‘Took you long enough,’ muttered Mica, but she could see that he was both surprised and pleased. It must have been frustrating for him these past five years, hearing Ivy claim that their mother had been taken by the spriggans when he was certain that deep down she knew better. Not that it excused his attitude towards her — he still deserved a good smack around the head for that, and Ivy wished she were tall enough to give it to him. But it explained a lot about the way he’d been behaving.
‘It’s about Mum, isn’t it?’ Cicely turned accusing eyes to Ivy. ‘You always get that look on your face when you’re thinking about her. What did he say? Was it the same as-’
‘Leave it,’ Mica cut in. ‘Ivy’s tired of talking about it and so am I. It’s not going to change anything.’ He stabbed another slice of rabbit and began cutting it up. ‘Matt and I are going into Redruth tomorrow. Is there anything you want?’
Ivy poked at her meal, torn between gratitude and guilt. Every now and then, along with the small animals they hunted, the fish they caught and the wild greens, mushrooms and berries they foraged, the hunters of the Delve took human-shape and journeyed to the nearby towns for more exotic fare: glittering white sugar and flour ground fine as dust, currants and saffron and citrus peel, slabs of chocolate or sweet marzipan. It was always a pleasant surprise when Mica remembered to ask Ivy what she needed, but if he knew where she’d been last night, he wouldn’t be offering to do her any favours.
‘I’m running out of cinnamon,’ she said at last. ‘And I wouldn’t mind a couple of oranges.’ Cicely loved oranges, so perhaps that would be enough to keep her from brooding over Mica’s reprimand — though judging by the mulish look on her face, it was already too late.
‘I told Yarrow I’d help her grind herbs tonight,’ Cicely said, pushing her plate away. ‘I should go.’
‘All right,’ said Ivy. She waited until her sister had left, then turned to Mica. ‘Have you heard anything more about the spriggan? Has he talked to the Joan yet?’
Mica shook his head in disgust. ‘I told Gossan they should hang him up by his ankles over a smelting-pot and see what he has to say then, but he said we piskeys ought to be better than that, whatever that’s supposed to mean. They’re going to leave him alone for a couple of days before they question him again.’
‘And if he still won’t talk?’
He shrugged. ‘Gossan said they’d mine that vein when they came to it.’ Though the contempt in his tone said how little he approved of the Jack’s forbearance. ‘But whether he tells us what he did with Keeve or not, there’s no way that spriggan’s going to see daylight again. If the Joan doesn’t make sure of that…’ His hand dropped to the hilt of his hunter’s knife. ‘Then I will.’
It was raining that night as Ivy descended the Great Shaft, slow droplets falling between the bars and pattering into the stagnant water below. But she’d brought a rope this time, fastening one end tight at the foot of the iron railing and the other around her waist, so even if she slipped she wouldn’t fall far.
She’d expected to hear the spriggan talking, as he had the night before. But the shaft was silent, and as she lowered herself into his cell the only sounds were the rasp of hemp on stone and the scuffing of her own bare feet. ‘It’s me,’ she whispered, brightening her glow so he could see her. ‘Are you awake?’
The prisoner sat against the wall, hands dangling between his knees. He looked like a corpse at first, eyes glazed and features slack, but as Ivy approached he stirred and gave a feeble smile. ‘ But soft! ’ he murmured. ‘ What light through yonder window breaks? ’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Ivy, sharp with the effort of hiding her relief. ‘There aren’t any windows here.’
‘It’s a line from a play by Shakespeare,’ he replied. He must have seen Ivy’s blank expression, because he went on patiently, ‘Shakespeare was a human writer who lived a few centuries ago. Plays are stories made up of speeches and acted out in front of an audience. You understand the concept of theatre?’
‘You mean a droll-show,’ said Ivy. ‘Like at midwinter, when the children dress up and pretend to be warriors, or… monsters.’ She had almost said spriggans.
The prisoner’s nostrils flared. ‘I suppose. In a crude fashion.’
Time to change the subject, before he made her feel any more ignorant. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said to me. And…I’m ready to make a bargain.’
At once his expression changed. ‘Go on.’
‘I’ll take the iron off your ankle and help you get out of here, so you can take me to my mother. But I won’t ride on your back.’
She spoke the words firmly, determined not to betray even a hint of weakness. After all, even if he could transform himself into a bird, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t fly off without her — or worse, take her somewhere she didn’t want to go.
‘Ivy,’ said the stranger in exasperation, ‘you can’t expect me to walk you there. Even at human size-’
‘No.’ Her heart was fluttering, but she kept her voice calm. ‘Teach me to change shape, like you do. I won’t go anywhere with you, until I can fly.’
He stared at her. ‘You? But you’re a piskey. A female piskey, at that. And you think I can teach you to become a bird?’
‘Why not? You learned to do it.’
‘Piskey magic and faery magic aren’t the same,’ he said with forced patience. ‘There are all kinds of things my people can do that yours can’t. And even among faeries, changing shape isn’t something females do.’
‘How do you know that? Just because you’ve never seen one do it? I wouldn’t bother turning myself into a bird either, if I had wings of my own. But I don’t, so I have to try.’ She folded her arms. ‘And if you ever want to get out of here, you’re going to have to try too.’
He made a faint, disbelieving sound. ‘You drive a hard bargain, lady.’
‘Harder where there’s none,’ she said.
‘Even if you’re right, it’s not going to be easy. Before you can take the shape of a bird or animal, you have to know every part of it. You have to be completely familiar with the way it looks and moves, and know its habits as well as you know your own.’ He spread his lean hands, inviting her to look around. ‘Do you see any birds in here?’
Ivy hesitated. She’d thought changing shape would only be a matter of technique — that all he had to do was explain the steps to her and she’d be able to try it right away. But if she had to actually look at a bird, in order to become one…
‘You’ll have to go up to the surface,’ the stranger went on, ‘in the middle of the day, and spend a few hours following birds around before you find the one that calls to you, the one you need to become. And that’s only the first step.’ He shifted his weight, wincing as the iron band tugged at his ankle. ‘Are you ready to do that?’
To go above in broad daylight, under the merciless eye of a sun she’d never seen before? To defy the rules and traditions she’d been raised with, risk the Joan’s wrath and her fellow piskeys’ disapproval, and make herself a hypocrite for telling Cicely that it was dangerous to go above? To take the chance that Keeve’s murderer was still out there, waiting for another careless piskey to cross his path?
Any one of those ideas was terrifying, let alone all of them together. And yet to trust herself completely to a stranger, to climb onto his back and let him take her wherever he pleased, was even more unthinkable. Either way she’d be taking an enormous risk — but better to choose her own path than to have someone else choose it for her.
And besides, if she could do this, she wouldn’t only have a chance of finding her mother, she’d have wings as well…
‘Yes,’ said Ivy, lifting her chin. ‘Whatever it takes, I’m ready.’ five
The good thing about sneaking out through the Earthenbore was that it gave Ivy plenty of places to hide. Smaller tunnels branched off in every direction, so she could always duck into a side corridor if she heard someone coming.
The unfortunate thing was that Ivy couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t get caught anyway. Turning invisible would keep her from being seen, but it couldn’t mask her scent, or prevent her bumping into someone by accident. And since she couldn’t see unless she glowed at least a little, it would be pointless turning invisible unless she wanted to grope her way through the tunnels with no light at all.
But right now it was early afternoon, the time when the older knockers taught the younger men to refine and work metal, and piskey-wives did their washing and sewing while their daughters looked after the Delve’s small menagerie of livestock, and all the youngest children were at lessons. As long as Ivy didn’t stay away from home too long, there was no reason anyone should notice her missing.
She followed the passage to its final branch, as far from the Delve as she could go while still remaining underground, and began climbing the slope to the surface. Soon the scent of sun-baked earth wafted towards her, and the blackness around her began to lighten. Ivy crept forwards until the ceiling became so low she had to stoop, and then go on hands and knees. At last the tunnel ended in a latticework of brilliant green foliage, with a sliver of sky above it so blue it hurt to look at. She winced and turned her face away.
All her instincts told her to go back, that she wasn’t prepared for this. To leave the earth’s cool embrace and step out into that blazing emptiness, unarmed and unaccompanied, was more than any piskey she knew had ever done. Even Mica had been guided by two seasoned hunters on his first daylight trip, and he’d come back with a headache so fierce he’d spent the rest of the day in bed.
But if Ivy didn’t go out there, she’d never learn to fly.
Keeping her head low to avoid the prickly overhang, Ivy crawled out of the tunnel. Only when the underbrush stopped rustling and she felt the sun’s heat on her black curls did she sit up and slowly crack her eyelids open.
She’d only seen this landscape before at night, when its colours were soft and soothing. Now it shone with a hectic, fevered intensity that made her exhausted just looking at it. How would she ever spot a single bird at this rate, let alone get close enough to study it? She could barely see. If an enemy crept up on her, she wouldn’t know until it was far too late.
Yet Ivy wasn’t about to give up. Learning to climb hadn’t been easy either, and she’d had to start small, scaling the walls of an abandoned stope. And even once that ceased to be a challenge, climbing the Great Shaft had been a terrifying prospect. But Ivy would never forget the thrill when she pulled herself up onto the concrete lip at the top, and leaned out through the bars to feel the rain falling on her upturned face. Fresh air had never tasted so sweet.
She was stronger than anyone knew. She could do this. Ivy squinted, shielded her eyes with one hand, and began edging down the hillside one step at a time.
Some time later Ivy sat cross-legged in the shade of a holly bush, gazing into the sky. Her head throbbed, and sweat trickled down her spine. But her eyes had adjusted to the sunlight now, so she no longer feared that anyone would sneak up on her unnoticed. And she’d already spotted several kinds of birds.
Some had been solitary, winging past with smooth, masterful strokes; others had arrived in clusters, dipping and soaring in patterns intricate as any six-hand reel. She’d seen birds as big as Mica and birds smaller than Flint’s fiddle, birds with long beaks and stubby ones, birds pale as the spriggan’s hair and others dark as her own. But though she’d listened intently to their chirps and cries, none had stirred any answering call in her heart.
Maybe she was just too distracted to concentrate. A few minutes ago a horse and rider had come plunging out of the wood — both of them tiny with distance, but still the sight sent a stab of envy into Ivy’s heart. Even though she’d only seen them in pictures, the love of horses was in her piskey blood, and she longed to leap to her feet and run after it.