‘I doubt that, considering how ignorant they are of life outside the Delve,’ Gillian replied. ‘I suspect they’ll be far too busy trying to find food and shelter to think about revenge. On the other hand…’ She gave a little shrug. ‘I haven’t been particularly impressed with the piskey women I’ve met so far, faery blood or not. Perhaps I’ll leave you all to the Claybane, and save myself the trouble.’
Inwardly Ivy cursed herself; that wasn’t the conclusion she’d wanted Gillian to come to at all. But there was no taking the words back now. ‘How is that any different from the way my ancestors thought about faeries?’ she demanded. ‘That one is as good – or bad – as another? You’re no better than they were, for all your talk about justice.’
Gillian looked at her nails, feigning indifference. But Ivy went on with rising passion, ‘Can’t you see how backward this revenge of yours has become? You’ve spent your whole life brooding over faeries who are long dead, and hating piskeys who don’t even remember that you exist. What about Molly and her father? They’re the ones that are alive, the ones that know and care about you. And you treat them like they’re worthless.’
That struck a nerve. Gillian held up a warning finger, power crackling around its tip. ‘Hold your tongue,’ she said, ‘or I’ll burn it out. You know nothing about my family, or me.’
‘I know Molly,’ Ivy replied, moving closer. The crystals of an idea were beginning to form themselves in her mind. ‘She’s kind and bright and talented, and she deserves a mother who cares about her, not just about her own selfish plans. How are you going to look her in the face, when she confronts you with what you’ve done?’
‘Molly knows nothing of this.’ Gillian’s voice was flat. ‘She’s asleep.’
‘No, she’s not,’ said Ivy. ‘She’s back in your workshop, crying because of what you did to Richard. Her faery godfather.’
‘Impossible,’ Gillian said. But for the first time a note of uncertainty crept into her voice, and silently Ivy exulted. It was working! If she could just keep her distracted a little longer…
‘All her life Molly’s longed to get close to faeries,’ Ivy went on as she walked past Gillian, towards the edge of the Great Shaft. ‘No wonder, since she’s half-faery herself. But you kept her away from that part of her heritage, refused even to admit that faeries existed – all so you could carry out this twisted revenge of yours. Do you really think she’s going to forgive you for that? Especially now that she knows what you did to Richard, and to me?’
As Ivy spoke, she laid a hand on the railing. An icy tingle ran up her arm, but she made herself hold steady, as though it didn’t bother her at all. If Gillian didn’t realise that Ivy could touch iron, then maybe…
‘Ivy?’ said a small voice, trembling with emotion, and Ivy’s breath caught. She turned to see Cicely standing at the entrance of the tunnel, an empty sack of Claybane dangling from her hand.
She would have run to Cicely, but Gillian was quicker. She stepped out between them, holding out her hands as though in benediction – but the glance she gave Ivy warned that bad things would happen if she dared to interfere.
‘Well done,’ she said to Cicely. ‘You have saved your family, and earned their freedom. Come and join us.’
But Cicely backed away. ‘You lied to me,’ she said. ‘You said Ivy was trapped, just like I was – that you were the only one who could release her. But she’s here. And you made me—’ She gave a little sob of rage, and flung the Claybane sack onto the floor. ‘You lied!’
Gillian’s face hardened, and Ivy knew the faery woman was about to do something terrible. ‘Cicely, run!’ she shouted, but Gillian’s gaze had already locked onto her sister’s, and it was too late. Cicely’s shoulders went slack, hands dropping to her sides, and her face turned blank as a doll’s.
‘Walk,’ commanded Gillian, and without hesitation Ivy’s sister stepped forward – right into the patch of Claybane.
‘No!’ Ivy shouted, but the echo of her cry died away as Cicely continued straight through the puddle without stopping. Gillian looked startled, but she was quick to recover. She seized Cicely’s wrist and pulled her to her side.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘It appears the Claybane only works on a piskey once, so now you’re both immune. Which means I can’t let either one of you out of my sight.’
By now muffled shouts and screams were reverberating up the Shaft from the lower tunnels, piskeys panicking as the Claybane did its work. In the corridors doors opened and slammed again, footsteps pounded and were suddenly cut short, and a child wailed in wordless terror.
‘Listen to that,’ said Ivy, slapping the rail so hard the iron shuddered. ‘You hate my people for what they did to you and your family. Do you really think the children of the Delve aren’t going to hate you just as much for what you’ve done here today? Your own daughter already does!’
Gillian’s hands came down hard on Cicely’s shoulders. ‘Never,’ she said. ‘Molly is mine.’
‘She was, until you started treating her like a nuisance,’ Ivy retorted. ‘Not to mention deceiving her, and hurting her friends, and using magic on her against her will. But she broke your spell, and she got me out of the Claybane, too. She’ll never trust you again.’
The faery woman stood immobile with Cicely in her grip. Deep lines had formed about her eyes and mouth, and for a moment she looked almost as old as Nettle. But then she shook herself, and straightened up again. ‘It makes no difference,’ she said. ‘It’s done now. And I’m about to—’
A thunderous crack shook the tunnel, and a shower of debris roared down. Ivy leaped back against the wall, flinging her arms over her head, and Cicely let out a scream. But when the dust cleared, the faery woman still stood with Cicely beside her, both of them encased in a shimmering bubble of magic. Rocks had fallen all around them, but none had broken through.
Still, if it was Mica swinging that thunder-axe, he hadn’t struck in vain. In the confusion Cicely had broken free of Gillian’s mental hold, and now she was struggling like a wild thing. Gillian held tight to her wrist, trying to twist her into submission – but the piskey girl lunged forward and bit her captor’s arm.
With a shriek Gillian let go, and as Cicely hurtled away from her Ivy knew her opportunity had come. She extinguished her light, willed herself into swift-form, and flung herself straight at Gillian’s face.
Nothing happened.
Arms still outspread in a futile mockery of wings, Ivy crashed to the floor of the tunnel. The breath whooshed out of her lungs, and her chin hit the ground so hard she tasted blood. She rolled over, gasping, and clutched at the rail for support. But the iron stung her hands, and she had to snatch them away.
What a fool she’d been! How could she have forgotten what had happened in Molly’s barn, when that loose nail had cancelled her invisibility spell? Maybe being away from the Delve had strengthened the faery part of her nature, or maybe Richard’s healing had brought it to the fore. But either way, Ivy was no longer immune to the effects of iron. She’d hoped to trick Gillian into touching the rail – but instead she’d only crippled herself.
The ceiling cracked again, more rocks cascading down. But the cave-in was going to kill Ivy long before it hurt Gillian, whose magical shield clung to her like a second, impenetrable skin. She fired off a spell that sent Cicely tumbling, then stooped over Ivy and seized her by the back of the neck.
‘Try to attack me, will you?’ she spat. ‘Little savage. You’re not fit to lead your people – you’re not even fit to live.’ She picked Ivy up as though she were weightless, and flung her against the railing.
The metal groaned as Ivy slammed into it, and she heard something inside her crack. For a sickening moment she hung over the rail, with the black abyss yawning below her. Then with a desperate effort she shoved herself backwards, and collapsed to the rock-strewn floor.
She’d failed, utterly and completely. Her whole plan had relied on being able to transform into a swift – her secret t
riumph, her greatest pride – but now even that was denied her. With a groan Ivy clutched at her injured ribs, and waited for Gillian to deliver the killing blow.
But it never came. Gillian stared down at Ivy, then at her own hands. For the first time she appeared shaken, even a little frightened. Could she be realising she’d gone too far?
‘Stop this,’ Ivy croaked at her. Every breath felt like someone was knifing her in the side, but she managed to struggle to her feet. ‘It’s not too late. You can still make it right. Molly will—’
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.