Hollowpox: The Hunt for Morrigan Crow: Nevermoor 3

by Jessica Townsend

  Jack was due home from the Graysmark School that afternoon, but at Jupiter’s request, Charlie went to fetch him home in a motorcar so he wouldn’t have to take the Wunderground. Morrigan was relieved to see him, but she also worried about Hawthorne and Cadence and the rest of her unit. She had no way of checking on them – her door to Station 919 remained locked. All she could do was hope they were safe at school or at home, and pace around the concierge desk like a caged unnimal, and chew her fingernails down to nothing.

  All day long they waited for some spark of hope, a bit of good news. What they got instead was the declaration of a citywide lockdown for all citizens, Wunimal and human alike.

  ‘Prime Minister Steed has ordered all residents of Nevermoor to stay inside their homes on what promises to be the most dangerous night of the Hollowpox epidemic so far,’ announced a grave female voice.

  That was when Dame Chanda decided she’d had enough.

  ‘That’s IT!’ she snapped, getting up to turn off the radio. ‘No more. No more moping, no more waiting for Steed to develop a spine. We’re not helping matters by sitting around being miserable. Fenestra, please take this dreadful nightmare device away and hide it from us.’ She tossed the radio to Fen, who caught it between her teeth and bounded up the spiral staircase.

  Morrigan felt a wrench. ‘But what if—’

  ‘If anything good happens, we’ll know about it,’ Dame Chanda said firmly. ‘Jove will come home and tell us himself. Until then, I think there’s somebody else we need to start listening to.’

  She looked around significantly. Morrigan and the others perked up, shaking off a news-induced stupor to notice their environment for the first time in hours.

  The Deucalion had undergone perhaps its best – certainly its cosiest – transformation yet. Every surface was covered with cushions and draped with soft fabrics in soothing colours, so that the whole lobby resembled one big blanket fort. There were piles of books and boardgames in every corner, baskets full of woolly bed socks and hot water bottles. Squashy armchairs, beanbags, pillows, duvets and mattresses were clustered around the big roaring hearth. Comforting smells of clean linen, hot chocolate and buttery popcorn filled the air.

  ‘A slumber party!’ Kedgeree said warmly as he pulled on a pair of bed socks. ‘The dear old gal knew just what we needed.’

  They all dashed off to change into pyjamas and dressing gowns. Jack and Morrigan raided the kitchen for marshmallows and made a huge pile of peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwiches for everyone. Frank finessed the ambiance with cheerful music and some artfully strung fairy lights. Dame Chanda braided Martha’s hair, and Frank painted Charlie’s nails, and Kedgeree read aloud from his favourite book of poems, and they played charades and boardgames all night long and if anyone thought about the terrible, frightening things that might be happening outside, nobody spoke of them aloud.

  Morrigan woke from a nightmare in which she was being hunted by a pack of lions. The lions turned into foxes, and the foxes all wore Sofia’s face and Sofia’s burgundy jacket, and they all wanted to devour Morrigan whole.

  She sat up in her beanbag, shaking a little, and pulled a knitted blanket close around her shoulders. The fire had burned down to embers, and everyone else was fast asleep. At some point in the night, Fenestra had evidently left the gigantic nest of bedding by the fireplace and curled up against the door to the service hallway instead. It was unclear whether she was waiting for Jupiter or standing guard, but the sound of her deep-sleep purring reverberating through the cavernous lobby was immensely comforting.

  It should have been enough to send Morrigan back to sleep, but it wasn’t. Now she was awake, she had to know what was happening outside. She crept up to Jupiter’s study and flicked on his radio, turning the dial until she found what she was looking for.

  ‘—legislation which has been very well received by manufacturing unions in the Fourth Pocket,’ said a newsreader. ‘More on that later in the programme, but our lead story is of course the announcement made by the prime minister’s office just after midnight.’

  Morrigan squeezed the arms of Jupiter’s desk chair, hardly daring to hope.

  ‘For the first time since Nevermoor closed its borders to the Republic many Ages ago,’ came the familiar, albeit rather tired-sounding voice of Gideon Steed, ‘the Wintersea Party has extended a hand of friendship towards us, and we have accepted it with a watchful but welcoming spirit. The Free State is an independent nation, a strong and proud nation – but we are not too proud to accept help where it is offered, especially when the lives of our citizens are at risk.’

  He’d done it. Morrigan could have burst into song, or into tears, she was so relieved and happy. This was really happening! Steed had accepted Maud’s offer. Sofia was going to be all right – and Juvela, and Brutilus, and Colin and every other Wunimal in Nevermoor. They were going to be cured! She hugged the wireless radio tight to her chest, unable to contain a squeal of joy.

  ‘This morning at nine o’clock,’ Steed continued (Morrigan glanced reflexively at the clock on the wall – it was just after three), ‘history will be made in Nevermoor. We will temporarily, and on a very limited operational basis, open the border between us – the First Pocket of the Free State – and the Wintersea Republic.

  ‘On my invitation, President Wintersea will enter the Free State on a diplomatic mission, bringing with her one other representative of the Republic. This emissary from the Wintersea Republic is a philanthropist, an energy industry leader, and the creator of the only known cure for the Hollowpox.’ He paused, and Morrigan’s smile faltered as she felt her brain trip over those words. A frown creased her forehead.

  Energy industry leader.

  Gideon Steed’s voice seemed to fade away, and Maud Lowry’s rang inside her head. Why in the world would a thirteen-year-old care about the machinations of the energy industry?

  A deeply unpleasant sensation crept upon her, like she was being squeezed from the inside. Heat rose from her neck all the way up to her hairline. The small room seemed to have lost all its air.

  Squall was the energy industry leader. He was the emissary.

  Steed was about to open the border to the Free State’s greatest enemy. How could the prime minister, of all people, not have realised that? He must know about Squall Industries – surely he could figure out who this ‘emissary’ must be, surely he’d put the facts together!

  Morrigan turned off the radio. She tugged at the collar of her nightshirt, which suddenly felt as if it was choking her.

  So that’s it, then, she thought, staring blankly at the wall. They would open the border and Squall would be welcomed back into Nevermoor. He’d found a way in, at last, and it was all her fault. Oh god, she felt sick. She felt unbelievably, unforgivably stupid.

  She’d made this happen for him! Squall had manipulated her, he had choreographed this entire ridiculous routine, but she’d been fool enough to dance right into it. The Gossamer Line hadn’t taken her to the Chancery by accident at all – he’d meant for her to go there! He’d made the Hollowpox, not so that he could trick her into becoming his apprentice – his sights were set much higher than that. He’d been swindling his way back into Nevermoor all along.

  Did President Wintersea know, Morrigan wondered. Was she in on the plan, or had she been manipulated too? The Wintersea Republic relied on Squall Industries and its dangerous figurehead. Wunder was scarcer there than in the Free State, and as their only living citizen able to gather, command and distribute it, Squall was the supplier of the Republic’s every comfort and practical need. If he wanted a favour in return, President Wintersea would surely have no choice but to grant it. Was she, like Morrigan, just another puppet in Squall’s show?

  Should Morrigan warn her somehow? Her thoughts raced, pulse pounding in her neck.

  Could Steed really open the border to Squall? Certainly he could stand down the Ground Force, the Sky Force, the Stink, the Stealth, the Royal Sorcery Council, the Paranormal
League and every other organisation that watched over the borders.

  But what about the ancient magic of Nevermoor that supposedly kept Squall out? Would it still matter, would it work without all that other help? Morrigan had no way of knowing.

  She had to tell someone, she had to tell Jupiter! Had he figured it out already? He knew who Squall was. Surely he’d know what to do. Where was he – at Wunsoc? At the Houses of Parliament? She’d never been there, but it seemed a sensible place to start. She knew Jupiter. He would remain at the prime minister’s side until the job was done.

  Morrigan sprinted to her bedroom to get dressed. As she frantically pulled on her boots, she pictured a map of Nevermoor in her head, trying to plot the fastest route from the Hotel Deucalion to Parliament. Snatching up her umbrella from the bony fingers of the skeleton hat stand, just in case, Morrigan ran out her door and down the dim, cold hallway of the fourth floor – and stopped.

  There was a man in the hall.

  He turned to face her, desperate and wild-eyed, his white face ghost-like. With his shirt half untucked and hair dishevelled, he was almost unrecognisable. But when he spoke, Morrigan could feel the lightning-crackle of his panic through the Gossamer.

  ‘Don’t let them open the border!’

  It was Squall.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The Emissary

  Morrigan stared at Squall, trying to make sense of him. She felt a frenzied little laugh bubble up from her chest like a water fountain, then stop quite abruptly, as if it was stuck in her throat.

  ‘Sorry – what?’

  ‘I’m the emissary,’ he said urgently, staggering down the hallway towards her and holding his chest like he’d just run a marathon. She could see the whites of his eyes. ‘It’s me, I’m Wintersea’s emissary. You’ve heard, haven’t you? Steed’s opening the border to Wintersea and—’

  ‘You. Yes, I know it’s you.’ Morrigan took a reflexive step away from him. ‘I’d figured that much out.’

  ‘You can’t let – he mustn’t – are you listening to me?’

  He lunged forward, arms outstretched as if to grab her by the shoulders, but of course his hands fell straight through her.

  The back of Morrigan’s neck prickled. There were things about Squall that frightened her, but nothing so much as this. Nothing he’d ever said or done was as terrifying to Morrigan … as seeing him so frightened.

  What scared you this much, if you were the evillest man who ever lived?

  ‘But this is exactly what you wanted,’ she said, drawing back in revulsion. ‘You planned it this way!’

  ‘No. Listen to me—’

  ‘You made the Hollowpox so you could be the one to come into Nevermoor and unmake it. You risked thousands of lives, you killed people, killed Wunimals, just so you could worm your way back—’

  ‘I made the so-called Hollowpox,’ he raised his voice above hers, ‘because I was asked to. Because I was compensated handsomely for it. And because when the most powerful person in the realm asks for a favour, even I don’t refuse.’

  Morrigan’s head was spinning. ‘The most powerful – what are you talking about?’

  But even as she asked the question, a memory came to her of a conversation she’d had long ago. On Bid Day, in the Jackalfax Town Hall, before she’d ever come to Nevermoor or met Jupiter, or any of it. He had told her that he, Ezra Squall, was only the second most powerful person in the Republic. Second to—

  ‘President Wintersea?’ She laughed again, although there was nothing very funny about it. ‘You expect me to believe that President Wintersea asked you to create the Hollowpox?’

  ‘It was an extermination,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be for Nevermoor, it was for the Republic, but she saw an opportunity to use it to force her way into the Free State. That was never part of our deal. She’s the one who sent it in there – bundled an infected otterwun into one of her spy vessels and launched it into the River Juro. He thought he was escaping life under the Wintersea Party, but he was their weapon.’

  Morrigan’s stomach seized. ‘An extermination of Wunimals? She asked you to help her exterminate an entire group of people … and you did? Just like that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I could,’ he snarled, flinging his arms outwards in frustration. ‘And because I had to. Because I am a Wundersmith, and that is what we do. We say yes. We do the ghastly things that are asked of us by people in power, and we do the good things, and we take none of the credit and all of the blame. It’s what we do.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ she snapped back. ‘And if you were so happy to exterminate Wunimals in the Republic, why do you suddenly care about Wunimals in the Free State?’

  ‘I don’t!’ he said. ‘I couldn’t care less whether they live or die. I have no feelings about them whatsoever; that’s not my fight, it’s Wintersea’s. I only care about Nevermoor. But I can promise you that once Wintersea crosses that border, there will be no cure for the Hollowpox. She doesn’t want to help you.

  ‘The Wintersea Party wants to take Nevermoor, and they will. They will take it just as they reached out their iron fist from Great Wolfacre and took Prosper, and Southlight, and Sang. I know, because I helped them do it. They will crush Nevermoor the way they crushed those places. You think you’re going to save your Wunimal friends? No. The Wunimals will be the first to go, and they won’t stop there. Anyone who opposes them, anyone who presents the slightest threat to the party will be destroyed, imprisoned or enslaved. If you think that doesn’t mean you and every single one of your Wundrous Society friends with their very useful knacks, you are tragically mistaken.’

  ‘But you’re a Wundersmith.’ Morrigan was utterly baffled. ‘Why can’t you just stop them if they’re such a problem? I don’t understand!’

  ‘Do you THINK I HAVEN’T—’ Squall shouted, then cut himself off abruptly. He clamped his mouth shut and stared at her, breathing fiercely through his nose. When he spoke again it was in a tight, barely controlled growl. ‘Let her in, and the Wintersea Party follows. All you need to understand is how catastrophic that will be.’

  Morrigan thought about what Jupiter had said about Squall. We can’t stop him from entering Nevermoor on the Gossamer, but we must stop him from getting into your head.

  Was this all just an elaborate mind game?

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether you believe me, your predicament remains the same. If Steed doesn’t keep the Free State border closed, there will no longer be a Free State.’

  ‘And how exactly am I supposed to convince him to do that?’

  ‘You can’t. The only thing you can do is strike first. Make his solution obsolete. You have to destroy the Hollowpox yourself.’

  She let out a short, incredulous bark of laughter. ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll help you.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ she said, scowling. ‘Let me guess, you want to make a bargain? You’ll cure the Hollowpox for the low price of me becoming your apprentice? Pretty sure I’ve heard this somewhere before—’

  ‘No bargain.’ His face was solemn. ‘No price. I will give you everything you need to obliterate the Hollowpox. You will owe me nothing in return. All I want is for that border to remain closed.’

  Morrigan squeezed her eyes shut. Her brain ached from the effort of trying to understand him. ‘But you … you want to come back into Nevermoor! You told me it was agony to be apart from it.’

  ‘I want it more than anything,’ he agreed. ‘I want it more than life itself.’

  She watched him warily. This was undoubtedly the strangest conversation she’d ever had. Ezra Squall wanted her help … to keep him out of Nevermoor and to cure the Hollowpox, with no demands, no negotiations, no strings attached?

  ‘Let me be very clear.’ Squall’s jaw tightened. His voice was low and ugly, his face twisting with hatred, but in his black eyes there was a cold cla
rity. ‘I would do anything to return to Nevermoor. I would raze entire cities, end civilisations. My body may be on this side of the border, but every other part of me – my mind, my heart, my soul if I have one – every bit of me worth anything is there, in Nevermoor, and I would kill every living creature in the Republic if I thought it would bring me home.

  ‘So when I tell you not to let me in, when I tell you you’d be welcoming a far greater threat than I, you might do me the favour of taking it seriously. I would rather stay out in the cold forever than grant her even a moment of its warmth.

  ‘You think I’m the dangerous one,’ he continued in a whisper, ‘and you are correct: I have done terrible things. I am a ghoulish man, a maker of monsters. But Wintersea is a monster. Always hungry. Never satisfied. If you let her into our city, she will devour it.’

  Morrigan shivered. Her breath made clouds in the cold, dim hallway.

  ‘Why should I believe you?’ she asked finally.

  ‘I’ve never lied to you, Miss Crow.’

  ‘All you ever do is lie!’

  ‘I have never lied … to you.’

  And to Morrigan’s profound surprise, she realised that once again, she did believe him. An Ezra Squall experiencing a sudden, benevolent change of heart, ready to gift her a cure without asking anything in return, was not remotely convincing. But an Ezra Squall motivated by deep-rooted hatred and a spite so strong it thwarted his own ambitions? That she could believe.

  ‘How do I destroy the Hollowpox?’

  He gave a short whistle, low and eerie. The Hunt of Smoke and Shadow instantly appeared, swarming the hallway and wrapping around them both like a thick, black fog, until all she could see were Squall’s eyes, gleaming in the darkness.

  ‘By doing every single thing I tell you.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Summoner and Smith

  ‘Wunder is everywhere.’