The Crooked Sixpence by Jennifer Bell Read Free Book Online Page B

underguard station is in Lundinor, through the Great Gates. You’ll find those in the main arrivals chamber – they’re the ones with Sir Clement and Lady Citron, the founding traders of Lundinor, on either side. And next to them you’ll see some ladders. They’re the best way out of here for muckers – they’re not used much any more so they won’t be guarded. But first make sure you get my candle. Bring that back and I’ll tell you the rest – how to break into the underguard station and get your bro out of there.’
    Ivy huffed. She should have known there would be some security for him in the arrangement. ‘Fine.’
    Valian shrugged off his leather jacket. Beneath it he was wearing a black T-shirt with what Ivy assumed was the logo of a heavy metal band – it involved a rose wrapped in barbed wire. ‘Here, take this.’
    Ivy scowled as he thrust the jacket into her arms. ‘Why do I—?’
    â€˜Because you’ll need it, OK? You won’t get very far in that coat. The Ugs have circulated your description, remember? They all know what you look like.’
    Ivy groaned and reluctantly peeled off her duffel coat, depositing it in Valian’s arms, then put her granma’s bag over her shoulder again.
    â€˜Anyway,’ he said with a hint of glee, ‘you’ll need to be wearing something a bit different in order to fit in. Uncommoners all wear Hobsmatch.’
    â€˜What’s that?’
    Valian’s eyes twinkled. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
    Ivy fiddled with the strap of Granma Sylvie’s handbag, repeating Valian’s instructions over and over in her head.
Left, then second right . . .
    After the third turn, the tunnel walls started to shake with noise. Ivy fought the urge to turn back. The further she went, the louder the rumble of voices and shuffling footsteps became. Eventually she turned the final corner and was forced to grip the rock for support as a wall of sound rose up to meet her.
    â€˜
Whoa . . .
’
    In front of her was another chamber, but this one was
gigantic
. The gaping roof glittered with red-brown stalactites, as long and jagged as giant fangs, and the walls were so high they disappeared into shadow. Against them were stacks of every type of bag imaginable: ostrich-leather handbags, sequinned purses, neoprene rucksacks, canvas sacks, duffel bags; even the odd cheap, rustling carrier bag tied onto the sides of larger cases. If the first arrivals chamber Ivy had crawled into was like a cloakroom fortress, then this one was more like the Colosseum.
    On the floor hundreds of uncommoners bustled around, hopping over cases, bags swinging at their sides, some dragging children behind them. Ivy remained in the shadows of the tunnel while she observed them. She struggled to take in all the costumes: there was a lady in a silky kimono and herringbone tweed jacket; a man wearing breeches and a Hawaiian shirt; another lady in camouflage trousers, platform shoes and a baseball cap. Ivy watched wide-eyed as three kids wearing tight plastic raincoats over Roman togas chased each other through a group in petticoats and puff sleeves. Men in cycling shorts and sombreros stood next to others in top hats and tunics. There were fancy feathered collars, felt berets, shimmering Egyptian headdresses, fur stoles, medieval veils. It was as if everyone had taken bits of fashion throughout history and put them all on at once.
    So this is Hobsmatch
, Ivy thought. She didn’t quite know what to make of it. The rich colours and elaborate designs were beautiful, but it didn’t exactly look practical – all those ruffs and heels – and yet she guessed it suited uncommoners. They were collectors, after all. Hobsmatch must be a good way to show off.
    She tried to pick out a few faces, though it was easy to get distracted. The people were as diverse as any she’d seen at an airport. And