Swift (17 page)

‘I’d rather you healed Dodger’s,’ said Ivy, getting up and leading the way. She opened the door to show Richard the horse’s bandaged leg, but the faery shook his head.

‘I don’t have your people’s way with animals,’ said Richard. ‘And my sorry experience with this one is that he’d as soon bite me as look at me. He can heal on his own, as far as I’m concerned.’

Ivy wanted to protest, but she owed Richard too much to demand anything. She was about to close the door when a new thought occurred to her. ‘I cut my leg on something in here,’ she said. ‘Maybe that’s what happened to Dodger, too.’ She slipped inside the box, pushing away the horse’s inquiring muzzle, and crouched to examine the partition. At first she saw nothing unusual, but when she allowed her skin to glow a little brighter she caught the glint of some dull metal object protruding from the wood. She closed her fingers around it and felt the faint tingle that told her what it was: iron.

‘An old nail,’ said Richard. ‘Probably worked its way out over the years and no one noticed it. Tell Molly, when she comes back.’

‘Tell me what?’ asked Molly from the doorway, and Ivy pointed to the nail. The human girl gasped. ‘Is that how Dodger cut himself? We thought he did it outside, but we could never find where.
Thank
you!’

Ivy went rigid with shock at the careless thanks. By the time she recovered, Molly had found a hammer and tugged the nail out. ‘You hurt yourself on it too, didn’t you?’ she said to Ivy as she held it up – a crude-looking thing, rusty with age. ‘That’s how I could see you.’

‘I…hadn’t thought of that,’ said Ivy. She’d been immune to iron when she lived in the Delve, but perhaps Richard’s healing spells had changed her more than she’d realised. Could he have made her part faery by accident? Ivy wasn’t sure she liked that idea at all.

Molly tossed the nail into the wastebin and plopped down on an overturned bucket, crossing her ankles. ‘My mum’s in the study working on some project or other, so we should be all right for a while.’ She pulled out a cloth sack and began rummaging inside. ‘I found a packet of fairings—’

‘Fairings?’ asked Richard.

‘Ginger biscuits,’ said Ivy, helping herself to one.

‘And some sausages – sorry they’re cold. Oh, and pears.’ Molly made a face. ‘It’s not much of a meal, is it? Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ said Ivy. ‘It’s kind of you to bring us anything at all.’

Molly looked at her curiously. ‘You’re nothing like I expected,’ she said. ‘I thought piskeys were little brown men, all full of wrinkles and mischief.’

‘That’s just local legend,’ Richard interrupted before Ivy could speak. ‘Piskey women don’t get out much, but they do exist. And magical folk don’t have wrinkles. Unless you know what to look for, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a piskey of twenty and one who’s two hundred.’

‘Two hundred!’ exclaimed Ivy. ‘That’s ridiculous. The oldest piskey I know can’t be more than a hundred and ten. And she certainly does have wrinkles; all the older folk do.’

Richard looked surprised. ‘My mistake, then,’ he said. ‘Perhaps faeries and piskeys are more different than I’d thought.’

‘Tell me about your people,’ said Molly, turning eagerly to Ivy. ‘I want to know more about them.’

Ivy hesitated. She hadn’t meant to give away any secrets, and she had a feeling she’d already said more than she should. Not that it worried her where Richard was concerned; by now she felt almost sure she could trust him. But although she liked Molly, she didn’t know the human girl well enough to feel comfortable talking about the Delve in her presence.

‘Well,’ she said slowly, trying to think of an answer that was honest but harmless, ‘piskeys do enjoy a good prank, or at least the younger ones do. It’s a sort of game with our people, to play tricks on each other without being tricked ourselves. And if we can all laugh about it together, that’s the best of all.’

Yet even as she spoke, Ivy had to admit that there wasn’t nearly as much laughter and fun in the Delve as there had been when she was a child. The older folk had a weary air about them, and some of the oldest – especially the older knockers – looked positively grim. Was it Betony’s strict rule that had sobered them? Or was it something more?

‘Go on,’ said Molly. ‘Where do you live? Richard told me once about some faeries who lived in a hollow oak tree. Is it something like that?’

‘No,’ said Ivy. ‘But it’s a safe place. A good place. And it’s…beautiful.’ And with that homesickness welled up in her, and she couldn’t speak any more. She had spent a night and a day out of the Delve now. Would she ever see her home, or her people, again?

‘I’m taking Ivy to visit a relative,’ said Richard, filling in the silence. ‘Someone she hasn’t seen in a long time. Once that’s done, I’ll be on my way.’

‘Where?’ asked Molly.

Richard shrugged. ‘I couldn’t tell you,’ he said. ‘I prefer to keep my options open.’ But a shadow crossed his face as he spoke, and for the first time it dawned on Ivy that he might not be a wanderer by choice – that he might not have anywhere to go.

‘I didn’t mean where are
you
going,’ said Molly reproachfully. ‘I know not to meddle in your business by now. I meant Ivy. Where are you taking her?’

‘Truro,’ said Richard. ‘There’s a dance and theatre school in the city where her relative’s been staying.’

Ivy sat up with a start, the blood draining from her face. That was where her mother had been all these years? Surely he must be pranking her. She opened her mouth, but Molly spoke first:

‘Dance and
theatre
? Really? Can I come with you?’ She must have noticed Richard’s dubious look, for she went on quickly, ‘Mum lets me go to Truro on the bus sometimes, as long as I take my mobile and promise to call her when I’m coming home. And she likes it better when I’m out of the house anyway. She won’t say no if I tell her I’m going with friends.
Please
.’

Richard glanced at Ivy, but she was too choked with hurt and anger to reply. So her mother had abandoned her family to go dancing after all – not with the faeries, but with the humans. No wonder Richard had kept this from her.

But why was he telling her now? Did he think it was safe to reveal Marigold’s secret because Ivy had already committed herself, because she needed her mother’s help too badly to walk away? He was right about that, but she hated the thought that he’d manipulated her so easily – and that she’d been fool enough to let him.

‘You never told me what she was doing,’ she accused, when she could speak. ‘Did she ask you not to? Or was it your idea to keep me in the dark?’

Richard’s jaw tightened, and she could see she’d offended him. But he said only, ‘I don’t think this is the time to discuss it.’ Turning to Molly, he continued, ‘I know we’re in your debt. But I don’t think it’s a good idea. As you can see, Ivy’s a little sensitive at the moment.’

‘Oh, and now it’s
my
fault?’ exclaimed Ivy. How dare he make her seem ungrateful for Molly’s kindness? ‘I apologise,’ she said hastily to Molly, who had turned pale and then very red. ‘If there’s anything else we can do to repay you, I’d be glad to know of it. It’s only—’

‘Don’t bother,’ Molly said, her eyes on Richard. ‘I won’t interfere in your faery – or piskey – business. But if you had any idea what mum’s been like…’ A spasm of anger distorted her face. ‘Never mind. I suppose that’s all just
human business
to you.’ She leaped up from the bucket and ran out.

‘Wait—’ Ivy called, but Molly had already slammed the door behind her.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Richard. ‘She’ll be all right by tomorrow. And so will you, once you’ve had a proper night’s sleep.’

Ivy bristled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I told you your mother was at a dance school,’ he said. ‘If I thought that was some kind of dark secret, I wouldn’t have said it. I’ve never lied to you yet, Ivy. Not that I expect you to be impressed by that, but you should be, because I’m one of the few faeries who can.’ He pushed himself upright and went to the window. ‘Marigold will explain everything when you see her – tomorrow. Tonight, you need to rest.’

‘I’m not tired.’ Ivy spoke crisply, to deny the embarrassment crawling inside her. Perhaps she had leaped to the wrong conclusion, and perhaps she was being unfair – but she hated being so vulnerable, so easily caught off guard. ‘Why can’t we go to Truro right now?’

‘Because you’re not ready to fly again, even if you think you are.’ His hands tightened on the windowsill. ‘Do you have any idea how damaged your body must have been, to need two complete healings in a day?’

The reminder of how much she owed him shamed her, but she was determined not to let it hold her back. ‘All right, then we’ll fly slowly. But I’m not staying here.’

He gave an exasperated growl and pushed himself around to face her. ‘Why are you always so stubborn? What are you trying to prove?’

‘Cicely needs me!’ she shouted at him. ‘She’s out there somewhere, and she’s scared and she’s hurting, and nobody’s going to find her if I—’

Richard cut her off with a gesture – literally so, because though Ivy’s mouth kept moving no sound came out. ‘Quiet down,’ he said. ‘Or Molly’s mother will hear us.’ He held her gaze until she gave a sullen nod, then gestured again to remove the spell and went on, ‘I know you want to find your sister. But you’re not going to help her by killing yourself.’

So not only did he see her as sickly and fragile, he thought her too witless even to realise how weak she was. No wonder he’d taken such pains to protect her. ‘I’m not stupid,’ she retorted, barely controlling her fury. ‘I know what I’m capable of.’

‘If that were true,’ Richard said, ‘we wouldn’t be here right now. It took a lot of power to heal you, and I’m not going to let all that effort go to waste. So stop behaving like a petulant child, and lie down.’

Ivy’s fists clenched. ‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then I’ll knock you out myself.’

He would, too. She could see it in his face. ‘Fine,’ Ivy said bitterly. ‘I’ll do as you say. For now.’

‘Good,’ said Richard, and turned away.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Out,’ he replied shortly. ‘Don’t wait up for me.’ Then he was gone, and in his place was a little black-and-white bird. It flashed around Ivy, lighted on the windowsill to fix her with one coldly glittering eye, then flew away.

With her mind still raging at Richard, her clothing stiff with mud and nothing but a thin layer of horsey-smelling blankets beneath her, Ivy didn’t expect to sleep well that night. But once she’d made herself small and dragged a piece of sacking over herself for protection, she dropped into a deep slumber almost at once.

Still, it seemed only a short time before the door to the barn creaked, and Ivy’s eyes opened to the first pale light of morning. The horses stamped and neighed, and Ivy got up quickly, thinking it must be Molly coming in. But then among the earthy smells of grass and manure she caught a thread of an unfamiliar scent. Surely Molly had never smelled like that, all drenched in musk and strange spices? Ivy crept to the corner and peered around it, keeping small so as not to attract notice.

A woman stood before the second box, fitting a bridle over the grey mare’s head. She wore trousers and a fitted jacket, and her auburn hair curved smoothly against the nape of her neck. Her skin was pale as cream, far lighter than Molly’s. Still, she had the same upturned nose and determined chin, and there could be no doubt she was the human girl’s mother.

The mare snorted and shied as her mistress led her out into the corridor, but the woman kept a firm hand on the bridle until the horse settled again. She lifted the saddle onto her back and cinched the strap tight, then led the mare into the yard. Keeping to the shadows, Ivy crept to the door and watched as Molly’s mother swung herself up into the saddle and cantered off.

To ride like that must be glorious, thought Ivy with a tinge of envy. She retreated to the far end of the barn and sat down again, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. There was no sign of Richard yet, but surely he’d return soon.

‘Hello?’ came Molly’s voice from the other end of the barn, and Ivy jumped to her feet. The sun had fully risen now, slipping its golden fingers between the shutters, and the place was growing stuffy with its warmth.

‘I’m here,’ Ivy said, her mouth watering at the rich, buttery scent rising from the paper sack Molly carried. Even after finishing off most of last night’s provisions she felt as hungry as she’d ever been in her life, and when the human girl offered her the bag she took it eagerly.

Molly glanced about the barn and frowned. ‘Where’s, er, Richard?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ivy said. ‘I thought he’d be back by now.’ She took out a pastry and bit into it. It tasted as delicious as it smelled. ‘I saw your mother a little while ago.’

Molly’s face became hard and closed – a strangely old look on her still-young face. ‘Oh,’ was all she said, and then she turned away and picked up Dodger’s currying combs.

Ivy finished two pastries and a generous piece of cheese before forcing herself to stop – Richard would probably be hungry as well, when he returned. It seemed odd that he’d been gone so long, but after their quarrel, she could hardly blame him for wanting to sleep elsewhere. She still resented some of the things he’d said to her, but she hadn’t exactly been fair to him either, and she hoped he’d come back soon so they could both apologise and move on.