubble wrap from the last object in the box. It was a piece of pottery—a vessel small enough to sit in the palm of his hand. Greek. Hellenistic period, probably.

  He couldn’t remember seeing it before, but then this latest donation was so large.

  The vessel was painted pale blue, with white figures dancing around it. The design was unusual; it was shaped like a pithos jar—with a small disk-shaped base and handles—but, of course, pithos jars were huge and used for carrying grain or liquids. This one had no opening at all and was a lot smaller.

  He took a small plastic box from a stack on the floor beside him. Gently he stuffed some shredded paper inside and placed the mystery pot on top. It was probably from around 150 BC, but he’d ask another expert, just to be sure.

  He scribbled his notes down in pencil on the label:

  ITEM NO. 743, THE CARVALHO COLLECTION

  POTTERY—150 BC?

  It would probably be included in an exhibition somewhere down the line because it was so unusual, but that wouldn’t be for months, maybe even years.

  He stuck the label on the lid of the box and closed it tightly before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. Ivy and that chess game were waiting.

  Writing The Shadows of Doom would have been an even bigger challenge without the support of so many generous and talented people.