Free Swift by R. J. Anderson Page A

who?’
    ‘Dad. It was him you were looking for, wasn’t it?’ He gave her a pointed look. ‘To ask him about…you know.’
    She hid her face in her cup and took a long drink, only partly relieved. Why was Mica always oblivious to her feelings except when she didn’t want him to notice? ‘Oh. No, I didn’t. I couldn’t find him, so I went for a walk instead.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Cicely.
    But Mica didn’t answer, and the silence thickened until Ivy said, ‘Just something that Mica remembered and I didn’t. I thought he was mistaken, so I was going to ask Dad. But then I realised maybe he was right after all.’
    ‘Took you long enough,’ muttered Mica, but she could see that he was both surprised and pleased. It must have been frustrating for him these past five years, hearing Ivy claim that their mother had been taken by the spriggans when he was certain that deep down she knew better. Not that it excused his attitude towards her – he still deserved a good smack around the head for that, and Ivy wished she were tall enough to give it to him. But it explained a lot about the way he’d been behaving.
    ‘It’s about Mum, isn’t it?’ Cicely turned accusing eyes to Ivy. ‘You always get that look on your face when you’re thinking about her. What did he say? Was it the same as—’
    ‘Leave it,’ Mica cut in. ‘Ivy’s tired of talking about it and so am I. It’s not going to change anything.’ He stabbed another slice of rabbit and began cutting it up. ‘Matt and I are going into Redruth tomorrow. Is there anything you want?’
    Ivy poked at her meal, torn between gratitude and guilt. Every now and then, along with the small animals they hunted, the fish they caught and the wild greens, mushrooms and berries they foraged, the hunters of the Delve took human-shape and journeyed to the nearby towns for more exotic fare: glittering white sugar and flour ground fine as dust, currants and saffron and citrus peel, slabs of chocolate or sweet marzipan. It was always a pleasant surprise when Mica remembered to ask Ivy what she needed, but if he knew where she’d been last night, he wouldn’t be offering to do her any favours.
    ‘I’m running out of cinnamon,’ she said at last. ‘And I wouldn’t mind a couple of oranges.’ Cicely loved oranges, so perhaps that would be enough to keep her from brooding over Mica’s reprimand – though judging by the mulish look on her face, it was already too late.
    ‘I told Yarrow I’d help her grind herbs tonight,’ Cicely said, pushing her plate away. ‘I should go.’
    ‘All right,’ said Ivy. She waited until her sister had left, then turned to Mica. ‘Have you heard anything more about the spriggan? Has he talked to the Joan yet?’
    Mica shook his head in disgust. ‘I told Gossan they should hang him up by his ankles over a smelting-pot and see what he has to say then, but he said we piskeys ought to be better than that , whatever that’s supposed to mean. They’re going to leave him alone for a couple of days before they question him again.’
    ‘And if he still won’t talk?’
    He shrugged. ‘Gossan said they’d mine that vein when they came to it.’ Though the contempt in his tone said how little he approved of the Jack’s forbearance. ‘But whether he tells us what he did with Keeve or not, there’s no way that spriggan’s going to see daylight again. If the Joan doesn’t make sure of that…’ His hand dropped to the hilt of his hunter’s knife. ‘Then I will.’

    It was raining that night as Ivy descended the Great Shaft, slow droplets falling between the bars and pattering into the stagnant water below. But she’d brought a rope this time, fastening one end tight at the foot of the iron railing and the other around her waist, so even if she slipped she wouldn’t fall far.
    She’d expected to hear the spriggan talking, as he had the night before. But the shaft was silent, and as she lowered herself into