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Authors: Susannah Appelbaum
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was made from the same murk that darkened her vision. He seemed asleep.
Her attention was drawn through the wiry, inhospitable trees to a cloyingly familiar gate. Green serpentine ivy snaked up the poles, brilliant in the bleak landscape. It beckoned in a new breeze. The tall ironwork was splendid, she saw as she drew closer, and was topped with carved figurines. But a strange silence greeted her—an unusual absence of bees or birds, or general garden activity.
“Hello?” she called, pressing her face against the bars. Where had she seen this courtyard before?
She looked around. It was a vast garden, one of great beauty, but kept with a strict and disciplined hand. The manicured rows and trained grapevines stretched on, disappearing into the distance in a thicket of dark fog. A small garden shed—a folly—off to the side. Woven bell-shaped hives for bees.
She tried again. “Anyone home?” Rattling the gates, she found them locked.
Then, a rumble of distant thunder, and Ivy remembered Peps.
The clouds were rolling in quickly and a sudden storm now threatened, and she was overcome again with the acrid smell of Dumbcane’s inks. She ran hurriedly through the thrashing trees, which now had grown thicker, more dreary.
She hurried but made no progress. Behind her, the sound of metal on metal—and as she turned, she saw the garden gate hanging open. But the view now through the archway was one of devastation—gone were the manicured rows and orderedvines. In their place only bramble. A thick, knotted spiky growth had overtaken everything. The world then lit up in a pale, shivery blue as she was treated to a bolt of lightning—and Ivy had the uncomfortable sensation that she was due for another.
But before one came, the scene dissolved, accompanied by vague silvery chimes, and the young girl found herself blinking beneath the yellow light of the sun streaming in from a circular portal, aboard the
Trindletrip
. Peps was once again at her side.
The familiar faces around her wore a selection of stunned looks.
“What just happened?” Rowan wondered, astonished.
Ivy blinked.
Six’s matted fur stood on end.
“Was that lightning?” Axle asked no one in particular.
“Inside?”
“I wonder if it’s going to rain,” replied Trindle, annoyed.
“Er—Ivy?” Rowan frowned. “I could have sworn you—well … when the lights flashed, it was like you
vanished.”
He laughed nervously.
None of this was of any concern to Ivy, for she was enduring a very potent realization of her own. She suddenly remembered where it was she had seen that particular garden gate before. With a chilling jolt, Ivy Manx recognized the gateand the garden beyond as the one from Dumbcane’s letter
C
. She unfurled it to be sure.
All were so astonished that it took them several moments to notice that the most enthusiastic of the bunch was Peps—standing, stretching, walking about flush with life.
Chapter Nineteen
The Charm
N o one could have been more surprised at the proceedings than Ivy. It was as if Mrs. Pulch had scripted it herself in one of her tall tales. She had vanished from the houseboat, arrived at a mysterious garden, and returned with a clap of lightning to a miraculous curing! “Inexplicable,” Axle concluded.
“Incomprehensible,” Trindle added.
“Miraculous,” Rowan whispered, and then sneezed. He had seen Ivy’s curative abilities but never quite in this way. She had cured him and Shoo, but that had been with a tonic she had made. This was an entirely new occurrence for which there was no explanation.
Peps was the first to celebrate his miraculous recovery at the young girl’s hands, standing, his cheeks flooded with color, eyes sparkling.
“Ivy!” he enthused. “I feel a man half my age!”
“Indeed!” Axle nodded in awe. “I’ve never seen you better—you hardly appear a day over a hundred and fifty!”
Peps flushed with the compliment.
Axle examined his brother again, dumbfounded. But
Her attention was drawn through the wiry, inhospitable trees to a cloyingly familiar gate. Green serpentine ivy snaked up the poles, brilliant in the bleak landscape. It beckoned in a new breeze. The tall ironwork was splendid, she saw as she drew closer, and was topped with carved figurines. But a strange silence greeted her—an unusual absence of bees or birds, or general garden activity.
“Hello?” she called, pressing her face against the bars. Where had she seen this courtyard before?
She looked around. It was a vast garden, one of great beauty, but kept with a strict and disciplined hand. The manicured rows and trained grapevines stretched on, disappearing into the distance in a thicket of dark fog. A small garden shed—a folly—off to the side. Woven bell-shaped hives for bees.
She tried again. “Anyone home?” Rattling the gates, she found them locked.
Then, a rumble of distant thunder, and Ivy remembered Peps.
The clouds were rolling in quickly and a sudden storm now threatened, and she was overcome again with the acrid smell of Dumbcane’s inks. She ran hurriedly through the thrashing trees, which now had grown thicker, more dreary.
She hurried but made no progress. Behind her, the sound of metal on metal—and as she turned, she saw the garden gate hanging open. But the view now through the archway was one of devastation—gone were the manicured rows and orderedvines. In their place only bramble. A thick, knotted spiky growth had overtaken everything. The world then lit up in a pale, shivery blue as she was treated to a bolt of lightning—and Ivy had the uncomfortable sensation that she was due for another.
But before one came, the scene dissolved, accompanied by vague silvery chimes, and the young girl found herself blinking beneath the yellow light of the sun streaming in from a circular portal, aboard the
Trindletrip
. Peps was once again at her side.
The familiar faces around her wore a selection of stunned looks.
“What just happened?” Rowan wondered, astonished.
Ivy blinked.
Six’s matted fur stood on end.
“Was that lightning?” Axle asked no one in particular.
“Inside?”
“I wonder if it’s going to rain,” replied Trindle, annoyed.
“Er—Ivy?” Rowan frowned. “I could have sworn you—well … when the lights flashed, it was like you
vanished.”
He laughed nervously.
None of this was of any concern to Ivy, for she was enduring a very potent realization of her own. She suddenly remembered where it was she had seen that particular garden gate before. With a chilling jolt, Ivy Manx recognized the gateand the garden beyond as the one from Dumbcane’s letter
C
. She unfurled it to be sure.
All were so astonished that it took them several moments to notice that the most enthusiastic of the bunch was Peps—standing, stretching, walking about flush with life.
Chapter Nineteen
The Charm
N o one could have been more surprised at the proceedings than Ivy. It was as if Mrs. Pulch had scripted it herself in one of her tall tales. She had vanished from the houseboat, arrived at a mysterious garden, and returned with a clap of lightning to a miraculous curing! “Inexplicable,” Axle concluded.
“Incomprehensible,” Trindle added.
“Miraculous,” Rowan whispered, and then sneezed. He had seen Ivy’s curative abilities but never quite in this way. She had cured him and Shoo, but that had been with a tonic she had made. This was an entirely new occurrence for which there was no explanation.
Peps was the first to celebrate his miraculous recovery at the young girl’s hands, standing, his cheeks flooded with color, eyes sparkling.
“Ivy!” he enthused. “I feel a man half my age!”
“Indeed!” Axle nodded in awe. “I’ve never seen you better—you hardly appear a day over a hundred and fifty!”
Peps flushed with the compliment.
Axle examined his brother again, dumbfounded. But
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