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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Return and Retreat

Morrigan spent most of Friday outside in the Whinging Woods, several hundred years in the past. There were only two blocks on her timetable today. The first, a very long ghostly hour in which Audley Williams – a Wundersmith of apparently saint-like patience – tried to teach two obnoxious, distractible children how to reach through the root system of one tree to send a message to another tree several kilometres away.

The lesson went frustratingly slowly, but was absorbing enough that Morrigan almost forgot to dread her second and last class of the day: Unit 919’s rescheduled Civic Tasks follow-up.

She’d been carrying Aunt Margot’s letter around with her since yesterday, unable to make up her mind about it. As she approached the classroom on Sub-Three, she closed a protective hand around it inside her pocket, steeling herself to confront Holliday about her missing messages. That thought evaporated, however, the moment she walked in and saw the publicist at the front of the room, head together in murmured congress with an unexpected attendee.

Morrigan’s heart jumped into her throat. He looked up, seeming to sense her arrival.

‘Mog!’

Jupiter rushed across the room as if to hug her, but she was so statue-frozen that by the time he reached the doorway he seemed to think better of it, and they simply stood awkwardly and looked at each other. He wore a navy suit she’d never seen before, with a plain white shirt underneath, untucked and wrinkled. She couldn’t remember him ever wearing anything so … normal. He looked like a tired banker.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

Jupiter’s face betrayed only a microsecond of hurt feelings before he rearranged it; just long enough for Morrigan to feel a stab of guilt, which she pushed aside.

He held up a wrinkled copy of her timetable. ‘It says “patron attendance welcome”.’

‘But not required,’ she muttered, then instantly felt cross with herself. Ambushed by his sudden appearance, the weird complexity of Morrigan’s feelings seemed too big to fit inside her head. It was strange to be so furious at him, and so worried he was going to be furious with her, and so furious at the gall of him being furious, even in her own imagination. And underneath it all was, somehow, an undeniable hum of pleasure to see him again, a happiness that couldn’t help itself. ‘That’s not what I meant, though. When did you get back on-realm?’

‘Only an hour ago. I had to see Jack first, then I came straight here.’

That explained why he looked so rough, Morrigan thought. It was clear he hadn’t stopped to have a shower, or a nap, or change his clothes. His beard was scraggly, and there were black circles under his eyes and … was she imagining it, or did he have a few more grey hairs than when she last saw him?

‘Long week,’ he said, noticing her expression. He tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace. ‘Holliday told me what happened at your aunt’s wedding. I’m so sorry, Mog. It must have been terrifying. How are you?’

‘Fine,’ she said automatically.

Morrigan shifted the satchel slung across her shoulder, feeling uncomfortable. People kept asking her if she was all right, how she was holding up … as if Dario’s murder was a thing that had happened to her, instead of near her. Of course his death was awful, but after all, she’d only met him that day. It was Aunt Modestine and his family that people should be worried about.

But Jupiter nodded, brow furrowed, and his gaze seemed to flit here and there in the space around her. She wondered what he was seeing. Did he already know about Squall? Surely he would say something if he did. How much could he figure out just by looking at her? She held her breath, as if that might somehow keep her secret inside too.

‘Perhaps we should—’ Jupiter gestured to the door behind her, a second before Carlos came bursting through it.

‘Ah, finally,’ said Holliday as he joined her at the front. She clapped her hands briskly and addressed the room. ‘Everyone sit, please. We’ll need to keep this short I’m afraid, I have a press call for WitchCon in half an hour and they’ve threatened to hex me if I’m late again, so no interrupting.’

‘Let’s go out for dinner,’ Jupiter said to Morrigan quietly. ‘We can take the Brolly Rail to that dumpling shop you like on Mermaid Lane. Sound good?’

Morrigan hesitated, then nodded. Cadence wanted to brief her after school on the best strategies for snooping around a stately home, but that would have to wait. She’d tell Jupiter about the apprenticeship over dumplings. It was decided. (Nobody could truly be angry with a bowl full of delicious dumpling soup in front of them, surely?)

She and Jupiter took the two seats between Hawthorne and Lam.

‘Have you seen Cadence?’ Lam murmured into Morrigan’s ear. ‘We were supposed to meet outside her Code-making and Code-breaking class, but she never showed up.’

Morrigan shook her head and was about to explain she’d spent most of her day in the distant past, when Holliday spoke again.

‘Okay, first up: Morrigan Crow. We’re pulling you back from the Darling situation,’ she began, sparing Morrigan only the briefest glance. ‘I think we all agree the best course of action is to steer clear of the Silver District for now, yes?’

‘Absolutely,’ Jupiter affirmed. Morrigan threw him an irritated look, feeling her jaw clench. This had the distinct whiff of a sneak attack.

‘We’re working on a new task for you, so hold tight and we’ll discuss some options next week, okay?’ She returned to her notes without waiting for a response. ‘Ah! Francis Fitzwilliam, I’ve had a brilliant idea for you. Have you by any chance heard of—’

‘Wait,’ said Morrigan, heart thumping. ‘What does that mean, you’re pulling me back from the Darling situation ? Why?’

Holliday looked surprised by the sharpness in her voice. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘No?’

‘There’s been a murder.’

‘And?’

‘It isn’t safe, Mog,’ said Jupiter, at the same time Holliday said, ‘Murder isn’t great for PR. The whole idea of getting you in with the Darlings was to de-fang the Concerned Citizens’ smear campaign against you, not to give them an opportunity to associate you with a murder . The Silver District project has given us some momentum in shaping your public-facing narrative. Now’s the time to move swiftly forward and extricate you from—’

‘What are you talking about?’ Morrigan demanded. ‘Silver District project ? It’s not a project, or a situation, or a public-facing narrative . They’re my family ! I can’t disappear from their lives when we’ve just found each other! You’re not extricating me from anything.’

‘I’m afraid we are.’

‘Holliday, I thought we agreed I’d handle this conversation,’ Jupiter said in a quiet, weary voice.

But she didn’t seem to hear him. ‘Carlos, show her the thing.’

Carlos dutifully crossed to where Morrigan sat, opening a copy of the Morning Post and folding it over to show her an article on page two. He tapped the headline.

‘ WEDDING PLANNER WALTZES AWAY WITHOUT CHARGE, ’ Morrigan read aloud, taking the newspaper from him.

‘I’ll save you the trouble of reading the whole thing: Crispy Whatshisname is off the hook,’ Holliday said. ‘Turns out he left the wedding early and was already at Ogden Town Station when the murder happened. The woman who sold him a train ticket came forward to corroborate his story. Now, go ahead and skip to the end.’

Morrigan’s eyes drifted to the last paragraph, and Lam leaned in to read over her shoulder.

Police investigations continue with the cooperation of the Rinaldi and Darling families, and other key figures in the Silver District. A wedding attendee who spoke to the Morning Post anonymously said the event drew many high-profile guests, including several dragonsport legends, popular jazz singer Gigi Grand and notorious Wundrous Society member Morrigan Crow, recently revealed to be a Wundersmith.

‘You think they mentioned you by accident?’ Holliday asked, leaning forward to look at her pointedly. ‘Because I don’t.’

Morrigan felt sick. Had the Darlings had the same thought about Morrigan? Were they asking themselves right now whether she had killed Dario? She couldn’t bear the thought of that, but if anyone thought to ask where Morrigan had been just before the flight of the golden dragon … well, she and the murderer had one thing in common. They’d both missed the cake-cutting. Morrigan’s only alibi was a conversation she wished she’d never overheard. A conversation Gigi Grand would no doubt deny ever having.

‘The Darlings aren’t going anywhere, Morrigan,’ Holliday went on, a little more kindly. ‘You can reconnect with them once the police investigation is over. For now, let’s give them some space to sort out their problems. Okay?’

Morrigan opened her mouth to answer, but found she didn’t know what to say.

‘Right, Unit 919, let’s crack on. I really don’t want to be magicked into a newt today.’ Holliday turned again to Francis. ‘Have you by any chance heard of a very exclusive underground supper club called Slumgullion’s ?’

Morrigan spent the rest of the session quietly seething, and then she spent the awkward railpod trip to ground level quietly seething and she seethed quietly all the way out of Proudfoot House and down the marble steps until she and Jupiter reached the open air of the fireblossom-lined driveway, where her quiet seething became very loud indeed.

‘Holliday can’t stop me from seeing my family,’ she snapped, whipping round to face Jupiter. ‘And neither can you.’

‘I don’t intend to,’ he said, raising his hands in immediate surrender. ‘I want you to have a relationship with the Darlings, I honestly— Don’t look at me like that, I do . I just—’

‘You just lied to me for three years to prevent it from happening.’

‘I just want you to be safe , above all else,’ he finished. ‘And I’m sorry, I really am, but that might mean staying away from the Silver District for a little while. Holliday’s right – the Darlings aren’t going anywhere. But, as of this moment, there is most likely someone still inside the Silver District who murdered Dario Rinaldi. It could be any one of them.’

‘Any one of who ?’ she scoffed. ‘The Silverborn, or the Darlings?’

Without waiting for an answer, Morrigan stomped onwards, brolly swinging furiously at her side.

‘I have no idea who did it, and I’m not sure I care very much,’ Jupiter admitted, jogging to catch up with her. ‘All I care about is keeping you safe! But I promise, Mog, as soon as the killer has been caught—’

‘Well, as it happens, I’m going to catch the killer myself.’

Morrigan blinked. She hadn’t meant to say that at all.

‘What are you talking about?’ His expression had melted into horror.

‘I just meant … I think I could help … you know. Not catch them, exactly . ’ She shrugged, trying to walk it back. ‘Just give some information. I was at the wedding, I met a lot of people, heard a lot of weird conversations … I’m sure the police will want to question everyone who was there, won’t they?’

Jupiter’s mouth was a grim straight line. It was clear he didn’t believe her suddenly breezy tone. ‘It would be a very bad idea for you to go poking around this thing. You’re not the Stink, Morrigan.’

She scowled. ‘I know I’m not the Stink, Jupiter. I’m just saying I was there, and … and maybe I could be helpful—’

‘What in all the Seven Silly Pockets are you talking about?’ he moaned, turning to pace a few frustrated steps, running a hand through his hair again and over his face. ‘You have no business being a part of this at all! Morrigan – you are a child .’

‘Jupiter – I am a teenager. ’

He stopped short at that, chin drawn down to his chest in some mixture of shock and indignation, mouth open like an unhappy goldfish.

‘W-well!’ he blustered, shaking his head with vigour. ‘ Well , I utterly reject that notion!’

Morrigan rolled her eyes. ‘I’m thirteen years old. I’ll be fourteen in a few months. It’s not a notion , it’s reality. You can’t reject reality.’

‘Once again you vastly underestimate my skillset!’

They stood for a moment in prickly, irritable silence. Morrigan was suddenly itching to escape this conversation.

‘We shouldn’t argue when we’re hungry,’ Jupiter said, trying to smile. ‘Let’s get those dumplings and then … and then how about we do something fun? It’s zombie paintball night at the Trollosseum!’

‘I can’t.’ She shook her head resolutely, gripping her oilskin umbrella. ‘Sorry. I forgot I promised Cadence I’d help her with something after school. She’ll be wondering where I am.’

‘Oh.’ Unable to hide his disappointment, he sighed a full, shoulder-slumping sigh. ‘Mog, listen. I’m sorry. I’ve done this all wrong, I’m just … I’m so tired. Can we start again? I didn’t mean to be so—’

‘Cadence will be waiting.’ She marched up the burning drive without looking back.

Morrigan stormed straight into Proudfoot Station’s end-of-day crush of junior and senior scholars, all hurrying to catch their Hometrains at once. She didn’t see Cadence until they collided.

‘Where have you been?’ both girls demanded at once.

‘Jupiter’s back,’ Morrigan said darkly, just as Cadence declared, ‘I found the photographer!’

‘ What? ’ they spluttered in unison.

‘You first,’ Morrigan told her.

They found a quiet-ish corner of the busy station so Cadence could recount her afternoon of skipping school and taking the Brolly Rail to a photography studio in Betelgeuse.

‘How’d you find them?’

‘You know that photo of Dario and Modestine all the newspapers are using, the one of them leaving the chapel with confetti all around?’ Cadence said quietly, her eyes shining. ‘Most of the articles didn’t credit the photographer, but the Sentinel listed a surname in the caption: Novak. So I looked up a bunch of photography studios in Nevermoor and made a list of their contact information and then I set a potted tree in the entrance hall on fire—’

‘Sorry, what ?’

‘—hoping Dearborn would go on the warpath about it, which she did – so predictable – and then I snuck into her and Murgatroyd’s office and made heaps of calls and then finally I reached a studio called Cathryn Novak Photography, and then …’

The story of how Cadence had waltzed out of school and across the city to mesmerise her way into a professional studio and interrogate an award-winning photographer went on for some time. She was clearly quite proud of her investigative skills, and Morrigan had to admit she was impressed.

‘So did you get the photos?’ she finally interrupted, unable to take the suspense any longer.

‘Oh. Right.’ Cadence blinked and did a little head shake, as if she’d forgotten the point of her story. ‘She doesn’t have them anymore.’

Morrigan drooped. ‘What, none of them?’

‘Not even the negatives.’

‘Oh.’ She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

‘But guess who does.’ Cadence’s face broke into a sly grin. ‘Lady Margot Darling. She bought double prints of every single photo they took, which was nearly four thousand , plus the negatives. Apparently Lady Margot didn’t want any of them to end up in the papers and “fuel the fires of scandal”.’ Cadence raised both her eyebrows.

Morrigan felt herself bristle defensively at this news. ‘I suppose that makes sense.’

‘Does it?’

‘It was her sister’s wedding. Who do you think was paying the photographer to be there in the first place? I imagine the whole wedding was funded by the Darlings. They’re the Greater House , after all.’

‘Hmm. Well, we’ve got to see those photos. Think you can wrangle an invite back to Darling House?’ The look in Cadence’s eye was at once wily and hopeful. ‘And … maybe a plus one?’

Morrigan thought of her letter from Aunt Margot, and of Holliday’s warning, and of Jupiter’s worried face. Truthfully, the idea of attending Dario’s memorial still made her nauseous, but now …

‘You were right about the wedding planner,’ she said miserably, and told Cadence about the newspaper article detailing Crispin Stirling’s release, and her name being mentioned.

‘I knew it!’ Cadence grinned, unable to hide her satisfaction at being proven right, but then quickly turned serious again. ‘Holliday’s right about your name being in that article, though. It’s not good news.’

‘I know.’

The two girls stood in silence for a moment. Then Morrigan took a galvanising breath and, without a word of explanation, turned to sprint across the platform to Hometrain 920.

‘Lucinda!’ she yelled, arriving just as Lucinda Hallewell disappeared inside her Hometrain and the door swung shut.

With a screaming whistle and an eruption of white steam, the train began to chug slowly along the platform. Morrigan groaned in frustration, but moments later, a little hand wrenched open one of the train windows and Lucinda’s face appeared.

‘Yes?’

‘Tell my aunt I’m coming tomorrow!’

Morrigan ran alongside the train as it gathered speed, dodging groups of scholars and shouting through cupped hands. She wasn’t entirely sure how the next part of her message would be received, but something in her felt bold and insistent. If Aunt Margot could throw all propriety out the window, then so could she.

‘And I’m bringing a friend!’