The Joan’s stateroom was at the far end of the Silverlode, the entrance marked by lit torches on either side — a sign that Betony was inside and ready to hear her people’s petitions. But the door was closed, and Ivy had to knock three times before anyone answered.
‘All right, all right,’ said Nettle’s gravelly tones from within, ‘I’m a-coming.’ The door opened with a creak, and her thin, wizened face appeared. ‘Right then, what’s your business?’
‘I need to talk to the Joan. I think…’ No, she didn’t just think. She’d looked into those cold eyes, and she knew. Ivy stood a little taller and said, ‘I saw a spriggan last night.’
For an instant Nettle seemed taken aback, but then her expression softened. She leaned closer and murmured, ‘Ah, Ivy-lass, your mother was a good woman, and what happened to her was a terrible shame. But you can’t go about-’
‘Let her in, Nettle.’ Betony’s voice carried across the cavern. ‘I’ll deal with this.’
Nettle shut her mouth so hard her teeth clicked, and opened the door at once. Ivy walked through into a broad, firelit chamber, its daunting size made cosy by copper panels, a patterned rug, and draperies in rich, earthy hues. The far end of the room was dominated by a table of carved granite, and Ivy’s aunt was seated in the chair behind it.
‘So you think you saw a spriggan,’ said the Joan. ‘Where?’
There was something about Betony that always made Ivy feel small. Her aunt’s strong bones and striking features, the smooth waves of hair falling over her shoulders, made Ivy keenly aware of her own unruly curls and slight, unpiskeylike figure. And then there were those creamy wings with their shimmering patterns of bronze, so much like Cicely’s that Ivy could never look at them without being reminded of what her own wings might have — should have — been.
‘In the valley below the Engine House,’ she said, subdued.
‘And what were you doing there?’
This was the awkward part. Exasperating as Mica could be at times, he was still Ivy’s brother, and she didn’t want to make trouble for him. But she wasn’t about to take the blame for his carelessness, either. ‘Mica and I needed to talk in private,’ she said at last. ‘He said I’d be safe as long as he was with me.’
‘So he was with you when you saw the spriggan?’
Ivy winced. ‘No.’
‘I see,’ said the Joan. ‘Go on.’
‘He didn’t mean to leave me,’ Ivy said. ‘He thought I was right behind him when he ran up the hill. But the spriggan arrived before I could catch up, and then…’
‘Arrived how? From which direction?’
All these pointed questions were making Ivy feel defensive. ‘I don’t know. He turned up behind me, all of a sudden. It was like he was just…there.’
‘And yet he didn’t touch you, or put a spell on you, or harm you in any way?’
‘No,’ Ivy said, ‘but I’m sure he would have if Mattock hadn’t come looking for me.’
‘So Mattock saw the spriggan, then?’
‘No. It ran off before he arrived. I tried to point it out to him, but-’ She spread her hands, feeling more foolish than ever. ‘It was already gone.’
The Joan leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping the edge of the table. ‘And when you told Mattock and your brother about this spriggan, what did they say?’
‘They said it was Keeve playing a prank. Only I know it wasn’t, because-’
She was about to say he talked to me, but Betony cut her off. ‘Clearly you feel that wasn’t the case. But for a spriggan to appear the moment you happened to be alone, frighten you without doing you any harm, and vanish before anyone else could see him… It does seem unlikely, don’t you think?’
‘But I felt him watching me, when I was sitting by the wakefire,’ Ivy said in desperation. ‘He could have singled me out then, and waited until I was alone to-’
‘But how could he know that you would go outside the Engine House, much less that your brother would leave you alone? And when he had his opportunity, why didn’t he take it?’ She paused, then went on in a gentler tone, ‘No one could blame you for hating the spriggans, or wanting to see your mother avenged. But you were not yourself last night, and the mind can play tricks sometimes.’
What was that supposed to mean? Just because she’d showed up late to the Lighting with old clothes and dirt on her face, the Joan thought she was losing her wits? Ivy gripped her arm-rings, calling on their cold strength. ‘I didn’t imagine it! Why doesn’t anyone believe me?’
But her aunt only looked at her, a faint pity in her gaze. And all at once Ivy remembered Cicely’s words: Have you ever seen a spriggan? Has anybody?
She drew in her breath. ‘You don’t believe in spriggans.’ And neither did Mica or Mattock, judging by their reactions. How could she have been so naive?
‘You mistake me, Ivy. I would never deny that spriggans exist.’
‘Oh, really?’ Ivy was angry enough for sarcasm, though she knew she might regret it. ‘When was the last time anyone saw one?’
‘Must be thirty years ago,’ came the rasping answer, and Ivy started; she’d forgotten Nettle was there. ‘A thin, miserable bit of a thing it was too, all by its lonesome. But it fought like a demon till young Hew smashed its head in, or so he and the other lads said.’
Thirty years… Could it be true? She’d spent her whole life terrified of spriggans, and all the while they’d been practically extinct?
‘Then why are we still hiding underground?’ Ivy asked, rounding on her aunt. ‘If I only imagined what I saw, and my mother wasn’t taken by the spriggans after all-’
‘There are more dangers in the world than spriggans,’ said Betony, with a hard look at Nettle. ‘And good reason for our people to stay underground, even now. As for your mother… I would let that be, Ivy, if I were you.’
‘You think she left us,’ Ivy said, struggling to breathe. ‘Don’t you. You think my mother went away on purpose.’
‘I don’t know what became of Marigold when she left the Engine House that night,’ the Joan replied, unruffled. ‘She may indeed have been caught by the spriggans, for all I know.’ She rose and walked around the table. ‘But you will not bring her back by making yourself miserable — as I have told your father many times.’ She put her fingers under Ivy’s chin and tipped her face up. ‘You have been working too hard. It would do you good to get more rest. Let Mica and Cicely look after you for a change.’
I’m not sick, Ivy wanted to protest, but she’d heard the warning in her aunt’s tone: the discussion was over. And Nettle was holding the door open, in case she hadn’t taken the hint. Hiding her resentment, Ivy bowed her head. ‘Yes, my Joan.’
It wasn’t self-doubt that made Ivy pause halfway through her journey home and choose a different route. It was sheer stubbornness, and as she turned west into Tinners’ Row where Keeve and his family lived, Ivy clenched her fists in anticipation. She’d get to the bottom of this, never mind what Betony said; she’d prove she hadn’t been pranked, or imagining an enemy that wasn’t there.
‘Keeve!’ she shouted at his door, her knocks loud as a thunder-axe in the narrow tunnel. ‘Wake up! I need to talk to you!’
‘He’s not here,’ came the muffled reply.
Ivy was surprised. Last night Keeve had danced harder and drunk more piskey-wine than anyone else she knew; it didn’t seem possible that he’d recovered so quickly. ‘Where is he, then?’
The door creaked open and Keeve’s mother, Teasel, looked out, her face pinched with anxiety. ‘He didn’t come back last night. Hew’s gone looking for him.’
That was even more odd. Keeve had good reason to fear Mica’s wrath after that prank with the adder, but he liked a comfortable bed as much as anyone. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, then,’ Ivy said. ‘But when Keeve gets back, would you let me know? I’ve got something of his I need to return, and-’