The force hit Ivy’s bell and then crashed into her, leaving her winded. She bent over, holding her stomach, the pain spreading to her chest.
“Stop!” she called, hoping Lady Crammington might pause and at least give her time to think. The water was so cold; the surface bubbled as more water rushed in through the cracks in the glass tank. The stench of the sea was beginning to make Ivy feel sick.
She reached for the edge of the Grivens table and heaved herself upright. Her bell was still swaying with the force of the blow….
And then it started to sing. There were no words as such, just sounds. The bell had an operatic voice that filled the air, making the water tremble. As the vibrations traveled through Ivy’s body, the cold she’d felt faded away. The sound energized her tired muscles, sharpening her mind and relaxing her. She didn’t know what it was doing exactly, but it felt amazing.
Opposite her, she saw that the bell’s voice was having a very different effect on Lady Crammington, who looked as if she was battling to stay awake. Her glove piece drooped and then lay flat on the Grivens board. Lady Crammington yawned and slipped down into the water. As it began lapping at the chopping board, just under Ivy’s armpits, Lady Crammington faded away like smoke.
Ivy tilted her head back as the water reached her throat. “Seb?!”
Everything went dark—and then the Grivens stadium took shape around her. The spectators roared. Ivy gasped with relief as the water disappeared.
“In the first round, winner of table four, using a bell to disarm her opponents,” Nix Wolf shouted, “Ivy Sparrow!”
Ivy’s head pounded. Her tunic and cargo trousers were soaking wet. Her damp face appeared in close-up on one of the materializers as the crowd began chanting, “Ivy! Ivy! Ivy!”
Her cheeks glowed. She wasn’t used to uncommoners shouting her name in a good way.
“Yes!” Seb cheered, behind her.
She could see him on the materializers, punching the air and jumping up and down. “I knew that bell of yours would do something! Valian said it was bells you had to look out for.”
Ivy’s knees almost buckled with shock. All right—she’d survived that game, but only by luck.
There was no longer anyone at her Grivens table, so she searched for her three opponents. Captain Macintosh was being propped up by his spotter; he was coughing up water as if he’d nearly drowned. Colin Mint was being bandaged by a team of medics, while Lady Crammington was lying snoring on the stadium floor.
Ivy checked the other Grivens tables. Not all players had been so fortunate; two contestants from table two were being carried out of the stadium on stretchers, their spotters pale-faced and trembling.
Nix Wolf announced the winners of the three other tables. Their games had all lasted at least two rounds; only Ivy’s had been over after the first. She was surprised but delighted to find that Alexander Brewster had beaten his opponents on table three. Their eyes met as his face was projected onto a materializer, and he smiled with relief. Carson Crevitch was the winner of table one and, with a sinking feeling, Ivy saw that François Filigree was table two’s champion.
As the winners took their places around the final table, an eerie silence came over the stadium. Ivy combed the stands, searching for Mr. Punch. He should be back by now. She spotted Selena Grimes sitting in a VIP area, surrounded by other traders wearing elaborate Hobsmatch. The Jar of Shadows wasn’t with her; Ivy wondered where she was hiding it.
Focusing on the game again, she smiled glumly at Alexander Brewster opposite. She couldn’t believe that he had no spotter. Using her whispering, she checked to see if he was alive. The silence confirmed it.
Without a spotter, Alexander was putting himself in great danger. He gazed into the audience, his arms trembling. Ivy assumed he was looking for his father.
François Filigree stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the table. Ivy wished she had X-ray vision so she could see the expression behind his Noh mask.
Nix Wolf cleared his throat into the uncommon conch shell. “Let the final game COMMENCE!”
Goose pimples rippled across Ivy’s skin; she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
As Nix Wolf offered Alexander the first choice of Grivens pieces, Ivy studied Carson Crevitch. He had no spotter, so she checked with her whispering: he was one of the dead.
Nix Wolf handed the box of Grivens pieces to Filigree. Ivy concentrated hard, trying to block out the noise from the stadium. Filigree selected a glove, a suitcase and a bell carved from dark red wood and placed them on the chopping board. The spectators oohed and aahed, but Ivy didn’t hear them.
What she heard was a very different sound: a hushed voice. It didn’t drift around like the whispers of the dead; it sounded muffled, trapped. Ivy scanned the Grivens table. The only uncommon object on it was meant to be the chopping board, but this garbled voice originated somewhere else.
Filigree’s bell—she was sure of it; she’d practiced enough with her abilities to pinpoint where it was coming from. It’s uncommon.
From what Johnny Hands had told her, she knew that Filigree must be cheating. Perhaps he’d planted the uncommon bell in the box before the contest. She already suspected him of being up to no good; he could be working for Selena Grimes. With a sickening jolt, Ivy considered the possibility that Selena had ordered Filigree to kill her during the game….
A cold feeling washed over her. There was no way Seb could know that Filigree’s bell was uncommon. Ivy could only hope that he had the sense to pull her out of the chalk circle before things got really bad.
“Ahem.” Nix Wolf coughed, holding out the box of Grivens pieces toward Ivy.
She shook her head and put her hand inside. Her fingers curled around three pieces. She pulled them out and placed them on the Grivens board. She’d chosen a bell and glove carved from red marble, and a small white polystyrene suitcase.
While Carson Crevitch made his choice, Ivy weighed her options, trying to work out the best way to deal with Filigree’s uncommon bell piece.
Without a spotter, there was a real risk that Alexander would be killed when Filigree played that bell. Perhaps if she could warn him somehow, the two of them could work together. She tried to attract Alexander’s attention with a cough, but he was focused on his Grivens pieces.
The light in the stadium dimmed and a spotlight fell across the board. Ivy imagined the uncommoners watching the game all around the world, engrossed in her every move. Through the glass roof she could see that it was pitch-black outside in Lundinor. Inside the stadium, technicians whizzed around on uncommon rugs, directing lemon squeezers toward the action.
Fans leaped to their feet, waving. Ivy heard a ripple of shouts of “Ivy Sparrow!” Uncommoners I’ve never even met before, willing me to do well. She used their voices to steady her nerves as she turned back to the chopping board.
Nix Wolf’s voice whipped around the stadium like a gust of wind. “Let the first round begin!”
Ivy had no idea which piece to play. If Valian was in her shoes right now, he would probably pick the bell, whereas Seb would go for something more likely to attack—the glove. Instead, Ivy pushed the suitcase forward. Her opponents had already made their decisions: Alexander his glove, Crevitch a bell, and Filigree, of course, his uncommon bell.
Nix Wolf spun the board.
Learning from the last game, Ivy grabbed the edge of the Grivens table to stabilize herself. The dark stadium swirled out of focus and she saw a rich orange sunset against a purple sky. Blue sand dunes appeared—along with a fearsome howling wind. Ivy found herself on a small wooden platform at the top of a shady dune….
In a desert.
She took stock of her opponents. Carson Crevitch was standing with legs apart and arms outstretched, ready to leap into combat. Alexander had a steely glint in his eye, though his thin frame was shaking. Filigree’s mask revealed nothing.
The Grivens pieces lay still. Then, with an unimpressive flutter, Ivy’s polystyrene suitcase flapped open and a rusty metal shield appeared in her arms.
She slumped with disappointment. She didn’t know what she’d been hoping for exactly; she just knew that a medieval knight’s shield wasn’t it. Still, she adjusted the leather strap over her arm and aimed it toward the other three players, preparing herself.
Alexander’s glove flexed its fingers, made a fist and then slammed down onto the chopping board with a loud bang!
Three giant cracks appeared in the wooden platform under the table, each snaking toward one of Alexander’s opponents. Ivy steadied herself as the ground rumbled. The wind over the dunes picked up, the platform trembling beneath her feet. The crevasses were deep; she guessed that if she fell in, it would be the end of her game. She clutched her shield tightly, bracing herself as the fissure reached her toes.
Her shield wobbled, but the fault line came to a stop. She gave a crooked smile. Maybe the rusty piece of metal on her arm wasn’t so useless after all.
Filigree managed to outjump his crevice on unnaturally springy legs, though it left him stranded on a wooden island a few yards from the table. Judging from Carson Crevitch’s darting eyes, he hadn’t formulated a plan to avoid Alexander’s attack—when his bell piece rang out and the wood stopped splintering.
Crevitch smiled wickedly as an imperious voice emerged from the bell, talking in a language Ivy didn’t understand. Outside the chalk circle, a mass of skinny black-and-yellow snakes wriggled out of the sand, their tongues tasting the air.
Ivy turned her back on the Grivens table and directed her shield toward the snakes, though she didn’t know what good it would do. She looked over her shoulder at her opponents: Alexander had managed to hop onto a snake-free island, but Filigree wasn’t reacting at all. Instead, his legs jerked; it looked as if there was something trapped under his jacket.
As the snakes crossed over into the chalk circle, Ivy flattened herself against the Grivens table, her shield trembling on her arm. Alexander was shouting. Only Filigree’s uncommon bell was left to play. Ivy doubted that her shield would be powerful enough to protect her from it; Alexander was already defenseless; and Carson Crevitch’s snakes might not help him at all.
She thought of calling for Seb to pull her out, but she knew that he would only be able to save her—not Alexander or Crevitch.
There was time to attempt one last thing: Ivy stretched out with her whispering toward Filigree’s bell piece. The murmured voice coming from inside the bell clanged around furiously, as if it was trying to escape. Ivy tried something new: she reduced her field of awareness to concentrate her senses inside the bell. Immediately the voice became clearer.
Strike. Defeat. Destroy…
She could hear words! She’d never been able to distinguish what the voices inside uncommon objects were actually saying before.
Just then, Filigree leaped for the table and made a grab for his bell. A piercing scream shot out of it—full of rage and pain. Ivy put her hands over her ears, the sounds reverberating through her mind. She felt a wave of heat as a wall of black-and-purple flames rose around the chalk circle. Blackfire.
Filigree was laughing behind his mask, his small gloved hands stroking his wobbling belly. The dark flames seemed to lick off him, causing no damage whatsoever. Ivy could see that something was still wriggling under his jacket, struggling to be free.
The snakes thrashed around and buried themselves in the cold sand. Heat singed Ivy’s clothes, but they were so wet from the previous round, they didn’t catch fire. She hid her face behind her shield, gasping for air. Smoke was seeping into her lungs, stinging the back of her throat.
And the flames were getting stronger.
“Seb!” she cried. “Seb!”
She heard a loud pop, and an unmistakable silhouette appeared behind the blackfire.
“Seb!” she wheezed.
He was floundering on the other side of the flames, waving his arms and jumping up and down. Ivy wasn’t sure what was going on, but it looked as if he couldn’t get through.
Cowering behind her shield, she realized that Filigree’s uncommon bell piece must have had something to do with it. Maybe this had been Filigree’s plan all along—to prevent Ivy’s spotter from saving her.
She knew that if there was no way for her to be rescued, she only had one option left.
I’ve got to stop that bell.
Her body was weak; she needed oxygen. She summoned all her energy and reached out with her senses till she found the bell’s voice amidst the roar of the flames. She’d never heard anything so angry, so intent on destruction.
Strike them down. Defeat all. Destroy…
As a last resort she decided to try to reason with it, though she’d never communicated with the trapped soul inside an object before. Gasping for air, she managed to project words at the bell, but it didn’t seem to understand her. Then she tried soothing thoughts, memories of soft music and still water, a clear blue sky, a peaceful ocean—all the things that made her feel calm.
Strike. Defeat…Tired…Desperate…
Slowly the voice grew tranquil. Ivy heard it mumbling in exhausted tones and sighing. She heaved cold air into her lungs as she peered out from behind her shield. The flames were subsiding.
“WHAT IS THIS?!” Filigree shouted. Ivy lowered her shield slightly and saw that he was hitting the Grivens bell, attempting to make the flames return.
“No!” Ivy yelled. She concentrated on the bell with all her might, trying to comfort the soul trapped within it. She could feel it growing angrier—not at her and the other two competitors, but at the person who was hitting it.
All at once blackfire shot up behind Filigree. He cursed the bell and started to bat the flames away with his fire-retardant gloves. Alexander and Carson Crevitch shuffled to the edge of the chalk circle, not sure what was going on—but scarcely able to believe their luck. Ivy studied Filigree closely. His white mask had started to melt in the heat, and a face was emerging beneath it….
A very green face.
Six spindly legs burst free of Filigree’s stomach, and the spiky, mantis-like body of Jack-in-the-Green sprang out of the torn overcoat. What was left of the furniture trader’s Japanese Noh mask dripped like milk over the assassin’s smooth green features.
Ivy stumbled back. François Filigree had been Jack-in-the-Green all along! But why had he used a costume to disguise himself, rather than shape-shifting? A large blue vase appeared behind Jack-in-the-Green’s spindly legs—the same size and shape to have been smuggled in under Filigree’s clothes.
Ivy recognized it immediately: the Jar of Shadows.
She had to get hold of it somehow. Jack-in-the-Green growled and lunged at her with his barbed pincers, but a barricade of black-and-purple flames rose up between the two of them, stopping him just in time.
Ivy knew she needed to act before he could open the jar. She reached out with her senses to the Grivens bell. Its voice was confused and frantic, intent on destroying Jack-in-the-Green. Before she had time to do anything about it, the fire gave one last roar, drowning out all other sounds—and then Jack-in-the-Green was engulfed in flames….
Immediately her surroundings changed. The smoky purple desert vanished and the spitting of flames was silenced. Instead, raucous applause and angry shouts spread through the air. They were back in the stadium.
People were pointing and jeering. An underguard troop ran onto the stadium floor toward Jack-in-the-Green, who was shouting angrily, his skin charred and smoking. The Jar of Shadows was still standing on the other side of the Grivens table, unharmed.
Nix Wolf came forward and announced, “Our champion is…” He hesitated.
Ivy saw her face appear on a materializer and was surprised that she didn’t look worse. Her skin was sooty, her hair frazzled and singed, but she didn’t have a scratch on her. That ancient shield must have protected her better than she’d expected. The materializers then showed a wheezing Alexander and Carson Crevitch, who both had blistered cheeks.
“Ivy Sparrow!” Nix Wolf decided finally.
Ivy started. She was the winner?
The crowd roared with delight, whistling and stamping their feet. There were a few loud boos, but Ivy was too overwhelmed to be bothered by them.
She’d won; she’d actually won.
Her skin tingled with shock. She caught Alexander’s eye as he and Carson Crevitch were led away by medical staff. He smiled at her weakly, obviously relieved that it was all over. Nobody had approached the Jar of Shadows yet; in all the chaos, it seemed to have escaped everyone’s notice.
Ivy stepped carefully out of the chalk circle, still feeling wobbly, and began edging her way around the table toward the jar. She’d forgotten that Seb was behind her until he hugged her tightly. “Well done,” he said, his voice breaking.
With what strength Ivy had left, she shook him off. “Seb—the jar.” She swatted away a cloud of floating snow-globe cameras as they zoomed closer. “People will see it—we have to get it out of here.” She looked over to where Selena Grimes had been sitting. Her chair was empty.
Seb stepped inside the chalk circle and ran over to the jar. He bent down and put his arms around it. “It’s too heavy!”
“Don’t try to lift it,” Ivy cried. “If you drop it, you’ll release what’s inside.” As she searched for a solution, she heard another roar from the spectators. She turned and saw that they were rushing onto the floor. Sprinting at the front of the pack was Valian, carrying Seb’s rucksack over one shoulder, with Ivy’s satchel slung across the other.
He surveyed the scene, and then, without a word of explanation, dragged Ivy back inside the chalk circle and spun the Grivens board.
The stadium vanished. Ivy gasped as a canopy of dark leaves appeared above her head and the crumbling ochre ruins of some ancient temple rose from the earth around her. The light faded and the air was filled with a hundred birdcalls and the smell of the jungle.
Valian ran over the forest floor to where Seb was struggling with the jar. “We’ve only got minutes before someone in the stadium connects a snow globe to the Krigvelt and can see us again,” he said, tugging the Sack of Stars out of his jacket.
“Where are we going to send it?” Seb asked.
“I know,” Ivy said, hurrying over and whispering something into the lining. “I’ll explain when we get there.”
As she lowered her head into the sack, the jungle disappeared behind her.
