Swift (30 page)

But Gillian shook her head. ‘Molly has betrayed me,’ she said harshly. ‘There’s nothing for me to go back to. It’s over – and so are you.’

She pressed her hands together, then pulled them slowly apart. A swirling ball of smoke coalesced between her palms, growing steadily until it was the size of Ivy’s head. Balancing it on her fingertips, Gillian walked to the railing – but to Ivy’s disappointment, she didn’t touch it. She reached out over the Great Shaft, and let the spell drop.

A few seconds went by in silence. Then came a muffled explosion from below. ‘What…’ Ivy gasped. ‘What have you done?’

Gillian gave a short laugh. ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Ivy.’ She took a step back, her form shredding into mist…

But an instant later, her body solidified again. The spell had failed.

Disbelief flashed across the faery woman’s face, and she gathered herself for another attempt. But the second time was no better. For some reason – whether it was the presence of the iron railing, or something in the rock and ore of the Delve itself – Gillian couldn’t transport herself away.

For one vindictive moment, Ivy was glad. Gillian was trapped now, like the rest of them. And whatever nasty surprise she’d just dropped down the shaft, she’d have to suffer it too. But Gillian only shrugged. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I said it myself, didn’t I? There’s only one way out of the Delve now.’ And with that her wings began to beat, lifting her lightly into the air.

Ivy flinched as another fissure spread across the ceiling, rocks and grit showering down. Any minute now the tunnel would collapse, and she and Cicely would be crushed to death. Gillian would escape, leaving Marigold to die alone, and the piskeys of the Delve would be trapped in clay forever.

No, thought Ivy. She couldn’t let that happen. If she died trying to stop Gillian, so be it…but for the sake of the people she loved, she had to try.

Pain shot through Ivy’s chest as she sucked in her breath. Then as Gillian glided past her she leaped into the air, and snatched at the faery woman’s leg.

At first she thought she’d missed. But she caught her enemy’s ankle at the last second, fingers skittering over the soft fabric of her trousers, then clamping tight around flesh and bone. Dragged through the air by Gillian’s fast-beating wings, Ivy hurtled towards the railing once more – but this time when it hit her, she was ready. She hooked her feet between the bars, and hung on with all her might.

Gillian kicked out, and Ivy’s head snapped sideways as the faery woman’s heel smashed into her cheekbone. Stars filled her vision, and she felt as though her body were being ripped apart. Yet she refused to let go.

The railing creaked, and a shower of dust and gravel fell from the bolts that anchored it to the wall. Still Gillian fought to free herself from Ivy’s grip, wings buzzing madly as she fired off one spell after another – but Ivy was right behind her, too small a target to easily hit. And as Ivy held onto her, leaning all her weight into the effort, she was dimly surprised at her own strength. Perhaps being half-faery was good for something after all.

But she couldn’t hang on forever – she had to end this quickly, or Gillian would escape. For Cicely’s sake and Marigold’s, for Mica’s and Flint’s, for Mattock and Jenny and all the others, Ivy had to give everything she had. Though all her muscles shrieked with agony, she grabbed Gillian’s other ankle, tightened her grip, and yanked as hard as she could.

Even Gillian’s wings couldn’t counteract that sudden jerk. With a cry she shot backwards, Ivy’s weight dragging her down. Her flailing hand brushed the rail – and the iron lit up in a sizzling flash. She screamed again and collapsed, the weight of her body crashing onto the railing as her wings went limp.

Weak with relief, Ivy let go of her ankle. But a second later the bolts that anchored the railing broke free of the crumbling stone around them, and the whole construction began to topple.
Molly
, thought Ivy wildly, and flung out a hand, but too late: the railing dropped, taking the unconscious woman with it. Bouncing off the shaft walls with one hideous clang after another, the railing and its passenger tumbled into the fathomless dark below. There was a distant splash, and then silence.

Ivy bowed her head to the stone floor, sick with horror. She’d only meant to stop Gillian, not to kill her. But another ominous rumble shook the rocks around her, and she had no time to spare for regret. Ivy heaved herself upright, staggered back down the tunnel, and dragged her unconscious sister to safety in the corridor beyond.

She was lowering Cicely to the floor, ready to collapse beside her, when she remembered the statue of Betony. Ivy hurled herself back into the tunnel, snatched it up, and leaped to safety – just as a great slab of the ceiling smashed down, and the entrance to the Great Shaft disappeared behind a heap of fallen granite.

For a moment Ivy could only crouch there coughing, as clouds of stone dust rolled over her. Then she heard the clomp of boots, and rough but gentle hands helped her to her feet. She turned to her rescuer – and realised with dim astonishment that it wasn’t Mica, after all.

It was her father.

Of course. Only a skilled knocker would have known how to wield his thunder-axe so effectively, or how to collapse a single tunnel without bringing the whole upper Delve down. He’d taken an enormous risk and he could have killed both his daughters in the process, but he’d been trying to save them – and that meant he cared. Ivy seized him by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks.

‘How did you know we were here?’ she asked. ‘Did Mica tell you?’

Flint nodded. He looked more grey and weary than ever, but as he stroked Ivy’s hair there was a tenderness in his eyes she hadn’t seen since she was a child. ‘I’m sorry,’ he rasped.

There was so much Ivy wanted to tell him, so many questions she wanted to ask. He’d known Marigold was leaving the Delve, heard her warning about the poison; why hadn’t he gone with her, or believed her story until it was too late? When he found her shawl tangled in a gorse-bush, with the blood she’d coughed up still fresh upon it, had he truly thought the spriggans had taken her, or did it only make him realise how ill she’d been? Was it losing her that had convinced him the Delve was dangerous after all, and made him determined to find the source of the poison even if it killed him?

Ivy longed to know, but that conversation would have to wait. She still didn’t know what Gillian had dropped down the shaft, and she couldn’t assume the danger was past. She gave her father one last grateful squeeze and said, ‘Stay here and look after Cicely, please? I’ve got to find the others.’

Ivy limped through the corridors, clutching her aching side. Her cheekbone throbbed where Gillian had kicked her, and all her bones felt out of joint. If only Richard were here to heal her – but no, she couldn’t let herself think about him right now, any more than she could stop to mourn for the other piskeys who stood mute and frozen along the way. Not only males either, but wild-eyed matrons, a child caught in mid-wail, and then the skinny form of Quartz, who’d barely made it halfway up Tinners’ Row with his message.

By the time Ivy reached Silverlode Passage, her vision was so clouded with tears that she could hardly see. Impatient with herself, she tried to rub the blurriness away, but it only swirled in front of her eyes like smoke – because, Ivy realised with a shock, that was exactly what it was. And now she could smell it, too: an acrid, nose-wrinkling stench like old urine on straw.

It must be from the spell that Gillian had dropped into the shaft. How dangerous was it? It couldn’t be potent enough to kill anyone who breathed it, or Gillian wouldn’t have bothered creating the Claybane. But it certainly
smelled
poisonous, and the further she went down the passage the more unbearably thick and pungent it became. Soon Ivy was coughing with both hands wrapped around her ribcage, and her lungs felt as though they were on fire.

Her fellow piskeys would never be able to endure this. As soon as the smoke reached the upper levels and started coming into their caverns, they’d panic and run for the exits – exactly as Gillian had planned. Somehow, Ivy had to get them safely out of the Delve.

‘Gossan!’ she shouted, glancing in all directions. She paused to look into the Market Cavern, but it was empty. ‘My lord Jack! Where are you?’

At the end of the corridor, the door to the Joan’s stateroom opened. Nettle stood there alone, looking smaller and more wizened than ever in the flickering torchlight. ‘He’s gone,’ she said heavily. ‘Just like my lady. And neither one of them’s come back.’

Which meant that Gossan too must be a statue, trapped in some side corridor. But if so there was no point searching for him. Statues didn’t breathe, and Ivy and Nettle did – though it was getting more difficult by the moment. Willing herself not to panic, Ivy slipped out of her shoes and kicked them aside. With bare feet she’d be better able to feel the Claybane when she stepped into it, and tell Nettle when it was time to leap, or fly.

‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘We’ve got to get the others out of here.’

By the time Ivy and Nettle reached the upper levels, there was a small crowd of frightened piskeys shuffling after them. No one had collapsed yet, but Ivy’s head was beginning to reel, and she feared it might only be a matter of time.

‘There’s a patch here,’ she shouted, as they came up to a statue of two piskey-boys clutching each other. One of the women sobbed and reached towards it, but her companions pulled her back. Ivy sidled across the Claybane-coated floor, toes groping for dry rock. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘it’s safe on this side.’

At once all the females spread their wings and began ferrying the men and boys over the trap. The first few attempts had been awkward, and they’d lost one stout knocker when the two women who were carrying him let go a little too soon. But they were getting better at it now, and soon all of them were safe on the other side.

Still, it was slow progress, especially with more piskeys joining them at every door they passed. The journey up to the Earthenbore seemed impossibly long, and Ivy wished there could be a faster way – but since both the upper and lower entrances to the Great Shaft were blocked up with rubble and the shaft itself was full of choking fumes, she couldn’t think of one.

Fortunately, Ivy’s people knew how to work together. Soon two of the younger hunters had stationed themselves at the back of the group and cast a shielding charm to keep back the worst of the smoke, while others gathered rolled-up mats and blankets to drop over each patch of Claybane they passed, so that they’d know where the traps were when they returned. That showed more foresight and creativity than Ivy had expected, and she wasn’t surprised to find that the hunters who’d thought of it were also the ones who’d had recent contact with humans.

When they climbed the stairs to the second level, Cicely was waiting for them, with Flint behind her. Her face was dirty and there was a bloody scrape across her forehead, but her eyes were clear.

‘I want to help,’ she told Ivy. ‘What can I do?’

Ivy explained about the spell Gillian had dropped down the Great Shaft, and the need to get all the piskeys up to fresh air. ‘Can you collect everyone from this level?’ she asked. ‘Tell them to bring plenty of rugs to mark the patches of Claybane once you’ve found them – they can’t stop the traps working, but they’ll keep people from walking into them by accident. Then use the women to fly the men across – that’s what we’ve been doing.’

Cicely nodded. ‘I’ll tell Mica.’ And she dashed off so fast her feet scarcely touched the ground. Flint shouldered his thunder-axe and moved to the rear of Ivy’s group, his eyes meeting hers in a long searching look as he passed. But Ivy couldn’t pause to ask her father what was on his mind; the smoke was getting thicker every moment. ‘Come on,’ she said to the others. ‘We’ve got to hurry.’

They’d made it as far as Long Way, and Ivy was feeling out the dimensions of a particularly large patch of Claybane, when someone behind her gasped. She turned back to see that Nettle had stumbled, and Jenny and Hyacinth were helping the old woman up again – but the dark smear of mud across Nettle’s hand and cheek made plain that it was already too late.

‘Move aside, everyone,’ Ivy said. She hated to leave Nettle without company in her last moments, but she couldn’t risk any of the others getting caught in the Claybane’s spell. ‘You’ll have to go around her. Nettle, I’m sorry. We’ll come back for you when the air’s cleared.’

‘Aye,’ said Nettle in a tremulous voice, shuffling to the edge of the tunnel. ‘I’ll be well enough.’

They all glided past her, many with sorrowful looks and murmurs of sympathy, but Nettle didn’t move. She looked so small and drab that she might have been made of clay already. Ivy was about to call the rest of the crowd to move on when the old woman called out:

‘Eh then, young Flint, where are you off to?’

Startled, Ivy turned. Nettle was still standing to one side of the tunnel, looking back into the hazy darkness – and to Ivy’s astonishment, the Claybane didn’t seem to have affected her in the least.

‘Wait,’ Ivy told the others, and ran to join her. ‘Are you a faery?’ she asked Nettle in a low voice. ‘No piskey blood at all?’

‘Aye, but what of it?’ retorted the other woman. ‘Your father’s just decided to run off and play the hero – or the fool. What good’s he going to do going back into that mess?’

Alarm stabbed into Ivy. Surely Flint didn’t think he could destroy Gillian’s spell with nothing more than his thunder-axe? She ran a few steps into the darkness and made her skin glow as brightly as she could, calling his name. But the light only reflected off the thickening haze, and her father did not reply.