There was another loud SPLASH! from outside, then a squeal of disgust, and Kedgeree glanced uneasily towards the entrance. ‘Not advisable, I think. Perhaps a cheeky day off school is in order?’
‘THAT is a brilliant idea,’ said Charlie, pointing at him. ‘You know, you don’t skive off school anywhere near enough, Morrigan, I’m always saying— oof, what?’ Martha had whacked him in the side, and he laughed. ‘It’s true, she doesn’t.’
Dame Chanda clapped her hands. ‘Oh! I know. Let’s have a lovely girls’ day, shall we? Martha, come along, darling – you too, Fenestra!’
‘Pass.’
‘We’ll do each other’s hair and share our fondest ambitions and most scandalous secrets and—’ She cut herself off, noticing Morrigan’s look of dismay, and gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Don’t you worry, my dear. I’m sure Jove is sorting all of this out right now.’
Morrigan hoped so. Most of all, she hoped he managed it before Dame Chanda did anything permanent to her hair.
One cheeky day off school turned into two, then three.
Jupiter had returned home at lunchtime the first day, bursting through the service entrance in a flustered, irascible state and refusing to tell Morrigan or anyone else what the Elders had wanted. All he would say was that the station door locking itself had not been an accident.
‘Our esteemed High Council,’ he said through clenched teeth, ‘has decided it’s unsafe for you to be at Wunsoc until the ridiculous mess they so carelessly made has been sorted out.’
(Morrigan very much doubted they’d used those exact words.)
Every day, Jupiter was summoned by the Elders, and every day he returned more frustrated than the day before, refusing to say what they’d discussed. Every day, he brought back a pile of homework Miss Cheery had gathered from some of Morrigan’s teachers, and every day Morrigan ignored it in favour of trawling through the very worst headlines. Nevermoor’s major newspapers couldn’t seem to decide if they were more interested in the Hollowpox, or Morrigan.
REWARD OFFERED! WUNDERSMITH
SPOTTERS HOPE TO CASH IN
‘WE CAN’T COPE!’ SAYS HOSPITAL CHIEF
Royal Lightwing’s Record Night Of Wunimal-Inflicted Injuries
SQUALL AND CROW: PARTNERS OR RIVALS?
ESCALATION OF WUNIMAL ATTACKS PROMPTS BIGGER POLICE PRESENCE
MYSTERIOUS MORRIGAN:
Where Did She Come From And What Does She Want?
THE CONCERNED CITIZENS OF NEVERMOOR NEED TO KNOW
‘She wants to be left alone,’ Morrigan muttered as she tossed the broadsheet into the fireplace.
Meanwhile, life inside the Deucalion was becoming claustrophobic. People just kept arriving, swarming to the hotel like bees around a hive. They camped out all day and overnight in the grand forecourt. It felt like being under siege. Thankfully the shabby service entrance on maze-like Caddisfly Alley was still in operation, or they’d really have been marooned. (Kedgeree was clever enough to take the small, faded HOTEL DEUCALION sign off its hinges.)
Morrigan was forbidden to go outside anyway. She stayed away from the lobby as much as possible, spending most of Tuesday and Wednesday in her bedroom. She told everyone she had schoolwork to do, but actually she was just tired of hearing strangers shout at her. Her fourth-floor windows looked down onto the forecourt, but she drew the heavy curtains closed. Room 85 seemed to take the hint and muffled all remaining sound from outside.
She finally emerged from hibernation on Wednesday afternoon, hoping Jupiter would return triumphant from Wunsoc having convinced the Elders to unlock her station door. Instead it was Fenestra who was triumphant, trotting down the spiral staircase carrying a man in her teeth by the scruff of his neck like a large, ugly kitten. Martha and Kedgeree jumped up immediately to shield Morrigan from his view.
‘Let go of me!’ he bawled. ‘I’ll have you arrested. You ripped my shirt! This is assault!’
Fenestra tossed him onto the chequerboard floor with a look of disgust. ‘Found this maggot creeping around on the seventh floor; says he paraglided in through the window. I’m making a citizen’s arrest. Kedgeree, fetch the handcuffs! Clap this brigand in irons!’
Kedgeree gave a weary sigh. ‘I told you already, Fen, we’ve not got any handcuffs.’
‘What, still? What kind of lousy concierge doesn’t have – oi, don’t let him go!’
But Kedgeree was already creaking open the front doors and shoving the terrified trespasser out. With Martha and Charlie’s help he quickly slammed and locked the doors again, but not before Morrigan caught a glimpse of the crowd outside … and she thought one or two of them might have caught a glimpse of her, too, because the noise seemed to suddenly swell.
‘WUNDERSMIIIIIIITH!’
‘MORRIGAN CROW IS A FRAUD!’
‘THAT’S HER! I SAW HER!’
‘IF YOU’RE REALLY A WUNDERSMITH, WHY DON’T YOU PROVE IT?’
Morrigan took a deep breath, resisting the urge to press her hands to her ears.
‘What was that, then?’ asked Charlie. ‘Number five?’
‘Six!’ said Martha. ‘Let’s see, there was the fake plumber, and the fake mailman, and the one who claimed to be Jupiter’s long-lost cousin—’
‘—and the one who claimed to be Morrigan’s long-lost aunt,’ added Charlie.
‘Oh, and the one yesterday who claimed he was here for a job interview!’
‘Martha offered him a position on a trial basis,’ Charlie said, grinning proudly. ‘Made him iron three hundred cloth napkins, then kicked him out.’
Martha looked pleased with herself. ‘He was a big help, Jerry was.’
Morrigan tried to smile. She knew they were making a joke of it for her sake, so she wouldn’t be scared. She just couldn’t bring herself to find the idea of intruders in their home very funny.
At least these ‘chancers’ were trying to be clever about it, she supposed. That was more than she could say for all the people camped out on the doorstep, hoping she would suddenly appear in a flurry of … of what, she wondered? Did they want her to come out in a long cape with a shrieking, maniacal laugh and set an army of monsters on them, like the legend they’d constructed of Ezra Squall? What exactly were they hoping for?
The simple answer was, of course, fifty thousand kred.
But if they believed the money really was on the table, they must believe Morrigan truly could be a Wundersmith, and everyone knew Wundersmiths were dangerous … which made her wonder why they dared come anywhere near her.
‘Folks’ll do more for money like that,’ Kedgeree said when she’d asked him about it. ‘Greed trumps fear.’
The power of greed was underlined on Thursday morning, when Morrigan heard on the radio in the Smoking Parlour that Scumbag St James had doubled his reward.
‘One hundred thousand kred?’ Jack shrieked.
Morrigan raised her eyebrows. ‘He must be getting desperate.’
‘Desperate for more attention, yeah. The Concerned Citizens have been in the headlines every day this week. I bet that’s worth more to someone like him than a hundred thousand kred.’ He paused to think. ‘Morrigan, how about I film you doing something Wundrous and we split the reward money, sixty-forty?’
‘Am I sixty or forty?’
‘Forty. Obviously.’
She pretended to consider it. ‘Seventy-thirty. I’m seventy.’
‘Hmm. How about ninety-ten? I’m ninety.’
‘How about I get back to you never?’
He held out a hand, and they shook on it. ‘Pleasure not doing business with you.’
Jack had arrived home unexpectedly the night before with an impassioned speech for Jupiter about how he ought to take the rest of the week off school ‘in solidarity with Morrigan’. (Morrigan happened to know he had a physics exam on Thursday afternoon that he hadn’t studied for, but she didn’t rat him out.) After two full days away from Sub-Nine and her friends, she was so bored, and already his company was making her exi
le from Wunsoc slightly more bearable. They were having such a pleasant morning, she could almost ignore the distant sounds of the crowd in the forecourt shouting her name.
By afternoon, however, news of the doubled reward quadrupled the crowd outside the Deucalion, making them much harder to ignore. They’d given up asking questions. They’d even stopped shouting Morrigan’s name.
Now they were simply chanting one word over and over, like a magic spell that might make her appear.
WUNDERSMITH.
WUNDERSMITH.
WUNDERSMITH.
There was another surprise visitor later that day. Not a pleasant surprise.
Morrigan, Martha, Jack and Charlie had spent the afternoon playing boardgames in a peaceful, pinky-orange haze in the Smoking Parlour (peach smoke: to evoke sweet memories of summer), but they were drawn to the lobby by the sound of raised voices.
‘There’s no need to fuss, Chanda, I just want to speak with her.’
‘It’s Dame Chanda to you. And Jupiter has already told you, repeatedly, the answer is no—’
‘I’d like to hear that from Morrigan herself, if you don’t mind.’
‘But that’s just it, we do mind!’
In an emerald green three-piece suit and gold leather boots, with her shiny black hair piled high on her head, Holliday Wu looked like the pages of a fashion magazine brought to life. She was surrounded by half a dozen others, all dressed in black and hauling various kit – including a lighting rig, an enormous camera, and an entire rack of clothing in Morrigan’s size. They were facing off against Dame Chanda, Kedgeree, Frank and Fenestra, who stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase like a team of bouncers, blocking the way.
‘Where is Jupiter?’ demanded Dame Chanda. ‘Does he know you’re here?’
Holliday gave a casual shrug, examining her fingernails. ‘I believe he had an important meeting with the Hollowpox task force.’
‘How convenient.’ The soprano narrowed her eyes. ‘I might remind you that you’re also on the Hollowpox task force, Holliday. Why aren’t you there?’
‘Because I have an important meeting with— ah! There you are. Time we sorted this mess out, don’t you think?’ said Holliday, her eyes on Morrigan descending the stairs.
Dame Chanda whipped around. ‘Morrigan! You do not have to do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘Okay, you lot start setting up, I want everything in place before we open those doors.’ Holliday clapped her hands twice and her crew jumped into action, setting up what looked like a small film set, right in front of the Deucalion’s closed double doors. ‘Lizzie, I’ve changed my mind about the red dress. Too aggressive. Let’s go for a nice baby blue – play up the harmless-little-girl thing. Hair out please, Carlos, but pin the front back, we want them to see her face. Maxine, let’s powder out that shiny forehead and get a touch of blush on those cheeks, she’s far too pale.’
There was a sudden flurry of movement around Morrigan as dresses were held up against her, a gigantic powder puff dusted all over her face until she sneezed, and a brush yanked through her messy hair. Morrigan was so shocked she didn’t even bat them away.
‘All right, so. What’s in your repertoire?’ Holliday asked her. ‘The fireblossoms were fab, but we need something fresh. Bold. But not dangerous, we don’t want anyone out there feeling threatened. Or maybe we do, a bit – like they’re on a rollercoaster, yeah? Exhilarated, that’s the word.’
‘You want me to go out there and … and use the Wundrous Arts?’ said Morrigan, frowning. ‘In front of all those people?’
‘She’s not a performing monkey!’ said Dame Chanda.
But Holliday only had eyes and ears for Morrigan. ‘Laurent St James is out there talking about you all day, every day, and if we don’t respond, we are letting him control the narrative. You don’t know how this works. Nor does Captain North. But I do. The more you hide from these people, the more they want to hunt you.
‘According to St James, you’re either a myth or an attack dog. A made-up threat the Society is dangling over Nevermoor, or a real danger that needs to be dealt with. We need to change that conversation. We need to show people that having a Wundersmith in Nevermoor again can be a good thing. And we need to start by proving you really are a Wundersmith. Laurent St James has put a target on your back, Morrigan. I’m here to help you take it off.’
Morrigan shook her head. ‘You put a target on my back. The anonymous source in the Sunday Post was you, Jupiter already told me the truth.’
Holliday didn’t look even slightly embarrassed or sorry. She brought her face level with Morrigan’s, and spoke in a soft, calm voice. ‘Fine. You like truth? Here’s some truth for you.’
‘Madam, I think it’s time for you to leave,’ Kedgeree said firmly. Fenestra was flexing her claws and gazing at the rack of dresses as though she longed to shred them, and Frank was running interference on the woman with the lighting rig, blocking her every time she tried to set it down.
Holliday ignored them all. ‘You are a liability. Do you know what the Society had to do to contain that disaster at the Museum of Stolen Moments last Hallowmas?’ she asked. ‘Do you know the lies we’ve had to tell, the money and resources we’ve had to spend, the favours we’ve had to cash in, all to shield you from the consequences of that night?’
‘I …’ Morrigan blinked back the tears that were suddenly pricking her eyes. She clenched her jaw once, twice. ‘No. I didn’t know.’
‘Holliday, leave!’ Dame Chanda shouted. ‘Morrigan, darling, don’t listen—’
‘No. You didn’t know,’ Holliday said over the top of her. ‘As good as your intentions might have been, as brave and noble and whatever … you still swooped in where you didn’t belong, where you weren’t asked to be, and made a giant mess. It takes a lot to clean up a mess that big. Guess who got to do it?’
Morrigan’s eyes flicked over to the door and back again. ‘You.’
Holliday nodded. ‘And I did it gladly, because that’s my job and I’m good at it. Now you have a job. The Wundrous Society needs you. Hold your nose, put on a smile, and give us a show.’
She nodded at her assistants, and instantly one of them was there, fitting a microphone to Morrigan’s collar.
‘I – I can’t, I don’t know what to do—’
‘You’re a Wundersmith. You’re the Wundersmith.’ She placed her hands on Morrigan’s shoulders, spun her around, and gave her a little shove. ‘You’ll figure it out.’
And somehow, without having agreed to it, without even taking a moment to consider, Morrigan was walking towards the Deucalion entrance, and the enormous double doors were being opened. She paused, unable to make herself walk through them.
After their third morning of shouting for her to come out, the waiting crowd had settled into a quieter afternoon slump … but as soon as the doors were open, they perked up like a pack of hunting dogs on the scent of a rabbit.
‘THERE SHE IS!’
‘MORRIGAN, WHY HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING?’
‘ W U N DE R S M I T H . W U N DE R S M I T H . W U N DE R S M I T H .’
Morrigan flinched as the big lights came on, nearly blinding her.
The chant grew louder and more urgent, and the eyes and camera lenses in the crowd felt like hundreds of tiny spotlights, shining with greed.
Holliday’s camera operator held up three fingers … two fingers … one … and pointed at Morrigan, mouthing the word, ‘Go.’
‘W U N DE R S M I T H . W U N DE R S M I T H . W U N DE R S M I T H .’
Panic rose from her chest up into her throat, grasping at her windpipe with cold, clammy hands. What was she supposed to do? Summon Wunder? Nobody but her and Jack would even see it. Weave a wonky flower? Not bold. Not exhilarating.
Could she really breathe fire in front of all these strangers? Should she?
What would Jupiter want her to do – and why wasn’t he here?
WUNDERSMITH.
WUNDERSMITH.
<
br /> WUNDERSMITH.
Morrigan swallowed. She began to sing in a cracked voice that was barely more than a whisper. ‘Morningtide’s child is merry and—’
Faster than she thought physically possible, the enormous double doors swung closed in front of her, knocking the cameraman over and sending his equipment flying across the lobby floor. Morrigan stumbled backwards as the crowd disappeared behind the solid oak doors.
Then there came a sound like a dozen thunderclaps, one after the other. It started in the lobby and quickly spread to all ends of the hotel as heavy black shutters descended on every window, blocking out every bit of noise until the building was completely, oppressively silent.
Was this part of the Grand Sulk, she wondered? Or was it the Hotel Deucalion coming to her rescue? Room 85 was always so good at anticipating her needs, adjusting to her moods … but this was different. This wasn’t just her bedroom, it was the entire building, and it was … what? Defending her?
‘Thanks,’ she whispered, just in case.
In the absence of all ambient noise, the Deucalion felt like a mausoleum. Like a giant holding its breath.
A cold voice broke the silence.
‘I believe you have your answer, Holliday.’ Everyone turned to see Jupiter, who had just emerged from the service entrance, the glossy black door still swinging behind him. He looked up at the shutters in astonishment; evidently the Deucalion could still surprise even its proprietor.
He snatched the swinging door just in time, holding it open for their unwelcome guests. ‘Kindly leave.’
Morrigan woke the next morning with a start, her heart racing. She’d been dreaming of something strange and awful – broken glass and plumes of black smoke and a distant cry in the dark. Two button-black eyes shining at her from the shadows. A snatch of song she couldn’t quite remember. A feeling of something precious, slipping through her fingers.
Hollowpox: The Hunt for Morrigan Crow: Nevermoor 3 Page 31
