“All right then, all right,” Gavin continued, holding up his hands for quiet. “You know the drill, people. The Scaly Sewer Beast breeding season brings many hundreds of nasty little baby beasts with their nasty little venomous teeth into our sewer system, and if we don’t control the population growth we’ll find Nevermoor overrun with these gigantic mummy and daddy versions”—he pointed at the picture—“in just a few short months, cos they grow up quick, the precious little blighters.
“Now I know this is nobody’s favorite job—plenty of us have been injured in the annual sewerfest, and the smell takes days to leave the old nostrils—but someone’s got to put their hand up to help us trap, tag, and relocate these wee beasties outside of the city. There are sixteen of us in the Beastly Division, and I reckon we’ll need another dozen helpers. If I don’t get enough volunteers, some of you might just get voluntold. So, show of hands, please: Who’s keen to rid Nevermoor’s sewers of their scaliest scourge?”
A few senior scholars reluctantly put their hands in the air, and a handful of older members too. Thaddea’s hand, though, shot into the air so fast it might have had an engine. The rest of Unit 919 turned to look at her in horror.
“Thaddea, you don’t seriously want to crawl down into the sewers to round up a bunch of those… things?” Anah asked in an incredulous whisper.
“You don’t seriously think I’d miss a chance to fight the Nevermoor Scaly Sewer Beast?” Thaddea whispered back at her, practically bouncing up and down in her seat to be seen by Gavin.
“Right, that’s eight brave volunteers, thank you very much,” said Gavin. “And I’ll also take Mitty Hayward, Susie-Lee Walters, Phyllis Lightyear—yes, I know you did it last year, pal, that’s why I want you back. Shouldn’t have done such a good job the first time around, if you didn’t want to get chosen again.” There was a rumble of laughter as Phyllis made a rude hand gesture at Gavin, who ignored it. “Oh! We’ve got another volunteer up the back there… What’s your name, my young friend?”
She leapt up from her seat. “Thaddea No-Retreat of Clan Macleod.”
Morrigan looked from Hawthorne to Cadence and back again, trying not to giggle. Thaddea who of Clan Macleod?
“Proudly born and raised atop the Highlands, in the Third Pocket of the Free State,” Thaddea continued in a resounding voice. “Daughter of Mary the Heart-Eater and Malcolm the Mellow, granddaughter of Deirdre the Deathbringer, great-granddaughter of Eileen Never-Surrender, great-great-granddaughter of Ailsa the Tetchy, great-great-great-granddaughter of Betty One-Kick, great-great-great-GREAT-granddaughter—”
“Well, Thaddea No-Retreat of Clan Macleod,” Gavin interrupted, holding up a hand and smiling widely, “if you’re that desperate to risk your limbs and spend days smelling like excrement, who am I to stop you? Welcome aboard.”
There was a vaguely shell-shocked round of applause for Thaddea from the older units as she took her seat, and a general sense of relief that all the spots on the mission had been filled and nobody else needed to volunteer.
“Such a weirdo,” muttered Cadence, giving her a halfhearted clap.
“A weirdo who gets to go into the sewers at night and hunt monsters,” Thaddea pointed out triumphantly, as if she’d just been granted the best treat imaginable. Cadence looked at Morrigan, and they shook their heads in bewilderment.
Gavin gave instructions for Team Scaly Sewer Beast to meet the following day and discuss their strategy, then ceded the floor to Holliday Wu from the Public Distraction Department.
Morrigan wasn’t sure she’d ever had reason or inclination to use the word fabulous before, but there was no other word for Ms. Wu. She wore the tallest, shiniest shoes Morrigan had ever seen, fiery red lipstick, and a tailored, aubergine-colored three-piece suit. She had a high, sleek black ponytail with a shaved undercut, and a row of hefty diamond studs along the entire outer edge of her left ear. She was better dressed than even Jupiter. She was fabulous.
“Right, the Unusual Engineering team will be shutting down Nevermoor’s entire sewage system and the Wunderground network while the Beastly Division hunts for these disgusting things,” she announced without preamble. “Gavin assures me he can get the job done in two to three hours. It will begin at dusk, because that’s when the Nevermoor Ugly Sewer Whatever is most active and therefore easiest to locate.
“With that in mind: We need a massive, cross-borough Distraction that will keep a city full of people occupied for three hours at peak travel time on a weeknight, during which they cannot use trains or flush the loo. Not a small ask, and the last thing we want is to create mass panic.” Holliday brought up a map of Nevermoor on the projector, marked in several places with a large red X. “We also need to ensure the population is kept away from these thirteen locations specifically, which have been identified by the Beastly Division as high-risk areas—breeding hot spots for the Nevermoor Creepy Vomit Thing. We will need to shepherd as many people as possible away from these locations, including those who live there. Now, as usual—”
“Why?” Morrigan called out, before she’d even realized she’d opened her mouth. The room fell silent and everyone turned to look at her.
“Why what?” asked Holliday, a line of confusion creasing her brow.
Morrigan’s face burned. The question had been percolating in the back of her head ever since Elder Quinn’s speech to Unit 919. But she hadn’t actually meant to ask it out loud. Her gaze flicked over to Jupiter, and she saw he was smiling at her. He gave a small, encouraging nod. She cleared her throat and sat up straight.
“Why… do we have to distract people?”
There were a few sniggers from the front rows, but most people just looked perplexed. Holliday, however, narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No!” Morrigan said quickly. “I just mean… well. Why can’t people know the truth about Nevermoor? They live here. Wouldn’t it be sort of… easier? And maybe safer? If everyone knew, they could just stay calm and… I suppose… keep out of the way.”
She trailed off as her question was met with a rumble of laughter. Many of the older Society members were shaking their heads.
However, just as she was wishing a large bird of prey would swoop into the room, pluck her from her chair, and carry her very far away, Elder Saga the bullwun took the floor and glared them all into silence. It was a formidable glare, made all the more impressive by the sight of his enormous horns, his broad shaggy chest, and the intimidating way he was inclined to stamp his hooves.
“It’s not an unreasonable question,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice. “There are occasions when we tell people—at least some people. Those who need to know. Our own internal law enforcement regularly liaises with the Nevermoor City Police Force, for example, and authorities across all Seven Pockets of the Free State. Sometimes we even share information with the prime minister’s office, who will pass it on to the public as they see fit. But that’s a last resort, generally speaking.”
Morrigan swallowed, and couldn’t help asking again: “Why?”
“Because often, Miss Crow, telling people they are at risk creates a different, sometimes even greater risk. People are dangerous when they’re frightened. Remember that.”
Elder Saga said those last few words to the room at large, fixing them with his trademark unwavering gaze, then yielded the floor to Holliday Wu—who carried on as if there had been no interruption.
“As usual, we do expect backlash. We can’t avoid that. What we can avoid is people getting in our way, getting hurt, and messing things up for us.” Holliday crossed her arms and swung her ponytail back over her shoulder. “Ideas?”
“What about what we did last breeding season?” called out one of the older scholars. “Fireworks night? It got everyone looking up instead of down.”
She gave one short, sharp shake of her head. “It also scared the sewer beasts deeper into hiding. Stupidest idea we’ve ever had, to be honest—too noisy,
too expensive.” Holliday’s expression was cool, but her jaw tightened very slightly. Morrigan could tell the memory of this failure still rankled. “Anyone else?”
A round of ideas shouted from the gallery included a parade, a citywide blackout, and a targeted tornado, each of which Holliday shot down in flames.
“Come on, people, you’ve just named all the things we did the last four years. Let’s try to innovate.”
“We could declare war on the Second Pocket!”
Holliday shot a scathing look at the person who suggested that. To Morrigan’s utter lack of surprise, it was the odious Baz Charlton, Cadence’s patron.
“Idiot,” Cadence whispered next to her.
“And then what?” Holliday asked Baz in a flat voice.
He shrugged. “And then… cancel it?”
She rolled her eyes and then scanned the audience again. “Any ideas that won’t incite further mass panic?”
The Gathering Place fell to quiet muttering as people seemed to run out of steam. Finally, Jupiter raised a hand, and the muttering instantly ceased. Morrigan could almost feel the room leaning forward to hear what Captain Jupiter North had to say.
“What about Golders Night?”
“Golders Night,” Holliday echoed, and her expression grew thoughtful. She tapped a finger against her mouth. “There’s a thought… what’s it been, twelve years since the last one?”
“Fourteen, I believe,” said Jupiter. “Spring of Seventeen in the Age of Poets. A Wunderground train had gained sentience and was holding the other trains hostage underground. It required an extraordinary distraction.”
Morrigan, Hawthorne, and Cadence shared a look. It was a very specific look of mingled bemusement, horror, exasperation, and resignation. The kind of look one reserves for special occasions, such as when you’ve just learned that trains can come to life and hold other trains hostage, and that you’ve unwittingly joined an organization full of people who have for some reason decided to nose into this sort of business, and you don’t really feel like getting involved but you’re just going to have to go along with it because everybody else is. That kind of look.
“The Treasury won’t let us do it very often—for the obvious reason,” added Jupiter. “But it’s always effective. Almost guarantees an eighty-five to ninety percent participation rate.”
What was “the obvious reason,” Morrigan wondered? What even was a Golders Night?
“Fifteen percent nonparticipants—nothing we can’t manage,” said Holliday, waving a hand. “Right, Golders Night. Sounds promising. Let’s workshop this.”
They carried on for another hour, and the meeting became a freewheeling, rapid-fire session of strategic planning, with Mundane and Arcane members of all ages jumping in to give suggestions, criticisms, and offers of assistance. Morrigan felt like she was finally seeing the real Wundrous Society in action.
What emerged by the end was an exhaustive, foolproof plan to distract the entire population of Nevermoor from Operation Scaly Sewer Beast. Even Unit 919, excluding Thaddea, had a small role to play… something Morrigan was a little apprehensive about.
Sometimes it felt like everything about the Society was a test. A trial. And just when you thought you’d passed all the trials there could possibly be, another one popped up.
Be honest. Be smart. Be brave. Be loyal.
Now this.
Be useful.
Jupiter had warned Morrigan about this, two whole years ago, when he’d first explained to her what the Wundrous Society was offering. Respect, adventure, fame! Reserved seats on the Wunderground! Pin privilege, he’d called it.
But it was a privilege the Society expected you to earn not just once, not just in the entry trials, but over and over again, for the rest of your life.
She hadn’t thought about it much at the time. But he had warned her.
Morrigan had hoped to speak to Jupiter after the meeting, but he appeared to be deep in discussion with Holliday Wu and Elder Saga. She dithered for a moment, but soon she and Unit 919 were caught up in the stream of people leaving the Gathering Place and it was too late.
The mood in Proudfoot House was celebratory. Cheerful, excited chatter rose up around them as groups of junior scholars discussed their plans for the Christmas holidays, but Morrigan and her friends didn’t speak for a long time. It felt like someone had just thrown a hand grenade into their midst. They’d had a vague idea that the Wundrous Society was up to more than they knew—the Elders had dropped hints, after all. Nobody had ever mentioned, however, that Wundersmiths were the source of almost all their problems and the focus of their work. Jupiter certainly hadn’t. She would need to speak with him about that.
Morrigan knew she had to be the first to say it, but as they pushed through the doors of Proudfoot House into the chill air of the grounds, they were met with a group of older scholars who’d evidently been waiting for them.
“Now you know why everyone hates Wundersmiths,” said a boy from Unit 917, taking the words right out of her mouth. “Because we’re always having to clean up your mess.”
“I told you she was dangerous!” A familiar girl with moss-green hair and a nasty scowl squared up to Morrigan, casually tapping a steel throwing star against the side of her leg.
Heloise Redchurch was one of Morrigan’s absolute least-favorite people in the world (and the world contained both Baz Charlton and Dulcinea Dearborn, so that really was saying something). The older scholar had once made her friends pin Morrigan against a tree while she lobbed throwing stars at her head, so Morrigan thought she might even have been in the number one spot.
“Maybe that’s why the Elders kept your knack a secret so long,” said the boy. “They were worried we’d make you answer for Ezra Squall’s crimes.”
Heloise grinned maliciously. “Maybe we should.”
Morrigan felt a little tingle in her fingertips, and while she was sorely tempted to summon Wunder and give Heloise something to really be frightened of, the ironic truth was that she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do with it.
Dangerous, Morrigan thought. Sure.
She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by Cadence.
“Yeah, she is dangerous.” The mesmerist took a very deliberate step forward. “So am I. Wanna have a go?”
Morrigan was surprised, but Heloise and the older scholars jumped in alarm; it was clear they hadn’t noticed Cadence standing there at all (which, incidentally, was part of what made mesmerists so dangerous).
“Me too.” Thaddea stepped forward, hands on hips. Morrigan had to stop a gurgle of shocked laughter from escaping her throat. “I know six different martial arts and I can swing a sledgehammer like it’s a yo-yo. Shall I demonstrate?”
“Yeah, and I know dragons,” said Hawthorne. “Lots of ’em.”
Morrigan couldn’t help giggling for real at that. She felt suddenly filled with warmth as the eight other members of her unit crowded in around her. The words of the Wundrous Society oath they’d taken at their inauguration rang in her ears: Sisters and brothers. Loyal for life.
“I have poisonous mushrooms at home,” added Francis ominously.
“And—and I could cut out your liver with a SCALPEL!”
This last, nervy declaration came from the most unlikely source.
“Anah!” Morrigan cried in shock.
“Well… I could,” Anah insisted, and there was only the tiniest tremor in her voice. “In sterile conditions, obviously, and only if they were under a general anesthetic.”
The rest of the unit burst into laughter, Thaddea clapped Anah on the back, and Mahir shouted, “Brava!” and just like that, all the tension of the confrontation had dissipated. Unit 919 pushed past the older scholars as one, leaving their shocked assailants behind on the marble steps.
Morrigan grinned at Anah as they marched across the grounds toward the Whingeing Woods. “Not supposed to use your knack on other students, you know.”
“Oh, shush” was
Anah’s slightly shaky response.
But she looked quite pleased with herself.
Not long after Morrigan got home, there was a knock on her bedroom door.
She knew instantly who would be standing on the other side when she opened it. For a moment, she considered yelling at him to go away and that he could come back only when he’d decided to stop keeping really rather important information from her.
But she changed her mind when a slightly fretful voice from the hallway called out, “Mog? Mog, are you there? I come bearing cake.”
Sure enough, the door swung open to reveal an enormous ginger beard, a pair of sheepish blue eyes, and a smile that was at least seventy percent wince. Jupiter was struggling to hold up a truly enormous rectangular cake, covered in pale yellow buttercream with words written in bright pink icing. He seemed to have sacrificed punctuation and legible print to fit the whole message, which read:
SORRY I DIDN’T TELL U ABOUT C&D BUT THE THING IS I CAN’T ALWAYS TELL U EVERYTHING & I KNOW THAT’S NOT IDEAL BUT IT IS WHAT IT IS SOMETIMES THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE I HAVE TO PROTECT & OTHER PROMISES I HAVE TO KEEP BUT I PROMISE I WILL NEVER LIE ABOUT ANYTHING THAT MIGHT ENDANGER U BECAUSE EVEN IF TELLING U ALL MY SECRETS CAN’T BE MY TOP PRIORITY I PROMISE THAT PROTECTING U ALWAYS WILL BE. KINDEST REGARDS JUPITER P.S. HAPPY LAST DAY OF TERM
Morrigan read the entire message, her lips forming the words silently, then read it again. Jupiter’s arms were shaking with the effort of holding up the gigantic cake, but she didn’t invite him to put it down, and to his credit, he didn’t ask.
“Kindest regards?” she said finally.
“I was going to write ‘lots of love’ but I thought it would embarrass you.”
Hollowpox: The Hunt for Morrigan Crow Page 4