Ivy: Daughter of Alice Read online

  The Ace of Hearts had disappeared.

  I blinked, staring at the cobbled street where it should have been. People meandered along, in twos and threes, talking amicably as they looked in shop windows. Others settled into the restaurants and cafes for an early evening meal. A few delivery boys scurried along the street carrying packages to their new owners.

  No one else had seen the Heart in the middle of the street.

  “Ivy?” Chesh rushed out of Broderick’s Boots, uncharacteristically disheveled. “Are you alright?”

  He took my hands, as though I might collapse. The heat of the late afternoon pressed against me, and I scrambled for my fan, flicking it open to stir some breeze around my face.

  “I saw…” I looked along the street. “I thought…”

  “It’s unbearably hot. Let’s take some refreshment.” Chesh looked around, and his eyes lit up. “Tea?”

  I was still searching for the Ace of Hearts when someone shrieked in the distance. Chesh frowned, his usual smile absent. “The city is going mad in this heat. Perhaps I should take you home?”

  A few people hurried along the street, pulling their hats over their brows, and avoiding eye contact. One was weeping. Above street level, brightly painted shutters slammed shut. Mr. Broderick peered out of his window, then flipped the sign on his door to “Closed.”

  “The Pinnacle!” a man called out, hurrying away from the circular marketplace in the center of Melfall. In the very center of the market, a clock tower, called the Pinnacle, rose to overlook the city.

  I knew, from childhood lessons with my tutor, that the Pinnacle’s clock hadn’t sounded since the defeat of the late Queen, a little over eighteen years ago.

  “What was that man talking about?” I asked Chesh, who had a firm hand on my elbow. Faintly, as though the very heart of the city was beating, I felt the ticking of a clock.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” I said, shaking off Chesh’s grip. I straightened my shoulders and strode towards the marketplace.

  I stepped quickly along the cobblestones of Sixth Avenue, dodging people hurrying in the opposite direction, determined that Chesh wouldn’t prevent me from seeing the Pinnacle for myself. My heart thudded in my throat, and a sense of urgency came over me.

  Those fleeing the scene were older—several were weeping, and one had collapsed and was being carried away. But I wasn’t the only one drawn to the commotion in the city center. Other young people saw the fuss and spilled into the streets.

  The buildings towering over the avenue, suddenly took on the glow of the pink clouds of the early evening sky where the avenue flowed into the open marketplace.

  Clusters of people stood, staring upward at the interlocking struts of the tower of wrought iron that rose like a needle from the middle of the cobbled market. At the top, the great clock stared dispassionately over the city.

  The Pinnacle was an impressive structure, standing taller than any other in the Forge. If one climbed to the top, one could see across Melfall’s perimeter walls, all the way to the distant boundaries of the kingdom where The Forge met Urbis to the north-east, Oz in the north-west, and the bright blue waters of the Great Ocean to the south.

  I had never climbed the Pinnacle. No one did—not since the late Queen’s demise when citizens of The Forge had toppled the enormous wrought iron heart that had once crowned the clock tower. Once the symbol of the late Queen’s power had smashed into the courtyard below and the clock had stopped ticking, the citizens had pretended the Pinnacle didn’t exist.

  The ticking was louder now, and I covered my eyes from the late afternoon glare as I stared up at the tower. The hands of the clock moved, unmistakably keeping time.

  For eighteen years, the clock had been stopped at 4:17pm. Now, the clock was ticking again. It read 6:54pm.

  I pulled Mr. Pillar’s pocket watch out of my clutch bag and flicked open the lid.

  6:54pm.

  I help up the watch so I could see the face of the pocket watch, next to the enormous face of the clock in the tower. I gasped. The hands were ticking in unison.

  2

  13 August

  I brushed a curl from my face as I leaned over a yellowed newspaper spread across the large bench in the reading area of Alice’s Library. The bench was beautifully carved, with small animals—mice, birds, rabbits, and even a caterpillar were engraved around the edges of the dark wood.

  Around the long bench were rows of books about The Forge’s history. More than that, it held every copy ever printed of The Forge Hart, the daily newspaper, since it started printing over thirty years ago. Alice had set up the library for the citizens of Melfall, but people rarely used it. Not that I minded—the solitude made it one of the few places I came to think.

  The fragile newspaper rustled as I turned the wrinkled pages. I had started my research at the time of the late Queen’s demise, about eighteen years ago, and was working backward, searching for any mention of the Pinnacle, how it’s clock worked, or who had been responsible for building and maintaining it.

  I skimmed the tiny text for stories about the stoppage of the clock, though the logical explanation was whoever had maintained it during the late Queen’s reign had stopped once the Queen was dead. Someone had wound the Pinnacle’s clock again. Why else would it tick?

  I flipped over another page and huffed. There was no information in any of these newspapers about the clock’s operation or maintenance.

  Instead, I found a sketch of the late Queen, standing on the balcony of the Pinnacle with her army of Hearts lining the circular marketplace, surrounding the gathered citizens. Ignoring the other details of the picture, I peered at the Pinnacle. A raw, but beautiful structure, it looked much like it did now—a metal skeleton with no skin to cover its bones.

  I scanned the text. An announcement about the war effort—the Queen had constantly waged war against the other eleven kingdoms—and a triple beheading. A small article wrote that Mr. Finley Knave, Duchess Ada Thornton, and Mr. Gordon Taylor were all beheaded for the crime of displeasing the Queen.

  In every edition, an article announced the day’s executions. I shook my head. The late Queen had been fond of beheading her subjects.

  I turned the page again and sighed.

  The door flew open, sending a gust of breeze into the room. I slammed my hands on the papers to stop them from flying away.

  “I knew I’d find you here amongst the dust.” Pearl’s voice was loud against the silence of the library. She gasped. “You’re not even dressed!”

  I glanced down at myself and drew my dressing gown around me. “I was reading.”

  Pearl shook her head as she walked over to the reading bench, her nose wrinkled in distaste as she stared at the old newspapers spread over the surface.

  “Decades-old newspapers? Honestly, if anyone saw you like this, it would be a scandal. Nobody has seen you, right?”

  “In here?” I smirked. “Not a chance.”

  My beautiful twin sister pursed her lips. Her long, blonde hair fell over her shoulders in ringlet curls, and an ornate fascinator perched on the side of her head. She wore a pink vest over a white shirt with lace frills and a skirt over full petticoats. Perfectly put together—as always.

  “Put away those musty things and get dressed,” she said. “You must accompany me to the bank.”

  “Again?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “I haven’t withdrawn my stipend this week. I have an aesthetic regimen to uphold, you know. This,” Pearl waved a perfectly manicured hand towards her face and hair. “Doesn’t just happen, you know.”

  Pearl spent four to five hours, at least, every day on her daily bathing, dressing, facial, manicure, pedicure, massage, and other hair and skin treatments. She wasn’t alone. Most citizens held to strict beauty regimens and wouldn’t leave their houses if even a hair was out of place. The Forge Hart was always full of articles about maintaining youth and beauty, and advertisements for potions
promising wonders with every application.

  I sighed. “Can’t your maid accompany you?”

  Pearl glared at me. “You cannot waste your life in this dreary place.”

  “I like it,” I replied.

  “You should claim your own stipend.”

  I raised an eyebrow. We’d had this conversation many times before. “I don’t need it. I work for Mother, and I sell my watches.”

  “Such a waste of time,” Pearl said. “You are so beautiful—you should live on the stipend. You’re taking a job from someone who needs it.”

  I rubbed at my forehead. There was no point in arguing with Pearl or any other citizen who lived on the aesthetic stipend. Why should the beautiful work when they performed such an important public duty—improving the lives of others by making the city more aesthetically pleasing?

  “I hear the roads of Oz are paved in gold,” I said, raising an old topic to distract her. “Maybe we should go there instead.”

  Pearl didn’t take the bait. “Traveling in this heat would make my hair frizz,” she replied. Then she folded her arms across her chest. “Besides, if you want to travel, you must claim—and save—your stipend.”

  I sighed, knowing that was true enough. “Fine, I’ll come,” I said, then held up a finger. “To sell a watch and collect my wages.”

  White, stone steps led to the arched entrance to the First Forge Bank. Unlike the wooden buildings that leaned up against each other along the narrow streets of The Forge, the bank was an imposing stone building, its grand entrance marked with carved stone knights standing to attention. As Pearl and I stepped inside, the entrance hall danced with the colors reflected by the sunlight shining through the stained glass dome overhead.

  Once the Royal Bank of Hearts, the bank had contained the late Queen’s Treasury. Early in her reign, the late Queen—who loved all things beautiful—had endowed a lifelong stipend on the most beautiful among her subjects. She’d also punished those who did not adhere to her standards of beauty, usually with execution. The stipend became entrenched and, by the time she was deposed, the aesthetic stipend was the main income for the most influential people in The Forge.

  The new president—my mother—Alice Rowntree—hadn’t abolished the stipend with the formation of the new republic, mainly because she was afraid the citizens wouldn’t survive another revolution if Melfall’s beautiful citizens rioted against the threat to their livelihood.

  On our eighteenth birthday, earlier in the year, Pearl and I had come of age, with the benefit of collecting the stipend. On that day, we’d both come to this building, intending to claim our payment, but I’d decided against it at the last minute.

  I’d insisted that the payment was unfair since everyone got paid a different amount depending on how beautiful they were. In truth, when Pearl had received the maximum stipend, marking her as one of the most beautiful women in the Forge, I had felt a sudden stab of fear.

  Pearl was blonde, with creamy skin, full lips, and a figure with curves in all the right places. She instinctively knew how to do her hair and makeup to bring out her best features. I was the plain sister. The sister that people noticed only if they tore their eyes away from Pearl. In that moment, I hadn’t wanted my plainness quantified by a stranger.

  So, from that day, I’d stubbornly resisted the stipend while Pearl withdrew it weekly. Also, I doubted there was single Dinah left over at the end of the week.

  “Miss. Pearl Rowntree,” a banker by the name of Mr. Elliott came over to greet us, smiling warmly at my sister as he gave her a small bow. Then he turned to me. “Miss. Ivy Rowntree. As always, it is my pleasure to welcome you to our establishment. Are you both making a withdrawal today?” His gaze lingered on me.

  “Of course,” Pearl answered.

  Mr. Elliott bowed, without waiting for my response, and motioned for us to follow him.

  Our footsteps echoed as we walked between marble columns streaked with the colors from the ceiling dome, as though rainbows danced. Mr. Elliot ushered us into a cozy office, with plush carpets and two high-backed leather armchairs. Pearl was the first to sit, glaring at me until I lowered myself into the second seat.

  “May I offer you a refreshment? Tea?” Mr. Elliott asked.

  “That would be lovely,” Pearl answered. I pressed my lips into a smile to prevent myself from refusing his offer. My instinct was to get this over with as quickly as possible, while Pearl drew it out.

  Tea was served in delicate porcelain cups painted with dragonflies. Steam curled up from the liquid, and I inhaled the pleasant, strong aroma.

  “Shall we get down to business?” Mr. Elliott asked.

  “Wonderful.” Pearl flashed the banker a smile. I took a mouthful of tea, scalded the roof of my mouth, then set the cup down with a clatter.

  “Do you wish to start?” Mr. Elliott looked at Pearl. She glanced at me. I inclined my head.

  Pearl rose from her seat, smoothed her dress, and went to stand on a small spot marked on the floor in the middle of the room. She batted her eyelids at Mr. Elliott as he slowly looked her over, starting with her face and following her figure down to her feet. His expression was impassive and studious, critically assessing her attributes, calculating a monetary figure based on the strengths and weaknesses of her presentation. When his eyes drifted back up to her face, he nodded. “Overall presentation is very nice—well put together. Your beauty is pleasing to the eye, and your presentation amplifies your natural attributes. I see no defects in style or substance. I am pleased to, once again, offer you the highest rate of stipend.”

  Pearl flashed him a smile, bobbed a curtsy, then took her seat again.

  “Thank you, Mr. Elliott.” She paused. “Have you raised the rate since I was last here?”

  Mr. Elliott blinked. “No, Miss. Rowntree. The rate remains 500 Dinah. We will not raise it until we conduct a full review at the end of the year.”

  Pearl pursed her lips. “Pity, it’s barely enough to cover expenses, you know. Beauty businesses continue to raise their rates. I think they’re trying to impoverish us.”

  Mr. Elliott smiled politely. “I wish I could offer a larger amount. Truly, your beauty and composure deserve it. I may, on this occasion, be able to provide a one hundred Dinah bonus to your usual amount, since you have never presented in less than perfect condition.”

  Pearl clapped her hands together. “Mr. Elliott, that is so kind. I'm pleased you

  appreciate my efforts.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” Mr. Elliott replied. Then he turned to me and

  motioned toward the spot on the floor that Pearl had vacated.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat, staying resolutely in my seat. Two spots burned on my cheeks.

  “I would like to withdraw my wages today, Mr. Elliott,” I replied.

  Next to me, Pearl sighed audibly. “Really, Ivy,” she started. I silenced her with a glare.

  Mr. Elliott went to a cabinet and withdrew a file. He opened it, then perched a pair of reading glasses on his nose. “You work as an inspector and advisor to the President. An important job.” He barely glanced in my direction as he ran his eyes over my file. “250 Dinah.”

  I bit my tongue to exclaim at the unfairness that a full-time job paid half the rate of the stipend paid to those who lead a beautiful existence—and mine was one of the better-paid jobs in the city. I opened my clutch and drew out a pocket watch that I’d recently finished making. It was a lovely example—not my best—but as good as any of the examples being sold by Melfall’s horologists. “I also have an item for sale. Will you appraise it?”

  I handed Mr. Elliott the watch. He didn’t have the expertise to gauge its craftsmanship, but an aesthetic rating would increase the sale price.

  “A lovely piece.” he examined the lid and chain carefully, before flicking open the case and examining the watch’s face. “Is it Guild-made?”

  I bristled at the mention of the Unified Guild, an umbrella organizatio
n that united the Guilds into one voice, with more power than they’d had separately. I did not belong to, but kept my mouth shut as I shook my head.

  “Pity. That lowers the price. Still, I rate it at a ninety-five on the aesthetic scale.” He returned the watch before closing the file. “Will that be all?”

  I nodded.

  “In that case, I shall escort you both to the teller to process your withdrawals.”

  I stepped out of the First Forge Bank, my clutch weighed down with Dinah and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I hate that place.”

  Pearl rolled her eyes. “You’re so stubborn. You work yourself to the bone for paltry wages when you could have Mr. Elliott examine your aesthetic worth and receive twice as much.”

  Or not, I thought. “Maybe next time.”

  Pearl opened her lace parasol to shelter her fair skin from the midday sunshine while I lifted my face to the sun for a moment, then adjusted my top hat. I glanced across the street, and something caught my eye.

  Painted onto the wall of a shop next to an alley, was what appeared to be a small rabbit. A white rabbit.

  “Do you see that?” I asked Pearl, then pointed. “Over there. A painted rabbit.”

  Pearl glanced over. “Hmmm,” she murmured, but the contents of the shop window absorbed her attention. “What a ghastly dress! I hope you visit that shop. Their standards are too low for First Avenue.” Pearl put a hand on my arm. “I’m going to visit Mrs. Bancroft’s Parlor. She has such beautiful things. Will you come?”

  Mrs. Bancroft’s was an invitation-only establishment where unusual and distinctive—and expensive—items were available for purchase. The two hundred, fifty Dinah weighed heavy in my clutch, but not heavy enough. I shook my head. I couldn’t afford such luxuries anyway, and I preferred to spend my time with the newspapers in the library.

  Pearl gave me a look that suggested she guessed at what I planned to do with my afternoon. “Sometimes, I wonder if we’re really related. I really do.” She kissed me lightly on both cheeks, then set off toward Mrs. Bancroft’s Parlor.