Free The Crooked Sixpence by Jennifer Bell Page A

and a name badge that said: GILBERT, THE ONE AND ONLY ! There was a bobbing crowd of children in front of him, none of whom were wearing gloves.
    â€˜Now,’ Gilbert said, sticking out his chest. ‘Can anyone tell me what uncommon gloves are used for?’
    One of the children – a stout boy in a Roman centurion’s helmet – stuck his hand up. ‘My mum says they’re like her credit card because they remember every transaction she makes.’
    Gilbert beamed. ‘An excellent analogy, Louis. Uncommon gloves record the trades of whoever is wearing them. That’s why uncommoners have to shake hands at the end of every deal. Is there anything else they do?’
    A girl with a lilac bow in her hair raised her hand. ‘The most important thing they’re used for is to tell the underguard where you are at all times. That’s why you have to wear them inside the Great Gates, even if you don’t want to.’
    â€˜Correct,’ Gilbert agreed. ‘After you take the glove, the underguards know exactly where you are,
all
the time. That’s how they catch criminals. Uncommon gloves are used for all kinds of official business, they don’t just help you trade. They are the keys to all Lundinor.’
    â€˜But what does taking the glove actually
mean
?’ asked the boy in the helmet.
    One of the other children – a very small girl in a pale pink tutu – pointed up to a pair of long silk dress gloves. ‘Can I just take those ones?’
    Gilbert hushed the group. ‘Taking the glove is a lot more special than that. You must be at least secondary school age – and be nominated by one of the four great quartermasters of Lundinor. It is a mark of your responsibility to the Trade and your promise to live by the rules of GUT law.’ He held out his hands, encased in a pair of apple-green suede gloves. ‘When you wear a pair of uncommon gloves for the first time, a bond forms between you and them. You keep the same pair of gloves your whole life. They are with you for every trade you make and’ – he lowered his voice – ‘they know if it is honest or dishonest.’ He pointed to a spot on the wall.
    Ivy followed his thin finger. Beside a drawer containing a pair of old leather boxing gloves was a framed poster. There was writing at the top and then a photo:
    REMEMBER
If you perform an illegal deal according to GUT law, your uncommon gloves will leave a permanent mark against you.
    She looked at the photo beneath. It showed a pair of yellow, rotten hands, the skin infested with maggots.
    â€˜The man in grey,’ she whispered. She clapped a hand over her mouth as she backed away from the window. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But . . . she had seen hands exactly like that this very morning, in the hospital. It felt like a lifetime ago.
    Ivy continued along the street. Some things were starting to make sense. The man in grey was an uncommoner – an extremely shady one, if that glove poster was anything to go by. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that he was poking around in the hospital that morning. Maybe he
had
been looking for Granma Sylvie – just like Ivy had suspected at the time. And that meant . . . she was in danger.
    Ivy clenched her fists as she hurried towards the underguard station, weaving her way through the traders. When she had rescued Seb, they had to get back to the hospital as quickly as they could. Her heart pounded as she dodged and ducked past traders, desperately hoping she’d make it to the underguard station without being identified as a mucker. The crowd slowed as they approached a crossroads in the Gauntlet. Ivy tried to squeeze through, but the traders were standing shoulder to shoulder and she found herself stuck between a wooden cart heaped with old chairs and a kiosk with a yellow awning. She heard shouts up ahead. No one was moving.
    She turned to the stall