Hollowpox: The Hunt for Morrigan Crow: Nevermoor 3

by Jessica Townsend

  Almost a year had passed since the last time Morrigan found herself standing on the rooftop of the Hotel Deucalion with Ezra Squall. She felt only slightly better equipped to handle it this time around.

  ‘… Eventide’s child brings gale and storm,’ she sang under her breath. Threads of gold swam through her fingers, quick and curious, shimmering with light.

  ‘And when you call some of it,’ Squall continued over the top of her song, ‘you are calling all of it, because everything is connected. You’re activating it, signalling it to be ready – like turning a key in the ignition of a motorcar and letting the engine idle.’

  ‘… where are you going, o son of the morning?’

  Morrigan frowned in concentration. Wunder bristled in the air around her, drawing close, more of it than she’d ever allowed herself to deliberately gather at once. With it came the familiar feeling of abundance, undercut by the uncomfortable knowledge that she was standing right at the edge of her ability and could topple off at any moment. She squeezed her hands tight around her umbrella, clutching it to her chest as if it might anchor her.

  Nevermoor stretched out for miles all around. Towards its centre she could see great pockets of light pollution from Old Town, Bohemia, and the never-sleeping industrial hubs of Bloxam and Macquarie. In the opposite direction, the darkened city rolled out like a map of the night sky, black and dotted with specks of light, streets like constellations.

  ‘Up with the sun where the winds are warming …’

  ‘Stop working so hard,’ Squall warned.

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘I said you need to gather more Wunder than you’ve ever purposefully gathered before. I didn’t say you had to force it up out of the ground like oil. You already have its attention. Look – it’s dying to please you. See?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pay attention,’ he said. ‘Remember: summoned Wunder shows itself to summoner and smith.’

  Morrigan had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. She tried to relax them instead, and when they were almost closed, she could see it. Traces of Wundrous energy coiling through the air, swarming to her from every direction, lighting up the sky around her like the sun. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes wide again. The brightness eased.

  ‘You see?’ said Squall. ‘When you call some, you call all. Everything is connected.’

  Morrigan held out a hand to steady herself against the balustrade.

  ‘Now imagine there was a map of Nevermoor,’ he continued, ‘that could show you where the greatest density of Wundrous energy was gathered at any point in time. Imagine it looked like this – like the city at night – but each of those lights represented a measure of Wunder. There would be millions, billions of specks of light everywhere you looked, but some places would be much brighter than others. Where would those places be?’

  Morrigan thought for a moment. ‘The Wundrous Society.’

  ‘Where else?’

  ‘The Gobleian Library.’ He nodded for her to go on. ‘Um. Cascade Towers, Jemmity Park … The Museum of Stolen Moments?’

  ‘Before you demolished it, certainly,’ he said. ‘And the Lightwing Palace, the Nevermoor Opera House, the Hotel Deucalion, and so on. There are hundreds of places like these, dotted all over Nevermoor, each producing and consuming vast amounts of Wundrous energy on a constant cyclical basis. On this imaginary map of Wunder density, those places would shine brightest most of the time.

  ‘But at certain times of year, there are others that outshine them. Old Town, for example, every Friday night during summer.’

  ‘Because of the Nevermoor Bazaar?’

  He nodded. ‘Courage Square on Christmas Eve. Bright, blazing beacons that cast every other Wundrous source into shadow, if only for an evening or an hour.’ He paused for a moment, gazing out at the skyline. ‘Tonight, you need to be the brightest beacon in Nevermoor. A lightning rod. This is how we will draw the Hollowpox out of hiding.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You understand the Hollowpox better than most,’ he said. ‘It isn’t a disease; it’s a monster that behaves like a disease. It feeds off Wundrous energy, and Wunimals have quite a lot of it. That is how it destroys them: it’s a parasite, invading its hosts and consuming everything that makes them Wunimals instead of unnimals. Bleeding them dry until all they are is scaffolding. When all that Wunder has been consumed, the parasite moves on to new food sources, multiplying all the time.

  ‘Sometimes it might sense some greater source of Wunder nearby, some living creature it doesn’t quite understand. And it can feel the immense volume of energy surrounding that creature. It wants to invade, wants to consume it, but it can’t.’ He turned to look at her directly. ‘Because you’re a Wundersmith. Wunder doesn’t just passively surround you, it actively fights for you. It will protect you viciously from external forces that wish to harm you. Such as the Hollowpox.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Morrigan slowly. ‘That’s why it kept happening to Wunimals around me.’ Her heart quickened as she grasped that it was probably because of her Sofia was lying in the hospital. The realisation added a sudden, crushing guilt to the sadness and worry she felt for her friend, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if to keep it all in.

  Squall leaned over the balustrade and peered down onto Humdinger Avenue. ‘The Hollowpox is intelligent, but only to a degree, and you confuse it. On the spectrum of Wundrous energy, it knows you are somewhere between a Wunimal … and me, the person who made it and could therefore unmake it on a whim. Which means you are either an object of prey, or a predator. Now, look down at the street. What do you see?’

  Morrigan peeked cautiously over the edge of the rooftop, keeping some distance between her and Squall. ‘Nothing. It’s dark.’

  ‘Mmm. Now do something Wundrous. Anything.’

  She breathed a tiny spark of fire into one hand and let it grow into a flame. Then, recalling her last lesson with Gracious Goldberry, she transformed it into the image of an unnimal – a horse this time – and sent it galloping into the sky. It blazed brightly for a moment against a backdrop of stars, then burned out to embers and floated away.

  She’d been showing off, of course, and was secretly gratified by the tiny arch of Squall’s eyebrow that hinted he was impressed. But then he tilted his head down towards the street, and when Morrigan looked over the balustrade again, she jumped backwards in fright.

  Several dozen pinpricks of green light blinked into view on the street below. Shadowy figures from the surrounding streets began moving towards the Hotel Deucalion, gathering in the forecourt. They were looking up at her, she could feel it.

  Morrigan heard a deep growl. A harsh, screeching cry. She hunched her shoulders, feeling a sudden chill on her neck. A cluster of silhouettes moved beneath a gas lamp; she could just make out something dark and hulking with huge, spiralling horns, and the unmistakeable slither of an enormous snakewun as it crossed the pool of light.

  ‘They know you’re not me. They can tell you’re nowhere near as powerful,’ said Squall. There was no smugness about him; he spoke matter-of-factly. ‘But you do have a whiff of something familiar. The monster inside perks up when you’re around, like a sleeping dog that doesn’t know if it’s caught the scent of its master, or the scent of a rabbit. It’s desperate to figure you out, and so it fights to be free of the prison it’s taken for itself – the body it possesses. Tell me, do you have your umbrella?’

  Morrigan nodded, lifting her brolly absently. She’d been holding on to it since she met him in the hallway. ‘What now?’

  ‘Now we let them hunt you.’

  And with that unsettling declaration, Squall held out his arms, leaned forward and fell straight through the balustrade as if it wasn’t there at all. Before he could hit the ground, he was caught by a formless black cloud of shadow and smoke that, as if echoing Morrigan’s earlier creation, resolved itself into the shape of a horse and galloped off into the night with Squall at the reins. When he w
as a block away, she saw him turn and look back at her expectantly.

  Morrigan felt panic tightening around her throat. What was she supposed to do, exactly? Follow him? Open her umbrella and jump off the rooftop, like on Morningtide? What then, would she just … float down into the forecourt and be attacked by a bunch of rampaging Wunimals? This felt very much like a trap.

  Clutching her brolly tight, she whispered to herself, ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  And the Hotel Deucalion answered.

  Morrigan watched as a long, shimmering golden cable grew from the edge of the balustrade, stretching out into the streets so far that she couldn’t see where it ended, or if it ended at all.

  That decided it, Morrigan thought. She didn’t trust Squall. But she trusted the Deucalion.

  She pulled herself up onto the balustrade, heart thumping wildly, and swung her legs over the side. She reached out to hook her brolly onto a loop hanging from the cable, tugging it to test that it was really there, that it was real.

  Then she heard the door to the stairwell crash open, and the cry of a familiar voice behind her.

  ‘Morrigan! There you are, what are you – NO! STOP!’

  She turned to see Fenestra emerge from the doorway, wide-eyed and fearful. Fen reared back and then pelted across the rooftop towards her. Holding tight to her umbrella, Morrigan closed her eyes, leaned forward, and let herself fall.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Courage Square

  There was always something thrilling about riding the Brolly Rail. Soaring across the skyline, dipping low and sailing through streets, then climbing high above rooftops, bracing yourself to jump off when the right moment – and the right landing spot – arrived. It was a peculiarly Nevermoorian experience, hitting just the right notes of exhilarating joy and absolute terror.

  There was something extra terrifying about it, however, when you were gliding along a rail that didn’t exist five minutes ago and was building itself as you went, and you didn’t know where or when or indeed if you would ever land.

  Morrigan tried to keep her eyes focused on following Squall and hoped he wasn’t leading her to her death. But she couldn’t resist a peek back at the menagerie of green-eyed Wunimals gaining speed behind her. They came out in numbers greater than she could have imagined, running and slithering and flying and galloping. It was just as Squall had described – she was a beacon guiding them onwards, drawing out the Hollowpox and leading its victims towards … towards what? Were they hunting her, or was she trapping them?

  Only Squall knew.

  She could at least take comfort from the fact that if his plan was to kill her, this was a spectacularly inefficient way to do it.

  They sped through the city for a long time. Morrigan felt the strength in her arms start to give, and was just wondering how much longer she could hold on to her brolly when it became suddenly clear where they were headed.

  Chasing Squall through the West Gate into Old Town, she flew past the Nevermoor Opera House and right down the middle of Grand Boulevard towards the centre of the city. Up ahead, Squall reached the golden fountain in the middle of Courage Square, alighted from his shadow horse and let it vanish into the Gossamer.

  Morrigan dropped from the Brolly Rail with much less grace, her legs jolting painfully when she landed on the cobblestones. She stumbled a few steps but managed to stay upright … until she looked back the way she’d come, and her knees buckled.

  Countless specks of green light were blinking into view, emerging from every street, alleyway and avenue that fed into Courage Square. Hundreds of them, hundreds and hundreds … an army of horns, hooves, talons and fangs, their glowing eyes all fixed on Morrigan as they closed around her and Squall.

  The closer the infected Wunimals came, however, the warier they seemed. They snarled and snapped, slavered and growled, inching forward and then jumping back, each apparently waiting for some signal from the others.

  Squall was right. She confused them.

  ‘What do I do?’ she asked him, shaking.

  ‘You destroy it,’ he said. ‘Mercilessly and without hesitation. But most of all, thoroughly. If Nevermoor is to be rid of the Hollowpox, truly rid of it, it must be finished off all at once. If you allow even one particle to survive, you give it permission to flourish. You must get this right the first time.’

  ‘Yes, but how—’

  ‘Wait,’ he said, holding up a hand. ‘Let them come closer.’

  Slowly, they came near enough that Morrigan could see them as individuals. She thought she even recognised a few of them. She was sure she knew the great white bearwun who worked as a doorman at the Hotel Aurianna, a few blocks over from the Deucalion. And the lizardwun who played the upright bass in Frank’s favourite band, Iguanarama.

  ‘Think of them as one being,’ said Squall, as if he’d read her mind. ‘One enemy, one monster in many bodies. You can command all by commanding one. Do you understand?’

  Morrigan swallowed. ‘Not really.’

  What had Squall led them here for, exactly? When he talked about destruction, did he mean – did he expect her to kill them? She was supposed to be helping them, not luring them to their deaths.

  A huge, brightly coloured birdwun swooped down on her head. Morrigan screamed and batted it away, trying to protect herself.

  ‘Wait,’ said Squall warningly.

  ‘Wait for what?’ she shouted. ‘Wait for them all to attack me?’

  Squall kept his eyes on the circle of Wunimals rapidly closing around them. He seemed perfectly calm.

  Of course he’s calm, she thought. He could disappear into the Gossamer at any moment. But not her. She’d followed his instructions blindly, laid herself out like bait and walked into what might still turn out to be the most obvious trap in the world. And now she was stuck.

  Morrigan’s pulse beat loudly inside her skull. Her lungs heaved as if she couldn’t take in enough air. She felt like an utter fool. Was she really going to die here, in Courage Square? Nobody would ever know why she was there or what she was trying to do. She would forever be remembered as the idiot who defied a citywide lockdown to go outside on the most dangerous night of the Hollowpox and consequently got herself murdered. People would say she deserved it.

  ‘All right.’ Squall drew closer to her, speaking loudly over the din of roaring, shrieking, cawing Wunimals. ‘It’s almost time. Wait for my signal.’

  ‘Your signal to do what?’ Morrigan yelped, jumping backwards as a huge, mottled green snakewun opened its jaws wide and hissed, striking out at her.

  ‘What do you do when you are being chased by a bear?’

  Having recent experience in this field, she could answer definitively. ‘Run.’

  ‘No. You make yourself bigger than the bear.’

  ‘How am I supposed to—’

  ‘It isn’t just Wunimals you’ve been gathering,’ Squall interrupted, with a nod to the encroaching horde. ‘Look around you. Focus.’

  Once again and with great effort, Morrigan let her eyes relax until they were nearly closed … and Courage Square lit up. The shimmering white-gold Wunder she’d gathered on the rooftop had travelled with her, just like the crowd of Wunimals – and like the crowd, it had grown exponentially. It was blinding.

  ‘What do I do with it?’

  ‘Something big. Use what you know, what you’re good at. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it only has to be big. Enough to draw the Hollowpox out of every single Wunimal here, all at once. Like sucking the poison from a wound.’

  Something big. Something big.

  Morrigan racked her brains and came up with nothing. Squall had been right about her. She was light-years away from where she ought to be.

  She felt frozen to the spot. It was as if her fear had grown roots and dug down into the ground. ‘I – I can’t do it. I haven’t learned enough yet, you said so yourself.’

  Squall’s face snapped towards her quite suddenly, eyes flashing.

  ‘Now i
s not the time to be small!’ he roared. ‘Where is the Morrigan Crow who reignited the dead fireblossoms? The girl who brought down the Ghastly Market, who conducted a glorious symphony of death in the Museum of Stolen Moments? Where is that Morrigan Crow? Bring her back!’

  ‘That was different! I didn’t plan any of that, it just happened, I can’t—’

  ‘MORRIGAN! MORRIGAN, I’M COMING!’

  Morrigan turned towards the frantic, distant voice, looking over the jungle of green glowing eyes.

  She hadn’t imagined it. There on the horizon, impossibly, was a gigantic grey blur bounding down the centre of Grand Boulevard towards Courage Square.

  ‘FENESTRA!’

  Her heart jumped up into her throat as Fen reached the square and without hesitating, leapt right into the throng, pouncing from space to space and leaping over the backs of the Wunimals to get to her. Morrigan had never been happier or more worried to see anyone in her life.

  ‘Fen, BE CAREFUL!’ she shrieked as a flock of birdwuns circled above the Magnificat’s head, taking turns to dive-bomb her.

  But Fenestra barely seemed to notice them. She landed deftly in the space in front of Morrigan, turning to bare her fangs at the Wunimals with a ferocious yowl.

  Without stopping to think, Morrigan stooped low, and ran a line of fire across the ground between Fenestra and the Wunimals and all the way around, enclosing the three of them – her, Fen and Squall – in a bright flaming circle.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Fen snarled at her. ‘What were you thinking, running off like that, jumping off the rooftop, you could have been—’

  ‘I had to!’ Morrigan said in a rush. The flames surrounding them grew higher and closer. Sweat ran into her eyes, making it difficult to see, and the Wunimals became a blur beyond the wall of fire. ‘I’ll explain later!’

  ‘If your idiot mates hadn’t broken down that door in your room—’

  ‘My— Who are you talking about?’

  ‘That obnoxious boy and the other … there was someone else with him … I forget—’

  ‘Cadence! Hawthorne and Cadence broke down my station door?’ Morrigan didn’t think she could be more afraid in that moment, but her fear somehow spiked, sharp and cold in her heart. ‘Are they okay, has something happened?’