Hollowpox The Hunt for Morrigan Crow - Jessica Townsend Page 0,104
who can teach you what you need to know. Not even the great Griselda Polaris. I am the best and only chance you have, Miss Crow.’ He gently inclined his head. ‘Time to stop playing. I’ve come to formalise the arrangement.’
Morrigan narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Be my apprentice,’ he continued. ‘Agree to learn from me everything that I am able to teach you. Work hard, pay attention, and finally become the Wundersmith you were meant to be.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said, with a slightly bewildered laugh. ‘And – sorry – what exactly am I supposed to get out of this arrangement?’
Squall raised an eyebrow. ‘Aside from an incomparable depth of knowledge and the opportunity to become the most powerful person in the Free State? Aside from veering away from this path you’re on to become a second-rate version of a ghostly re-enactment of a long-dead also-ran?’
‘Right, aside from all that,’ said Morrigan. ‘The truth is you can’t give me anything, because there’s nothing I want from you. I have everything I need right here at Wunsoc.’
‘Except … a cure.’
The words hung in the air. Morrigan and Squall watched each other for several silent seconds.
‘A cure for what?’ she said finally, her pulse quickening.
He didn’t respond to that. He didn’t need to.
Morrigan shook her head in disbelief. ‘You’d just give me the cure?’
She saw a tiny flicker of amusement cross his face. ‘Certainly not. But become my apprentice, and I won’t just cure the so-called Hollowpox, I will destroy it. We will destroy it together. For good.’
‘How do I know you’re not lying?’ she demanded. ‘How do I know it can even be destroyed?’
‘Do you think I would make something I couldn’t unmake?’
Morrigan felt her blood rise. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She felt vindicated and furious all at once.
‘I knew it was you. I told them!’ She began to pace back and forth, agitating the spark of fire between her fingertips. ‘It’s not a disease at all, is it? It’s one of your monsters! I’m right, aren’t I?’
But Squall said nothing, gave nothing away.
‘Why? Just because you like killing things, because you like hurting people? Or is this another one of your sick tests, like the Ghastly Market? Did you cause all this havoc and pain just so that I would …’ Morrigan trailed off. Her mind had been racing ahead, but it came to a crashing halt as she connected the final dot. Her mouth twisted into an expression of disgust. ‘So that I would agree to become your apprentice.’
Squall’s face was impassive.
‘I’m right,’ she said again, her voice low and angry, ‘aren’t I? You can only get what you want by blackmail—’
‘You’re being dramatic.’ It felt somehow like an insult – the contrast of his soft, disinterested voice against the anger she felt buzzing inside her like a beehive. She wanted to throw something at him. She wanted to shake him. ‘Not to mention terribly presumptuous – you know, the entire world does not revolve around you. And if my sole aim was to swindle you into an apprenticeship, I could think of far more efficient ways.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘You rarely do.’
‘Why, then?’ she demanded again. ‘Why create the Hollowpox at all? Just your warped idea of fun?’
He gave a tiny, irritated sigh, little more than a puff of air. ‘I didn’t say I would give you an explanation, Miss Crow. I have never felt the need to explain myself to anyone and I don’t intend to begin now. I said I’d give you a cure. That is my offer.’
‘Maybe we don’t need you.’ She tilted her chin slightly upwards, clenching her hands into fists. ‘Dr Bramble thinks she’s close to finding a cure.’
His only response to that claim was a pitying smile that made the skin on the back of her neck grow cold.
‘Come now. It’s not so difficult a choice, is it? Become my apprentice and save all of Wunimalkind! Be the hero of Nevermoor! Hip, hip, hooray! Who knows, they might even give you a medal.’
Squall gave a low whistle, and the shadow hounds swarmed obediently to his side. ‘I’ll give you a few days to consider my offer, but don’t take too long. Things are ever so much worse than you know. You’ll find that out for yourself soon enough, and when you do, you will come looking for me.’
Morrigan’s lip curled. ‘I will not come looking—’
‘You will,’ he repeated in the same calm, conversational tone. ‘On the Gossamer Line.’