Hollowpox: The Hunt for Morrigan Crow: Nevermoor 3

by Jessica Townsend

  If one was going to hide a private collection of books on the Wundrous Arts, she thought, a Red Alert Tricksy Lane seemed like the perfect place. Seized by a sudden sense of ownership, Morrigan took a quick look over her shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, and went in.

  It was just as awful as she remembered, the feeling of air being sucked from her lungs. But she knew what to do. It was like ripping off a plaster – the quicker the better. Closing her eyes, she took the darkened Devilish Court at a run, battling the urge to turn back, ignoring the burning in her chest and the pressure in her head. Seconds later she emerged, gasping for breath … and found herself in the square where she and Cadence had seen the Ghastly Market last summer. But instead of a bustling market filled with contraband horrors and nefarious customers, here in the pocket realm there were simply more shelves of old books.

  It felt almost … cosy. A little wilder, a little more overgrown than the rest of the library, with more trees shading the books and more vines strangling the shelves. Perhaps, if this was the Wundrous Arts collection, it was only accessible to Wundersmiths? It may have been over a hundred years since anyone had stood on this spot. What a thought.

  Morrigan knew she didn’t have long. She marched up and down the rows of shelves, peering down at the titles. She didn’t really know what she was looking for, exactly, but as she rounded a corner into the next aisle, a familiar word jumped out at her from the spine of a large leather-bound book.

  ~SINGULARITIES~

  She pulled the heavy tome from the shelves with great difficulty and read its full title in a whisper. ‘Curiosities, Marvels, Spectacles, Singularities and Phenomena: Volume One of an Unabridged History of the Wundrous Act Spectrum … by Lillian Pugh.’

  The book Onstald had written had a slightly different name. It was called Missteps, Blunders, Fiascos, Monstrosities and Devastations: An Abridged History of the Wundrous Act Spectrum and was an abridged account of all the supposedly terrible things Wundersmiths had ever done. Had he re-written Lillian Pugh’s book to push his own warped agenda?

  The book in Onstald’s classroom had disappeared before he’d been killed. But it had been enormous, much bigger than this one. Morrigan was confused. Shouldn’t the unabridged version be bigger than the abridged version?

  Then she re-read the title: Volume One.

  And right next to it: Volume Two.

  On and on down the row of bookshelves, it seemed there were dozens – no, hundreds – of near-identical successive volumes. She replaced Volume One on the shelf and pulled down Volume Two. It was also by Lillian Pugh, as were Volume Three and Volume Four. But Five and Six were by Daniel Middling-Blythe, and the next six volumes after that were by Ruby Chang.

  Morrigan was smiling so much she thought her face might break. This was the same feeling she had when she’d first seen The Book of Ghostly Hours, only magnified a hundredfold. The whole of Wundersmith history – every glorious achievement, every Spectacle and Singularity and Phenomenon – was laid out before her, each book a lit beacon guiding her into the past.

  She ran all the way down the aisle to the final book (Volume Three Hundred and Seven by Sudbury Smithereens), pulled it from the shelf and sat down to open it in her lap, flipping through the pages.

  The names were all familiar. Griselda Polaris. Rastaban Tarazed. Decima Kokoro. Mathilde Lachance. Brilliance Amadeo. Owain Binks. Ezra Squall. Elodie Bauer. Odbuoy Jemmity. The Wundersmiths of Squall’s generation. The Wundersmiths he murdered in Courage Square.

  Suddenly the short, sharp sound of a whistle came from somewhere in the distance – that was Roshni’s signal. With a sigh, Morrigan began to put the book back in its spot on the shelf, then faltered. She slid it in, then out again, biting the side of her mouth.

  Could she come back and read it another day? Maybe Jupiter would bring her, or Sofia or Rook … but when?

  The whistle blasted again and, in a split-second decision, she heaved the book into her arms and ran with it towards the mouth of Devilish Court.

  Moments later she emerged from the suffocating Tricksy Lane, desperately gasping air into her lungs, and made her way back to the corner of Phelps and Fitzgerald, still holding the leather-bound volume tight.

  ‘There you are!’ came a voice out of nowhere, making her jump and turn around. Cadence was leaning against an unlit gaslight with a bored, lazy grin, but she perked up as soon as she saw Morrigan trying to hide the book behind her back. ‘Whatcha got?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t lie, you’re lousy at it.’

  ‘It’s … it’s a book about Wundersmiths,’ Morrigan admitted. It was too late to put the thing back now.

  ‘And what are you planning to do with it, exactly?’ Cadence pushed away from the gaslight and crossed to where Morrigan stood. ‘You don’t have a library card.’

  ‘Miss Cheery will let me use hers.’

  ‘Not for that book. That book’s got a black tag.’ Cadence pointed at the spine. ‘See? You need a Wunsoc library card, written permission from the High Council of Elders and a level eight security clearance to borrow books with a black tag. Miss Cheery’s only got a six.’

  ‘What?’ This was all news to Morrigan. Her heart sank. ‘How do you know all that?’

  ‘My gran comes to the Gob all the time. She’s got an Unwun library card so she can only borrow books with a blue tag, but she only likes murder mysteries and books about heavy machinery anyway. Why don’t you just get something else?’

  Morrigan held the book tighter. She pressed her fingers against it until they turned white. ‘I’m taking this book.’

  ‘That would be stealing.’

  ‘It’s not stealing! It’s just – borrowing.’

  ‘No. It’s only borrowing if you’ve got a library card.’

  ‘Says the girl who “borrowed” a puppy from a stranger!’

  Cadence shrugged. ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How is it different?’

  ‘It’s different because I’m actually good at this stuff and you’re actually rubbish,’ she said. ‘I know how to smooth things over so nobody misses anything. And it’s different because … because this is a library, for goodness’ sake! My gran would kill me if I stole a book from a library.’

  Roshni’s whistle sounded again, three short, urgent blasts. She called from the next aisle over, ‘Girls? It’s time to go, where are you?’

  ‘Are you going to tell?’ Morrigan whispered.

  Cadence stayed silent as Morrigan clumsily tried to hide Volume Three Hundred and Seven of An Unabridged History of the Wundrous Act Spectrum underneath her summer cloak.

  ‘There you are! Time to go, your hour’s almost— what are you doing?’ Roshni stopped abruptly as she rounded the corner and spotted Morrigan covering the book with the folds of her cloak. ‘Do you understand how serious it is to steal a book from the Gob? Do you have any idea how much trouble you could get in? Give me the book,’ she demanded, her voice high-pitched and incredulous.

  Morrigan felt her face burning. She scrambled in her brain for an excuse, for a decent lie, but came up with nothing. All she knew was that she wasn’t leaving without this book, or giving it back until she’d read every single page within its covers.

  She turned to look desperately at Cadence, a silent plea for her help. Cadence stared belligerently back.

  ‘Please, Cadence,’ she whispered.

  ‘Why should I?’ her friend hissed at her. ‘You’re so weird lately. Are you really so obsessed with your ghostly Wundersmith mates that you want me to help you steal?’

  ‘What? I’m not obsessed.’ She tightened her grip on the book, wondering whether Cadence was really going to hang her out to dry. But at last, with her trademark eye-roll, the mesmerist gave in.

  ‘She hasn’t stolen anything,’ she told Roshni in a bored, reluctant voice. ‘We’ve just been having a nice conversation.’

  ‘What?’ snapped Roshni. ‘She’s stolen a book, I saw her!’


  ‘No,’ said Cadence simply. ‘She hasn’t.’

  ‘Yes, she has,’ the librarian insisted. ‘She’s stolen … she took a … a book. I saw …’ Morrigan heard the note of confusion creeping in, and held her breath.

  ‘You didn’t see anything,’ said Cadence, her voice a pleasant hum. ‘We’ve been having a lovely chat about … history or whatever. You think Miss Cheery’s scholars are just delightful. So well behaved. You’d love us all to come again.’

  Roshni shook her head, trying to clear the fog. ‘I’d love you all to …’

  Miss Cheery approached them, carrying a large stack of books she could barely see over.

  Roshni stared fixedly at Morrigan for a fraction of a second, a frown creasing her forehead, and then an agreeable sort of blankness broke across her face. ‘Your scholars are just delightful, Maz,’ she said.

  Miss Cheery snorted. ‘Delightful? Wouldn’t go that far. They’re all right. Give me a hand with these, will you, Rosh?’

  Morrigan watched as the librarian and the conductor split the pile of books and carried them back down the street towards the riverglass coach. She breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank you,’ she told Cadence. ‘Seriously, thank you. I owe you one.’

  ‘You owe me more than one, you filthy book-stealer,’ muttered Cadence. ‘Don’t worry, I’m keeping a tally.’

  The rest of the unit was already heading for the riverglass coach as Morrigan and Cadence caught up. Morrigan made sure to walk slightly behind Cadence, trying to hide the large book-shaped lump beneath her cloak.

  Hawthorne was bargaining with Miss Cheery about how many dragon books he could borrow on her library card. Thaddea and Anah were poring over a medical journal and arguing about the best way to splint a broken leg.

  Suddenly, a klaxon sounded. The lanterns hanging off the shelves changed from murky green to a fiery, glowing red. Everyone stopped talking.

  Morrigan felt her arms seize up, still wrapped tight around her waist, pressing the large book against her stomach.

  ‘They know I’ve got it,’ she whispered to Cadence. ‘I’m going to be arrested!’

  ‘Shush,’ hissed Cadence, but she looked worried too.

  The sirens were growing louder … and there was another sound. A strange, high-pitched, whining metallic sound a bit like a buzz saw, then a noise like two pieces of sandpaper being rubbed together.

  Keeeeeehhh … chchchch.

  Keeee-keeeeehhh … chchchchchch.

  ‘What is that?’ asked Francis, putting his fingers in his ears.

  Keeeeeeehhhh-keeh-keeeh … chchchch.

  They all looked to Roshni, who was staring up at the shelves high above them, eyes wide as dinner plates.

  ‘Everyone get to the coach!’ she shouted. ‘NOW!’

  They turned to run, but it was too late. The riverglass coach was two rows away. Before they made it even halfway there, Morrigan’s whole unit, Roshni and Miss Cheery all pulled up abruptly, their escape thwarted by a sight that made the skin all over Morrigan’s body crawl as if she’d instantly broken out in hives.

  They were surrounded. The infestation had arrived.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Book Bugs

  They came from everywhere. Swarming out from the gaps between books, crawling up from storm drains and pouring from shelves in a monstrous, chittering tidal wave of wings and eyes and legs … so many legs. It was an infestation of many-legged, multi-coloured, chihuahua-sized—

  ‘BUGS!’ squealed Francis. ‘GIANT BUGS!’

  ‘Brilliant observation, Francis, cheers for that!’ Cadence shouted angrily. Beneath her usual ferocity, there was a note of terror that reflected how Morrigan felt – how they all felt. They had formed a tight circle and were facing outwards, eyes boggled at the encroaching plague.

  ‘Rosh, how dangerous are these things, exactly?’ asked Miss Cheery. She had dropped her pile of books and was holding her arms out, trying to protect Mahir and Thaddea, who were nearest to her.

  ‘To the books? I’d say … slightly dangerous?’

  ‘No, Rosh, to us!’

  Roshni cringed. ‘Oh! Then I’d say … quite dangerous? Jagdish got a nasty bite on his ear during an outbreak last month and Elise lost half a pinky.’

  ‘Oh, terrific,’ said Miss Cheery. ‘So how do we fight them off?’

  Morrigan could think of one way. She took a deep breath, hummed a few notes, then knelt on the ground and breathed a low, even line of fire towards the horde of insects. The rest of 919 threw their arms up to shield from the heat. In that moment it was hard to tell if the fear on their faces was because of the bugs or her, and she almost regretted acting on impulse … except that it had worked.

  Just as she’d hoped, the bugs skittered backwards. However, they also seemed to become even more agitated, the keeeeehkeeh-keeh noises suddenly louder and more urgent.

  ‘Marina, what is she doing?’ shrieked the librarian, stomping out the fire with her boots. ‘Is she mad?! Make her stop!’

  Morrigan swallowed, and felt the flames die in her throat. ‘I just thought – I’m sorry, I just wanted to—’

  ‘Well, don’t. Get back!’

  Miss Cheery grabbed Morrigan around the shoulders and pulled her back from the fire while Roshni extinguished it. ‘She was trying to help, Roshni.’

  ‘Yes, because starting a fire is a famously helpful thing to do IN A LIBRARY!’

  ‘Then what can we do?’ said Miss Cheery. ‘How do you stop these things?’

  ‘We have mechanical swatters,’ said Roshni, moving in a slow circle and keeping her eyes on the advancing bugs. ‘And tanks of foam laced with a pesticide that won’t hurt the books. But they’re all on the trucks.’ She pressed the button on her radio again. ‘Calling all brigades. Bookfighters, can you hear me?’ Nothing. ‘Librarians, are you there? Colin? Jagdish? Come ON!’ There was no sound but static. She groaned in frustration. ‘Right, all of you kids listen carefully. I need you to—’

  She was interrupted by a piercing scream from Anah. An iridescent green insect the size of a shoebox had broken apart from the pack and was crawling up her leg, up her side, along her shoulder … the screaming intensified as it latched on to her hair, and Anah squeezed her eyes shut, waving her hands helplessly. ‘GET IT OFF ME GET IT OFF ME GET IT OOOFFFFFF!’

  THWACK.

  Archan seemed to have acted without thinking. He swung a huge book through the air, using its momentum to brush the bug away from Anah, only just missing her head. The bug went sailing away in a bright green arc and then landed hard – SQUISH! – against a high shelf of books. They watched the carcass slide all the way down to the ground, down the rows of coloured spines, leaving a thick, unctuous, foul-smelling trail of greenish-yellow guts that looked rather like a festering wound.

  Eyes wide with horror, Arch dropped the book. Francis, meanwhile, leaned over with his hands on his knees and vomited right there in the street.

  Roshni was horrified too, but for a completely different reason. She pointed a shaking finger at Arch. ‘Y-you – you just – that’s a book! That’s – that’s vandalism!’

  ‘Is that the priority right now, Rosh?’ shouted Miss Cheery. She started gathering up her dropped books and handing them out to the scholars. ‘Right, new plan. We’ve got no swatters. No tanks. No bookfighters. So, we’re going to use what we DO have.’ She ducked to avoid a gigantic pink-spotted bug as it swooped low over her head, then took aim at it with a large book called Famous Nevermoorian Impressionists and Their Muses. THWACK! The bug exploded on impact, sending a shower of slime over the whole group, to their great revulsion. ‘Come on, you lot – get swinging.’

  Roshni stared at her friend, open-mouthed. ‘Maz. You’re not serious!’

  ‘Rosh, it’s either this or get eaten by a swarm of bugs.’ She handed her friend An Encyclopaedia of Modern Witchery. ‘Which would you prefer?’

  The librarian whimpered. She looked like she was being aske
d to spit on her grandmother’s grave. She clutched the book to her chest, closed her eyes tight and whispered, ‘Forgive me, Lady Gob-le-Fasse, for what I am about to do.’

  And with one perfectly aimed swing, Roshni knocked a black-and-blue striped bug straight out of the air, a rainbow of slime radiating outwards in its wake. Without pausing for breath, the librarian began swinging left and right, a ceaseless barrage that sent dozens of bugs to their deaths within moments. Morrigan could see why she’d been promoted. Roshni was a bug-murdering machine, fierce and unrelenting.

  ‘Move towards –’ THWACK ‘– the coach!’ she shouted between swings.

  And they did – slowly, painstakingly, fighting their way through the creepy-crawling onslaught, the unit made their way together in the direction of the riverglass coach, leaving a trail of dead bugs and slime puddles behind them.

  Morrigan pulled Volume Three Hundred and Seven out from under her cloak and took aim at a monstrous purple thing hovering around Cadence’s head, wings humming and pincers snapping. It landed with a satisfying SPLAT on the other side of the road, and she immediately hit another three in quick succession – SPLAT. SPLAT. SPLAT. It was the weirdest and most disgusting thrill she’d ever experienced.

  Thaddea and Hawthorne seemed to be enjoying themselves too, though Morrigan couldn’t say the same for the others. Cadence was covered in slime, and Anah couldn’t stop screaming. Francis looked like he was barely in control of his stomach. Lam stood in the centre of the group, hands over her head, while Arch and Mahir hovered around her, doing their best to deflect any bugs that came her way.

  ‘Roshni!’ Miss Cheery shouted. ‘Look!’

  The riverglass coach was gone. Or not gone exactly – it was still there, just buried beneath the enormous heap of insects that had decided to swarm it, so that it now resembled a small, buzzing mountain of glittering iridescence.

  They were done for. There was no way they’d be able to fight their way through that lot.

  Roshni looked horror-struck, but picked up her radio again, still swinging her encyclopaedia one-handed. ‘CALLING ALL BOOKFIGHTER BRIGADES. DOES ANYONE COPY? COME ON, YOU SLACKERS! ASSISTANCE REQUIRED AT OLD—’