Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

Seventeen Minutes

Holliday and Carlos steered Morrigan firmly out the door and down the long hall, closely flanking her like an honour guard. (Or prison guards.)

‘I promised them there’d be no cameras,’ Holliday muttered, her boots click-clacking briskly on the marble floor. ‘They’re so infuriatingly private. But we were supposed to at least have that Hathaway-Hightower chap from the Sentinel there to get a quote for his column. I imagine that was half the point of this last-minute location change – to avoid any press.’ She sounded most disgruntled at the idea of being outmanoeuvred. ‘I’ll see if I can get one of the younger ones on record myself. Carlos, please can you do something with the hair?’ she finished, grimacing in Morrigan’s direction.

Carlos huffed dramatically. ‘With what, Holliday? My bare hands? You want me to claw at her head like a mother bird? Am I some sort of kestrel? I had everything set up outside the formal parlour. I cannot work under these— ’

‘Just do your best, pal.’ Holliday smiled tightly.

They were nearing the railpod bank at the end of the hall. A snakewun minor teacher and several chattering scholars were queuing ahead of them, but Holliday swept past, ushering Morrigan into the first arriving pod with a breezy apology. The teacher gave an indignant hiss.

‘So sorry, everyone! Forgive me, Professor Dresser, we’re in a hurry! Oh—’ Holliday raised an eyebrow, looking over Morrigan’s shoulder. ‘You’re coming too, are you?’

‘Obviously I’m coming.’ To Morrigan’s great relief, she turned to see Miss Cheery on their heels, looking livid. She slipped in just before the doors slammed shut, squishing the four of them into a brass pod built for three.

‘Isn’t this cosy.’ Holliday’s weary voice was muffled behind Miss Cheery’s curly hair. ‘So glad you could join us, Marina.’

Carlos pulled a lever and the pod took off with a lurch, barely a second after Morrigan reached up to grab one of the safety loops dangling from the ceiling.

‘This isn’t in Morrigan’s timetable,’ said Miss Cheery. ‘You haven’t run any of this past me. Does her patron know?’

‘Of course,’ Holliday assured her. ‘Elder Quinn summoned him to the Elders Hall earlier for a briefing – that’s why he wasn’t in our session.’

The tension in Morrigan’s stomach eased a little, knowing Jupiter had at least some idea of what was going on. If it was anything too dreadful, he would surely have put a stop to it.

‘Who am I meeting?’ Morrigan asked, emboldened. ‘And what’s my task? Is it something to do with the Wundrous Arts?’

‘It’s absolutely nothing to do with the Wundrous Arts.’ Holliday’s voice was deceptively casual, with the slightest tremor underneath. ‘In fact, for the next hour, do not even mention the Wundrous Arts. You are simply a thirteen-year-old girl named Morrigan Crow. Understood?’

Someone’s singing from a different songbook, Morrigan thought, exchanging a troubled glance with Miss Cheery. Was this the same Holliday Wu who had literally shoved her in front of a crowd of strangers mere weeks ago, like the pushiest of stage parents, and told her to perform something exhilarating from her Wundrous Arts repertoire? Morrigan felt her hackles rise at the memory.

The railpod spiked suddenly upwards and all four passengers buckled at the knees.

‘Morrigan, listen to me closely,’ Holliday continued. ‘I’ve realised something important. We’ve been trying to reconcile what the Society needs from you, with what Nevermoor expects from you. Wunsoc demands that we all help maintain the Society’s good reputation. But your Wundersmith status is a direct threat to that reputation. It shouldn’t be, I know it shouldn’t, ’ she held up a hand to halt Miss Cheery’s rebuttal, ‘but it is , and we can’t deny it. The Nevermoor public are afraid of you. I think the protest last night at the Black Parade has driven that home for all of us.’

Morrigan felt her stomach curl with embarrassment at the memory, but Miss Cheery gave an aggressively indignant scoff.

‘Morrigan ended the Hollowpox, for goodness’ sake! What more does she have to—’

‘ I know that , Marina.’ The discomfort on the publicist’s face spoke volumes. Morrigan could only assume that, like everyone else, Holliday wanted to know how she’d done it, and also very much did not want to know how she’d done it. ‘And you know that, and most people in the Society know that, but NEVERMOOR DOESN’T KNOW THAT. Not really. I’m sorry, Morrigan, but most people don’t look at you and see the girl who ended an epidemic. They look at you and see Ezra Squall the Sequel.’

Morrigan flinched at that bluntness.

‘So, we need to remind them that a Wundersmith isn’t all you are,’ said Holliday. ‘In short, Morrigan, we need to humanise you.’

They took a sharp left, then a right, then lurched nauseatingly around a bend.

‘What do you mean, humanise her?’ demanded Miss Cheery. ‘What is she, a walrus?!’

‘Marina, my love,’ Carlos said with a sigh, ‘you could stop thinking the worst of us for five seconds, just for the sake of efficiency, yes?’

But Morrigan was remembering something Jupiter had once told her. He’d known she would ultimately make it into the Society, because she was a Wundersmith and there was no other place for her … but he’d wanted her to go through the entry trials first so that the Elders knew what sort of person she was.

In the hope they’ll continue to see you as a person first, he’d said, and a Wundersmith second.

Holliday was watching her curiously. ‘You understand what I’m saying, don’t you Morrigan?’

‘I … yeah, I think so.’ She glanced at Miss Cheery, nodding to convey that she was okay. ‘I understand.’

‘Good.’ Holliday took a big breath, looking genuinely relieved. ‘Because here’s where it gets interesting: we’ve been doing some research these past few weeks. Into your family. Your story . Your past, before you came to Nevermoor. Trying to form some picture of Morrigan Crow, the girl behind the Wundersmith.’

Morrigan probably should have been affronted by this invasion of her privacy, but all she could think was what a tedious job that must have been. She could have supplied the highlights herself if they’d asked: born cursed; bane of family’s existence; surprise visit from strange redhead; faked own death; bumpy ride through clock in giant mechanical spider. Done.

Holliday shared a conspiratorial look with Carlos. They were practically vibrating with excitement now. ‘We were hoping to uncover a bit of miserable backstory from your childhood in the Wintersea Republic. Something we could feed the papers to garner public sympathy in your favour.’

Miss Cheery made a noise of disgust, and Morrigan cringed. As a former ‘cursed child’, she had miserable backstory in spades, naturally. But she’d rather set it to polka music and sing it live at the Nevermoor Opera House with a chorus line of dancers behind her than use it to garner public sympathy . How mortifying.

‘But as it turns out, we were looking for the wrong thing, in very much the wrong place. After that piece about you in the Sunday Post— ’

‘The one where you exposed me as a Wundersmith?’ Morrigan interrupted flatly.

‘That’s the one,’ Holliday said, without remorse. ‘Look, we did what we had to, for the good of the Society. But consider this my way of making it up to you.’

Morrigan narrowed her eyes. ‘How?’

‘After that piece, the Elders were approached by a woman called Margot Darling. Does that name mean anything to you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, this woman said she tried to meet you in the days after the article was published, but that large lobby cat of yours threatened to gouge out her eyes for lying about who she was. Except she wasn’t lying.’

‘Who is she?’

‘She’s your aunt.’

Morrigan snorted. ‘Oh, that. Yeah, there were lots of people saying lots of wild things, trying to get into the Deucalion and catch me doing something Wundersmithy. Sorry to disappoint you, but she was lying. I know that for a fact, because I don’t have any aunts.’

‘You do, actually,’ Holliday insisted, lips twitching as she tried to contain a grin. ‘In fact, you have three. Lady Margot Darling, Lady Miriam Darling—’

‘HOLD UP,’ Miss Cheery cut in. ‘You’re not talking about—’

‘—and Lady Modestine Darling. Yes, I am talking about the Darling sisters.’

Miss Cheery was staring, open-mouthed. ‘That means Morrigan’s family is—’

‘Yes.’

‘So that makes Morrigan—’

‘Yes.’ Holliday beamed, her face flushed with delight. ‘Morrigan, you’re a Darling!’

Morrigan blinked. She felt dazed. ‘Um. Thanks?’

‘No, listen to me. You are a Darling ,’ Holliday repeated, ‘with a capital D. Your mother was born into the Grand Old House of Darling, in the Silver District. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

My mother.

Morrigan experienced a strange sensation of sudden, rising warmth, all the way up to her scalp. She felt like a cup being filled to the brim with hot tea.

Holliday grabbed her shoulders and squeezed them, eager to get the message across.

‘Morrigan. You are Silverborn. ’