Swift

Bewildered, Ivy hung back and watched as the mixed multitude of birds spiralled around the hunters, still uttering their wordless cries. What were they doing? Had Mica sent them to look for the spriggan? Were they reporting to him somehow? She was still puzzling over it when Mica waved his hand and the flock scattered, flapping off as abruptly as they had come.

Except for the swifts. They hovered before him, uttering staccato shrieks of alarm, while Mica stood still as though listening. Then he made a sharp gesture, and the swifts shot away like twin arrows — straight at Ivy.

For an instant her mind went blank with disbelief. Then she remembered what Richard had said: Swifts are communal birds. If you don’t behave like a proper swift the other ones will sense it, and instead of welcoming you, they’ll attack…

Panic erupted in Ivy’s breast. She whirled and fled, wings flapping frantically as she shot towards the Engine House and the capped shaft behind it. But the other swifts were more experienced fliers, and they quickly cut off her descent. Forced into retreat, Ivy swerved towards the wood, with the other swifts in close pursuit.

‘No!’ she screamed, but it came out as a shriek — and then the swifts were on her, stabbing at her with their beaks and beating her with their wings. Buffeted by the storm of their rage, Ivy struggled vainly to fend them off. Control was impossible, and hopelessness filled her as she realised they were steering her back towards Mica and the other piskeys.

Tsier-sier, sang another bird as it passed above, mocking her with its freedom. Ivy cried out again as a swift’s beak jabbed into her breast, piercing feathers and skin. She had to get away, or they would tear her to pieces. She folded her wings and spiralled earthwards — then snapped them wide and shot up the slope in a last, desperate run for the Engine House.

Mica gave a shout, and the whizzing sound of his sling rippled the air. Ivy sensed the stone hurtling towards her and rolled — a fraction of a second too late. Heat scored across her back, and the muscles of her shoulder separated in a blaze of dazzling pain. The ground spiralled up to meet her, and she knew it would only be seconds before she hit A freak wind blasted the hillside, thrashing the gorse-bushes and rippling the heather in its wake. Still flapping her one good wing, Ivy felt herself tossed upwards on the breeze. Pain blinded her, and she was still trying to regain control when a dark form loomed up before her and ruthless hands snatched her from the air.

Ivy gave a final cry of agony as her injured wing twisted. Then she willed herself into piskey-form, and let the darkness claim her.

She had thought fainting would be like sleep, a quiet place where she knew nothing and no one could touch her. But though darkness hazed her vision and she had a fuzzy sense of being disconnected from her body, she could still hear someone talking to her, though faint and far away.

‘-don’t know where to find us yet, but they’ll be here any-’

A moment of merciful oblivion, then it returned, louder and closer.

‘-hide you somewhere. But if they find us-’

The words rose and fell in gasps, as though the speaker were running. Strangely, Ivy felt as though she were rising and falling, too. But she had no idea where she was, or who was with her. A dull throbbing spread through her shoulder and radiated out from her chest, but she couldn’t think what it meant.

‘-stop it. Do you hear me? You have to-’

She must have blacked out again, because the next time she became aware the up-and-down sensation had stopped. An earthy smell rose around her, dampness seeping into her clothes. She was lying in bed and someone was covering her up, but why was it so wet, and what was wrong with Then the darkness shattered, and pain smashed into her like rocks falling. Ivy would have screamed, but a hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the cry. ‘Stop glowing!’ her rescuer snapped. ‘ Now! ’

Ivy was too dazed to protest. She willed herself not to glow, and tried to breathe through the pain instead. And now all was black again except for a few glints of grey light above her, and she was half-buried in dirt, her head resting on something hard and warm that smelled like fir needles…

Richard.

‘…can’t have gone far,’ said a soft voice from above, and for a moment Ivy felt sure she must be dreaming, because it sounded like Mattock. ‘But how could he disappear like that?’

‘Quiet,’ came the reply, lower and harsher. ‘Keep looking. He could be anywhere.’

Mica. Ivy caught her breath, but agony stabbed her chest and she let out a feeble moan. The foliage above them rustled, and Richard covered her mouth again, all his muscles tensed for flight.

Don’t move, his body told her. Don’t make a sound.

Ivy dug her fingers into Richard’s arm and bit her lip to keep from screaming. How long had she lain in this dank hole? It felt like forever, and the fiery knots of pain in her chest and shoulder blotted out all other sensation. She would have surrendered to Mica and Mattock gladly, if only it would make the hurting stop…

‘…Ivy, it’s all right. They’ve gone.’

She should have been relieved, but now it hardly seemed to matter. Was it getting brighter? It could be the sun’s rays angling into the cave, but daylight had never seemed so inviting. It bathed her wounds, taking away the pain and lifting her tenderly as her own mother’s arms.

‘Ivy?’

The light was all around her now. A blissful peace enfolded her, and she could feel the world slipping away…

‘Oh no, you don’t.’ Richard’s voice was harsh. ‘Stay with me. Ivy!’

She sighed, melting limp against him. Then a hand smacked onto her injured shoulder, and Ivy’s eyes flew open. The golden light vanished, and cold fire seared through her body. She would have screamed, but the pain was so intense it took her breath away.

‘Live!’ Richard shouted, as a second wave of power shocked through her. Ivy convulsed, bolted upright — and slapped him across the face.

For a moment Richard froze, his eyes wide and his neck still twisted with the force of her blow. Then he collapsed against the back of the muddy hollow and broke into rasping laughter. Only then did it dawn on Ivy that the pain in her shoulder had faded, and her chest no longer stabbed with every breath. She felt weak and a little dizzy, but…

‘I’m alive,’ she whispered.

Her skin was glowing again, and now she could see everything: the burrow lined with soil and dead leaves, the mushrooms crowded into one corner, the roots that kept the ceiling from falling in. Some abandoned fox’s den or badger scrape in the depths of the thicket, so shallow that Richard had been forced to shrink himself and Ivy as small as he could just to fit.

And yet he’d done it. She’d told him to go, but he’d stayed, and when he saw her in trouble, he’d been ready. He’d flown to meet her, cast a spell to throw off her pursuers, transformed into faery-shape to catch her as she fell. And now he’d brought her back from the very gates of death, and what had she given him in return? A smack hard enough to rattle his teeth.

The worst of it was, Richard was still laughing. There was more than a hint of hysteria in it, and Ivy was beginning to think she might have to slap him again just to make him stop. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

He let out a last snort of hilarity, wiped his eyes with one filthy hand and sat up. ‘It’s just…there’s this delicious irony to you hitting me, that’s all. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept.’

Which meant nothing to Ivy, but she didn’t really care. ‘You saved my life,’ she said, and her hand went automatically to her shoulder. It was stiff and tender, but the bones and muscles felt whole and even the skin was unbroken. ‘I don’t know how to…’ No, she wasn’t about to thank him, that would put her eternally in his debt. But she owed him a great deal, and it would take her a long time to repay it. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Then don’t say anything,’ said Richard. ‘You saved my life too, when you freed me from that dungeon. Now we’re even.’

His gaze held hers until Ivy began to feel self-conscious. She brushed the soil from her legs and backed away. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘we’re certainly evenly dirty.’

Richard climbed to his feet, one hand braced on the low ceiling. ‘We need to get out of here,’ he said. ‘I don’t think your brother saw you change out of your swift-form. But if we stay here much longer he’ll realise that you’re missing, and I really don’t want to be around when that happens. Especially not now that I’ve seen what he can do.’

The fevered energy that had filled Ivy since her healing drained away, leaving her shaken. ‘Mica,’ she whispered. ‘I knew he had a plan to catch you, but I never guessed…’ She looked up at him miserably. ‘Richard, I can’t go home.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve been gone too long. Even if Mica hasn’t guessed yet that I was the swift he shot, it won’t take him long to figure it out. I’ll be punished for going above — locked up, or put under guard at the very least — and then I’ll never get the chance-’

She broke off, pushing her fingertips against her eyes. The realisation of how badly she had miscalculated, what a disaster she had made for herself and everyone she loved, shook her to the core. ‘I can’t go back,’ she said. ‘Not until I find Cicely. And maybe not even then.’

Richard was quiet a moment, his face unreadable. At last he said, ‘It’s your choice. But if I were you, I’d talk to Marigold first. You’ll have a better chance of finding your sister with her help than you would on your own.’

Ivy wanted to agree, but at the same time she felt selfish for even considering it. She wanted to see Marigold so badly, to know the comfort that only a mother could give — but surely she didn’t deserve anything good after the way she’d failed Cicely? Especially now that she’d abandoned Mica and Flint as well?

And yet punishing herself wouldn’t help Cicely either. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘But…’ She moved her shoulder, wincing at the tug in her muscles. ‘I’m not up to flying yet. I’m not even sure I could hang on, if I were on your back.’ Especially since his bird-form was so tiny, she couldn’t believe he’d made the offer in the first place.

‘Well, we can’t go any farther by magic. I could take you into the wood because I knew you’d been there already, but after that it was back to running.’ Richard tapped his fingers along a root, frowning as he thought. ‘What if we make ourselves human size, and you turn both of us invisible? If we’ve got to walk, we’ll cover more ground that way.’

Ivy still felt wobbly after her near-death experience, and the thought of casting two spells at once made her head ache. But what choice did she have? They couldn’t stay here — the hunters of the Delve would be after them at any moment.

‘All right,’ she said, willing herself to sound confident. ‘Let’s go.’

On the far side of the wood the ground dropped away, sloping down into a little valley where a stream gurgled among the rocks. Richard set the pace, and Ivy did her best to keep up with him. But though nervous energy sustained her for a while, it wasn’t long before her strength began to falter. She’d been up most of the night, eaten nothing in hours, and her shoulder had begun aching again — first in occasional spasms, then with a steady throb that made her feel queasy.

‘So,’ said Richard as the path turned away from the riverbank and began to angle upward, ‘now that I’ve finally convinced you I’m not one, what exactly is a spriggan? Some kind of hideous creature, obviously — and I’m trying not to take that personally — but how are they different from other magical folk?’

‘I don’t know that much about them,’ Ivy said, focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Her chest was hurting as well now, and she found it hard to breathe. ‘Only that they’re thin and pale and ugly, and bring bad luck and bad weather wherever they go. They love only two things — food and treasure — and they steal piskey-women because they haven’t any women of their own.’

‘And they only live in Cornwall? Nowhere else?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she panted, wiping sweat from her brow. ‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve been to quite a few places, in my time,’ Richard replied. ‘I’ve travelled across England and Wales, and I even spent a few months in Scotland once. This isn’t the first time I’ve been to Cornwall, either. But I’ve never seen a single one of these so-called spriggans — look out! ’

Head down, eyes half-shut, Ivy didn’t even see the rock rolling towards her until she tripped over it. She lurched sideways, too startled to even cry out — but when Richard caught her arm, Ivy let out a swift’s shriek of agony. Hastily the faery switched his grip to her other side and helped her to safer ground.

‘This shouldn’t be happening,’ he said, as Ivy sank down on an outcropping. He crouched in front of her, seizing her chin and lifting her head up. ‘How long have you been in pain?’

She averted her eyes. ‘A while. I thought I was just tired.’

‘I put a lot of power into that healing.’ His fingers traced the purpling bruise on her shoulder, and Ivy flinched. ‘Why is it coming undone?’

‘I don’t know.’ She tried to get up, but her knees buckled and she fell back again. ‘But I can’t walk any farther. Just…go. Leave me here.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Richard. He slid one arm beneath her legs, lifted her from the ground and set off up the hill, carrying Ivy as though she weighed nothing at all.

Ivy wanted to tell him to stop, so she could make herself small and save him the trouble. But her head was already pounding with the effort of keeping them both invisible, and the pain in her arm was growing worse every minute. All she could do was hide her face against Richard’s neck, and try not to be sick down his collar.

Then she lost consciousness altogether, and dropped into a bottomless shaft of oblivion.

Ivy woke to a world of dusty golden light. Above her spread a ceiling braced by dark, square-cut beams, while around her rose walls of stone and mortar. A human building of some sort — a barn perhaps? But if so, how had Richard brought her in here? She’d always heard that faeries couldn’t enter human dwellings without permission.

There was an itch between her shoulders, right where her wings ought to be. Ivy squirmed and reached behind her with one arm and then the other, trying to get at the irritation. She was on her third attempt before she realised she’d twisted her injured shoulder to its limits, and hadn’t felt any pain at all. Wondering, she lowered her hand and touched the place below her collarbone where the swift’s beak had pierced her. There was no tenderness there, either.

So Richard had healed her again while she lay unconscious, and this time he’d succeeded. But it must have taken all his strength, because now he lay sprawled on the floor beside her, so deep in slumber that he didn’t even twitch when Ivy spoke his name.

Well, let him sleep; he’d earned it. Ivy rose, brushing dust from her breeches. The building was old but in good repair, a low rectangle with a broad corridor along one side and the rest divided by wood and metal partitions. An earthy, pungent smell mingled with the scent of dried grass — animals? Ivy stepped out of the doorway, avoiding a heap of suspicious-looking muck in the middle of the corridor, and went to investigate.

She expected she might find pigs or goats in the neighbouring pens, perhaps even a cow. But when she reached the last box a shaggy brown head lifted to greet her, ears pricked and nose quivering. Ivy held out her humansized hand, delighted when the horse lipped her palm. ‘Hello, you beauty,’ she whispered to it, rubbing the smooth arch of its neck. ‘What are you doing in here?’

The horse gave a soft whinny and stamped one foot — but gingerly. And when Ivy leaned over the door she saw the problem at once: its left foreleg had been injured, and it couldn’t gallop until it was better. ‘Oh, what a shame,’ Ivy said, unlatching the door and slipping inside. Rubbing soothing circles over the horse’s chest, she crouched to examine the bandaged limb.

Even through the wrappings it felt swollen and hot to the touch, and the horse shied away from her fingers, neighing protest. ‘It’s all right,’ Ivy murmured. She blew softly into the horse’s nostrils, soothing it, and smiled when it tucked its head down against her chest. ‘I can’t heal you, but when Richard wakes up, maybe-’

A creak resonated through the barn, and Ivy froze as the outer door swung wide. Another horse came prancing in, an elegant dapple-grey with a haughty air that reminded her of Betony. And beside it walked a girl a little younger than Ivy, with a braid of dark hair swinging down her back.

Hastily Ivy made herself invisible, but not quickly enough. The girl’s head turned, her pert features creasing in a frown. ‘Hello? Is someone there?’

The brown horse chose that moment to sidle over and squeeze Ivy against the wall. An oof escaped her, and she shoved at its curving ribs, but it refused to budge. She flattened herself against the wood and tried to edge sideways, but something sharp sliced into her calf and she let out an involuntary yelp.

‘Right, whoever you are,’ said the girl sternly. ‘Come out of there.’ With a slap she sent the grey mare trotting into the neighbouring box, then strode towards them. ‘Budge over, Dodger.’ She shoved the brown horse and it danced sideways, leaving Ivy backed against the wall with blood spiralling down her leg.

‘What are you doing here?’ the girl demanded — but the moment her eyes met Ivy’s, her expression changed. ‘You’re a faery! No, wait, that’s not right.’ She cocked her helmeted head to one side, looking puzzled and awed at once. ‘What are you?’

Gooseflesh prickled over Ivy’s skin. How could a human see through her invisibility glamour like that? She was still trying to think of something to say when a laconic voice spoke up:

‘She’s a piskey, of course. And she’s with me.’

The girl whipped around, and Ivy took advantage of the distraction to make herself small and dart out into the corridor, taking refuge behind a nearby bucket. Once more, Richard had put himself between her and danger. But how were they going to get out of this?

‘Faery man?’ breathed the girl, unlatching her helmet and putting it aside. ‘Is it really you?’

Without hesitation Richard stepped out of hiding to meet her. His clothes were still rumpled and muddy and there were bits of grass in his air, but his eyes were wickedly bright.

‘Hello, Molly Menadue,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ ten

The situation had changed so fast, so unexpectedly, that Ivy felt as though she were lost in some strange dream. This human girl had recognised Richard at a glance — even knew that he was a faery — and he didn’t appear to mind it at all. He’d even greeted her by name, as though she were an old friend. But how could that be?

‘You came back,’ the girl said. ‘I thought I’d never…it’s been so long…’ She flung her arms around Richard and hugged him exuberantly, then shoved him away and exclaimed, ‘You just disappeared! Without even a note!’

‘Something came up, and I had to go,’ he said, but his eyes had darkened, and Ivy could tell he wasn’t nearly as indifferent as he seemed. ‘There was no time to explain.’

‘You don’t know what it was like, coming in here and finding you gone.’ Molly sniffed. ‘It was horrible.’ She scrubbed at her eyes, then went on in a brisker tone, ‘But enough of that. You’re here now. So what brought you back? And what are you doing with…did you say she was a piskey?’

‘Her name is Ivy, and we’re travelling together,’ said Richard. ‘We got into a bit of trouble and needed somewhere to hide. This was the safest place I could think of.’

‘Safe from what?’

Richard hesitated, and for a moment Ivy thought he was going to tell Molly their whole story. But all he said was, ‘That’s faery business — or rather, piskey business. But you needn’t worry, you’re in no danger.’

Molly put her fists on her hips. ‘I don’t care about that,’ she said. ‘I’m just dying to hear what you’ve been up to. It’s been ages.’

‘It has,’ Richard agreed solemnly. ‘How old are you now? Eighteen? Twenty-two?’

Molly broke into a reluctant smile. ‘Thirteen, silly. It hasn’t been that long.’

Ivy couldn’t restrain her curiosity any longer. She stepped out into the corridor and grew to human size. ‘How do you know Richard?’ she asked the girl.

‘Richard?’ Molly frowned and glanced at the faery, who gave a tiny nod. ‘Oh. Well…he’s my faery godfather.’

Richard made a spluttering noise, and Ivy was torn between disbelief and a mad desire to laugh. She was still wrestling with the impulse when Molly grinned at her, and after that it was hopeless: she had to smile back.

‘I was out riding Dodger last spring,’ Molly went on, gesturing to the brown horse, ‘and I saw a…a bird, falling out of the sky like it was hurt. So I went to see if I could help, and when I got there, I found him — Richard — lying in the grass.’

She hadn’t been about to say bird, Ivy could tell. She’d started to say something else, but changed her mind. Why?

‘He tried to act like a human,’ Molly went on, ‘but I knew right away he was a faery, and I got so excited. I’d seen a couple of faeries before when I was at the shops in Truro, but they ignored me, and my mum got really angry at me for talking to strangers. But he didn’t seem to mind talking, even though it was mostly nonsense, and he looked so thin and ill that I felt sorry for him. So I invited him home.’

‘ Home in this case being the barn,’ said Richard. ‘Since we both agreed that her mother wouldn’t think much of the arrangement. And then she wrapped me up in blankets and fed me until I could hardly move, which probably saved my life.’

Molly blushed, but she looked pleased. Ivy turned to Richard and asked, ‘Why were you so weak? What happened to you?’

‘That’s another story,’ said Richard shortly. ‘Let Molly tell hers.’

‘He wouldn’t tell me either,’ Molly confided. ‘I think he likes being mysterious. But anyway, he stayed for a few days and we got to be friends, and I told him my mum wants me to be a teacher like her, but what I really want is to be an actress. And he turned out to know loads about theatre, and I did a speech for him and he told me I was really good, and a week later I tried out for our school musical and I got the lead. So that’s why I call him my faery godfather.’

‘Did you!’ said Richard, with a warmth in his tone Ivy had never heard before. ‘Well done, Molly. What did your parents say to that?’

‘I emailed the video to my dad, and he said I was brilliant. But my mum said I shouldn’t let it go to my head.’

Richard’s lip curled. ‘Your mother suffers from a grievous lack of imagination. Never mind her, Molly. There’ll be more lead roles in your future.’

Molly beamed at him. ‘I’ve got to head in for supper,’ she said. ‘But I’ll come back as soon as I can — and I’ll bring you something to eat, too.’ She looked from Richard to Ivy and back again. ‘You’re not going to run away again, are you? You’ll stay the night at least?’

‘We can’t stay long,’ said Richard, with unusual gentleness. ‘But yes. For now, we’ll stay.’

The sun was slipping below the horizon, its last beams slanting across the fields. In the neighbouring boxes the two horses snorted and stamped, while Ivy and Richard lay on a makeshift bed of old blankets and sacking, waiting for Molly to return.

Richard’s eyes were half-closed, with blue shadows beneath them, and the bones of his face stood out sharply in the fading light. Ivy wanted to say something about the way he’d carried her over miles of countryside to this place, and then poured the last of his strength into healing her a second time — if she’d owed him her life before, she owed him twice over now. But Richard hadn’t mentioned it, and Ivy had a feeling that he’d rather she didn’t either.

‘How far from the Delve are we?’ she asked. ‘Are we safe here?’

‘Not too far, but far enough that your people aren’t likely to find us,’ said Richard. ‘And besides, there’s some charm about this place that makes it difficult for magical folk to see — I’d never have found it myself that first time, if Molly hadn’t shown me the way. Some old protective spell set up by her grandmother, perhaps.’

‘You mean,’ said Ivy, propping herself on one elbow, ‘you think her grandmother was a faery?’

‘Or her great-grandmother, I suppose,’ Richard replied, gazing thoughtfully into the rafters. ‘It’s impossible to say. But there’s magic in Molly’s blood somewhere, if she’s been seeing faeries all her life. On her father’s side, probably — it doesn’t seem likely to be her mother’s.’

‘Where is her father, then?’ asked Ivy. ‘Doesn’t he live here?’

‘Sometimes,’ Richard said. ‘But his work takes him away for weeks at a time, so Molly doesn’t see much of him. I’ve never seen him at all.’ He sat up, brushing dirt from his dark jacket. ‘I think I could heal that leg of yours now.’

‘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-’