Page 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The Genius of Lambeth Amara

On the last Wednesday of the term, the Gathering Place was packed with junior scholars, senior scholars and adult society members in huge numbers, many of whom had come in from the other Six Pockets of the Free State especially for this. Morrigan had never seen the vast room so full.

‘I believe everyone has been brought up to speed regarding the Guiltghast, yes?’ There was a murmur of assent. Elder Quinn nodded, and gestured to the eight people lined up behind her on the dais. ‘The special task force you see behind me has been meeting since Hallowmas, trying to agree on a way forward. They are led by Gavin Squires of the Beastly Division, Apsara Patel of the Wunsoc Ethics Committee and Conall O’Leary of the Wundrous Supernatural League. Also joining us are representatives from external agencies including the Alliance of Nevermoor Covens, the Royal Sorcery Council and the Supernatural Civic Services Department. I hand you over now to Mr O’Leary, who will explain today’s agenda.’

Leaning on his cane, Conall rose from his chair and got straight to the point.

‘After several weeks of exhaustive and … spirited discussion,’ he began, to tense, humourless chuckles from the task force, ‘my colleagues and I have reached a stalemate regarding the fate of the Guiltghast and are left with three equally unappealing options. We’ve prepared cases for and against all three, and will lay them out for you to understand, interrogate, discuss and ultimately vote on.’

Hawthorne, sitting on Morrigan’s right, put his rolled-up jumper on her shoulder to use as a pillow. ‘Wake me up when something interesting happens.’

On her other side, Lam’s hand went into the air.

‘Are you okay?’ Morrigan whispered in surprise. Lam rarely spoke up in a normal class, let alone a full C the door’s wide open for me to walk through.

‘When the phases of the Age turn, however … just for those few minutes either side of midnight, it’s a very different story. I’m not knocking on a door or walking through it; the dead are at the door with a battering ram and a squadron of bagpipers, demanding attention. I don’t know why, something about the disturbance of volatile energy during the shift.’ He turned to Lam. ‘You don’t take a sleeping draught, like your grandmother?’

Lam shrugged. ‘I think it’s exciting.’

‘What’s the idea, exactly?’ asked Gavin. ‘We somehow cram the entire Black Parade into a few minutes either side of midnight?’

‘We wouldn’t need to, Mr Squires,’ said Conall. ‘For those few minutes, the Unresting will be on the other end of the proverbial battering ram. We won’t need to wind through Nevermoor for hours, seeking every stray we can find. The strays will be looking for us . If we can gather enough people with some level of psychic sensitivity to be in Eldritch Moorings when the clocks are set to change … the Unresting will come, and the Guiltghast will have a feast to sate its hunger and send it back to sleep.’

‘As long as it stays in Eldritch Moorings and doesn’t wake up before Spring’s Eve—’

‘I daresay between the Beastly Division and the Wundrous Supernatural League – and with an affordable amount of assistance from our friends in the Royal Sorcery Council and the Alliance of Nevermoor Covens – we can have a guard stationed there round the clock to ensure it doesn’t,’ said Conall.

Gavin stood for a long moment with his hands on his hips, chewing the side of his mouth thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded. ‘Let’s workshop a plan.’

The two men shook on it, then shook hands with Apsara Patel and the others on the task force, and the Gathering Place broke into slightly stunned applause. Flooded with relief, Morrigan hugged Lam so tight she thought she heard a squeak.

‘Question,’ said Elder Quinn, stepping up to address the task force. ‘How many weeks have you been having these meetings? Shouting and arguing over the ethics of whether and when and how to murder the Guiltghast?’

‘Five weeks, Elder Quinn,’ mumbled Gavin Squires. ‘Give or take.’

‘Interesting.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Twenty-two minutes, we’ve been here. How old are you, Miss Amara?’

‘I’ll be fourteen next month, ma’am.’

‘Twenty-two minutes it took this fourteen-next-month -year-old to come up with an elegant solution to a problem you’ve all been yapping about for five weeks, give or take. ’ Elder Quinn gave them a beatific smile. ‘Just something to mull over.’