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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Winter Trials

‘… less than ideal conditions as a spectator of course, but I spoke to some of today’s competitors earlier and they couldn’t be happier with the outlook. As a former champion yourself, Tofty, what are your thoughts?’

‘You know what, Eddie, this is the sort of weather dragonriding dreams are made of! You often find the Winter Trials give an easier flight than the summer tournament, and today’s a perfect example. Grey skies make for better visibility, with no risk of flying into the sun, and this steady drizzle will significantly lower the risk of anyone being accidentally set ablaze. Though of course we can never rule it out, ha-ha! No, but seriously, I’d be delighted to compete on a day like this and from the energy I’ve seen in the stables, I reckon today’s riders are poised to take advantage of their good fortune.’

‘The rain certainly hasn’t dampened spirits out here in the packed stands either, Tofty. There’s a genuine buzz in the air. But, of course, we must acknowledge this morning’s tragic news – the untimely demise of the great Dario Rinaldi is a tremendous blow for dragonsport.’

‘It certainly is, Eddie. I had the honour of competing against young Dario in my final tournament before retiring, and let me tell you, even as an eighteen-year-old that lad gave me a run for my money. That was his first professional tournament, and it’s been a pleasure to watch his star rise and rise these past five years. Not only a great rider, but a good man. Rinaldi made friends everywhere he went, even among his rivals. He will be dearly missed.’

‘Indeed, and by nobody more than his beloved flight partner, Alights on the Water Like a Seabird. She’s a notoriously temperamental dragon, Alights , and famously attached to her late rider. I think you’ll agree, Tofty, it’ll be hard for the Rinaldi Stables to find a replacement – but if it’s possible, it will happen here at the Winter Trials.’

‘They’ll certainly have their pick of the best, Eddie! Riders from across the Seven Pockets have crept out of the woodwork this morning following the news that one of dragonsport’s most prestigious saddles is up for grabs. What a thrill to be present for this historical … er, though, of course, very sad time in dragonsport. Very sad indeed.’

The amplified voices of the commentators were nearly lost beneath the chatter of the lively Trollosseum crowd, who seemed to have forgotten what a sad time it was in all their excitement. They queued cheerfully to place last-minute wagers and bought steaming meat pies and buckets of popcorn from the concession stands, and barely seemed to notice the persistent misty rain that permeated coats and pooled in empty seats.

Huddled and shivering beneath their brollies, as far from other spectators as possible, Morrigan and Cadence had spent the last hour raking over every detail of the wedding day. From teary bride to cheating groom to surprise murder, and all the strange and upsetting events in between.

‘Wow,’ said Cadence, puffing out a big breath after Morrigan finally finished. ‘ Wow. I mean … sorry about the dead groom and everything. Nasty stuff. But can you imagine if you’d missed all that?’

‘ Cadence .’

‘I’m just saying, it’s a good thing you decided to go. What did the Stink say? Who’d they question? Did they arrest anyone?’

‘No idea.’ Morrigan reached into Cadence’s popcorn bucket and helped herself to a big handful. ‘I wasn’t around for that bit. Aunt Margot sent me home before they arrived.’

Cadence frowned. ‘That’s weird. It’s not like they wouldn’t have had somewhere for you to sleep. There must be about twenty bedrooms in a house like that.’

‘It sort of … seemed like they wanted me out of the way? Maybe they were worried the police would think I had something to do with it.’

‘That’s stupid.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No, I mean that would be stupid of them . How many thirteen-year-old murderers do you know?’

‘How many Wundersmiths do you know?’ Morrigan held her hands up, heading off Cadence’s inevitable objection. ‘I know Wundersmith doesn’t equal murderer, obviously. But to most people it basically does, doesn’t it? It’s like Holliday said. Wundersmith equals Ezra Squall. Ezra Squall equals murderer.’ She shrugged, trying to look unbothered. ‘It’s not stupid to think people could make assumptions.’

‘As long as your mum’s family aren’t the ones making assumptions,’ said Cadence, eyes narrowed.

‘I don’t think so,’ Morrigan said truthfully. ‘They probably just had enough to be getting on with without having to worry about me, too. It was horrible . Aunt Modestine couldn’t stop crying.’ She paused as rapid-fire images played in her mind: Dario and Modestine giggling together in the golden dragon boat … Dario and Gigi whispering together … Dario, empty-eyed, lifeless … ‘Honestly, I didn’t want to stay.’

‘Shame, though,’ said Cadence. ‘You could have eavesdropped on the investigation.’

‘You can’t just eavesdrop on a police investigation.’

‘Oh, that’s where you draw the line, is it?’ Cadence raised her eyebrows. ‘Sounds to me like you were doing quite a lot of eavesdropping last night.’

‘Not deliberately ,’ Morrigan muttered, mildly indignant.

‘Hey, no judgement from me. If those two didn’t want their very private conversation overheard, they should have done a thorough perimeter check. Dummies.’ She winced, looking sideways at Morrigan. ‘Er, may he rest in peace.’ She thought about it for another second, then added, ‘The jerk.’

‘Hmm.’ Morrigan couldn’t disagree. Perhaps it wasn’t kind to speak ill of the dead, but it wasn’t exactly kind to be sneaking off for a romantic punt down the canal with your girlfriend hours after marrying your wife, either.

‘Cadence, do you think I have to … I mean, I probably shouldn’t tell the Darlings, right? About Dario and Gigi? They already have to deal with all the attention from Dario’s …’ She trailed off, biting her lip, and left the awful thing unsaid. ‘Would I just be making everything worse? I don’t want to bring more scandal to the family when they’ve been so welcoming to me … even after I accidentally destroyed their house.’

Cadence’s mouth turned down. ‘I don’t see how it would help anyone to know about it now. Except … well.’ She paused. ‘If Gigi Grand is the murderer …’

‘She can’t be,’ said Morrigan. ‘I heard her leave for the Glade, remember? Then Dario rowed away down the canal.’

Her friend looked sceptical. ‘Did she make it to the Glade, though? She could have doubled back. You said she wasn’t at the bridge during the dragonfire thing.’

‘I’m not sure , though. Maybe I just couldn’t see her. There were heaps of people.’

‘That’s probably the first thing we need to find out.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if we’re going to solve the murder—’

‘If we’re going to what ?’ spluttered Morrigan, nearly choking on a piece of popcorn. She swallowed and coughed, thumping her chest. ‘How would we do that? Why would we do that, when the police—’

Cadence cut her off with a withering glare and handed her the large peppermint fizz they were sharing. ‘Sure. We’ll leave it to the professionals , shall we?’

‘Um … yes?’

‘I’m just saying, from everything you’ve told me I can already think of at least five people who might have done it, and I haven’t even broken a sweat.’

‘ Five? Who?’

‘No, no,’ Cadence said superciliously. ‘You’re right, let the Stink handle it. Nobody needs my expert opinion.’

Morrigan laughed. ‘Cadence.’

‘Shush, it’s starting.’

A blast of triumphal music rang out over the speakers, and the commentators’ idle chatter suddenly took on a much more stately and official tone.

‘Good people of Nevermoor! Welcome to the first day of the Winter Dragonsport Trials!’

A cheer rose from the crowd, and Morrigan straightened up to peer at the Trollosseum floor. Hawthorne’s exhibition flight was the first event of the day.

‘I am your host Edwina “Eddie” Longleat of Radio Nevermoor’s longest-running breakfast show, Brekky With Eddie, and I’m delighted to be here once again with the legendary Jem Tofty, three-time Free State Dragonriding Tournament champion and my partner in crime behind the microphone.’

‘Always a pleasure to be here with you, Eddie. Now, in the grand tradition of Winter Trials past, today’s event will kick off with a spectacular opening flight display from some of the industry’s most talented up-and-comers – but this year is, of course, a little different. Today we pay tribute to one of our own, the late Dario Rinaldi, and we ask that everyone in the stadium be upstanding for a minute’s silence to honour the memory of one of dragonsport’s greats.’

Cadence and Morrigan stood along with the thousands of other spectators.

Down on the floor of the arena, seven out of a dozen huge metal doors stationed around the perimeter slowly opened with a dramatic grinding sound. Morrigan’s breath caught in her throat as she watched seven riders step boldly from the shadowy recesses and into the centre of the stadium, their dragons loping alongside them in a terrifyingly graceful synchronicity.

The seven dragons were as individual as their riders, in a range of jewel-like colours and varying sizes (the smallest wasn’t much bigger than a draught horse; the largest could have sat on its hind legs and peeked through the third-floor window of the Hotel Deucalion). Some bore iridescent feathers like oversized exotic birds, some glowed with bioluminescent scales, and there was even one that shimmered like a disco ball, as though it was covered in mirrored glass.

Hawthorne was the youngest in the group by far, though his riding leathers with their wide shoulder plates made him look older than he really was. He was accompanied by Burns With the Fire of a Thousand Wood-Burning Stoves , a mid-sized dragon from the Wunsoc stables beneath Proudfoot House. Burns With had bright, blushing coral-pink scales and a tail almost twice the length of his body that was in constant movement, either lashing wildly in the air or twitching like it wanted to slap somebody but was resisting the urge.

When the minute’s silence ended, the riders signalled in unison to their dragons, who all lifted their beautiful, fearsome heads and blew a breath of gentle sparks up to the sky. Only when the last spark had disappeared did the riders take their saddles, and the dragons took to the air.

‘And they’re off!’ cried Jem Tofty.

The disco-ball dragon soared close above the stands, tumbling one hundred and eighty degrees onto its back mid-flight to a roar of appreciation from the crowd as the rider hung upside down from one hand, waving with the other. She climbed back up again and the dragon curled its wings around its body like a sleeping bat, then pirouetted in the air like a ballet dancer, throwing splashes of light all around the Trollosseum.

‘Beautiful work there from Emily-Joy Leung and Glitters Like a Good Night Out . And here comes Callum Wheeler on the back of Born on the Eve of the Queen’s Coronation – OH! The Iron Fist, now that’s a bold first move! Ooh, Callum not quite nailing the landing, but I do admire that courage.’

While each rider and their dragon took a turn to show off their best moves, the others soared high above in restless circles, awaiting their moment in the spotlight and giving each other as wide a berth as possible. Morrigan tried to absorb the whole spectacle – it was truly amazing, she’d never seen so many dragons in the sky all at once – but she found it hard to take her eyes off her friend, even as he circled in wait.

Hawthorne was a completely different person on dragon-back, and she never tired of seeing his transformation into this self-assured, masterful athlete. She couldn’t put her finger on the exact change. It was a certain tilt of his head and shoulders, perhaps, the way he held himself tall and still. That was it, she thought – his stillness . It was the only time she ever saw him fully focused on one thing; like nothing existed but him and the dragon.

‘And last up, we have Hawthorne Swift riding Burns With the Fire of a Thousand Wood-Burning Stoves . Oof, that is a smooth line on the Dawson Carousel, a tricky move made famous by five-time champion and legend of the sport, Nancy Dawson. And it’s a double – no, triple Tremaine Tornado, then straight into a one-eighty-degree Boxwood Special, no hesitation there from young Swift. Eddie, will you LOOK AT THAT DIVE! OUTSTANDING!’

It was obvious why the event organisers had saved Hawthorne’s display for last; he wasn’t just good, he was the best.

‘That is one talented kid, Tofty! Sharpest, bravest angle I’ve seen on a Boxwood Special in quite some time. Very impressive stuff. Swift’s future in dragonriding looks brighter than ten thousand wood-burning stoves.’

The pair went on about Hawthorne’s technique and control and poise, and when the whole thing was finished, Cadence and Morrigan jumped to their feet, screaming and cheering as he left the arena with his dragon, both their heads held high.

Hawthorne joined them in the stands after checking in with his family. It took him ages just to make his way over, because people kept stopping to shake his hand and congratulate him. Morrigan and Cadence greeted their newly famous friend with a two-person standing ovation. Anyone else might have been embarrassed, but Hawthorne bowed low and waved as if to a crowd of admirers. Eventually, they pulled him into a seat and shoved the half-empty bucket of popcorn into his hands to make him stop.

‘What’d you think?’ was the first thing he said.

‘Completely brilliant ,’ said Morrigan, throwing an arm around his shoulders and squeezing tight.

‘You were the best by far,’ Cadence agreed.

Hawthorne’s face turned pink with pleasure. He stuffed some popcorn in his mouth, then swallowed quickly as his next words came out in a rush. ‘Oh! Can you believe the news about Dario Rinaldi? Everyone’s talking about it in the changing rooms – apparently he was stabbed to death .’

Morrigan took a deep breath and launched into her second retelling of the events of the wedding. Hawthorne interjected every five seconds with comments, questions and gasps of shock, so Cadence made him shove a leather dragonriding glove in his mouth until the story was over.

When he was finally allowed to remove the glove, he blurted out, ‘Your aunt’s fiancé was DARIO RINALDI ? You didn’t tell me that bit!’

Morrigan shrugged. ‘I didn’t know he was famous.’

‘But hang on, if Dario was already dead … who was riding Alights on the Water ?’

‘Nobody knows. It was hard to see from the bridge. Definitely not his brother – Cosimo was standing near me.’

‘Couldn’t have been him anyway,’ said Hawthorne. ‘Dario’s the only Rinaldi who ever took a saddle. His brother just takes care of the business stuff.’

‘So, if we can figure out who this mystery rider is,’ Cadence said in a hushed voice, leaning forward, ‘it might lead us to the murderer.’

‘You think whoever was riding the dragon killed Dario?’ asked Morrigan.

Cadence scrunched up her nose. ‘I don’t know about that. Why would you kill someone and then stick around to risk getting caught, just so you could take a dragon for a joyride? Not worth it.’

‘ Might be worth it,’ said Hawthorne, with a wistful look on his face, ‘to ride a dragon like that.’

‘Oh really?’ said Morrigan, laughing. ‘You’re saying you’d murder —’

‘Well no, obviously I wouldn’t, but I reckon some people might.’ He clocked the two girls staring at him incredulously and shook his head. ‘You two don’t understand, you don’t know what dragonsport people are like. The money floating around this industry is stupid . Like, stupid , STUPID money. And not just prize money, I mean sponsorships, stable contracts, betting, ticket sales. The top-tier athletes riding the top-tier dragons can make millions in just one season, and the owners will make hundreds of millions. The chance to ride a prestige dragon like Alights on the Water ? Yeah, I reckon there are people who’d kill for that.’

‘You’re probably right,’ Cadence agreed, frowning. ‘And even if the mystery rider isn’t the murderer, they must have been in on it. So, who was it?’

‘You’re our industry expert,’ Morrigan said to Hawthorne. ‘Who do you know with the skill to ride a dragon like Alights ?’

He shoved two big handfuls of popcorn into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. ‘What did you say Dario wrote in the sky? I love you something something — ?’

‘A million dragons.’

‘Right.’ He took a long slurp of peppermint fizz. ‘A message that complex, written that quickly, by only one rider and one dragon, that’s like … hard. Really hard. It requires a level of communication and cooperation with the dragon that not every rider can achieve. Dario and Alights had that connection, which is frankly a miracle. Alights is incredible, but in dragonsport circles she’s famous for being, um … a bit crabby? She once burned down the Rinaldi Stables because some poor stablehand put her favourite blanket in the wash. They had to rebuild the whole thing.’

Morrigan frowned. ‘I saw Alights dive and glide on the water, and a bunch of other stuff that she did absolutely perfectly, and somehow it wasn’t Dario in that saddle. If they were so bonded, and she’s such a cow to everyone else, how is that possible?’

Hawthorne went quiet, thinking hard, then puffed out his cheeks in a big sigh of defeat. ‘I honestly can’t think who the other rider could have been. I don’t know anyone Alights would fly for like that, except Dario.’

‘Sounds like he might be impossible to replace,’ said Cadence. ‘All these riders might have come for no reason.’

Morrigan glanced over at the end of their row. The people who’d been sitting there had got up to leave, and one of them left their crumpled, slightly soggy copy of the Evening Sentinel on the floor. She got up to fetch it, squinting at the front-page headline, and began to read.

brIGHT YOUNG STAR OF THE DRAGONRIDING WORLD FOUND DEAD BEFORE WINTER TRIALS

A man has been stabbed to death on his wedding day in the gated Silver District in Ogden-on-Juro. Nevermoor City Police are investigating in conjunction with the Silver District Watch.

‘Maybe,’ Hawthorne agreed, pausing to throw a kernel of popcorn into the air and catch it in his mouth. ‘But I reckon whoever the mystery rider is, they’ll want to throw their hat in the ring at some point during the Winter Trials. Makes sense, right? I’m surprised the Stink aren’t here to scope out suspects.’

‘Hmm,’ said Cadence, with a pointed look at Morrigan, who was returning to her seat. ‘Maybe they need some help to solve the case?’

Morrigan’s eyes widened in surprise as she read the next sentence. ‘Or maybe they’ve already solved it.’

Wedding planner Crispin Stirling, 52, was detained for questioning early this morning and has been arrested under suspicion of murder.