Hollowpox The Hunt for Morrigan Crow - Jessica Townsend Page 0,13

hear what Captain Jupiter North had to say.

‘What about Golders Night?’

‘Golders Night,’ Holliday echoed, and her expression grew thoughtful. She tapped a finger against her mouth. ‘There’s a thought … what’s it been, twelve years since the last one?’

‘Fourteen, I believe,’ said Jupiter. ‘Spring of Seventeen in the Age of Poets. A Wunderground train had gained sentience and was holding the other trains hostage underground. It required an extraordinary distraction.’

Morrigan, Hawthorne and Cadence shared a look. It was a very specific look of mingled bemusement, horror, exasperation and resignation. The kind of look one reserves for special occasions, such as when you’ve just learned that trains can come to life and hold other trains hostage, and that you’ve unwittingly joined an organisation full of people who have for some reason decided to nose into this sort of business, and you don’t really feel like getting involved but you’re just going to have to go along with it because everybody else is. That kind of look.

‘The Treasury won’t let us do it very often – for the obvious reason,’ added Jupiter. ‘But it’s always effective. Almost guarantees an eighty-five to ninety per cent participation rate.’

What was ‘the obvious reason’, Morrigan wondered. What even was a Golders Night?

‘Fifteen per cent non-participants – nothing we can’t manage,’ said Holliday, waving a hand. ‘Right, Golders Night. Sounds promising. Let’s workshop this.’

They carried on for another hour, and the meeting became a freewheeling, rapid-fire session of strategic planning, with Mundane and Arcane members of all ages jumping in to give suggestions, criticisms and offers of assistance. Morrigan felt like she was finally seeing the real Wundrous Society in action.

What emerged by the end was an exhaustive, fool-proof plan to distract the entire population of Nevermoor from Operation Scaly Sewer Beast. Even Unit 919, excluding Thaddea, had a small role to play … something Morrigan was a little apprehensive about.

Sometimes it felt like everything about the Society was a test. A trial. And just when you thought you’d passed all the trials there could possibly be, another one popped up.

Be honest. Be smart. Be brave. Be loyal.

Now this.

Be useful.

Jupiter had warned Morrigan about this, two whole years ago, when he’d first explained to her what the Wundrous Society was offering. Respect, adventure, fame! Reserved seats on the Wunderground! Pin privilege, he’d called it.

But it was a privilege the Society expected you to earn not just once, not just in the entry trials, but over and over again, for the rest of your life.

She hadn’t thought about it much at the time. But he had warned her.

Morrigan had hoped to speak to Jupiter after the meeting, but he appeared to be deep in discussion with Holliday Wu and Elder Saga. She dithered for a moment, but soon she and Unit 919 were caught up in the stream of people leaving the Gathering Place and it was too late.

The mood in Proudfoot House was celebratory. Cheerful, excited chatter rose up around them as groups of junior scholars discussed their plans for the Christmas holidays, but Morrigan and her friends didn’t speak for a long time. It felt like someone had just thrown a hand grenade into their midst. They’d had a vague idea that the Wundrous Society was up to more than they knew – the Elders had dropped hints, after all. Nobody had ever mentioned, however, that Wundersmiths were the source of almost all their problems and the focus of their work. Jupiter certainly hadn’t. She would need to speak with him about that.

Morrigan knew she had to be the first to say it, but as they pushed through the doors of Proudfoot House into the chill air of the grounds, they were met with a group of older scholars who’d evidently been waiting for them.

‘Now you know why everyone hates Wundersmiths,’ said a boy from Unit 917, taking the words right out of her mouth. ‘Because we’re always having to clean up your mess.’

‘I told you she was dangerous!’ A familiar girl with moss-green hair and a nasty scowl squared up to Morrigan, casually tapping a steel throwing star against the side of her leg.

Heloise Redchurch was one of Morrigan’s absolute least favourite people in the world (and the world contained both Baz Charlton and Dulcinea Dearborn, so that really was saying something). The older scholar had once made her friends pin Morrigan against a tree while she lobbed throwing stars at her head, so Morrigan thought she might even have been in the number one