“Stay close to me,” Granma Sylvie said, leading the way through the Great Gates onto the Gauntlet. “Selena can’t be far behind.”
Ivy scanned the area. “Where is everyone?” The wide gravel road was deserted, and the only sound came from the wind rustling through the empty fields on either side. The thatched cottages had their blinds drawn and windows shut. Ivy knew it was late, but she had expected the place to be teeming with supporters leaving the Grivens contest.
Valian cast wary glances up and down the street. “I’ve never seen Lundinor like this.”
They continued along the Gauntlet, searching for clues.
“Over there.” Seb pointed to a blackened spot by the roadside: a small muddy hole surrounded by a ring of singed grass.
“What is it?” Ivy asked.
Valian bent down to inspect it. “A drain hole. Lundinor might seem different every season, but the core structure—the air filters, the sewage system, the road layout—is always the same. The drain network runs through all four quarters.”
“They’ve overflowed.” Granma Sylvie took out a pen, poked it into the sludge and held it under her nose. Ivy grimaced.
“This isn’t drain water,” Granma Sylvie said. “There’s something uncommon going on here. You smell…”
Ivy screwed up her face, giving the pen a sniff. The mud smelled smoky and sweet, just like…“Dragon’s Breath Ale,” Ivy exclaimed.
“Ale? Interesting.” Granma Sylvie wiped her pen on the grass and straightened up. “We’d better keep walking.”
More scorched drains appeared as they continued. As the House of Bells came into sight, Granma Sylvie gasped. The thatched roof was smoking and half the wooden porch had collapsed, blocking the door. Chunks of splintered masonry lay scattered across the street. “Ethel!” she cried, hurrying closer. “Ethel, are you in there?”
Ivy shot Seb and Valian a look of concern as they followed her.
There was silence at first, and then a muffled voice called out, “Sylvie?” Ethel appeared at a broken downstairs window, her face sweating and pale behind the jagged pieces of glass. “What are you doing out there? Get inside; they’ll smell you.”
“Smell us?” Seb repeated. “What are you talking about?”
Before Ethel could answer, Granma Sylvie turned and stared into the distance, going very still. Ivy followed her gaze. Smoke was rising over a far-off hill, forming into a huge cloud that loomed under the cave ceiling.
“Ivy,” Granma Sylvie said in a tight voice. “That cloud—what does your whispering tell you about it?”
Ivy concentrated hard, focusing on the distant patch of smoke. There were lots of broken souls there, with angry voices talking at the same time. “It’s made of dead creatures,” she said. “I think they’re coming toward us.” Suddenly she caught a sound on the air—a rumbling, crackling noise like a giant bonfire.
“Pyroaches,” Granma Sylvie growled. “They shouldn’t be here; there isn’t any fire.”
Ivy recalled Mr. Littlefair’s chilling warning about the creatures during the fire at Brewster’s Alehouse. “Dragon’s Breath Ale allows people to temporarily breathe fire. Could the flooded drains have something to do with it?”
Valian scuffed his foot on the blackened grass. “If the ale is in the sewers, any number of pyroaches could have drunk it. It would allow them to create fire themselves—to move around freely.”
In the distance the dark swarm was getting bigger. Granma Sylvie’s face was white with horror. “They’ll be here in minutes. We need to get inside now!”
“Over here,” Seb called, scrambling across the porch and lifting aside a plank of wood. “There’s a hole in the wall we can fit through.”
Ivy could hear the crackling noise getting louder. “Hurry—I think I can see them.” A gigantic ball of fire turned onto the Gauntlet. Inside the flames was a mass of long dark bodies flying in warplane formation. Thatched cottages on either side burst alight as they passed.
Without a second to spare, Ivy, Seb, Valian and Granma Sylvie scrambled through the splintered hole into the House of Bells. Seb speedily covered it up with wood from the other side.
The cottage walls trembled.
“Get down!” Ethel whispered, kneeling on the floor.
They all crawled toward a window and peered over the ledge. The timbers rattled as the swarm of pyroaches shot past. With every glimpse, Ivy was able to build a more complete picture of the creatures, and it made her skin crawl. Each pyroach was the size of a small dog, with long wings the color of molten lava and a body that scraped and crunched as it flew. Its head was disturbingly human, but four black legs hung from the segment between its neck and chest.
Ivy tucked herself down under the window frame; she was shaking. The pyroaches’ wings thudded through the air, making the walls of the House of Bells rattle.
After a minute or so the crackling noises began to fade.
“The pyroaches were waiting outside the Grivens stadium,” Ethel said. “I managed to escape on a mop, but most of the audience fled to Mr. Punch’s big top. Violet sent me featherlights to explain what was going on. Mr. Punch ’as protected everyone in the tent, but ’ow long ’e can hold out, I don’t know. No one ’as any weapons to defend themselves.”
Ivy thought of Judy—she must have left the stadium before anyone had discovered the pyroaches waiting outside. “Perhaps the sewers were flooded with Dragon’s Breath Ale while the contest was going on.”
Ethel blinked. “Ale? No one at the big top knows anything about that.”
“Where’s the underguard?” Valian asked as Ethel headed for the door at the back of the shop.
“A second swarm of pyroaches are besieging the station,” she replied over her shoulder. “A few officers may ’ave escaped using body bags, but if they’ve tried to reenter Lundinor through the Great Gates, they’ll ’ave just been driven inside.”
The others followed Ethel into the storeroom.
“We’ve got to rescue them,” Ivy said, curling her hands into fists. “We could evacuate people using the Sack of Stars.”
Granma Sylvie reached into her handbag and pulled it out. Ethel cast the burlap sack a startled look.
“We can’t,” Valian said. “You remember what Mr. Punch told us: it’s our responsibility to keep the bag hidden, no matter what. If the Dirge found it—”
“Evacuation wouldn’t work anyway,” Granma Sylvie cut in. “The pyroaches would overwhelm Mr. Punch before everyone was able to escape. It’s him we need to help, only we’ll need some more equipment.” She patted Ethel’s shoulder. “We can’t fight pyroaches without putting out fires.”
Ethel frowned at Granma Sylvie’s hand. “You sound strangely sure of that, Sylv….’Ave you remembered something?”
Granma Sylvie’s lips twitched into a smile. “It’s all come back, old friend,” she said, tapping her temple. “Everything.”
Ethel started. “What?” She took a few steps closer. “Are you certain?”
Granma Sylvie exhaled. “Oh, will you just come here?” She threw her arms around Ethel, squeezing tightly.
The shrill grate of pyroach wings suddenly made the shop walls tremble. Ethel’s face fell. “Better catch up later.”
Granma Sylvie turned to Ivy, Seb and Valian. “You three go through the bag first. As soon as you reach the big top, go and find Mr. Littlefair and Violet, and stay with them until this is over. Ethel and I will see what we can do to aid Mr. Punch.”
While Granma Sylvie went to help Ethel find an uncommon watering can, Valian lowered his voice. “Keep a lookout for Selena. The pyroaches won’t bother her—they only feed on living flesh.”
Ivy took her yo-yo out of her satchel and stuffed it in her trouser pocket, ready to use. She listened in as Granma Sylvie and Ethel discussed their plans.
“Pyroaches can smell you and see you, but they ’ave poor hearing,” Ethel was saying.
Granma Sylvie tucked a plastic spade—just like the ones the castleguards had used to fight the fire at the alehouse—into her belt. “Agreed. Staying quiet and hidden is our best line of defense.”
Ivy took note of their advice. With Selena on their tail, she didn’t know when it might come in handy.
Granma Sylvie fixed her long hair into a ponytail and smoothed down her blouse. “Ready?” She laid the Sack of Stars on the floor in front of them. “Good luck, everyone.”
The air in the big top was humid and filled with panicked conversation. As Ivy got to her feet, she searched for Mr. Littlefair and Violet. The majority of the uncommoners sat huddled in the center of the sandy floor; some were busy constructing a barricade at the entrance using the heaviest of Mr. Punch’s chests. Pyroaches still circled the tent, the roar making Ivy shudder.
As she scanned the injured, her spirits fell. Casualties ranged from singed hair and minor burns to serious wounds. Young children were sobbing, hiding in the folds of their parents’ Hobsmatch.
Ivy had never seen the traders of Lundinor look so vulnerable and helpless before. Her throat tightened as she glimpsed each anxious face. They were trapped, not only in the tent but in Lundinor itself—a gigantic cave now plagued by flesh-eating monsters.
At the edge of the tent she spotted Alexander Brewster, his face scratched and bleeding. Violet and Mr. Littlefair stood close by in a group of other Gauntlet traders.
“There they are,” Seb said. The Sack of Stars rustled on the floor behind them as Ethel scrambled out. “Let’s go.”
They made their way across the tent toward Alexander.
“Ivy?” His eyes were watery. “My pa is outside—trapped in a building on the opposite side of the green. He’s got nothing to defend himself with.”
Seb winced. “Isn’t there someone out there who can help?”
“Everyone’s hiding.” Alexander’s voice sounded resigned. “Here—I’ll show you.”
They wove their way through to a small section of tent wall that was dotted with golf-ball-sized holes. “They’re big enough to see through but too small to let a pyroach in,” Alexander explained briefly.
Ivy pushed her face against the purple canvas and peeked through the gap.
Outside, the place looked like a deserted movie set. The dark streets were empty and the only flicker of movement came from an orange light that flashed across the ground as the pyroaches patrolled overhead.
“Mr. Punch is outside the main entrance,” Alexander said. “My pa is on the right, in the hotel with the stained-glass windows. We’ve been staying there while the alehouse is being repaired.” He paused. “He didn’t want to watch me in the Grivens contest; I think he’s still angry about the fire and that business with the photo frame.”
Ivy spied Mr. Punch in his red and black ringmaster’s coat, standing alone on the grass. In his hand was a closed black umbrella, dripping with water. Above his curly orange beard, his face was stiff. A cloud of pyroaches plunged toward him, but Mr. Punch merely pointed his umbrella at them and opened it up. A barrage of icicles and raindrops shot out, slicing through the air and spearing pyroaches. The water droplets doused their fire and, weakened, they disappeared down the nearest drain.
Drummond Brewster was more difficult to spot, but Ivy eventually glimpsed his red face and barrel chest in the window of a three-story cottage across the green.
“There must be some way to get to him,” she said, drawing back. “Maybe we can distract the pyroaches….”
As Alexander peered through the hole again, Seb lowered his voice. “Ivy, there are too many of them, and we’re their food.”
“Yes, but pyroaches have bad hearing,” she argued. “Perhaps if we’re quiet, we can sneak over without being noticed.”
Valian chewed the suggestion over. “We’d have a better chance if we split up. Seb and I could create a diversion while you and Alexander fetch his dad.”
After sharing their makeshift plan with Alexander, they found a spot behind a wall of cabinets where no one could see them, and Seb used his drumsticks to blast a hole in the soil under the tent. “I’ll fill it in once we’ve crawled through,” he said. “We don’t want the pyroaches getting in.”
Outside, the roar of the pyroach swarm was ferocious. The four of them dashed over the scorched grass and ducked down behind a smoking tree stump, staying as quiet as they could.
“The pyroaches are just rounding the tent,” Valian said, pointing. “Seb and I will try to lure them down there, away from the big top. That should give you enough time to reach your dad.”
Alexander nodded. Seb’s knuckles were white as he clutched his drumsticks. “Wait here till you’re sure the pyroaches have seen us, Ivy. You don’t want to set off too soon.”
Ivy hugged him. “Be careful.” She watched as he and Valian raced out from behind the tree stump, sprinting toward a half-melted line of sky stop lockers.
Ivy turned her attention back to the big top, trying not to think about the danger Valian and Seb were putting themselves in. She tensed when she saw Mr. Punch. His face was weary and his appearance flicked between the red-haired ringmaster and the crooked-toothed old man.
Other uncommoners wouldn’t be able to see the changes, but she understood exactly what it meant: he was getting weaker. If Mr. Punch’s umbrella was anything like Ivy’s yo-yo or Seb’s drumsticks, you needed energy and focus to operate it, and Mr. Punch’s were rapidly draining away. She didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep it up.
“Mr. Punch’s strength is faltering,” she told Alexander. She thought of the families trapped inside the big top. “We have to help him.”
Alexander blinked. “What about my pa?”
“We’ll rescue him afterward,” Ivy promised, “but there are too many lives at risk in that tent. Mr. Punch needs us.”
“No!” Alexander grabbed her arm. “We have to save my pa now. The pyroaches will soon run out of ale and get desperate.”
Ivy was about to suggest they split up, when something tugged at the back of her memory: Ethel had mentioned that no one inside the big top knew about the Dragon’s Breath Ale. “How do you know about the ale?” she asked.
Alexander’s face twitched. “It doesn’t matter. We need to focus on my pa.”
Ivy shook his hand off, overcome by an unsettling thought. “Alexander…did you have something to do with this?”
His voice was bitter. “It wasn’t meant to happen this way. The vats were set to flood the sewers while I was in the stadium. I thought my pa would be in the East End, not here.”
Ivy swayed on her feet as she absorbed his complete lack of guilt. “You released the pyroaches?”
“My plans have never gone wrong before!” he said defensively. “I make sure I take into account every eventuality—it’s what mixologists do. My pa was never in danger on the other occasions.”
The other occasions…?
Ivy went cold as she realized what he meant.
“The smoking hourglass—it was you, wasn’t it? You started the fire at the alehouse. You killed those underguards at the memorial!” She couldn’t believe he had fooled her into feeling sorry for him. “Why?” she cried. “Why would you do that?”
Alexander squeezed his hands into fists. “I only did what I had to do to prove myself worthy! Being invited into the Rasavatum is the greatest accolade a mixologist can receive. I had to prove I was good enough.”
The Rasavatum…That was why Alexander had used the smoking hourglass—to attract their attention and win their favor.
“I did it for my pa,” he continued, gritting his teeth. “It’s the only way he’ll ever notice me.” For a moment Ivy felt sorry for him, but then he added, “If people have to die, then so what? You have to make sacrifices to become great. I thought Mr. Punch would know that and invite me in.” He scowled. “I guess he isn’t the man I thought he was.”
Ivy stiffened, wondering how Alexander had discovered that Mr. Punch was in the Rasavatum. “Alexander, listen to me,” she pleaded. “You can stop this before it gets any worse.” She checked on Mr. Punch, who was still floundering. “Help me fight the pyroaches.”
“Fight them?” Alexander jerked his head. “Why would I want to fight them?” He took something out of his apron—a small plastic wand, the kind you used to blow bubbles—and stepped out from behind the tree stump.
Ivy shot to her feet. “No—wait!” She spied the glow of the pyroach swarm as it skirted the big top, heading toward them.
But she needn’t have worried. Alexander ran toward the flaming mass holding the bubble wand to his mouth. As the creatures dived toward him, he formed a tiny O with his lips and puffed out his cheeks, blowing.
A blast of fire shot from the wand, directing the pyroaches away from him. Ivy remained frozen with shock as Alexander leaped onto a smoking tree stump at the mouth of the Gauntlet, opposite Mr. Punch. He had a confident look that Ivy had never seen before.
“What do you think of my show?” he asked, arms outstretched. “Is it not good enough for the Rasavatum?”
Ivy couldn’t believe it—the gentle, meek boy she had first met…it had all been a façade. This was the real Alexander.
Mr. Punch looked horror-struck. “You have got it all wrong, Alexander,” he cried. “The Rasavatum brew remedies that rebuild lives; they don’t destroy them like this. You must stop this madness!”
“Madness?” Alexander snorted. “Do you know how many pyroaches there are, surviving in the fiery places on Earth? Hundreds of thousands! More than there are uncommoners in this whole stinking undermart; and they are free now because of ME! And the Rasavatum think that is madness?”
“Alexander, listen!” Mr. Punch boomed, his patience clearly at an end. “The Rasavatum will never accept you. It’s over!”
Alexander snarled in fury. He raised the bubble wand to his mouth, and this time an orb of fire the size of a double-decker bus emerged and shot toward the big top.
“No!” Ivy shouted, running out into the open. If that fireball hit, it would burn a hole right through the big top, letting the pyroaches in.
His expression grim, Mr. Punch took hold of his umbrella in both hands and swung it toward the fire like a tennis racket. “Gah!” he cried, his face straining. The gigantic fireball was repelled in a flash of steam. It jetted off toward the cave ceiling, where it soon fizzled away.
As Mr. Punch dropped to his knees, the pyroaches came thundering into sight over his shoulder. Ivy gripped her trusty yo-yo, wondering if she could use it to somehow trap them.
“Hey, bug-brains!” Valian shouted. “Over here!”
Ivy turned to see him and Seb zooming about on uncommon mops, trying to lure the pyroaches toward the other side of the green. Ivy assumed they’d scavenged the mops from the damaged sky stop. She couldn’t believe Seb had found the courage to ride one on his own.
“Tasty human flesh snack!” he yelled. “Ready to eat!”
The pyroaches clocked them instantly, and the whole horde turned.
Ivy sprinted forward, reaching out with her whispering as she headed for Valian and her brother. She could sense the pyroaches approaching fast. “Seb!” she shouted. He did an about-face and caught her eye. “I’m going to try and trap them. Use your drumsticks to keep them contained.”
Seb saw her yo-yo and nodded, steering his mop down toward the ground, while Valian remained in the air.
Ivy threw her hand down, charging her yo-yo with power. After a few revolutions she shot it over her shoulder, using her whispering to help find her target. A huge tornado exploded out of it, advancing on the pyroach swarm.
“Stop it!” Alexander shouted. “You’re ruining everything!” He jumped off his tree stump and marched in Ivy’s direction, bringing his bubble wand to his lips. Behind him, Ivy caught sight of Mr. Punch struggling to his knees.
Alexander took aim at Seb and Valian and blew a stream of orange fire toward them. Valian sent his mop into a nosedive, dodging clear of the flames, but on the ground Seb wasn’t fast enough to outrun them.
Ivy screamed. “Seb!”
The fire was seconds away from engulfing him when a dark-haired figure wearing a pale pink tutu materialized out of thin air at Seb’s back.
Judy…?
She threw herself over Seb as if she was a fire-retardant blanket, forcing him to the ground. The flames coursed around them and then dissipated a hundred yards away, crackling in the grass.
Ivy ran toward them as Valian landed on his mop. A huge black scorch mark surrounded Judy’s body. Slowly she peeled herself away from Seb. Ivy’s eyes watered with relief to see her brother stirring. Judy’s tutu had been burned to shreds and her roller skates were smoking.
There was no time for conversation. As Ivy skidded to a halt beside Valian, she sensed the pyroaches approaching and turned just as they collided with her tornado. The impact sent shockwaves through the air. Ivy was driven back across the grass so hard that she left marks in the mud.
The tornado whirled faster, dragging every pyroach inside it. It spun so rapidly that the creatures lost control and hurtled through the flames, crashing into one another.
Seb stumbled dazedly to his feet. He caught sight of Judy and then the tornado, and managed to slide his drumsticks free. Steadying himself, he aimed a few beats at the maelstrom, pushing back any pyroach that managed to gather enough momentum to pull free.
With the creatures temporarily contained, a flurry of people started dashing between buildings, trying to find better shelter. Ivy noticed a shiny-faced Drummond Brewster leave his hiding place and run out onto the green toward Alexander.
However, Alexander’s attention was elsewhere. Glaring at Ivy, his face flushed with rage and he lifted his bubble wand to his lips.
Ivy floundered around, looking for an escape. She couldn’t outrun a fireball.
As Alexander forced air through the wand, Mr. Punch charged him from behind. Too late, a flaming sphere the size of a small truck erupted from the wand and headed not in Ivy’s direction but toward Drummond Brewster.
Alexander jumped up and down, waving madly. “No! Pa! Run!”
But there was nothing Drummond Brewster could do.
Ivy looked away as the flames hit. When she turned back, Alexander was running toward a blackened heap on the scorched grass.
A small group of people spilled out of the big top. Ethel hurried toward Mr. Punch, while Granma Sylvie came running up to Ivy and the others.
“The cyclone is dying,” she cried, waving her hands. “Get back inside the tent, all of you. The pyroaches won’t be contained for much longer!”
Ivy glimpsed the Sack of Stars in her hand and had an idea. “Granma, the bag—we can send the pyroaches through it.”
Granma Sylvie’s eyes gleamed. She hesitated for a moment, then brought the bag to her lips and whispered something into the opening. She sprinted toward the pyroaches, lifting an arm above her head, and flung the bag into the center of the flames.
With a great roar, the tornado imploded, gathering in on itself like a dying star. All the pyroaches were dragged inside the bag—but, as they disappeared, the burlap caught fire and was reduced to cinders.
Ivy sucked in a deep breath as the shock tingled through her.
The Sack of Stars was gone.