Morrigan’s heart beat so loudly she thought it would drown out the official’s voice.
“The Chase Trial is not a race,” said the woman, her voice booming. “Not exactly, anyway. It’s a game of strategy. You are not looking for a finish line; you are looking for a target.”
The woman signaled another official, who took his cue to unveil a large map of Old Town, propped up on a wooden easel. It was just like the map enclosed with Morrigan’s letter, but much bigger, and with dozens of colored targets marked all over, like rainbow sprinkles on a cake.
The targets were scattered across Old Town in nine very loose concentric rings, like the inside of a tree trunk, each ring a different color of the rainbow. Close to the outer stone walls, the first ring of purple targets circling the town was densely plotted—there must have been one every twenty or thirty yards. But the closer one got to the center of town, through sections of blue, teal, green, yellow, orange, pink, and red, the sparser the targets became, until finally in the last section—a golden circle that covered massive Courage Square—Morrigan counted only five golden targets, right in the middle of the square.
“This is your sole task,” the woman with the megaphone was saying. “Hit one target—and only one target—firmly, with the flat of your hand.” She demonstrated. “Once you hit a target, you’ve won. You’re through to the next trial.”
The candidates mumbled among themselves, looking unsure. It all seemed too easy. Morrigan waited for the catch.
“Now,” continued the woman, “the question is: Which target will you try to hit? There are three hundred candidates remaining, but only one hundred and fifty targets. Will you go for the first one you see, in the outer rings of Old Town? That makes sense—there are more targets there, and in nice, easy spots.”
Yes, thought Morrigan. Of course I’ll go for one of those! Get in, hit an easy target, and get through to the next trial. She could see from some of the other candidates’ confused faces that they were thinking the same—why wouldn’t they go for the easiest targets?
“Or,” said the woman, “you could challenge yourself.” She smiled widely, pointing to the center of the map. “Here, in Courage Square, there are five golden targets. Hit one of these and you will win not only your place in the third trial but also a ticket to a very private, very special event—the Elders’ secret dinner, inside the Proudfoot House Elders’ Hall itself.”
A shock of excitement rippled through the candidates. “Inside the Elders’ Hall?” whispered a boy standing near Morrigan. “Only Society members are allowed in there!”
Morrigan glanced at Noelle, who was near the front. So that was what she meant by going for gold. Noelle curled her gold ribbon around one finger again, looking unbearably smug. How had she known? Morrigan wondered. All the other candidates seemed just as surprised by the news as Morrigan. Why was awful Noelle the only one with insider information?
The Society official held up her hands for quiet. “In addition to these five golden targets, there are five more, scattered at random throughout Old Town. However, there’s a twist—these five will look like ordinary colored targets. It’s a lottery—you won’t know you’ve got a gold target until after you’ve hit it.”
“How will we know?” shouted a girl with red hair.
“You’ll know.”
A boy in the front put his hand up and called out, “Why’re we dressed in white?”
The Society officials smirked at each other. “You’ll see,” said the woman with the megaphone. “Only ten candidates—and their patrons—will attend the Elders’ secret dinner. This is a unique opportunity to meet the Elders personally before your third and fourth trials.”
Morrigan could see now why Noelle was so determined to hit a golden target. What an advantage it would be at the Show Trial, to have already met the Elders and made an impression. She was certain Noelle would charm them, just as she’d charmed her simpering band of followers. The thought of it made Morrigan queasy.
The Society official continued. “Remember, you can only hit one target. Will you bypass the colored targets for an uncertain chance at hitting gold and winning a special advantage? Or will you hit the very first target you see, to guarantee your spot in the next trial? Are you an ambitious risk taker? Or coolheaded and efficient? We’re about to find out. Please gather at the starting line. The Chase Trial will begin in precisely five minutes.”
Morrigan’s nerves were undercut by a twinge of annoyance that odious Baz Charlton’s odious candidate had known so much about the trial before she even arrived. Had Jupiter known too? And if so, why hadn’t he told her? Noelle’s words echoed in her head: It’s like he doesn’t even want you to win.
Jupiter and Fen approached, but there was no time for questions.
“Mog, listen,” Jupiter said in a low, urgent voice as he led her to the starting line. “Forget the secret dinner. It doesn’t matter. Just hit a target and get through to the next trial—don’t worry about anything else. Go straight past—Fen, are you listening too?—go straight past the purple and blue targets. They’ll be chaos; most candidates will go for the first targets they see, and you don’t want to get caught up in that mess. Better to make a beeline straight down Grand Boulevard, then turn left onto Mayhew Street—that’s where the green section starts. There’ll be fewer targets there, but much less competition if you get there quick enough. Yes?”
Morrigan nodded. Straight down Grand, left onto Mayhew. At that moment Jupiter was ushered away by a Society official. He looked back and mouthed the words Good luck, and though Morrigan couldn’t bring herself to open her own mouth just in case her heart fell out of it, she hoped a grim nod and a shaky thumbs-up would get the message across.
Nearby, Noelle was having a final word with her patron as well, but Morrigan could only make out the words gold and Roderick (Who’s Roderick? she wondered) before Fen sidled up close and spoke in her ear.
“You don’t need to do anything, understand? I’ll get us to the target, just be ready to hit it when I say so. You don’t steer, or brake—and if you kick me in the sides even once, I’ll hide raw sardines in your room. You’ll never find them, but the stench will seep deep into your skin and clothes and invade your dreams at night until you go mad. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Morrigan. A big clock above the West Gate was counting down: sixty seconds to go. It suddenly occurred to Morrigan that she had no idea how she was going to climb up on Fen’s enormous back. “Fen, how do I—”
Before she could finish, she felt Fen’s hot breath on her neck and the tickle of whiskers and fur as the Magnificat lifted Morrigan up with her sharp yellow teeth and tossed the girl effortlessly onto her back. Morrigan tried to adjust her position as if she were riding a horse—which, as she’d never ridden a horse, was mostly guesswork—and found she had no way to steady herself. She clutched two handfuls of soft gray fur.
As the final seconds counted down, she threw her head down onto Fen’s neck, feeling the sudden rise of panic.
“Fen, what if I fall off?”
“You’ll probably get trampled and die. So don’t fall off.”
Morrigan tightened her grip and swallowed a whimper.
Fenestra turned back and said, a little more kindly, “All right, dig your heels into my sides if you have to. It’ll help you balance. And whatever you do, don’t let go of my fur.”
“What if I accidentally rip some out?”
“As you can see, I have plenty. Now shut up, it’s time.”
The clock hit zero and a deafening klaxon went off, and suddenly Morrigan’s world lurched into a chaotic melee of clattering, pounding footfalls and the roar of cheering patrons somewhere behind her. She squeezed her eyes shut and held on tightly to Fen, who was keeping a good pace. Chancing an upward glance, Morrigan saw that Jupiter was right; straight ahead, on the marble steps of the Nevermoor Opera House, was a purple target about the size of Morrigan’s head, and half the candidates were barreling straight tow
ard it. It was sure to end in a nasty collision, but Morrigan wouldn’t be there to witness it—Fenestra was taking a wide circle around the opera house and emerging onto Grand Boulevard. The commotion was already behind them.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Morrigan turned back to see purple targets exploding all over the place as candidates hit them. Each one blasted a cloud of brightly colored powder all over the candidate’s face and clothes, staining them purple. The air filled with dust and color and noise.
So that was what the white clothes were for. At the end of the trial there would be a rainbow of a hundred and fifty winning candidates… and a hundred and fifty sad kids still in pristine white.
Not me, thought Morrigan fiercely, leaning into Fen. I’ll be green.
They passed through the sea of purple and blue targets—some hanging from trees and street signs, some stuck on the sides of easy-to-reach buildings, some just sitting on the cobbled ground—and quickly made it to the teal section. The targets here were harder to spot but still scattered generously across the landscape.
Fen was so fast, they’d left half the crowd in their dust, but a number of tenacious souls were keeping up—including, Morrigan saw to her displeasure, Noelle Devereaux on her left and Fen’s apparent sworn enemies, the rhinoceros and its rider, on her right. Noelle’s brown mare flew like the wind.
Meanwhile, Fen had been right not to trust the rhinoceros. He was trouble. He charged wildly, veering left and right with no regard for whom he trampled, or for where his swinging head landed its dangerous horn. He wasn’t just trying to get a golden target; he wanted to knock out the rest of the competition before they reached Courage Square.
That was smart, Morrigan thought. Nasty, but smart. There’d be other candidates from the East, North, and South Gate groups headed for those five targets too, and probably reaching the square at the same moment. There weren’t enough golden targets for everyone; Courage Square would be a chaotic free-for-all. Morrigan was glad she and Fen were going for green.
But Fen didn’t slow down in the green section. They didn’t turn onto Mayhew Street, as Jupiter had instructed. They blew straight past, into the yellow section. The targets were getting fewer and farther between; if they didn’t hit one soon they might miss out. But Fen kept going, straight through the yellow targets, then the orange, showing no sign of stopping.
“Fen!” Morrigan finally shouted. “Fen, stop! Where are you going?”
“Courage Square,” Fen yelled back. “I’m getting you a gold target!”
Morrigan felt the blood drain from her face. What was Fenestra thinking? She’d gone mad; her cage-fighter competitive streak had taken over.
“No—Fen, Jupiter said—”
“Jupiter says lots of things. It’s all background noise to me. Hold tight.”
Fen went into turbo-gear, weaving and dodging through the candidates with a grace of which Morrigan hadn’t thought her capable. She leapt over three, four heads at a time, landed elegantly in the tiniest patches of ground, and without missing a beat, bounded off again. She was absolutely the “all-terrain beast” Jupiter had hoped for—launching from ground to trees, rebounding off the sides of buildings. Morrigan could only cling on for dear life.
She looked over her shoulder and saw, with no small amount of glee, that Noelle and her mare were gone—disappeared completely, as if they’d been swallowed back into the crowd or had shot off down a side street.
A tiny tendril of hope blossomed in Morrigan’s heart. Maybe Fen was right—maybe they could get a golden target!
But the stampeding rhino was gaining speed. Morrigan could see his rider properly now, and was surprised to find she recognized her—it was Noelle’s awful friend.
Only she wasn’t laughing like a hyena, as she’d done at the Wundrous Welcome. Nor was she smug and superior, as she’d been at the Book Trial. She looked… terrified. Her long, black braid had fallen half-loose and wild, and she was shouting and pulling hard on the reins to no avail; she’d lost all control of her steed. (Morrigan knew the feeling.)
The rhino, on the other hand, was fierce and determined. He had sussed out who his biggest competition was and was aiming right for them, horn first.
Morrigan tugged hard on Fen’s fur and yelled into the Magnificat’s ear the only words her brain could force out of her mouth: “Fen! Rhino!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A MOST NOBLE STEED
They’re coming right for us!”
Fen didn’t look back, but instead picked up her speed and began weaving left and right, trying to throw the rhino off. The great horned oaf kept pace but much less gracefully, ramming into other candidates and knocking them over with a series of bellows and crashing noises. Morrigan looked over her shoulder, watching Noelle’s friend stare ahead with wide-eyed terror, unable to steer or slow down, unable to do anything but clutch at the reins for dear life.
Fen ran faster and faster, widening the gap between her and the crowd; the rogue rhinoceros alone stayed close on her tail.
“Just let him past us!” Morrigan shouted, but Fenestra didn’t hear, or perhaps didn’t listen. She was a mad thing, single-minded and possessed… but she was also panting heavily now, beginning to lose stamina.
Suddenly the rhino was thundering alongside them, shaking his enormous head.
“Watch out, Fen!” yelled Morrigan as the beast shoved violently into them from the side. The girl on the rhino screamed. Morrigan threw herself down onto Fen’s furry neck and clung on tight. The Magnificat lost her balance but quickly recovered, taking a defensive swipe at the rhinoceros. She sliced him right across the face with her long, sharp claws, and he bellowed in pain.
Morrigan lifted her head at the sound of another piercing scream behind them. She turned just in time to see the rhinoceros stumble, throwing his rider off. The girl fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The rhino tumbled horn over hooves and then, struggling upright, charged away down the nearest side street, his greed for a golden target apparently forgotten. He bawled loudly as he fled, the deep gashes in his leathery face weeping blood, all fierceness and aggression vanquished by just one slash of Fen’s mighty claws. Fenestra hurtled onward, finally free of her pursuer.
The rider, Noelle’s friend, was left in the middle of Grand Boulevard. She shook her head, looking dazed. The rest of the candidates were catching up and would soon be upon her. Here and there targets exploded in the background, sending clouds of bright pink and red dust into the air, coming closer to where the girl sat unmoving on the ground.
Morrigan looked ahead. A hundred yards away, Grand Boulevard opened up into the enormous cobbled plaza of Courage Square, and at the center she could see them—four golden targets, placed evenly around the edge of an elaborate fountain. Morrigan could just make out the fifth target in the fountain’s center, at the top of the statue. It gleamed gold in the sunshine, held aloft in the mouth of a concrete fish.
They were close—so close. There was nobody ahead of them. Courage Square was empty. She could really win this, she could get a golden target—
But Morrigan looked over her shoulder again.
The girl was still there. She seemed frozen in time, staring back at the wall of hooves and colored dust that was barreling toward her with no sign of slowing down.
Morrigan’s heart sank.
“Fen, we have to go back!” she shouted. “They’ll trample her.”
Fen didn’t hear, or if she did, she was ignoring her. Morrigan tugged roughly on her ears. “Fen! She’ll be killed!”
Fenestra growled. “You do realize this is a competition?” But even as she said it, Fen was turning back, racing to where the girl sat helplessly, clutching her leg.
“Faster, Fen!”
Fenestra put on a burst of speed, making it to the rhino girl just in time to scoop her up in her teeth and jump clear of the oncoming crowd, down a side alley off Grand Boulevard. The other candidates stampeded ove
r the empty spot where the girl had sat seconds earlier.
With a fierce shake of her head, Fen threw the girl onto her own back to land in front of Morrigan, where she sat shaking and crying. “Oh, stop your sniveling,” growled the Magnificat.
Morrigan guided the girl’s trembling hands to the thick fur on Fen’s neck and helped her get ahold of it. She flinched as the last few candidates and their steeds barreled past, kicking up clouds of dust and keeping Morrigan, Fen, and the rhino girl stuck firmly at the margins of the race. It was hopeless. The golden targets would be gone within seconds.
“Maybe,” Morrigan said in breathless desperation, “maybe we could go back to the green targets, or—or the yellow—”
“Get a grip,” said Fen.
“I can’t just give up, Fen! There might be one left somewhere—”
“No, you idiot, I mean get a grip on my fur. And hold tight.” Morrigan did as she was told, and Fen reared backward. “We’re still going for gold!”
The Courage Square fountain was like the scene of some apocalyptic battle. The four golden targets stationed around the fountain had already been hit… but that one final target remained, yards up in the air, still gleaming in the mouth of the fish statue, untouched. Water churned underneath the statue as dozens—maybe almost a hundred—children waded through it, waist-deep, having abandoned their steeds to go on alone. They shouted and gurgled, pushing each other under the water in their desperation to get to the target. A few had already reached the statue and were climbing up its fins and tail, kicking out at the candidates underneath who tried to pull them down. It was a nightmarish scene, and Morrigan hated the idea of joining in.
But Fenestra wouldn’t be stopped. She reared back, took a running leap, and bounded over the backs of the abandoned horses and ostriches and zebras around the fountain, using them as stepping-stones. She launched from her powerful hind legs and soared through the air over the other candidates, landing at the top of the statue, wrapping her paws around the fish’s head, and digging her claws in.
The Trials of Morrigan Crow Page 17