Hollowpox: The Hunt for Morrigan Crow

by Jessica Townsend

  It wasn’t a celebration, she realized now. It was a distraction. A series of precise, choreographed distractions designed to direct their line of sight to exactly the right place so they missed everything else happening around them.

  The marching musicians accompanying them up the path to Proudfoot House had distracted them from the human-sized vulture things crowding in behind them.

  The sparkling, iridescent rainbow archway had blinded them to the fact that every window in Proudfoot House had begun to bleed—thick, oozing rivulets of red dripped down the brick walls like something out of a horror story.

  The trumpeting elephant caught their attention at the bottom of the marble steps just as a team of Wunsoc members conducted a thousand-strong army of spiders to skitter across the shoes of Unit 919.

  None of them had noticed a thing.

  And when they’d looked up in awe to watch their nine names burning across the sky in dragon fire, they’d missed perhaps the most extraordinary sight of all: a platoon of trees at the edge of the Whingeing Woods had drawn up their roots from the ground and were marching—slowly, very slowly—on Proudfoot House, like an ancient arboreal army of the damned.

  It was ghastly to witness, and yet… it was extraordinary. Even through her horror, Morrigan couldn’t help feeling astonished at how she and the others had done exactly what they were supposed to do, without having the slightest idea they were supposed to do it. They’d looked just where they were guided to look, turned where they were meant to turn, at precisely the right moment for precisely the right amount of time. It was like watching herself perform and perfectly execute a ballet she’d never rehearsed for.

  “Whoever did this is twisted,” said Mahir.

  “No.” Morrigan shook her head. “Whoever did this is a genius.”

  “You have passed your fifth and final trial—the most important test of all, the test of loyalty—and are about to begin your second year as members of the Wundrous Society,” Elder Quinn’s voice rang out again, over footage of the scholars following their patrons up the marble stairs. “In proving that you are worthy of our trust, you have opened the door to deeper knowledge and greater responsibility within our ranks.”

  Morrigan grimaced. They’d passed their fifth trial only six weeks ago, and the memory was a sour one. The test of Unit 919’s loyalty to each other had come in the form of blackmail. They each had received an outrageous demand to fulfill, or their anonymous blackmailer would reveal to the rest of the Society that Morrigan was a Wundersmith—a secret the Elders had ordered Unit 919 to protect, or else face exile from Wunsoc for life. It had been Morrigan’s biggest source of misery all year long, and not only had it turned out to be a test… it was a test contrived by the Elders themselves.

  The most diabolical thing—even now, she couldn’t think of it without grinding her teeth—was that in order to pass the test herself, Morrigan had to reveal herself as a Wundersmith. So now everyone in the Society knew the truth anyway.

  Well, she thought bitterly. At least we passed.

  On the projection, the doors of Proudfoot House closed behind Unit 919 and their patrons. The projection cut out. They were surrounded by darkness again.

  Elder Quinn’s imperious voice continued, filling the room.

  “The first and most important of these new responsibilities is for you to witness the truth about our beloved city, and to see your rightful place within it.”

  Morrigan felt the skin on the back of her neck tingle. She had an urge to say, No thank you. I’d rather not witness the truth about Nevermoor. Not today.

  “To understand your future in the Wundrous Society, you must know our past,” continued Elder Quinn. “The Society was founded for a very particular purpose. Until just over one hundred years ago, our entire mission was to support the work of nine people. Those nine—elevated and exalted above all others—had a mission of their own: to serve, protect, and improve the lives of the citizens of our realm.

  “They were the Wundersmiths. Nine human beings gifted beyond all others, chosen—many believed—by the Wundrous Divinities themselves, the ancient deities who were once said to have watched over our realm. In exchange for the powers they’d been blessed with, the Wundersmiths would dedicate the entirety of their lifetimes to mastering their craft, and using their power wholly in service to others. And when their lifetime was over, each of those original nine Wundrous souls was—so the story goes—reborn in another, who would take their place, serving the realm with the guidance and support of the Wundrous Society. On and on the cycle went, one generation replacing another, never forgetting who they were: human representatives of the nine Divinities, here to do their work.”

  Was that true, Morrigan wondered? Was she just the latest version of one of those original nine Wundersmiths, reborn in the body of Morrigan Crow? A copy of a copy of a copy? It sounded made up, the kind of fantastical detail you’d find in mythology books.

  “But eventually,” Elder Quinn continued, “the Society failed in its mission.”

  Morrigan felt a flicker of discomfort. Even in the darkness, she could feel eight pairs of eyes upon her.

  “The nine Wundersmiths became subjects of worship and devotion, even fanaticism. We allowed them to believe themselves divine, to set themselves above ordinary people, and so some of them became corrupt and careless. Dangerous. Power-hungry. Many would say evil.

  “Finally, one among them decided his time had come. And so, he toiled in secret to build an army of monsters, legions of his own vile creations, and he tried to lead his fellow Wundersmiths in a crusade against the crown.

  “He failed, of course. He was exiled for his crimes and became the man we know as the last Wundersmith. Ezra Squall tried to conquer and enslave our city. We have not forgotten. We will not forget.”

  Morrigan felt sick. She wanted to cover her ears or run away, but she also felt an irresistible compulsion to know more.

  “The Wundrous Society’s purpose now is to protect Nevermoor—and the greater Free State—from the corrupt and dangerous creations of Wundersmiths past. From the chaos that still thrives here. The chaos we ourselves allowed into this city, through our weakness and our failure to act in time.

  “We must right our past wrongs,” boomed Elder Quinn’s disembodied voice. “We must close old wounds, even if the scars remain.”

  “Hold on to something,” said Lam.

  “What did you say?” said Anah in a stricken voice. “What did she say?”

  But Morrigan and Cadence had already pressed themselves back against the walls of the tiny room, because there was nothing else to hold on to. Hawthorne copied them, and Mahir, Arch, and Thaddea quickly followed.

  There was a sound like a rush of air, then a mechanical grinding and a thud, and suddenly it felt like the ground had dropped out from beneath them. Anah and Francis, who hadn’t taken Lam’s advice quickly enough, fell to the ground and had to scramble back up again, crawling toward the edges of the classroom.

  The room was moving. Falling downward in darkness at an alarming speed.

  “What is happening?” cried Anah.

  “Be quiet,” snapped Morrigan, because Elder Quinn was still speaking calmly over the noise of their movement, and she didn’t want to miss a single word.

  The descent stopped abruptly, and the room moved forward like a train in a tunnel, throwing them against the back wall.

  “Over many Ages and with tireless, meticulous work,” Elder Quinn continued as the room rushed onward, “we have managed to bring several of Nevermoor’s monstrous populations under our control. We have done this using a combination of sorcery, witchery, brute force, and in some cases, good old-fashioned diplomacy and negotiation. We do this in secret, to protect our city from the deadly and chaotic forces that would prey on its people.”

  Thunk. They came to another sudden stop, and they were all thrown to the right-side wall as the room changed direction.

  “I think I’m gonna be sick,” groa
ned Hawthorne.

  “Don’t you DARE!” Cadence shouted at him.

  Elder Quinn’s voice carried on, oblivious to the drama in the room. “Some of the threats you have just witnessed are under strict Wundrous Society regulation. For example, the Vool—those shapeshifting, mimicking avian creatures you saw perched in the trees. The Vool population was once a vicious, widespread threat to the lives of Nevermoorians. It took more than fifty years, but now their numbers—and their behaviors—are manageable. The Vool are perhaps our greatest success.

  “Some of the monstrosities you saw could not be described as under our control, but after Ages of careful diplomacy they have been allied to our cause and are accepted by the Society as a force for good in protecting Nevermoor and the Free State. For example, the trees of the Whingeing Woods were our invited guests to your inauguration, willing and eager to participate in what we consider an important training tool for our newest members.

  “And finally, some of the monsters in this demonstration have been exploited for the predictability of their behaviors. The creatures you saw outside the gates of Wunsoc are called Slinghouls. We do not negotiate with Slinghouls. Diplomacy does not work on a Slinghoul. Fortunately, they are predictable, and can be both managed and avoided. We do our best.

  “Your inauguration night was a carefully maneuvered sequence of events designed to educate and inform, and we hope it has helped you understand what we as an organization are trying to achieve.”

  During this long speech, the room changed direction once more, twice more, three times, and then again—hard left, up, left again, right, and down again. It felt like they’d traveled for miles at an ever-increasing speed, but finally the room slowed to a halt. The lights came back on.

  Morrigan opened her eyes. Unit 919 sat on the ground, backs pressed against the wall, trying to catch their breath. Nobody spoke.

  The door opened, and Elder Quinn entered the room. She started a little when she saw them on the floor.

  “Goodness me,” she said, pointing up at the safety loops dangling from the ceiling, which they had all failed to notice. She made a little hooking gesture with her finger. “Didn’t any of you bring a brolly?”

  Morrigan closed her eyes again, silently willing her lunch to stay just where it was.

  Slightly battered and wholly baffled, Unit 919 followed Elder Quinn out of the tiny room and down a long, brightly lit hallway. It was wide and rather grand, lined with portraits of former Elders and gas lamps set in sconces, and it reminded Morrigan of the Hotel Deucalion.

  “Containment and Distraction is like trying to plug a thousand tiny leaking holes using only ten fingers,” Elder Quinn told them as she shuffled along more quickly than Morrigan would have thought her able to. “It is an endless, thankless, dirty, dangerous, repetitious job, but one that we are privileged to perform. And now, that privilege is also yours.”

  She turned her head to either side, glancing at the scholars scurrying along behind her.

  “I know what you’re all wondering. Same thing they wonder every year. What does this mean for you? Have you been unwittingly drafted into an army to fight against the forces of darkness, to spend the rest of your lives battling the creatures of the night?”

  That was not at all what Morrigan had been wondering, but now she was.

  “Well, perhaps. If that’s what you want. If that’s what you’re good at. Or perhaps you will never have to see any of these wretched things again. Perhaps your destiny, your lifelong role in the Wundrous Society, is to bring light to the world, in whatever form that might take—music, or art, or politics, or making a truly excellent leek and potato soup—to balance out the dark. To distract people from it. To keep Nevermoor from being consumed by it.”

  Elder Quinn stopped at the end of the hallway, just outside the doors, and turned to face Unit 919. She was several inches shorter than most of them, but Morrigan felt she was being stared down by a giant.

  “I do not know what role each of you scholars will play in the vital work of the Wundrous Society,” she said in a low voice. “That is up to you.”

  The doors opened behind her.

  “Welcome to the Gathering Place.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE GATHERING PLACE

  It was a bit like walking into the Trollosseum. Except indoors, and darker, and smaller, and the arena-style seating was filled with reasonably well-behaved Wundrous Society members, instead of rambunctious louts bellowing encouragement at trolls to spill more blood and knock each other’s heads off.

  “This week’s gathering has already begun,” murmured Elder Quinn, directing them to a knot of empty seats toward the back of the amphitheater. “Usually the junior units sit closer to the center, as you can see, but as it’s your first time attending, you may sit here in the back and observe.”

  She left them to get settled and headed down an aisle of stairs to the center of the circular room, where Elder Saga had kept her a seat. Elder Wong was standing on the dais, holding court.

  A few older Society members turned around to peer curiously at Unit 919, and she might have imagined it, but she thought their eyes lingered longer on her than the others.

  She felt a weight on her shoulders. The words of Elder Quinn’s speech were still ringing inside her mind, and she had a sudden, deeper understanding of her place here.

  It was even more obvious to her now why she had felt so much quiet animosity from the older scholars since they’d learned she was a Wundersmith. It wasn’t simply that everyone in Nevermoor knew Wundersmiths were dangerous. The Society knew exactly how dangerous they were. Exactly how chaotic and messy, exactly how their actions—even from many years ago—could leave scars and unhealed wounds on a city, hiding in plain sight. They knew because they were still cleaning up the mess.

  Still, Morrigan said to herself, sitting up a little straighter and shaking off her glumness. It wasn’t me. I didn’t make a load of snake thingies and vulture-people, for goodness’ sake.

  She resented being lumped in with Ezra Squall and every other Wundersmith who ever lived. She wasn’t a cursed child anymore, hiding in the second sitting room at Crow Manor, writing apology letters for ruined jam and broken hips. She had as much right to be here as anyone else.

  Morrigan lifted her chin, kept her eyes on Elder Wong, and ignored all the sly backward glances.

  “… and once again representing the Geographical Oddities Squadron today is Adriana Salter, Unit 871,” Elder Wong was saying. “Mrs. Salter, are you the only one picking up the slack in the Odd Squad—why don’t I ever see the others here? Tell Miles we’ll expect him next time. From the Department of Unnimology and Naturalism, Dr. Valerie Bramble…”

  The introductions went on for some time, and Morrigan found it hard to keep track of all the different organizations mentioned. As Elder Wong called their names, representatives from the Unusual Engineering & Infrastructure Advisory Board, the Architectural Anomalies Association, and the Gobleian Library all stood up from their seats and waved, acknowledging brief applause.

  “… from the League of Explorers,” Elder Wong continued, and Morrigan’s ears perked up, “Captain Jupiter North, Unit 895…”

  Jupiter was here! She’d never seen her patron visit Wunsoc unless it was for something to do with her. She sat up straight, peering down over rows of heads much taller than hers to see a dramatic crop of bright ginger hair atop a beaming face half-hidden by beard. He’d dressed with his usual sense of theater, Morrigan noticed: smart waistcoat and trousers in brilliant bubble-gum pink, sky-blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a pair of sparkling, electric-blue glittery brogues.

  He knows how to be seen from the cheap seats, she thought, smiling for the first time that afternoon.

  When Jupiter stood, turning to acknowledge a round of applause much more enthusiastic than the others had received (and even a couple of wolf whistles), his eyes scanned the circular room. Morrigan knew he was looking for her. She was
too embarrassed to draw attention to herself in a room full of people, but Hawthorne had no such qualms.

  “Jupiter! We’re up here!” he shouted, waving both arms over his head.

  Sliding down several inches in her chair, Morrigan hunched her shoulders up so high she might have been wearing her armpits as earrings. Fortunately, nobody heard Hawthorne over the raucous clapping, and so she quickly reached up to yank him down to his seat by the back of his shirt.

  “… and finally, representing the Beastly Division, Gavin Squires of Unit 899. Now, Mr. Squires, I believe you wish to begin?”

  “Thank you, Elder Wong,” Gavin Squires called out as he leapt up to take center stage, wheeling a small trolley of equipment. He was a wiry, energetic man, and covered in gnarly scars. Given he was wearing a sleeveless vest and shorts on a cold day, Morrigan suspected he was quite proud of them. “All right, everyone. I think you all know we’re coming up to a very special time of year…”

  There were a few knowing groans in the audience, and someone actually said, “Oh NO.”

  Gavin grinned shiftily, an amused little twinkle in his eyes. “Oh yes. Oh YES, my friends, the most wonderful time of the year is coming on fast—that special day we all look forward to—ladies and gentlemen, you know it and you love it…”

  He paused to fiddle with the equipment, and a moment later, a huge, moving, three-dimensional image of the ugliest creature Morrigan had ever seen in her life was projected upward into the vast space. She felt herself physically recoil from it, and she wasn’t the only one.

  “… that’s right, it’s the short but magical breeding season of the NEVERMOOR SCALY SEWER BEAST!”

  Morrigan had heard of the Nevermoor Scaly Sewer Beast, but she’d never seen it before, and truthfully, she’d never been certain it was real. The image was of a strange, yellow-white serpentine creature with transparent eyelids covering milky red eyes. Its bulbous belly hung low to the ground and it had six lizardlike legs ending in long, sharp claws. Its scales were rough and patchy, and entirely absent in random spots, revealing raw pink skin underneath. It had a long, powerful-looking tail that snapped back and forth in a threatening fashion. Its jaws opened wide to reveal a mouth full of far too many sharp curving teeth to be reasonable, and a forked, blackish-blue tongue.