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First published by Corgi Books 2017
This ebook published 2017

Text copyright © Jennifer Bell, 2017

Cover art and interior illustrations copyright © Karl James Mountford, 2017

The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978–1–448–19579–4

All correspondence to:

RHCP Digital

Penguin Random House Children’s

80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL

Ivy hurtled headfirst through the darkness. Her brown curls blew into her face as the bag walls flapped noisily around her. ‘Seb!’ she shouted. ‘Are you still there?’

A crack of light appeared in the distance.

About time.

She slowed as the crack grew into an opening, and then squeezed her way out of the hessian bag, her body expanding back to normal size like a balloon filling with water.

She found herself in a small, lavishly furnished room. Moonlight streamed through a single porthole window, illuminating a polished oak desk, leather armchair and deep-pile rug. Leaning against one wall was a boy with pale skin, messy blond hair, and green eyes just like hers.

‘Seb, where are we?’

Her brother’s cheeks bulged. ‘Can’t speak … Trying not to hurl.’

‘We’re on a ship,’ answered a shaky voice behind her. ‘And we’re not alone.’

Ivy turned to find their friend Valian, an expression of distress on his tanned, angular face. He was kneeling beside the body of a man wearing a black uniform. The man lay sprawled across the floor, one arm above his head, the other squashed under his side. He looked about the same age as Ivy and Seb’s parents – mid forties – with a curly blond beard and a white streak through his left eyebrow.

‘Is he sleeping?’ Ivy asked, crawling closer. The man’s eyes were closed. She nudged his shoulder, but he was unresponsive.

Valian lowered his ear to the man’s lips and then felt his neck. ‘He’s not breathing.’

‘We’ve got to help him!’

‘I don’t think we can.’ Valian lifted his fingers away, swallowing. ‘He hasn’t got a pulse.’

Ivy went still. ‘You mean …?’

‘He’s dead,’ Valian said sombrely. ‘He’s still warm. It must’ve happened only recently—’

There was a loud bang as Seb bolted through a door, hand clamped over his mouth. Through the gap Ivy glimpsed a white marble bathroom. ‘Maybe he tripped over the rug and fell,’ she suggested. As she stood up, the floor swayed. On a tray in the corner a set of whisky glasses rattled.

Valian frowned. ‘I don’t think so; there’s no bump on his head and no blood from a wound.’ He got to his feet and studied the cabin. Amid the jewelled lamps and gilt mirrors, his straggly dark hair, slashed skinny jeans and muddy red basketball shoes looked completely out of place. ‘We need to find out what vessel we’re on.’

‘There’s a badge on the man’s jacket,’ Ivy observed. Beneath a logo were some words. ‘Chief Officer,’ she read. ‘MV Outlander.’

A toilet flushed and the door to the bathroom swung open. Seb wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his hoodie. ‘Sorry – I couldn’t hold it in any longer.’

Ivy crinkled her nose as he tramped into the centre of the cabin and slipped his mobile phone out of his jeans pocket. ‘Can you just do something helpful?’ she asked. ‘You’re the one who made us rush into this whole thing without a proper plan.’

Seb glared down at her. ‘It’s an experiment – I was using my initiative. I didn’t know there’d be a dead person here.’ He was broad-shouldered and tall, with the muscular arms of someone who – unfortunately for Ivy – did an hour’s drum practice every evening. She didn’t know how they were siblings; she was so slight.

Valian peered over Seb’s shoulder. ‘Can that device tell you where we are?’

Ivy still found it odd that Valian knew next to nothing about common technology.

‘Hmmm.’ Seb slid his finger across the phone a few times. ‘GPS is working, but I’m on a different network operator, so we must be somewhere outside the UK.’ His eyes widened. ‘Whoa. By the looks of this, we’re just off the coast of Norway!’

‘Norway?’ Valian grabbed the hessian bag that Ivy had just crawled out of, and snatched at the paper luggage tag tied to the top. He read it twice. ‘I definitely wrote the label correctly – it says, Selena Grimes – but what would she be up to in Norway?’

Seb jerked his head. ‘Er, parent-napping? Blackmail? Torture? The Dirge probably do bad-guy stuff all over the world.’

A chill ran through Ivy’s body. The Dirge was an organization that was so evil, just hearing their name left her cold. ‘We don’t know for sure that she’s here yet. The label might not have worked.’ Secretly she was hoping it hadn’t. Selena Grimes was dangerous. The last time their paths had crossed Ivy had almost been eaten by Selena’s pet wolf. ‘Perhaps the bag can’t take us directly to a person, only to a certain place, like all other uncommon bags?’

‘This bag is different,’ Valian insisted. ‘You know that. The Great Uncommon Good are the five most powerful uncommon objects in existence – I’m telling you, this thing is capable of more than we know.’

Ivy considered the shabby old potato sack. It was strange to think that something so ordinary looking had the power to transport you thousands of miles in only a few seconds. But that was the thing about all uncommon objects – even the most normal, everyday item could be hiding an extraordinary ability.

Seb squinted at the chief officer. ‘What’s that in his hand?’

Ivy turned her attention back to the body. There was something glinting in the man’s grasp. Grateful that she was wearing gloves, she gently prised his fingers apart to reveal a tiny silver coin. It was bent in the middle and there was writing around the edge.

‘A crooked sixpence,’ she blurted, scrambling away. She’d recognize the coin anywhere – it was the Dirge’s calling card.

‘One of the Dirge murdered him,’ Valian said with a scowl. ‘The label on the bag must have worked; it’s too much of a coincidence otherwise. Selena did this.’

Seb cast a sidelong glance at the door that led out into the rest of the ship. ‘Selena must have left the cabin only moments before we arrived. Which means she’s on board somewhere, possibly with other members of the Dirge.’ He grabbed the Great Uncommon Bag off the floor. ‘You were right; we didn’t think this through. Let’s get out of here.’

Ivy was about to raise an alarm to warn the crew when the bitter whiff of chemicals wafted into her face, making her blink. ‘Yuck – where’s that smell coming from?’

Valian sniffed and turned his gaze to the crooked sixpence in the chief officer’s hand. ‘Tongueweed,’ he growled. ‘I’d know the stench anywhere – the Dirge used it on my parents. It’s a poison that makes you speak the truth right before you die. The coin’s been coated in it; it must have penetrated the man’s skin.’

Guilt tugged at Ivy’s heart as she thought of Valian’s mum and dad. ‘We can’t leave yet,’ she told Seb. ‘If we can find out why Selena killed this man and what she’s doing here, it could help us understand what the Dirge are planning – and stop them.’

‘Ivy, it’s too dangerous!’ Seb protested. ‘Selena’s already killed this guy; if she sees us here, she’ll kill us too.’

Ivy wanted to tell her brother that he should have thought of that before he started all this, but there wasn’t time to argue. ‘We don’t know how long Selena will be on board; we’ve got to take the opportunity now.’

‘I’ve got something that’ll help us,’ Valian said. ‘I mean, with the not-being-seen part. Can you find the layout of this ship on your device, Seb? It’s called the MV Outlander.’

With a grunt of disapproval, Seb stuffed the Great Uncommon Bag inside his hoodie pocket and got out his phone. ‘MV Outlander – here we go. It’s a cargo ship that sails between Norway and London. There’s three levels plus the engine room, and a big crane on the deck where the containers are stored.’

Ivy wondered why the Dirge would be interested in a common ship like the MV Outlander. ‘Let’s go up on deck,’ she suggested. ‘We can examine the containers. Perhaps the cargo will give us clues as to why the Dirge are here.’

‘Good plan.’ Valian stuffed a hand inside his leather jacket and brought out a small crystal perfume bottle. It was fitted with an ornate brass atomizer and filled with a small measure of dark liquid. ‘A ship this big will be teeming with crew. We’ll need to use this to keep ourselves hidden.’ He shook the bottle, checking that there was liquid left in the bottom.

‘What is that stuff?’ Ivy asked, drawing closer.

Valian aimed the brass nozzle at her head. ‘Technically it’s just fountain water inside an uncommon perfume bottle, but most uncommoners call it liquid shadow. It enables the wearer to blend into any shadow they’re touching. It won’t make us totally invisible, but people tend to notice shadows a whole lot less than they notice actual humans.’

Ivy sniffed as the dark liquid fell in droplets on the shoulders of her navy duffel coat and into her hair. It smelled a bit like smoke.

‘We’ll have an hour before it evaporates and the effect wears off,’ Valian warned, squirting the stuff over Seb before turning the spray on himself. ‘Let’s go.’

They shut the cabin door, leaving the chief officer’s body where it lay. The passageway outside, with its curved metal walls covered in rivet heads and grey gloss paint, was like a futuristic tunnel. The unnatural lighting cast shadows everywhere. Ivy stepped into the first one she came upon.

‘No way!’ Seb whispered, staring right at her. ‘Ivy, you’ve disappeared.’

She reached forward but couldn’t see her hand. She examined her body. There was no skirt, bobbly wool tights or scuffed white trainers to be seen. They seemed to have dissolved into the gloom. As an experiment, she extended her foot into the light, and a toe-shaped shadow appeared on the floor.

Valian signalled at them both to hurry up. ‘Come on.’

They hastened along the corridor towards the stairs. The hull interior was stark and cramped, and echoed with strange noises. Ivy tried not to dwell on the warning signs everywhere – FIRE VALVE (MAIN SECTION), EXPLOSIVE HAZARD, LIFEBUOY, EMERGENCY DOOR.

She had only just grasped the handrail at the base of the stairwell when the stamp of heavy boots sounded overhead. Valian nose-dived into the darkness under the steps, taking Ivy and Seb with him. Ivy flattened herself against the wall, breathing heavily, as a group of sailors in navy uniforms came clattering down.

Incredible. The liquid shadow had worked.

Crewmen shouted orders in another language as they hurried through a heavy door into the next passage. When they were out of sight, Ivy, Seb and Valian left the shadows and scuttled up the steps.

Outside, the night air was filled with the crash and rumble of the ocean. Ivy stood with her legs apart as the ship swayed, her skin prickling in the cold. A string of electric lights rattled in the wind, illuminating the giant metal containers spread out across the deck. They were arranged in rows, with space for people to pass between, but the place seemed eerily empty. Valian pointed to the top of a large crane standing in the middle of them, and they headed towards it.

As they moved into the shadows, Valian and Seb disappeared. Ivy knew they were there somewhere but, unable to see them, she felt alone.

The huge containers were painted in bright colours, with thick steel bars securing the doors and serial numbers stamped on the front. Ivy examined each one carefully as she passed, but there was no clue to what they might hold.

Creeping by a red container, she heard a loud clang and froze. It sounded like something was moving inside it. Ivy jumped back as two dark shapes came gliding through the corrugated wall. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from gasping. Only one kind of people could move through solid matter like that: races of the dead.

There wasn’t enough light to see the pair clearly, but one was very tall with an odd-shaped head, and the other wore a long hooded cloak trimmed with white fur. Checking that she still had the appearance of a shadow, Ivy kept still. The cloaked figure drifted into a patch of moonlight and slid back her hood. A glossy dark plait fell to her waist.

Selena Grimes.

Ivy flinched. The ghoul had the same movie-star good looks as she remembered: glowing skin, angular cheekbones and bright red lips. Selena’s dark hair framed her delicate face, making her piercing blue eyes look all the more intense.

‘Even with the tongueweed, that fool told us nothing,’ she snapped. Her steely voice made Ivy shudder. ‘I should’ve killed him sooner. Are you certain the Jar of Shadows is on board?’

‘The tracing serum I have been using to track it is highly accurate,’ whistled Selena’s companion. The voice sounded as if the owner was talking through a set of pan pipes. ‘The jar is definitely on this ship; I would not have contacted you otherwise.’

The speaker stepped out of the darkness. He looked like a human-sized praying mantis, with smooth green skin and a flat, triangular head mounted with two glowing yellow eyes the size of salad bowls. Sharp mandibles hung from his jaw, and Ivy counted a total of six stick-thin limbs protruding from his tailored emerald wool suit: two that he was using as legs; another four that were adapted into arms with thorny, clawed hands. The arches of silky green wings poked above his shoulder blades.

Ivy recoiled in horror. She wasn’t sure what race of the dead he was; he certainly wasn’t a ghoul like Selena.

‘I will continue searching the cargo until the vessel docks,’ he pledged. ‘The ship is scheduled to arrive in London in the early hours.’

‘London?’ Selena’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘But that’s perfect. Lundinor opens for spring Trade tomorrow; someone must be taking the jar there.’ She smirked. ‘They have no idea that the object has Pandora’s power. Wait till the ship unloads, then hunt for the jar in Lundinor. And do it quickly.’

Mantis Man lowered his head. ‘As you wish, Wolfsbane.’

Ivy shivered. Wolfsbane was Selena’s code name. The other members of the Dirge – Ragwort, Blackclaw, Nightshade, Hemlock and Monkshood – were named after poisons too.

‘And contact me again with any news,’ Selena continued. ‘It is imperative that I get hold of the jar as soon as possible. There is no time to waste.’ She removed one of her black satin gloves and examined her fingers. The skin on her hand was scabbed and rotting, oozing with yellow pus. Ivy looked away in disgust. ‘The Dirge’s age in the light is coming.’ Selena flicked a maggot off her knuckles. ‘Soon it is the muckers who will understand what it’s like to live in darkness.’

Ivy wasn’t sure what Selena Grimes meant, but it couldn’t be good. ‘Muckers’ came from the expression ‘common as muck’. It was the horrible slang term for commoners – people who, by blood, weren’t entitled to know anything about the uncommon world.

All of a sudden something hit her on the arm and she squeaked in shock. Seb was standing beside her, Valian a little way behind him. An angry hiss filled the air, making the hairs on the back of Ivy’s neck stand on end.

‘Spies,’ Mantis Man growled, his antennae clicking.

The liquid shadow had worn off.

Selena shouted, ‘GET THEM!’

With a great whoosh, Mantis Man extended his wings and rose into the air as Selena shot in Ivy’s direction.

Ivy ran, her feet hammering across the deck. Sprinting ahead, Valian turned down the next aisle. Ivy raced after him and almost collided with Seb.

‘Keep going!’ he cried, pumping his arms. ‘The bug guy is right behind us.’

They could hear the ominous beat of wings overhead. Seb snatched the Great Uncommon Bag out of his hoodie and whispered something into the opening.

‘Throw it here,’ Valian yelled.

Seb lobbed the bag, and Valian caught it in one hand before skidding to a halt by the ship’s rail. The sea beyond was black. ‘We have to jump,’ he told them, panting. ‘Trust me.’ Using one hand for support, he hurdled the bar and leaped over the edge.

Seb shoved Ivy forward. ‘Ivy – go!’

Scrambling up onto the rails, she snuck a look over her shoulder. Selena Grimes and Mantis Man were almost upon them. Inhaling a great lungful of air, she jumped into the waves.

Her limbs flailed. She spied the Great Uncommon Bag fluttering just out of reach, the heels of Valian’s red basketball shoes disappearing inside.

‘I-veeeeeeee!’ Seb called, falling behind her.

Wind screamed in her ears as she forced her arms down and aimed her head at the opening, diving into the bag.

Ivy adjusted the desk lamp to see the wound on Seb’s forehead more clearly. The scratch wasn’t very deep but the skin around the edge was puckered and red. ‘That Mantis Man must have caught you in mid-air before you got inside the bag,’ she said, patting the graze with damp cotton wool. ‘Do you think he’s Selena’s new henchman?’

Seb gripped the edge of the table, wincing. ‘Got to be; I didn’t see her pet grim-wolf with her.’ His voice echoed up to the high ceiling of their dad’s office at the Victoria and Albert Museum. The room was stuffed with more reading material than a small library: string-tied bundles of academic journals packed the windowsills and never-ending volumes of encyclopaedias filled the shelves. In one corner an old microscope sat on a desk, and on a table in the centre a brass plate gleamed with the words EMMET SPARROW, RESEARCH DEPARTMENT.

‘Make sure the wound’s clean,’ Valian advised, standing guard by the door. The hallway beyond was dark. ‘I’ve never seen a race of the dead like that before, so I don’t know if that guy had venomous skin or not.’

Seb’s face fell. ‘Sorry … venomous skin?’

Ivy stuck a plaster over his wound, threw the used cotton wool into a wastepaper bin and closed the first-aid kit. As she returned the box to the window ledge, a lone black cab rumbled past on the puddled road outside. Only an hour and a half had passed since eleven p.m., when they’d left in the Great Uncommon Bag; London was quiet.

She sat down on her dad’s chair; his jumper was slung over the back. An image of the chief officer’s dead body crept into her mind and she pulled the jumper onto her lap and squeezed it tightly, wishing her dad was there.

Valian hurried away from the door. ‘Quick – get down!’

Light flickered out in the hallway. Seb rolled onto the floor and Ivy slid under the table as a torch beam illuminated the room. It moved slowly across the walls and then, after a few seconds, disappeared – along with the sound of fading footsteps.

‘We can’t stay here,’ Ivy whispered, wriggling back into the chair. ‘If a security guard sees us, we won’t be able to explain how we got in.’

Seb poked his head up. ‘The only reason I told the bag to bring us here is because Dad’s books might help us understand what Selena Grimes was saying. You know – about that Jar of Shadows.’ He asked Valian, ‘Does the name mean anything to you?’

‘No, but I’ve got an idea what it might be.’ Valian’s expression darkened. ‘A name like the Jar of Shadows suggests it’s a one-of-a-kind object; and we already know five one-of-a-kind objects that the Dirge are interested in.’

A bead of sweat ran down Seb’s forehead as he pushed the tatty Great Uncommon Bag into the centre of the table. ‘You mean, you think the Jar of Shadows is like this, one of the Great Uncommon Good?’

Ivy shifted in her seat. If the Dirge ever got hold of one of the Great Uncommon Good, everyone – uncommoner or not – would be in danger. ‘What do uncommon jars do?’ she asked Valian.

‘They store fears,’ he told her with a tremble in his voice. ‘If you cry into an uncommon jar, your greatest fear leaves you and remains in the jar until it is opened again. Uncommoners use them as a way of dealing with phobias. The more powerful the jar, the greater the number of fears it can hold.’

‘Right … so why would the Dirge want one?’ Seb asked. ‘They don’t exactly seem the scared type.’

‘Maybe not,’ Valian replied. ‘But I once saw a commoner break a jar by accident. It must have contained a fear of falling because after it shattered, a gigantic chasm appeared in the ground and the man dropped right into it.’

Ivy had a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘So you’re saying that maybe the Dirge don’t want to store a fear at all; they want to release one …’ She drummed her fingers on the table. ‘Maybe not just one … If the Jar of Shadows really is one of the Great Uncommon Good, there must be a huge number of fears inside it. Didn’t Selena say something about the jar having Pandora’s power?’

‘Yeah, but I’ve only heard of one Pandora before,’ Seb said, ‘and she had a box.’

Ivy vaguely recalled her dad telling her the story of Pandora; it was from Greek mythology. She scanned the bookshelves until she spotted a volume entitled The Greek Myths. Opening the book on the table, she skimmed the contents before turning to the right chapter. ‘Here we go – Zeus created the first woman on Earth and named her Pandora. He gave her a box that, when she opened it, released all evil into the world.’

‘Great gift, Zeus,’ Seb muttered drily. ‘Does it mention anything about Pandora’s power?’

As Ivy read ahead, a cold sensation swept over her. ‘No, but according to this, over thousands of years the myth has been mistranslated. In the original story, Pandora isn’t given a box at all …’ Her hand started to shake. She looked up at Seb and Valian. ‘She’s given a jar. The Jar of Shadows and Pandora’s box are the same thing!’ She traced her finger across the text. ‘When Pandora opened the jar, it released sickness that brings death to men and myriad other pains.’

Seb smiled thinly. ‘Fun times, then.’

‘Sounds like the Jar of Shadows contains all the fears of the world,’ Valian said. ‘We’ve got to stop the Dirge from getting hold of it.’

‘Great,’ Seb huffed. ‘It’s just our luck that we’re heading back to Lundinor at the same time as the jar. What’s the plan?’

The name Lundinor drifted through Ivy’s head like a secret password. It felt like only yesterday that she and Seb were wandering the cobbled streets of the gigantic underground market, staring wide-eyed at all the uncommon objects for sale. ‘Valian, shall we meet you there?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can discover beforehand. If I can find out who is importing the jar, we can narrow our search in Lundinor. There can’t be many traders that use the MV Outlander. I’ll take the Great Uncommon Bag to the Scouts’ Union in Edinburgh – it’s where scouts from all over the UK meet; it’ll be the best place. In the meantime, make sure you keep out of Selena’s way.’

Ivy could feel the cold hands of danger on her shoulders. ‘I wonder why she hasn’t followed us here already.’

‘Too much of a risk,’ Valian said with certainty. ‘Seb, you remember what you told me a few days ago?’

For the past few months, while they’d been at school, Seb and Ivy had been communicating with Valian using uncommon feathers.

‘What, that The Ripz have just released their new album?’

Valian’s expression went blank. ‘No. The other thing – about seeing an underguard on the way to school.’

‘Oh.’ Seb smiled awkwardly. ‘Yeah – I thought it looked like underguard uniform. I tried to follow him but he disappeared.’

Ivy had seen one too. Or so she thought. If underguards showed up in the common world, it was usually bad news.

‘Well, since you left Lundinor last winter, I think the underguards have been monitoring you,’ Valian explained. ‘It makes sense that they’d want to check up on you, what with your family history … No offence.’

Seb sighed. ‘None taken. Our great-grandfather was in the Dirge; we can’t ignore it.’

‘And our great-uncle,’ Ivy added in a small voice. She wished they could ignore it or, even better, that it wasn’t true. Living with the knowledge that Blackclaw and Ragwort were her relatives was so painful.

‘Thing is,’ Valian continued, ‘Selena won’t risk coming after you herself, not with the underguard likely to spot her and ask questions.’

‘So what do we do when we get to Lundinor?’ Seb asked. ‘I mean, apart from trying not to be killed by Selena Grimes and her giant bug servant.’

‘Keep your eyes open,’ Valian replied, ‘and listen for anything that might be useful. We need to locate that jar.’

‘If we find it, we can’t destroy it,’ Ivy told them. ‘That’ll just release the fears inside. We’ll have to think of something else.’

‘Great,’ Seb moaned. ‘Low chance of success, high risk of mortal danger. What’s not to love about this plan?’

‘There’s one small trip I need to make first,’ Valian said, his dark eyes shining. ‘Now that we know that the bag can take us to an actual person, I figured …’

Rosie, Ivy thought. Valian was going to see whether the bag could find his missing little sister in the same way it had found Selena Grimes. ‘Good luck,’ she offered with a hopeful smile.

‘Thanks.’ Valian pulled a few short brown feathers out of his jacket pocket. ‘Here – take some of these in case you need to contact me. When you get to Lundinor, keep to the busy areas and don’t go anywhere on your own. Selena will be waiting for you to slip up. Don’t give her a chance.’

‘Are you sure about this, Granma?’ Seb asked, tugging on the straps of his rucksack. ‘It doesn’t look like there’d be an entrance to Lundinor hidden around here.’

Ivy peered up and down the quiet residential street that Granma Sylvie had led them to, only a ten-minute train ride from their London home. It seemed totally ordinary: a row of brick houses with gravel driveways and, on the opposite side, a long wooden fence. As there were no buildings peeping over the top, Ivy assumed that this backed onto railway tracks or undeveloped land.

Granma Sylvie’s heels clicked along the pavement. ‘I agree it seems unlikely.’ Her long silvery hair had been swept into a neat bun and she was wearing a fitted velvet jacket and wide-leg palazzo trousers. She looked smarter than usual, as if she was on her way to a job interview. ‘However, I asked Ethel to repeat the instructions three times and we’re definitely in the right place. There should be a gate further along.’

Hearing that Ethel Dread had been involved, Ivy felt more at ease. Granma Sylvie’s long-lost best friend was the proprietor of the House of Bells in Lundinor, and more steely-eyed and streetwise than any other trader Ivy had met. ‘Did Ethel say why we’re not using bag travel like last time?’

Granma Sylvie stiffened. ‘Apparently there are restrictions on gaining access to Lundinor this season. You need a special permit to travel via uncommon bag; otherwise you have to pass through an entrance like this.’

Restrictions …? Ivy studied her granma’s expression to see if she knew more than she was letting on, but Granma Sylvie’s hard mouth and twitchy eyes only showed that she was nervous. Ivy didn’t blame her. Returning to Lundinor in the shadow of their dark family history would never be easy.

Granma Sylvie stopped by an unlocked gate in the fence. ‘This must be the one.’ She inched the gate open and the three of them slipped through. On the other side was a huge overgrown field of allotments, dewy and flattened after last night’s rain. Plots of freshly turned earth sat alongside beds of bushy green cauliflowers and red cabbages. Wild bluebells swayed among the weeds at its edge.

Seb dodged an overturned plant pot. ‘Maybe the entrance is disguised to stop commoners from discovering it.’

Ivy rubbed her nose – the air stank of compost, making it twitch. She searched into the distance. There were a few people tending to plants or digging soil, but the place seemed very quiet. ‘Either that or underguards are continuously stripping commoners’ memories to make them forget what they’ve seen,’ she suggested. She had an unpleasant flashback of her parents having their minds wiped by uncommon whistles, and shook her head clear. Thank goodness they were on holiday this week, celebrating their wedding anniversary. At least they’d be safe.

‘Why have the underguard summoned you back, anyway?’ Seb asked Granma Sylvie.

She squared her shoulders. ‘It appears that as I’m the only member of the Wrench family known to be alive, I have inherited the entire family estate. The underguard told me I must be present while they catalogue everything, before I can formally claim it.’

‘Sounds boring,’ he commented, flashing Ivy a sidelong glance. ‘Will we get to see you much while we’re there or will you be too busy sorting that out?’

Granma Sylvie adjusted her handbag shakily. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t met any of these … underguards, but the tone of their communications hasn’t exactly been friendly. Can either of you see this entrance? Ethel said we’d spot it easily.’

As they tramped further in, Ivy searched for anything that might be out of place, but the allotments seemed quite ordinary.

‘I must have known about this entrance when I was younger,’ Granma Sylvie said. ‘I’m sure Ethel feels strange having to explain it all to me again; thank goodness I have her to help.’

‘We’re still learning too,’ Ivy reminded her, offering a sympathetic smile.

Granma Sylvie ran a hand through Ivy’s messy hair. ‘I know. It would just be a whole lot less frustrating if my memories returned in one go. Instead, moments of my old life trickle back without warning.’

Ivy studied her closely. ‘Have you had any other memories return?’

Granma Sylvie’s expression darkened. For a second Ivy thought she wasn’t going to say anything, but eventually she sighed and admitted, ‘Something came to me a few days ago … It’s complicated.’

Ivy shot Seb a nervous look. The last time Granma Sylvie remembered something from her time in Lundinor, it had proved to be so significant it had helped Ivy and Seb to rescue their parents.

‘The details are still hazy,’ Granma Sylvie continued, ‘but I recall a large black door. I’m not quite sure where it is, or what’s around it, but it felt very familiar, as if I’d seen it many, many times.’

A door … Ivy ran through the possibilities in her head. Lundinor was the size of a city; this door could be anywhere.

‘Painted across the front of the door was a symbol.’ Granma Sylvie rummaged through her handbag for a notepad and pen, scribbled something down and held it up. ‘There. It’s like a figure of eight with a flat base and a flat top.’

Ivy considered the drawing carefully. ‘Like an hourglass.’ Her mum used a timer that shape when boiling eggs.

‘I thought so too,’ Granma Sylvie agreed. ‘But there was something really odd about the symbol; it appeared to be smoking – as if it had been drawn on with acid that was burning through the door.’ Her voice hardened. ‘And when the door opened, Selena Grimes was standing on the other side.’

‘Do you have any idea what it means?’ Seb asked. ‘What Selena’s doing there?’

Granma Sylvie fiddled nervously with the scrap of paper. ‘Something to do with the Dirge maybe. We know my father was a member; I suppose I can’t dismiss the possibility that I too was involved somehow.’

Ivy’s eyes widened as she heard the doubt in Granma Sylvie’s voice. There was no way she had ever been complicit in her father’s horrific crimes!

A black door. A smoking hourglass. If Ivy could find out how they were connected to Selena Grimes, she might be able to put her granma’s mind at rest and learn more about their enemy. They had to try everything to stop Selena from finding the Jar of Shadows.

‘Why do you think it’s come back to you now?’ Seb questioned.

‘The night before the memory returned I received a featherlight from the underguard, summoning me to Lundinor,’ Granma Sylvie replied. ‘When I woke the next morning, that black door was in my head.’

Seb took the piece of paper from her to examine the hourglass symbol. ‘Do you think Valian’ll recognize this?’

‘I’ve got a better idea.’ Ivy opened her satchel and pulled out a stainless-steel bicycle bell. There was a deep groove cut into the top, as if it had been damaged in a nasty cycling accident. She smiled as she flicked the lever on its side.

‘Mornings to Ivy!’ the bell declared in a ting-a-ling voice. It sounded high-pitched and breathless, like an excited child.

‘Scratch!’ Ivy hugged him close. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Scratch was an uncommon bell and not her best friend. ‘Do you know anything about a black door painted with a smoking hourglass?’ She didn’t add a question about the Jar of Shadows; Scratch had been with her on the MV Outlander – if he knew something, he would have said.

Scratch trilled. ‘If the black door smokings, know hourglass not,’ he told her. ‘But Lundinor to be goings and there are of investigations. Askings you can at the Timbermeal.’

Seb raised his hands. ‘All right, Yoda. Slow down. What’s the Timbermeal?’

Ivy patted Scratch sympathetically. Like all other uncommon bells, he could speak, but the damage to his surface caused him to talk in a strange order – ‘back to fronted’ he called it.

‘Always what is with a Yoda?’ Scratch asked, frustrated.

Seb smirked and shook his head. ‘Scratch, when we return from Lundinor I’ll tell you all about Yoda – promise.’

Granma Sylvie put a finger to her lips. ‘You know, Ethel mentioned this Timbermeal. It’s some sort of traditional celebration at the opening of spring Trade. All uncommoners have to attend at one time during the day.’

All uncommoners …

Ivy thought of Selena Grimes. If everyone was going to be at the Timbermeal, it could provide an opportunity to spy on her; she might lead them to the Jar of Shadows or the black door. Whispering ‘thank you’ to Scratch, she stashed him back in her satchel and fastened it tightly. ‘Have you talked to Ethel about what this new memory could mean?’

Granma Sylvie sighed as she stuffed the hourglass drawing into her jacket pocket. ‘Not yet. We’re still getting to know each other; I don’t want to worry her.’

Ivy didn’t press it any further. She guessed it must be a tricky situation for them both: Ethel’s best friend had returned after more than forty years, only to have no memory of their friendship.

Granma Sylvie came to a halt by a trellis covered in sweet peas. Ivy peered round it and saw a small orange potting shed. The shed itself looked ordinary, but the long line of people waiting outside didn’t. A muscular man in frilly breeches and samurai armour stood in front of a scrawny boy in a cravat and Hawaiian shorts. Behind them were a couple of women in gold-edged pink saris, narrow-cut trousers and espadrilles. Ivy counted one firefighter’s uniform, four pom-pom hats, two pairs of intricately embroidered lederhosen and at least three clown outfits on display.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner,’ Seb said drily. ‘There’s only one kind of people who dress like that.’

‘Uncommoners,’ Ivy breathed.

The door to the potting shed swung open and, as the three of them watched, a blonde lady in a yellow beret, chef’s jacket and tennis skirt strutted in, shutting it behind her. There were a series of loud noises – a rattle, some shouting and what sounded like a small explosion – and then the door reopened and the next person in line went in.

Granma Sylvie, Ivy and Seb looked at each other nervously as they shuffled to the end of the queue. The other traders, who were chatting quietly among themselves, took no notice.

‘I guess I’d better put these on now,’ Granma Sylvie said, withdrawing a pair of long lace gloves from her handbag as they reached the front of the queue. ‘Like all uncommoners, you must wear your uncommon gloves inside the Great Gates of Lundinor,’ she recited in a tight voice. ‘Officer Smokehart sent me six featherlights this week explaining the rules of GUT law. He thinks I’m either a criminal or an idiot!’

Ivy grimaced. If any single member of the underguard had it in for their family, it was Smokehart. After a moment’s thought she took out the short white dress gloves folded inside her satchel.

As she pulled them on, she admired the neat pin-tuck creases ironed into the knuckles. She wasn’t quite sure how to be an uncommoner just yet, but at least the gloves made her feel more like one on the outside. Seb hadn’t yet ‘taken the glove’, as it was called. He was old enough, but he still needed the permission of a quartermaster. On their last visit she had seen children in Lundinor without gloves; at least Seb wasn’t the only one.

‘If you wear those gloves the whole time we’re in Lundinor, won’t your whispering abilities drive you crazy?’ he asked.

Ivy flexed her gloved fingers and felt a familiar prickly heat spread through her skin. She had the same reaction when she touched any uncommon object. She was a whisperer – a person with the rare gift to sense the very thing that made uncommon objects special: the sliver of human soul trapped inside them. ‘I thought so too at first,’ she told him, ‘but the warm sensation will fade in a minute or so. I’ve tested the gloves before.’

She raised one glove to her ear and listened for the sounds coming from inside. The voices of trapped souls were too indistinct for her to hear what they were actually saying, but she could normally sense their presence.

‘You all right?’ Seb asked, watching her.

Ivy pursed her lips. Her capabilities had been changing recently … ‘Can you hold these for a sec?’ She took off her gloves and handed them over, then closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the noises around her – the drone of insects whizzing through the allotments, the twitter of birds in the bordering trees, the rumble of distant traffic …

But at the very edge of her hearing she could discern something else: a shrill voice, like a marble rattling around in a jar. Ivy focused on it carefully. It was coming from the fragment of soul trapped inside the gloves.

She opened her eyes. ‘That settles it,’ she decided, taking the gloves back. ‘There’s definitely something new going on with my whispering. Normally I have to be touching an uncommon object to hear the noises inside it, but recently I’ve been able to hear them without having any contact at all.’

Seb’s brow furrowed. ‘Could it be getting stronger?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe there’s someone in Lundinor I can ask.’ It would be risky. Whispering was a dangerous gift, especially now that the Dirge had returned: in the past they had kidnapped people like her and made them sort through mountains of rubbish, searching for uncommon objects.

The potting-shed door sprang open with a crash. Granma Sylvie flinched. ‘We’re next.’

A man in polished boots and a black uniform was standing to attention inside. He wore a purple visor, and there were silver braid epaulettes on his shoulders; on the lapels of his dark jacket were embroidered the letters SB.

Special Branch. These were members of the underguard whose job it was to prevent commoners from discovering the existence of the uncommon world.

The underguard took one look at Ivy and sniffed. ‘Gloved traders must shake my hand.’

Ivy blinked. She hadn’t expected to have to use her gloves so soon. Seb twiddled his bare thumbs while she and Granma Sylvie obliged. The underguard had such a firm grip, Ivy considered whether he might be a race of the dead. Some looked so much like the living.

‘Very well,’ he announced. ‘You may take a sack each.’

A sack? Ivy cast her eyes around the shed. In the corner lay a pile of plastic garden-waste sacks, and at least ten green hoses were looped over hooks on the wall. As she headed towards the pile, something stopped her in her tracks. Pinned to the back of the shed door was a poster:

An artist’s drawing showed a tall creature with a hard green body, huge yellow eyes and razor-sharp clawed hands.

Selena’s henchman. Not all the details in the drawing were accurate – but it was definitely the same person. Ivy had never heard of a gobble before. She went cold.

Seb tripped as he caught sight of the drawing. ‘Ah – who is …? I mean, what’s that doing there?’

‘Just a precaution.’ The underguard sounded like he’d had to explain the poster more than once already that morning. ‘There have been several recent sightings of Jack-in-the-Green in other undermarts. We’re on high alert to prevent him from entering Lundinor. That’s why it’s important you attend the Timbermeal as soon as you arrive. We need to register you there too.’

Jack-in-the-Green … That explained the restrictions then.

Granma Sylvie held a hand to her chest. ‘I’m sorry – high alert?’ She stepped closer to the poster, reading it in more detail.

Ivy tried to think quickly. They couldn’t give Granma Sylvie the chance to reconsider – she and Seb had to go to Lundinor to find the Jar of Shadows.

‘I don’t have all day,’ the underguard said, nodding towards the pile. ‘Sack. Now.’

Ivy hastily bent down and picked up a sack. She half expected it to be uncommon, but when it grazed her arm, her skin remained cool.

The underguard went over to one of the hoses and began to pull it loose. The shed trembled as a rattling sound filled the air. Ivy soon understood why: there weren’t several hoses hanging up; there was just one very, very long hose.

As the underguard tugged it down, the rubber uncoiled like a huge snake dragging its belly round every hook on the walls.

‘Stand back,’ the man warned, pulling down his visor. He pointed the end of the hose towards the wooden floor and bent his knees, bracing himself. With a tiny click, he twisted the nozzle at the end—

The hose shot through the shed floor like a bullet, splintering the wood with a startlingly loud crack and burying itself deep in the earth. Ivy steadied herself against the wall as more and more of the hose disappeared underground. After a few moments the Special Branch underguard got out a penknife and leaped onto the remaining coil, wrestling with it till he was able to slice through it. The severed end flew out of his hand, stretched to the size of a toy hula hoop and lay down on the floor, forming the entrance to a dark hole.

‘Off you go then,’ the underguard said, pushing up his visor and wiping his brow. ‘Put the sack down first before you get inside.’

Granma Sylvie stared first at the hole and then back at the WANTED poster. Seb looked confused.

‘Come on, keep it moving,’ the underguard groaned, putting away his penknife. ‘For security reasons, the hose will disappear once the three of you are down.’

Ivy studied the dark circle in the floor. It looked a bit like the entrance to a water slide.

I wonder …

She ventured forward, swinging her satchel round to her back. ‘I’ll go first,’ she said. If Seb wasn’t going to volunteer, then it was up to her.

‘Ivy, be careful,’ Granma Sylvie warned, stumbling forward. ‘I’m not sure if …’

Ivy laid her sack on the edge of the dark hole and tucked her legs inside. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said in as confident a voice as she could muster. ‘I’ll see you at the other end.’

It’s just a slide, she told herself. I used to love slides when I was little.

She looked over her shoulder and gave Seb and Granma Sylvie a wobbly smile before pushing off with her hands. She slipped forward, the sack gliding easily over the rubber, and then plunged into darkness.

‘Whooooooa!’ The hose spiralled left and right, throwing Ivy’s body from side to side. She fumbled for the edge of the sack, desperately trying to keep her balance. The air hummed as she slid faster and faster.

The wind forced tears from her eyes as a smile broke across her face. She hadn’t felt this exhilarated since the time she’d used an uncommon belt to fly up an old lift shaft.

Soon, there was a glow of light ahead of her, and a rumble of voices grew louder – until the rubber walls fell away and Ivy found herself gliding down a polished wooden slide that spiralled around a white tower. Below her, she recognized the main arrivals chamber in Lundinor, with its toppling stacks of luggage and busy unloading areas. She got a warm feeling inside as she spied the details from her last visit: the ceiling dripping with glittering stalactites, the traders buzzing with a thousand different conversations as they arrived from all over the world.

She slowed as she reached the bottom of the slide, where another underguard from Special Branch was waiting to collect her sack. She hit the ground with a dull thud, her bottom taking most of the impact, then struggled to her feet.