Jupiter raised an eyebrow. ‘Your words, or hers?’
Morrigan ignored the question.
‘Maud wants to change things. She was actually really – I mean she seemed …’ Morrigan faltered. She couldn’t say the president was nice, exactly. There was something far too intimidating about her to be called nice. ‘Real.’
He made a sceptical face. ‘I know many Wintersea Republic citizens who would strongly disagree with that statement.’
‘She doesn’t have to be a perfect person, Jupiter, she just has to help us save our friends!’
‘Morrigan,’ he said, squeezing the bridge of his nose, ‘I don’t believe for a second that the Wintersea Party wants to help any Wunimals, let alone ours. It’s their laws that keep Wunimals in the Republic downtrodden and make their lives so dangerous, they’re the reason smuggling rings exist. It’s been that way for Ages.’
‘But what if she really does want to change things? The Wintersea Party found a cure to save their Wunimals, didn’t they? I’m sure that was her doing. How can she change anything if we don’t give her a chance?’
He seemed to consider that. ‘You realise this is a minefield, Mog. We can’t just jump in and—’
‘Jupiter, this morning Sofia—’ Morrigan’s voice broke and she found herself unable to finish the sentence. But it was clear from the grieved look on his face that he’d already heard Sofia was in hospital. ‘How many Wunimals have to suffer before we do decide to jump in? If you could just talk to Prime Minister—’
‘All right! Just … give me a minute.’ He heaved an overwhelmed sigh, leaned back in his desk chair and stared up at the ceiling. ‘I’m trying to get my head around all this. I still can’t believe you went into the Republic without talking to me first.’
‘Only on the Gossamer Line. I had to do something, didn’t I?’
Jupiter sat forward again, spluttering incoherently. ‘Wh-what – I mean – did you? Really? Why did you? Why would you think that, when there is an entire task force of adult Society members who are currently dedicating their lives to doing something? Forgive me, but nobody asked you to do anything!’
Morrigan flinched as if he’d flung a glass of cold water over her. She had a sudden memory of something Holliday Wu had said – she, too, had accused Morrigan of swooping in where she didn’t belong, where she wasn’t asked to be. Of making a mess.
Hurt feelings barrelled into anger, building like a wave inside her and then crashing violently, viciously.
‘And what exactly have all you adults done?’ she shouted. ‘Have you found a cure? Is Dr Bramble getting closer every day, or is she exactly where she was last week, and the week before that? You’re right. Nobody asked me to do anything, but I’ve DONE IT ANYWAY, on my own. I had to go outside the Free State to do it, but by some miracle I have found an ACTUAL adult who can ACTUALLY help.’
Now it was Jupiter’s turn to flinch.
‘Talk to Steed,’ she demanded, blinking back furious tears. ‘I don’t care if you’re not overly fond of him, just talk to him. Wintersea is going to ask him one more time to meet with her, leader to leader. All he has to do is finally accept her invitation, and we can have our friends back. Please, make him understand. If you don’t, I’ll – I’ll have no choice.’
Jupiter had turned very pale. ‘What do you mean, you’ll have no choice?’
‘I mean if Steed won’t accept help from Wintersea, I’ll accept it from Squall.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Dear Prime Minister
Morrigan had never been on a rollercoaster, but in the forty-eight hours following her argument with Jupiter, she thought she could imagine what it would feel like.
To her surprise, Jupiter seemed to have fully accepted his mission. He left immediately after their row, determined to convince the prime minister to meet with Wintersea, and was gone for the rest of the day. But when he arrived home late in the evening, he stormed past Morrigan, Martha and Fenestra in the lobby and headed straight for the glass elevator without a word to anyone. Whatever conversation he’d had with Steed, it obviously hadn’t ended well.
‘Weight of the world on his shoulders, that man,’ said Martha, with a rueful shake of her head as they watched him disappear. ‘Puts far too much pressure on himself.’
Morrigan said nothing, but she felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach. It was she, after all, who was putting pressure on him this time.
‘Yeah, I noticed he’s been a bit stressed,’ said Fenestra, yawning widely. She was stretched out, belly up, across the concierge desk, despite Kedgeree having already shooed her off it a dozen times that day. ‘So I got him a present. Left it on his bed.’
Morrigan and Martha shared a look of surprise.
‘I – gosh, Fen,’ said Morrigan. ‘That’s really nice. What did you—’
‘FENESTRAAAAAAA!’ Jupiter’s roar of fury echoed through the empty hotel and all the way down the spiral staircase.
Martha winced, peeking sideways at Fen. ‘Fish?’
‘Rat.’ The Magnificat looked extremely put out that her gift had been so poorly received. ‘It was a really big one, too. So ungrateful.’
Rather like its proprietor, the Hotel Deucalion was moody and frustrated. Unlike Jupiter, though, the Deucalion was acting out in increasingly peculiar ways.
The shutters still hadn’t come back up, despite the best efforts of Martha, Charlie and Kedgeree to force them open. All the guest suites and most of the staff quarters were cold and dark now. Morrigan’s bedroom was barely holding on; she’d had to relight her fireplace at least a dozen times that day, and the talon-foot bathtub, which usually filled to precisely the right depth before turning off its own taps, had overflowed and flooded the bathroom. She was most worried about her octopus armchair. It had barely twitched a tentacle for days.
But while most of the Deucalion had gone into hibernation, some of it had entered a kind of hyper-productive turbo-drive. The courtyard orchard off the south wing grew so wild, so quickly, that it was no longer an orchard so much as an edible jungle, with an autumn harvest at least seven times its usual size.
The lobby, too, was more alive than ever. It was transforming every couple of hours now, dressing with gay abandon for non-existent events Frank hadn’t planned. Mood lighting and cool jazz for a fancy cocktail party at six in the morning. Then a birthday party for no one, with so many helium balloons it was impossible to move (Fenestra gleefully sharpened her claws and took care of the whole lot by lunchtime).
By late afternoon it had transitioned into a grand, glamorous wedding. Dame Chanda thought it was an awful shame to waste the thousands of tapered white candles, elaborate floral arrangements and confetti-strewn aisle. She kept telling Martha and Charlie that impromptu nuptials would be terribly romantic and just the thing to cheer everyone up, but they stubbornly refused to take the hint.
With each new transformation, Frank and Kedgeree tried to gently talk the Deucalion down from whatever strange precipice it was on, reminding it that it was a time to rest and recharge, and things would be up and running again soon enough. But the Deucalion wouldn’t listen, and when the white wedding transitioned to a pool party – complete with a waterslide where the spiral staircase used to be – they decided it would be best to just go with it.
‘Ah, the poor wee lass,’ sighed Kedgeree, dressed in goggles and pink tartan swimming trunks, as he surveyed the very wet lobby from the end of a diving board that was once the concierge desk. ‘All dressed up and no party to throw.’
It wasn’t until the next morning that Morrigan worked up the nerve to knock on Jupiter’s study door. She’d braced herself for bad news, and was therefore shocked to see his satisfied expression as he laid copies of Nevermoor’s three major newspapers across the desk for her to see:
CURE? NO THANK YOU, SAYS PM
NOT JUST A HOLLOW OFFER?
Leaked Wintersea Letter Shows Steed Reluctant To Save Lives
PLEASE PRIME MINISTER, JU
ST SAY YES
‘Page two,’ said Jupiter, tapping the Sentinel.
Morrigan flipped the front page to see the word REVEALED! in huge red letters, above an image of a handwritten letter bearing what must have been Wintersea’s presidential seal: a butterfly silhouette overlaid with an ornate W. A glimpse inside the Morning Post and the Looking Glass showed they’d all printed the same letter.
Morrigan cleared her throat and began to read aloud.
‘Dear Prime Minister,
Thank you for meeting with me today. I regret that we were unable to come to an agreement, but I fear the citizens of the “Free State” you serve may come to regret your reticence much more deeply.
Once again, I wish to express my solidarity and sympathy for the challenge you are facing, both as a fellow head of state and a human being. The danger from this disease you call the “Hollowpox” is urgent; the devastation it leaves in its wake seems impossible to overcome. I speak from experience.
However, as I told you this morning, it is possible to overcome it.
We lost a great many lives before one of our citizens found a way to end this terrible disease and shared it with the entire Republic. We are now free from the horror of this illness – Wunimals and humans alike. I wish to pass on this act of generosity to you and your people. We will gladly give you the cure.
All I ask of you in return is hope.
The hope that our two nations might one day join hands across this great divide between us. That you and I – two modern, progressive leaders with an eye to our people’s future prosperity and security – might start a conversation that could lead to the healing of Ages-old wounds.
We in the Wintersea Republic have been where you are now. We have trod this difficult path. Please let me extend a helping hand on behalf of my country, and know that I do so in the open, earnest spirit of conciliation.
Most sincerely,
President Wintersea.’
Morrigan scrunched her face up. ‘I don’t understand. They … did meet?’
‘Mmm. Wintersea must have invited him just after you spoke with her, because the Elders already knew about it when I went to see them.’
‘How’d they know?’
‘Oh, the Wundrous Society’s always had informants in the prime minister’s office. Steed can barely go to the loo without someone reporting the event to Elder Quinn. When the Elders heard about Wintersea’s invitation and that Steed planned to reject it, they summoned the Hollowpox task force. Of course, I pretended not to know anything.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t you see? They told me about Wintersea, instead of the other way around. Nobody knows you used the Gossamer Line. Nobody knows you made a deal. Everything’s fine.’
‘Oh. Um – great.’ Morrigan felt that twinge of guilt again – and perhaps, if she was honest with herself, a little bit of pride at what she’d managed to bring about. Jupiter merely waved a hand, dismissing the small issue of her treasonous act.
‘So, three of us went to see Steed,’ he continued. ‘I raged, Dr Bramble reasoned, Inspector Rivers negotiated. But nothing got through to the great nincompoop, and finally he threatened to have us thrown out … so we had to call in the big guns.’
‘Elder Quinn?’
‘Elder Quinn.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘She was magnificent. A one-woman rage, reason and negotiation machine. She convinced him to have the meeting – and to start taking vitamins, and to get a better haircut, and to call his mother! She was really on a roll.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then … nothing. Steed took the meeting. They spoke via the Gossamer. We all stood by and listened. Wintersea was perfectly amiable, even charming. She offered the cure and only asked in return that Steed give her some indication that the Free State and the Republic might work towards achieving a less hostile diplomatic relationship. And Steed said no.’
‘Why?’
‘Partly because he’s too proud; he thinks her efficiency makes him look bad. And because he doesn’t want to appear weak or traitorous by negotiating with the enemy. And because he is – as I believe I mentioned – a nincompoop. The end.’
Morrigan glanced at the newspapers. ‘Except … not the end.’
‘Except not the end,’ Jupiter agreed. ‘Because late last night, Wintersea wrote a letter to Steed. And then …’ He gestured broadly to the newspapers covering his desk. ‘… the letter was leaked to every desk editor in Nevermoor.’
‘Holliday Wu?’
‘Holliday Wu.’
Morrigan smiled grimly. ‘So is she a genius this time, or a fiend?’
‘Maybe both.’ He tilted his head from side to side. ‘Maybe neither. It’s a slightly dirty trick, and it will expose Steed to a lot of public outrage … but he was asking for it.’
‘Right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘So what next? We have to keep the pressure on—’
‘Morrigan.’
‘—so do we start a petition, or … we should protest! Right outside Parliament—’
‘MORRIGAN,’ Jupiter barked. ‘There is no “next”. That’s it.’
She gaped at him. ‘You can’t be serious! You’re just going to give up?’
‘I did what you asked,’ he said. ‘I took it all the way to the prime minister’s office, I did everything I could to convince him, but Morrigan … this was the last trick up our sleeves. Hopefully it puts enough pressure on Steed that he’s forced to do the right thing, but as for your involvement or mine—’
‘But we can’t just—’
‘—it’s over.’
They stood glaring at one another in the world’s most furious and uncomfortable silence, until they were saved by a knock on the door.
‘Come in!’ Jupiter shouted, and Kedgeree entered, carrying a small wireless radio pressed to his ear.
‘You hearing this, Jove?’ he asked, pointing at the bigger radio on the desk, and Jupiter lunged to turn the dial up high. The stern voice of Gideon Steed filled the room.
‘—has proven effective in halting Hollowpox-related incidents at night, alleviating pressure on police and emergency responders. But I am afraid it simply isn’t enough, as this most recent chilling attack has shown.’
Jupiter looked at Kedgeree. ‘Most recent—?’
‘Happened barely an hour ago,’ Kedgeree replied gravely. ‘It’s all over the news – a lionwun professor at Nevermoor University. It was …’ He shook his head and closed his mouth tight, apparently unable to finish the sentence.
‘Any deaths?’
Kedgeree swallowed. ‘Four. Two teachers, a student, and the lionwun himself. The Stealth took him down.’
Jupiter made a strangled sound. Morrigan leaned against the back of an armchair, gripping the leather to stop herself swaying. Steed’s voice carried on.
‘—and therefore as of today, my government is announcing new extraordinary measures to combat this disease. We are ending the sunset curfew and instating a twenty-four seven lockdown for all Wunimals. Effective from midday today onwards, any Wunimal found outside their home will be arrested and could face up to a year in prison. These measures will continue until we are able to contain the Hollowpox. I will not be taking questions at this—’
Jupiter reached out and turned off the wireless.
‘What does he mean, “until we are able to contain the Hollowpox”?’ Morrigan frowned. ‘Everyone must know by now that Wintersea offered him the cure! Hasn’t he seen the papers?’
‘He’s absolutely seen them,’ muttered Jupiter. ‘That’s why he’s talking about curfews and lockdowns. He’s taking a page out of the Wundrous Society’s book – trying to distract people, to change the conversation, but it’s not going to work.’ He paused, gathering up the newspapers and heading for the door. ‘This will only make things worse.’
Jupiter disappeared again – presumably to rally the task force and the Elders to talk some sense into the prime minister, or at least that was what Morrigan hoped. Meanwhile, she and
everyone else in the Hotel Deucalion spent the rest of the day glued to the radio, absorbing a constant stream of terrible news.
The Stink began making arrests before the ban on Wunimals in public even went into effect. By ten o’clock, the news was reporting that seventeen Wunimals were already in lockup.
Everything seemed to snowball after that. In solidarity with those wrongly arrested, more Wunimals came out in protest, ignoring the lockdown order and swarming the streets.
Later that morning, there was a news broadcast live from the Senate, where Guiscard Silverback gave a surprising speech in which he urged Prime Minister Steed to put aside his pride and accept Wintersea’s offer.
The prime minister responded to Silverback’s mild criticism by having the police storm the Senate at precisely one minute past midday – before his speech had even ended – and arrest him for flouting the lockdown. The arrest, too, was broadcast over the radio.
Silverback went quietly, but the same could not be said for his supporters. His arrest caused outrage, doubling and tripling the numbers of Wunimals out on the streets by mid-afternoon. Soon humans came out to protest in solidarity, and to demand Steed accept the cure from the Wintersea Republic.
Marches were broken up all over Nevermoor, and some of them turned deadly. In Begonia Hills, a large dogwun turned on her fellow protestors. In Highwall, an elephantwun tipped over a carriage (nobody seemed certain whether he was infected with the Hollowpox or simply furious).
The attacks kept coming. It was as if the Hollowpox had read Nevermoor’s mood and responded in kind, suddenly culminating in dozens of infected Wunimals at once, then hundreds, creating a citywide emergency that was impossible to contain.
Jupiter sent a messenger to the hotel around lunchtime with strict instructions for them all to stay indoors, but he needn’t have bothered. Even as the lobby battled for their attention, transforming around them from hour to hour – from a miniature golf course to a casino to a three-ring circus – nobody moved from the radio.
Hollowpox: The Hunt for Morrigan Crow: Nevermoor 3 Page 35