Swift (10 page)

‘Because,’ he said, ‘swifts are communal birds. If you don’t behave like a proper swift the other swifts will sense it, and instead of welcoming you into their midst, they’ll attack. Predators will notice too, and come after you because you’re easy prey. At best you could be driven miles off course, or end up injured and never reach your destination. Do you want to take that chance?’

Ivy blew out a frustrated breath. ‘But I don’t know
how
to find out all of that,’ she said. ‘I can’t spend all day chasing swifts around the countryside—’

‘Then find out as much as you can. But there’s no way you’re going to be able to turn yourself into a swift until you know a lot more about them than you do right now.’

It wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. But he had no reason to lie about it, especially with his own freedom at stake. So she nodded, and held out her hand for the water bottle.

‘You’re going already?’

‘Why not? What else do we have to talk about?’

His mouth flattened. ‘What indeed.’ He handed her the bottle and turned away.

‘Richard…’ began Ivy, then faltered as he shot her an incredulous look. ‘You mean that isn’t your name?’

The prisoner started to laugh, a dry and horrible laughter like bones clattering down a mineshaft. ‘
I am justly served with mine own treachery
,’ he gasped.

Disturbed, Ivy started to back away, but he held up a hand. ‘No, don’t run. I’m not angry with you.
Richard…
’ He rolled the two syllables around in his mouth. ‘Why not? It’s as good a name as any.’

But not his usual name, obviously. ‘So what do the other faeries call you, then?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Richard will do.’ He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sleep.’

Ivy’s gaze travelled across the back of the cavern, taking in the rough-hewn floor without so much as a heap of straw to soften it, the chain that restricted the prisoner’s movements to no more than two small steps in any direction, the iron band clamped around his ankle. Not to mention the acrid stench from the corner – if it was unpleasant now, in another day or two it would be unbearable.

Yet she didn’t dare do anything more to help him, not yet. Bringing him food and water was risky enough.

‘Good night, Richard,’ Ivy said quietly, and left.

‘You’re awfully brown,’ said Cicely in a tone that was half puzzlement, half admiration. ‘Have you been rubbing something into your skin?’

Ivy looked up from the water-channel, the wash-cloth still in her hand. ‘I…no, I haven’t,’ she said, too flustered to think of a better answer. She’d returned from her second trip to the surface in plenty of time, and taken care to brush off her clothes and comb her wind-blown curls. But she’d never realised what all that sunlight had done to her complexion. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

Cicely blushed. ‘I…I thought you might be trying to make yourself look pretty. Not that you aren’t – I mean, I know you don’t usually fuss about that sort of thing, but you’ve been away from the cavern a lot these last few days and Jenny said – I mean, I was wondering—’

‘Jenny said what, exactly?’ Ivy dropped the cloth and put her hands on her hips. ‘And when did the two of you start talking about me behind my back?’

‘It wasn’t like that!’ said Cicely, indignant now. ‘I was feeding the chickens when Jenny came to get some eggs, and she asked me where you were and I said you were at home, and she said you weren’t because she’d knocked and got no answer, and then she said she hadn’t seen Mattock either and maybe…’

So Jenny thought she and Mattock were sweethearts, sneaking away together. Well, Ivy couldn’t blame her for that, even though the idea was laughable – not only because Matt was Mica’s best friend and Mica would probably thump him for even considering it, but what piskey-boy would want a mate with no wings?

‘I’m not prettying myself up for Matt, if that’s what you’re asking,’ Ivy said. ‘I’ve been…working on something.’

Cicely’s face lit with excitement. ‘Is it a surprise? Will I get to see it when it’s done?’

For one wild moment Ivy was tempted to tell her the truth. Keeping secrets was a lonely business, and Marigold was Cicely’s mother too. But then she’d have to explain about her night-time visits to Richard, and that was too much dangerous knowledge for any ten-year-old to carry.

No, it was too soon. Better to leave it until she’d learned to fly, until she’d found Marigold. There would be plenty of time to share the good news with Cicely and Mica then.

‘Maybe,’ she said, smiling at her sister. ‘Wait and see.’

‘I’m ready,’ Ivy told Richard as she dropped to the floor of his cell. ‘And I’ve brought your supper.’

Richard’s lips moved, but only a croak came out. He had to take a long draught from Ivy’s water bottle before he could speak. ‘Lovely,’ he rasped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘I trust you’ve been enjoying plenty of sunshine on my behalf.’

Ivy took a loaf from her pack and set it down beside him, along with a hunk of cheese she’d saved from her own supper. ‘Ask me what I know about swifts,’ she said. ‘Anything you like.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Richard. ‘Why don’t you ask me some of the things you
don’t
know?’

That was better than Ivy had expected. In truth she knew the answers to fewer than half of the questions he’d originally asked her, but she couldn’t think how to learn more on short notice. ‘Do they ever land?’ she asked. She’d watched a swift skimming over a river to scoop up water with its beak, and seen another snatching insects from the air in mid-flight. But though there were plenty of trees and shrubs nearby, they hadn’t stopped to perch on any of them.

‘Only to nest,’ he said. ‘They eat, drink, mate and even sleep in flight. Have you seen their legs?’

‘They’re short.’

‘Yes. Far too short to allow them to land safely on the ground, or even in a tree. They only perch on vertical surfaces – rock faces and such. And they build their nests under the eaves of barns and houses – the higher, the better.’ He broke off a piece of cheese, popped it into his mouth and said around it, ‘Anything else you want to know?’

‘I’m not sure about predators,’ Ivy admitted. ‘I saw a few bigger birds that looked dangerous, but they didn’t seem fast enough.’

‘Most of them aren’t. But watch out for the hobby – it’s a kind of small falcon that can dive very quickly. That’s about the only thing that can catch a swift.’

Ivy waited for more, but he only tore off another chunk of bread and kept eating. ‘So,’ she said, ‘what now?’

Richard swallowed with an effort. ‘Picture,’ he said, ‘a swift in your mind. Every detail, from beak to tail-feathers. Don’t let any other thoughts come in.’

The moment he said that, it was impossible
not
to be distracted. All Ivy could think about was Cicely’s quizzical expression as she said,
You’re awfully brown…

‘You’ve lost it already, haven’t you?’

‘Don’t talk to me,’ she said irritably.

‘You’re going to have to do this with every kind of noise and distraction around. You might as well start learning now.’

Ivy scowled, trying to marshal her scattered thoughts. Meanwhile Richard, blast him, started
whistling
– no, not so much whistling as trilling, a persistent chirrup-noise she’d never heard before. What bird sang like that?

And now the swift-image was gone again. She groaned, and screwed her eyes shut for another attempt. Mentally she traced and retraced every line of the swift’s small body, right down to the tiny patch of white feathers beneath its chin – until Richard exclaimed aloud and Ivy opened her eyes to find a perfect illusion of a swift flashing around the cavern.

She threw up her hands, and the glamour vanished. ‘That’s not what I meant to do!’

‘No,’ said Richard, ‘but it’s not a bad start.’ He ran a finger thoughtfully across his split lip. ‘Maybe if you create the illusion first, and focus on that…’

‘And then what?’

‘Then you will yourself into its form.’

That didn’t sound so hard. Ivy brushed a curl back from her forehead, conjured the swift-image again, and silently commanded her body to take its shape. Harder and harder she concentrated, until her skin began to tingle. It was working! She could feel her muscles shifting, her bones beginning to shrink…

But when she opened her eyes, she was still in piskey-form. She’d made herself as small as a swift, but she hadn’t taken its shape. ‘Ugh!’ said Ivy, changing back to her usual size. ‘Why isn’t it working?’

‘I was afraid of this,’ said Richard. ‘Without being able to show you how I take bird-shape, it’s impossible to teach you how to do it. Did your mother ever have to explain to you the steps that go into creating a glamour? Of course not. You watched her a few times, and you
knew
.’

It was true. Magic was a matter of instinct rather than learning, for piskeys and all magical folk. But Ivy could see where this was leading, and she didn’t like it. ‘So you’re saying that unless I take the iron off your ankle and let you go, I’ll never be able to fly.’

Richard opened his mouth, made a face and closed it again. Finally he said, ‘There are a couple of things you can try first. You might find it easier to change shape outside, where there are no walls or ceilings to hold you back. That alone might work – but if it doesn’t, then try it again by moonlight.’

‘Moonlight? What difference will that make?’

‘It’ll make your magic stronger,’ he said. ‘A full moon on a clear night would be best, but even a little moonlight’s better than none.’

Ivy glanced back at the darkened shaft. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to climb all the way to the top right now – not after so many long nights and daytime trips to the surface. And Mica had come back to the cavern even later than usual tonight, so there wasn’t much time left in any case.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll try it.’

‘Then I wish you good luck,’ said Richard. ‘But if you could speed up your experiments a little, I’d appreciate it. One meal a day isn’t much to go on, and I’m not sure how much longer your Joan is planning to keep me alive.’

He spoke lightly, but there was a wildness about his eyes that reminded Ivy of how he had looked when she’d first seen him, clutching his injured arm and babbling Shakespeare. Battered, starving, and desperate for light, he might not keep his sanity much longer – and then what would Ivy do?

‘I can’t promise anything,’ she said as she reached for her rope. ‘I have to be careful, or my family will get suspicious. But I’ll do the best I can.’

When Ivy returned home the first sound that greeted her was Mica’s rattling snore, and for once she was grateful for it. Keeping her glow as dim as she could, she tiptoed across to her bed-alcove, pulled off her shirt and grabbed her discarded nightgown from beneath the pillow. If she could stop fretting about swifts and Richard and her mother for a few minutes, maybe she’d be able to—

‘Ivy?’

It was only a sleepy mumble, but Ivy’s heart dropped into her stomach. It took her several seconds to collect her wits and whisper, ‘It’s all right, Cicely. I’m here.’

She waited, but there was no answer, and finally Ivy relaxed and lay down. Most likely Cicely was just talking in her sleep again, and would remember nothing of the conversation in the morning.

‘Sleep well, little sister,’ she murmured, and closed her eyes.

Tired though she was, Ivy managed to wake up at her normal time the next day – early enough to rouse Mica for his morning run, though he looked even more sour than usual about it.

‘You were up late last night,’ she said, as she packed up a cold pasty and a bottle of small beer for Flint’s lunch. His thunder-axe was still propped outside the bedroom door, so maybe she’d be able to get some breakfast into him before he vanished again. ‘What happened?’

Mica poured himself a mug of hot chicory and gulped about half of it, making a face as he set it down. ‘I brought coffee back from Redruth,’ he said. ‘Why are you still making this muck?’

‘If you don’t like it, make the coffee yourself,’ said Ivy. ‘Why are you changing the subject?’

Mica shot her a baleful glare. Then, with a glance at Cicely’s curtained alcove, he leaned closer and muttered, ‘Gem and Feldspar spotted someone – or some
thing
– sneaking about the Engine House last night.’

Ivy’s lips formed a silent
oh.

‘But it disappeared before they could get a proper look at it. So Gossan sent a few of us out to see if we could track it down, but…’ He shrugged, and took another swig of chicory. ‘No luck. Whatever it was, it came and went like the wind.’

‘You think it’s another spriggan?’ asked Ivy. She’d been so caught up in watching the swifts, she’d forgotten that Keeve’s murderer could still be out there.

‘Maybe.’ Mica dropped the empty mug onto the worktop and picked up his hunter’s knife. ‘But we’re not supposed to say anything about it yet, so keep that to yourself.’

‘Ready, Mica?’ The question came so quietly through the crack in the door that only piskey ears could have heard it. It always amazed Ivy that a boy as big and broad-shouldered as Mattock should be so soft-spoken.