The Trials of Morrigan Crow

by Jessica Townsend

  Jupiter shrugged. “A talent, a skill, a unique selling point… whatever you want to call it. We call it a knack. Silly Wundrous Society–speak, of course; it merely refers to the marvelous and unique gift you possess which the Elders will deem extraordinary enough to grant you a lifelong place in the Free State’s most elite and prestigious institution. That’s all.” He grinned through his ginger beard in what he obviously thought was a charming fashion.

  “Oh, is that all?” Morrigan choked out a hysterical little laugh. “Well. I don’t have one, so—”

  “That you know of.”

  “And what do you know of?” There was an edge to her voice. What was he hiding?

  “I know lots of things. I’m very clever.” It was infuriating, the way he talked in circles. “Really, Mog—”

  “Morrigan.”

  “—you needn’t worry. Just get through the first three trials. The Show Trial is my problem. I’ll take care of it.”

  It all sounded… impossible. Morrigan slumped in her chair and sighed the deep, discontented sigh of someone who’d gotten quite a lot more than she’d bargained for. She cast Jupiter a sidelong look. “What if I don’t want to join the Society anymore? What if I’ve changed my mind?”

  Morrigan expected him to be shocked or outraged, but he just nodded. Like he’d known she’d say that. “I know it’s scary, Mog,” he said quietly. “The Society asks a lot. The trials are hard, and they’re only the start.”

  Terrific, she thought. It gets worse. “What happens after the trials?”

  Jupiter took a deep breath. “It isn’t really like a normal school. Scholars in the Wundrous Society are never coddled. People think Society members are given a free ride, that once you get this little golden pin”—he tapped the W on his collar—“the world will smooth itself out for you, and your path will always be free and easy. And they’re sort of right—the old gold spikes certainly open doors. Respect, adventure, fame. Reserved seats on the Wunderground. Pin privilege, people call it.” He rolled his eyes. “But within Society walls you’re expected to earn that privilege. Not just in the trials, not just once, but over and over again, for the rest of your life, by proving that you’re worthy of it. Proving you’re special.”

  He paused, looking at her seriously. “That’s the difference between the Wundrous Society and a normal school. Even when your studies are over, you’ll still be a part of the Society, and it will be a part of you. Forever, Mog. The Elders will hold you to account long after your years as a scholar, into adulthood and beyond.”

  Morrigan’s face must have betrayed how deeply unappealing all of this sounded, because Jupiter hurried to mend the damage. “But I’m saying the worst bits first, Mog, because I want you to have the full picture.

  “Look—the Wundrous Society is more than just a school. It’s a family. A family that will take care of you and provide for you your entire life. Yes, you’ll have a brilliant education, you’ll have opportunities and connections that people outside the Society could never dream of. But much more important than that—you’ll have your unit.

  “The people who go through these four trials with you and come out victorious… they will become your brothers and sisters. People who will have your back until the day you die. Who will never turn you away, but will care for you as deeply as you care for them. People who would give their life for yours.” Jupiter blinked furiously and rubbed a fist against the side of his face, looking away from her. Morrigan was startled to realize that he was blinking back tears.

  She’d never known someone could feel so strongly about his friends. Probably because she’d never had a friend. Not a real one. (Emmett the stuffed rabbit didn’t really count.)

  An instant family. Brothers and sisters for life.

  It made sense to her now. Jupiter carried himself like a king, like he was surrounded by an invisible bubble that protected him from all the bad things in life. He knew there were people in the world—somewhere out there—who loved him. Who would always love him. No matter what.

  That was what he was offering her. Like a bowl of hot, meaty stew to a hungry pauper, he held in his hands the thing she most craved.

  And suddenly Morrigan’s hunger burned. She wanted to join the Society. She wanted brothers and sisters. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything.

  “How do I win?”

  “You just need to trust me. Do you trust me?” Jupiter’s face was earnest and open. Morrigan nodded without hesitation. “Then let me worry about the Show Trial. I’ll tell you when you need to start worrying. I promise.”

  It was an odd feeling to trust a stranger she’d met two days ago. But Morrigan felt somehow it was hard not to trust Jupiter. (He had, after all, saved her life.)

  She took a fortifying breath before asking the question she dreaded to ask. “Jupiter. Is my talent… my knack… is it to do with… you know.”

  He frowned. “Hmm?”

  “Is being cursed my talent? Do I have a knack for… making things go wrong?”

  Jupiter looked as if he were about to speak, then snapped his mouth shut. Thirty seconds passed during which he seemed to have a brief but lively argument inside his head.

  “Before I answer that question—and, yes, I will answer it, don’t roll your eyes—I’m going to tell you about my talent,” he said finally. “I have a knack for seeing things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “True things.” He shrugged. “Things that have happened, things that are happening right now. Feelings. Danger. Things that live in the Gossamer.”

  “The Gossamer. What’s that?”

  “Ah. Okay.” Morrigan could almost see Jupiter mentally backtracking as he remembered how little she knew of his world. He spoke rapidly. “The Gossamer is an invisible, intangible network that… hmm. Imagine a web. Imagine a vast and delicate spider’s web laid over the entire realm, like… no. You know what, forget the Gossamer, all you need to know is that I see things other people don’t.”

  “Secrets?”

  He smiled. “Sometimes.”

  “The future?”

  “No. I’m not a fortune-teller. I’m a Witness. That’s the name for it. I don’t see the way things will be, I see the way things are.”

  Morrigan gave him a skeptical look. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  “You’d be surprised.” He crossed the room in four enormous, lanky-legged strides and picked up the still-warm teapot from the breakfast tray. “This. Describe it to me.”

  “It’s a teapot.”

  “No, tell me everything you know about the teapot, just by looking at it.”

  Morrigan frowned. “It’s a green teapot.” Jupiter nodded for her to continue. “It’s a mint-green teapot with little white leaves all over it. It has a big handle and a curvy spout.” Jupiter raised an eyebrow. “It has… matching teacups and saucers…”

  “Good.” Jupiter poured tea and milk into two cups and handed one to Morrigan. “Very good. I think you’ve covered everything you can, which is to say virtually nothing. Shall I have a go?”

  “Please,” said Morrigan, stirring a sugar cube into her cup.

  He set the teapot down on the tray. “This teapot was made in a factory in Dusty Junction—that’s easy to know because most of the Free State’s ceramics are made in Dusty Junction, so it doesn’t really count, but I can see it anyway, the factory positively oozes out of it—and its first owner bought it seventy-six—no, seventy-seven years ago from a tea shop in Nevermoor’s market district. Most of its early years have faded a bit, but it remembers the factory and it remembers the lady in the market district.”

  Morrigan screwed up her face. “How can a teapot remember something?”

  “It’s not a memory like yours or mine. It’s more like… how shall I put this? There are… events and moments in the past that attach themselves to people and things, and cling to them through time simply because they have nowhere else to go. Maybe they eventually fade or get torn away or j
ust die. But some things never die—the especially good memories or the especially bad ones can hang around forever.

  “This teapot has soaked in some good memories. The old lady who owned it made tea every afternoon when her sister came to visit. They loved each other very much, the lady and her sister. That sort of thing rarely fades away completely.”

  Morrigan eyed him suspiciously. “You couldn’t know all that just by looking at it. You must have known the old lady.”

  Jupiter gave her a look of mock outrage. “Just how old do you think I am? Anyway, hush, I’m not finished. It’s been handled by four different people this morning—someone who made the tea, someone who moved the tray, someone who brought it to your room, and… oh, of course, me. The person who made the tea was cross about something, but the person who brought it upstairs was singing. Someone with a sweet voice; I can see the vibrations.”

  He was right about that—Martha had been singing the Morningtide Refrain. But then, he might have spotted her on her way up. Morrigan shrugged, sipping her tea. “You could make up anything. How would I know the difference?”

  “Good point, well made. Which brings me back to my own point.” Jupiter knelt on the floor in front of Morrigan, bringing his head level with hers. “Let me tell you about you, Morrigan Crow.”

  His eyes drifted across her face, darting here and there and back again. He studied her as if he were lost in the wilderness and her face was a map that would show him the way home.

  “What?” she said, leaning backward. “What are you staring at?”

  “That haircut.” He smirked. “The one your stepmother made you get last year.”

  “How did you know—?”

  “You hated it, didn’t you? It was too short and too modern and you grew it out as fast as you could… but you hated it with such a passion that it’s still hanging around, I can see it.”

  Morrigan smoothed her hair down. Jupiter couldn’t possibly still see the asymmetrical pixielike bob with the jagged bangs that Ivy had insisted Morrigan get because her limp, boring, unfashionable hairstyle was “an embarrassment.” She’d hated that haircut, but it had grown out. Now it was limp and boring again, and down past her shoulders.

  “You know what else I can see?” he continued, grinning as he picked up her hands and gave them a little shake. “I can see the pinpricks in your fingers from when you cut up her favorite dress in revenge, sewed the pieces together, and hung them as curtains in the living room.” He closed his eyes, and a deep laugh rumbled up from his chest. “Which is brilliant, by the way.”

  Morrigan smiled in spite of herself. She was proud of those curtains. “Okay. I believe you. You see things.”

  “I see you, Morrigan Crow.” He leaned forward. “And I’ll tell you this: Your stepmother was wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?” asked Morrigan, but she knew the answer. Her stomach did a little flip.

  “She said you were a curse.” Jupiter swallowed and shook his head. “She said it in anger. She didn’t mean it.”

  “Of course she meant it.”

  He paused, considering that. “Maybe. But that doesn’t make it true. It doesn’t make her right.”

  Morrigan felt her face color and looked away, reaching casually for a pastry from the breakfast tray. She ripped a piece off but didn’t eat it. “Forget it.”

  “You forget it,” he said. “You forget it, from this moment on. Do you understand? You are not a curse.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Morrigan rolled her eyes and tried to turn away, but Jupiter took her face in his hands and held on fast.

  “No, listen to me.” His wide blue eyes burned into her black ones. Righteous anger rolled off him like heat from the sidewalk in summer. “You asked me if your talent is being cursed? If you have a knack for ruining things? Hear me when I tell you this: You are not a curse on anyone, Morrigan Crow. You never have been. And I think you’ve known that all along.”

  Tears stung Morrigan’s eyes, threatening to drop. She steeled herself to ask one final question. “What if I don’t get in?”

  “You will.”

  “But say I don’t,” she persisted. “What then? Will I have to return to the Republic? Will they… will they be waiting for me?” Morrigan knew Jupiter understood that she didn’t mean her family, but the Hunt of Smoke and Shadow. If she closed her eyes, she could still see them—fiery red eyes in dark, swirling shadow.

  “You are going to join the Wundrous Society, Mog,” Jupiter whispered. “I promise you that I will see it done. And I never want to hear a word about this curse nonsense ever again. Promise me.”

  She promised.

  She believed him.

  She felt braver, knowing that he was so staunchly on her side.

  But still. Later that day, when Morrigan tried to count all the questions Jupiter had so far avoided answering, she would run out of fingers.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WUNDROUS WELCOME

  Here it comes. Get ready to jump.”

  Jupiter had decided they’d ride the Brolly Rail to the garden party so Morrigan could try out her birthday present. However, the problem with the Brolly Rail was that it never stopped or even slowed down to let passengers on and off. The circular steel frame hung from a cable that ran all over the city in a loop. You were supposed to jump on as it whizzed past the platform and hook your umbrella onto one of the metal rings suspended from the frame above, holding on for dear life, legs dangling in the air, until you reached your destination.

  “Remember, Mog,” said Jupiter as they watched the circular frame speed toward them. “When it’s time to get off, just pull the lever to release your brolly. Oh, and when you land, try to aim for a soft bit of ground.” Morrigan’s apprehension must have shown, because Jupiter added, “You’ll be fine. I’ve only broken a leg on this thing once. Twice, max. Ready… Go!”

  They leapt for the rail, Morrigan holding so tight to her umbrella she thought she might crush it. The bone-shaking terror she’d felt watching the platform speed toward her was washed away by a wave of adrenaline, and she let out a triumphant shout as they hooked onto the rail. Jupiter grinned, throwing his head back to enjoy the ride. They zoomed through the Deucalion’s neighborhood and into the cobbled streets of Old Town, crisp spring air biting at Morrigan’s face and stinging her eyes, and finally jumped off at their destination—both, miraculously, landing on their feet. Not a broken leg between them.

  The Wundrous Society campus was surrounded by high brick walls. There was a stern security guard checking names against a list, but she recognized Jupiter immediately and waved the pair of them through, smiling.

  Something changed when they stepped through the gates. It was as if everything were slightly different, as if the air itself had shifted. Morrigan breathed in deeply. The air smelled of honeysuckle and roses, and the sun felt warmer on her skin. It was strange, she thought. Outside the gates, the sky hadn’t looked quite as blue, and the flowers were still only tiny buds, the barest hint of spring’s arrival.

  Jupiter said something that sounded like “one-sock weather.”

  “One sock… Sorry, what?” asked Morrigan, puzzled.

  “W-U-N-S-O-C: Wunsoc. Short for WUNdrous SOCiety—it’s what we call the campus. Inside the walls of Wunsoc, the weather’s a bit… more.”

  “A bit more what?”

  “Just a bit more. More of whatever it’s like in the rest of Nevermoor. Wunsoc lives in its own little climate bubble. Today it’s a bit warmer, a bit more sunny, a bit more springlike. Lucky us.” He nabbed a sprig of cherry blossom from a branch in passing and secured it in his buttonhole. “Double-edged sword, though. In winter it’s a bit more windy, a bit more frozen, and a bit more miserable.”

  The driveway stretching up to the main building was lined with gas lamps and—out of place among the colorful flower beds and pink cherry blossoms—two rows of dead, starkly black trees, untouched by the Wunsoc weather phenomenon.

  “What about those?” Morrigan as
ked, pointing.

  “Nah, they haven’t flowered in Ages. Fireblossom trees—lovely once upon a time, but the whole species is extinct, and impossible to chop down. Bit of a sore spot with the gardeners, so don’t say anything—we all just pretend they’re very ugly statues.”

  Patrons and their candidates hurried along, chatting and laughing as if they were off to a birthday party, while Morrigan was twisted up in one big, nervous knot.

  She couldn’t have felt more distant from them if she’d been walking on the moon.

  The main building on campus, signposted PROUDFOOT HOUSE, was five stories of cheerful red brick covered with climbing vines of ivy. Candidates weren’t allowed inside Proudfoot House today, but the gardens were glorious; the picture of a spring afternoon, filled with people in light linen suits and pastel dresses. Jupiter had allowed Morrigan to choose her own outfit—a black dress with silver buttons, which Dame Chanda declared “smart, but utterly lacking in spectacle.” Morrigan thought Jupiter’s lemon-yellow suit and lavender shoes provided enough spectacle for both of them.

  A string quartet played on the steps of a sweeping terrace above the lawn. Inside a white tent there was a table piled high with cream cakes, pies, and towering, wobbly gelatin sculptures, but Morrigan couldn’t think of eating. It felt like mice were gnawing her stomach from the inside.

  As they weaved through the crowd, Morrigan noticed people turning to look at them with expressions ranging from polite surprise to openmouthed shock.

  “Why is everyone looking at us?”

  “They’re looking at you because you’re with me.” He waved merrily at a pair of women who were staring. “And they’re looking at me because I’m very handsome.”

  The candidates were mostly huddled in groups. Morrigan edged closer to Jupiter.

  “They won’t bite,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Well, most of them won’t. Avoid the dog-faced boy over by that tree; he mightn’t have had all his shots yet.”

  There was indeed a dog-faced boy loitering near one of the large ferns that dotted the lawn. There was also a boy with arms twice the length they ought to have been, and a girl with yards and yards of glossy black hair that she’d piled up in braids and was pulling behind her in a little wagon.