Hollowpox The Hunt for Morrigan Crow - Jessica Townsend Page 0,117
they’ve made themselves a bigger problem,’ she said, yawning. ‘I really don’t think the Elders thought this through.’
‘Nor do I. I suspect the decision was made in a blind panic, because …’ He glanced at her and paused, as if uncertain whether he should go on. ‘Because something happened on Saturday that made them realise they were sitting on a much worse story, one that could widen the rift between humans and Wunimals for good, and they needed everyone’s attention elsewhere while they quietly decided what to do. Mog, what I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room. It’s extremely sensitive information—’
‘The Wunimals started waking up,’ Morrigan said quietly. ‘And they’ve become unnimals.’
His eyes widened.
‘Anah told me. But don’t tell Dr Lutwyche, will you? Cadence and I made her tell.’
‘I won’t,’ he agreed. ‘If you promise not to tell Dame Chanda about Juvela De Flimsé. I think it would break her heart.’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I thought. Better to wait until Dr Bramble’s found the cure.’ She looked slantwise at him. ‘She must be close now.’
‘Hmm. We’re getting closer every—’
‘Closer every day, yeah, you keep saying that.’ Morrigan raised an eyebrow. ‘Jupiter, what if the only person who can cure it …’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and I demand you stop thinking it this instant.’
She scowled. ‘You’re not the thought police of me.’
‘I told you, Squall is a liar. And even if he’s telling the truth, there is nothing he can offer that’s worth what he wants in return. It’s not an option. Dr Bramble is brilliant, Morrigan, truly – and she’s on the verge of a breakthrough. I know she is.’
Was Squall altogether a liar, though, Morrigan wondered. He hadn’t been lying about the Wundrous Society flipping the script.
Jupiter clapped his hands once and smiled. ‘You must be famished! I’ll have a meal sent up to you, shall I? Rib eye steak, I think – you could do with the extra iron. And plenty of greens. And corn on the cob, you love corn on the cob. Soup to start, of course, you must have some soup – and a great big bowl of mulberry ice cream for afters, how about that? Lovely.’ Already out the door, he called back from the hallway, ‘You have a nice hot bath and supper will be outside your door when you’re ready. Ooh – and chocolate sprinkles! For the ice cream, not the soup. Although …’
Morrigan knew he was running away before she could question him any more about Dr Bramble’s supposed verge-of-a-breakthrough, but she was too tired to be annoyed. She closed her eyes.
Must remember to be annoyed tomorrow, she thought, before slipping fast into sleep.
Morrigan woke next morning in the exact same spot, in the same slumped, half-sitting position, feeling as cosy and comfortable as she could ever remember feeling. The table across the room where her bed once stood was gone. A new bed had grown around her in the night, soft and warm like a cocoon of wool blankets and feather pillows, propping her up where needed, holding her so gently it felt like she was floating.
She smiled, enjoying the bright, warm sunlight streaming in on her face, thinking she might just drift right back to sleep … then sat bolt upright with a gasp.
Sunshine! What time was it? She ought to be at school by now.
Jumping up – with some difficulty – from her pillowy cocoon, Morrigan ran for the station door and pressed her imprint to the circular lock … but nothing happened. It was cold and unlit.
‘What? Come on, you stupid thing.’
She tried again and again, pressing harder each time. Still nothing.
Ugh. Was this what happened when you slept in late and missed Hometrain, she wondered?
Looking down at the wrinkled uniform she’d fallen asleep in, Morrigan shrugged. It would have to do. She grabbed her oilskin umbrella and bolted out the door – straight past a trolley holding last night’s dinner of now-cold steak and melted ice cream – and all the way downstairs, to find the lobby in an uproar.
‘Why not just call the police, darling, for goodness’ sake?’
‘I did call them, Chanda – they’ve been here twice this morning already,’ said Kedgeree, in the closest thing to a raised voice Morrigan had ever heard him use. ‘Every time they move people on, more keep coming!’
Dame Chanda paced fretfully across the chequerboard floor, her blue silk dressing gown sweeping behind her, while Charlie and Martha took turns peeking through