Hollowpox: The Hunt for Morrigan Crow: Nevermoor 3

by Jessica Townsend

  Cadence nodded. ‘Course you can. We’re your sisters. Loyal for life, remember?’

  That only seemed to make things worse. Anah looked up at Cadence with a mixture of shock and gratitude, her tears now flowing freely, and choked out a sob. ‘That’s … th-that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.’

  Cadence folded her arms. ‘Yeah. I’m nice. Shut up.’

  ‘Breathe, Anah, and tell us what’s wrong,’ said Morrigan.

  Anah took a deep, shuddering breath, and whispered, ‘They’re waking up.’

  ‘Who’s waking – wait, the Wunimals?’

  ‘Shhh!’ said Anah, glancing up and down the hall. ‘Most of the Majors. None of the Minors. Yet.’

  ‘But that’s brilliant news! Isn’t it?’ Morrigan finished uncertainly, while Anah squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

  ‘They’re not … Wunimals any more.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Cadence.

  ‘They’re just …’ She took a jagged breath. ‘Unnimals. They’ve turned into unnimals.’

  Morrigan stared at her. ‘But that’s not possible.’

  ‘It started with the leopardwun … the leopard, now, I suppose. She woke up on Saturday and at first everyone was really happy, but … she had no idea who she was, or where or what she was. She couldn’t speak. She wouldn’t eat anything but raw meat. Didn’t understand a word we said, she was just angry and scared. Pacing and growling like a caged unnimal. And now …’ Anah bit back a sob. ‘Now that’s exactly what she is. They gave her a needle and sent her to sleep and when she woke up … they’d locked her in a cage.’

  So Juvela De Flimsé was awake. Since Saturday.

  Morrigan thought of Dame Chanda and her deep blue melancholy. This would break her heart. What would she do, if she knew?

  ‘They’ve put them all in c-cages,’ Anah hiccupped. ‘All the most dangerous ones – the leopard and Brutilus Brown and the jackal and … I don’t know, about three dozen more. They’re sedated most of the time but when they’re awake … oh, it’s so awful.’

  ‘What about the Minors?’ said Cadence. ‘Will they be the same when they wake up? Surely if they’re more … you know. Human …’ She looked at Morrigan, unsure how to finish that thought.

  ‘We don’t know yet.’ Anah sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. ‘But Dr Lutwyche said he wants to start moving the Majors next week.’

  ‘Moving them where?’ said Cadence. She dug around in her bag and produced a rumpled but clean tissue, rolling her eyes when Anah’s face dissolved at this newest small act of kindness.

  ‘Who knows? I heard him and Dr Bramble arguing about it. Dr Lutwyche says the hospital isn’t a zoo. But that’s how they’re treating them! Like unnimals in a—’

  ‘Kahlo!’ came a sharp voice from down the corridor. ‘Kahlo, where are you? We need an extra pair of hands in here.’

  ‘Coming, Dr Lutwyche.’

  Anah hastily wiped her face, straightened her uniform and rushed away without another word to Morrigan and Cadence, looking almost as if nothing was wrong.

  Morrigan spent the rest of the afternoon on Sub-Nine in a water-Weaving class alongside eleven-year-old Elodie and Ezra, utterly unable to concentrate. When she wasn’t thinking about what Anah had said, she was staring – distracted and furious – at the young Ezra building a whirlpool inside a glass with maddening ease.

  It was a long, difficult lesson, but by the end of the day Morrigan could make a puddle of water splash without anybody jumping in it. She wasn’t as quick or precise as the younger students, and she was utterly exhausted afterwards. But still, it was progress. She only wished she was as accomplished with water as she was with fire.

  Two strange and upsetting things happened on the way home that afternoon: first, during their walk through the Whinging Woods to the station, someone parachuted down onto the path in front of Morrigan and shoved a camera right in her face.

  ‘What are they teaching you here at the Wundrous Society, Morrigan Crow?’ the woman demanded breathlessly. Morrigan was so shocked she said nothing, did nothing, and the woman gained a little courage. ‘Are you really a Wundersmith? Why don’t you show the public what you can do? We all know it’s a lie, just a publicity—’

  ‘Oh, go climb a tree,’ snarled Cadence, and the parachutist dropped her camera and obeyed without hesitating, much to the chagrin of the nearest oak tree.

  ‘Git orf me!’ it grumbled. ‘Ow, that’s my nose you’re standing on, you wretch!’

  They left the stranger to be swatted by tree branches and swarmed by a group of senior scholars (who seemed outraged more by the campus breach, Morrigan thought, than her surprise interrogation).

  The second strange and upsetting thing came just a few minutes later when Mahir turned on Miss Cheery’s wireless radio.

  ‘—from the Department of Agriculture,’ a cool, calm female voice was saying, ‘who reports bubbleberry farmers in the Fifth Pocket are bouncing back after last year’s lacklustre harvest. More on that story to come.

  ‘But first, the news from the capital. Laurent St James, Silver District tycoon and leader of the newly formed Concerned Citizens of Nevermoor Party, has today offered a fifty-thousand-kred reward to anyone who can provide, quote, “indisputable visual proof” of the claim made in the Sunday Post this weekend, that the Wundrous Society is harbouring and training a genuine Wundersmith, thirteen-year-old scholar Morrigan Crow.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The Hunt for Morrigan Crow

  The announcement was met with horror from 919 and a furious sigh from Miss Cheery, who immediately stomped over to turn off the radio.

  ‘That scumbag,’ said Hawthorne, punching a beanbag to vent his feelings. ‘That foul rat!’

  ‘Fifty thousand!’ muttered Thaddea. ‘Imagine having that much money and spending it all just to see Morrigan be a bit rubbish.’

  Miss Cheery sighed again. ‘Thaddea.’

  ‘What? She is, though. No offence, Morrigan.’

  Cadence clicked her fingers. ‘Oh! The woman in the parachute – that’s what she wanted! She was trying to goad you into using the Wundrous Arts so she could get it on film and claim the reward. What a cow.’

  ‘Good thing you didn’t give it to her,’ said Arch.

  ‘Yes,’ Miss Cheery agreed. ‘Excellent restraint.’

  Morrigan didn’t say anything. Restraint had nothing to do with it. It was just lucky she’d been so depleted from her afternoon lesson, or she might have unwittingly obliged.

  While the others raged around her, dreaming up appropriate punishments for Scumbag St James (as they were now calling him), Morrigan prodded her feelings a little, trying to find the tender spot, searching for her own rage. Surprisingly, she found she was so tired and so worried by what Anah had told her about the Wunimals waking, there wasn’t any room left inside her to care very much about this new development. She made all the right noises, joining in the hypothetical revenge scenarios. But – not for the first time – she felt she was down at the bottom of a cool, dark lake, while they all splashed about on the surface.

  By the time she got home to the Deucalion, heavy-footed and aching all over, Morrigan could only think of hot food and a hot bath, in exactly that order, and she hoped desperately that the Grand Sulk hadn’t spread to the kitchens yet. She’d just opened her bedroom door to go and find out when Jupiter strode through it – red-faced, arms and brolly swinging wildly – and flung his hat on the floor to stomp on it.

  ‘Holliday Wu is a FIEND!’

  Morrigan stared at him, nonplussed. ‘You’ve changed your tune.’

  ‘It wasn’t. Baz. At. All,’ he said, emphasising each word with another stomp on his now irreversibly damaged hat, before kicking it so hard it slid all the way across the hardwood floor and crashed with a floomp against the far wall. ‘It was her. Or rather it was them.’

  ‘Them who?’

  ‘The Elders! They cooked up the whole thing with Hol
liday and the Public Distraction Department.’ He ran a hand through his waves of ginger hair and began a feverish pacing back and forth, tapping his brolly against the side of his leg. ‘Of course. Because that’s what they do, isn’t it? They distract people from whatever they want to hide, using whatever – whoever – is most convenient. Throwing anyone they have to under a bus. In this case, Mog, that happens to be YOU.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘That “anonymous source within the society” who went to the papers? It was Holliday, acting with the permission – no, under the instruction of the High Council of Elders.’

  ‘What? No. Elder Quinn wouldn’t—’

  ‘Oh, Elder Quinn did,’ said Jupiter, coming to a decisive halt. ‘She did exactly what the Elders always do: she put the Society first. It’s perfect, don’t you see? Things were going so well for them after you resurrected the fireblossoms, nobody was talking about the Hollowpox any more or questioning our way of dealing with it. It was Holliday’s idea to capitalise on it by leaking the truth about you to the Sunday Post, but believe me, the Elders enthusiastically signed off on the plan. Do you know,’ he said, suddenly thoughtful, ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever been quite so angry in all my life. I think I could bottle this rage and sell it to – I don’t know, competitive heavyweight boxers or something.’

  Morrigan felt something dark and disquieting settle on her heart, heard Squall’s words echo in her head.

  They’re going to flip the script.

  Had he really been so prescient? Was this just the betrayal he’d meant?

  ‘But they’re the ones who wanted it kept a secret – I mean Elder Quinn herself said everyone had to uphold their oath and protect the secret and … sisters and brothers, and all that. Loyal for life. Those hypocrites!’

  ‘Hmph,’ Jupiter grunted. ‘The thing is, Mog, it wasn’t going to remain a secret forever. It had to come out some time – these things always do – but I assumed we’d have some warning, some way to prepare. I’m sorry it’s happened this way, I truly am.’

  If Morrigan had been exhausted before, now she felt as though her skeleton might crumble to dust inside her body. It was the most unfortunate moment to notice that her bed had become a table.

  She sighed, leaning against the wall and sliding all the way down to the floor. This’ll do, she thought wearily.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘Isn’t this worse for the Society? People are terrified of Wundersmiths, and now they know the Elders have been hiding one. That’s worse than the Hollowpox! It’s like covering up the fact that you have a box of spiders by telling everyone you also have a box of … acid-spouting land dolphins. Or something. And now that man from the Concerned Citizens is offering—’

  ‘Oh, you heard about that,’ said Jupiter darkly. He crossed the room to pick up his hat and tried (unsuccessfully) to punch it back into shape.

  ‘It just seems like they’ve made themselves a bigger problem,’ she said, yawning. ‘I really don’t think the Elders thought this through.’

  ‘Nor do I. I suspect the decision was made in a blind panic, because …’ He glanced at her and paused, as if uncertain whether he should go on. ‘Because something happened on Saturday that made them realise they were sitting on a much worse story, one that could widen the rift between humans and Wunimals for good, and they needed everyone’s attention elsewhere while they quietly decided what to do. Mog, what I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room. It’s extremely sensitive information—’

  ‘The Wunimals started waking up,’ Morrigan said quietly. ‘And they’ve become unnimals.’

  His eyes widened.

  ‘Anah told me. But don’t tell Dr Lutwyche, will you? Cadence and I made her tell.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he agreed. ‘If you promise not to tell Dame Chanda about Juvela De Flimsé. I think it would break her heart.’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I thought. Better to wait until Dr Bramble’s found the cure.’ She looked slantwise at him. ‘She must be close now.’

  ‘Hmm. We’re getting closer every—’

  ‘Closer every day, yeah, you keep saying that.’ Morrigan raised an eyebrow. ‘Jupiter, what if the only person who can cure it …’

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and I demand you stop thinking it this instant.’

  She scowled. ‘You’re not the thought police of me.’

  ‘I told you, Squall is a liar. And even if he’s telling the truth, there is nothing he can offer that’s worth what he wants in return. It’s not an option. Dr Bramble is brilliant, Morrigan, truly – and she’s on the verge of a breakthrough. I know she is.’

  Was Squall altogether a liar, though, Morrigan wondered. He hadn’t been lying about the Wundrous Society flipping the script.

  Jupiter clapped his hands once and smiled. ‘You must be famished! I’ll have a meal sent up to you, shall I? Rib eye steak, I think – you could do with the extra iron. And plenty of greens. And corn on the cob, you love corn on the cob. Soup to start, of course, you must have some soup – and a great big bowl of mulberry ice cream for afters, how about that? Lovely.’ Already out the door, he called back from the hallway, ‘You have a nice hot bath and supper will be outside your door when you’re ready. Ooh – and chocolate sprinkles! For the ice cream, not the soup. Although …’

  Morrigan knew he was running away before she could question him any more about Dr Bramble’s supposed verge-of-a-breakthrough, but she was too tired to be annoyed. She closed her eyes.

  Must remember to be annoyed tomorrow, she thought, before slipping fast into sleep.

  Morrigan woke next morning in the exact same spot, in the same slumped, half-sitting position, feeling as cosy and comfortable as she could ever remember feeling. The table across the room where her bed once stood was gone. A new bed had grown around her in the night, soft and warm like a cocoon of wool blankets and feather pillows, propping her up where needed, holding her so gently it felt like she was floating.

  She smiled, enjoying the bright, warm sunlight streaming in on her face, thinking she might just drift right back to sleep … then sat bolt upright with a gasp.

  Sunshine! What time was it? She ought to be at school by now.

  Jumping up – with some difficulty – from her pillowy cocoon, Morrigan ran for the station door and pressed her imprint to the circular lock … but nothing happened. It was cold and unlit.

  ‘What? Come on, you stupid thing.’

  She tried again and again, pressing harder each time. Still nothing.

  Ugh. Was this what happened when you slept in late and missed Hometrain, she wondered?

  Looking down at the wrinkled uniform she’d fallen asleep in, Morrigan shrugged. It would have to do. She grabbed her oilskin umbrella and bolted out the door – straight past a trolley holding last night’s dinner of now-cold steak and melted ice cream – and all the way downstairs, to find the lobby in an uproar.

  ‘Why not just call the police, darling, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘I did call them, Chanda – they’ve been here twice this morning already,’ said Kedgeree, in the closest thing to a raised voice Morrigan had ever heard him use. ‘Every time they move people on, more keep coming!’

  Dame Chanda paced fretfully across the chequerboard floor, her blue silk dressing gown sweeping behind her, while Charlie and Martha took turns peeking through the curtains. Fenestra sat by the door, glowering. She was still as a statue but for the ominous flicking of her tail back and forth, batting the floor like a drumbeat.

  There was an awful lot of noise coming from outside, so loud it penetrated the thick double doors, and what Morrigan could understand of it made her feel queasy.

  ‘COME OUT AND FACE US, WUNDERSMITH!’

  ‘GET OUT HERE! SHOW US WHAT YOU CAN DO!’

  Morrigan paused halfway down the stairs, clutching the bannister tight, her pulse suddenly thumping in her neck.

  Fenestra growled. ‘I
’m telling you, Kedgeree, just let me at ’em. I’ll have the whole greedy lot sorted in less than a minute.’

  ‘For the millionth time, Fen, no,’ said Kedgeree. ‘None of us is to confront these vultures, especially not you. Captain North was very clear about that.’

  Fen hissed at him. She seemed to be gathering a counterargument but was interrupted by a sudden SPLASH! from the forecourt, followed by a scream.

  Martha laughed, then clapped a hand to her mouth a little guiltily. ‘Oh dear. Looks like he’s started filling them with … good lord, what’s that, Charlie – blood?’

  ‘Blackcurrant juice, I think.’

  ‘And whose brilliant idea was it to give Frank water balloons on a day like— Oh! Good morning, Morrigan, darling,’ said Dame Chanda, affecting an unconvincing breezy air as she spotted her. She smiled widely, but Morrigan thought she could see a vein pulsing in her forehead. ‘Did you sleep well, my sweet? Everything’s nice and normal down here, as you can see. Shall we go up to the Smoking Parlour? My, don’t you look pretty in your uniform, black really is your—’

  ‘I know about the reward,’ Morrigan said, taking pity on Dame Chanda, who instantly collapsed onto the nearest sofa, fanning herself.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness, darling, I couldn’t bear the charade a second longer.’ She lifted her head and gave Morrigan a searching, worried look. ‘You must be ever so frightened.’

  ‘No,’ she lied. Her stomach gave an unpleasant squeeze. ‘I’m fine.’

  It had been one thing, hearing about it on the radio. Even the parachutist incident could almost have been amusing, if it had been just one lone oddball, out there. But this was different. This was her home, these people were right on her doorstep. Of course she was frightened.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Dame Chanda, though it was clear she didn’t believe the act. ‘Chin up and tally ho.’

  ‘Where’s Jupiter?’

  ‘He was summoned by the High Council of Elders early this morning, lass,’ said Kedgeree. ‘Wasn’t sure when he’d be back.’

  Morrigan sighed and ran a hand through her messy morning hair. She felt a prickling, staticky itch on her middle fingertip, but shook it out. ‘I can’t get into Station 919, which means I can’t get to Wunsoc. I was going to take the Brolly Rail, but …’