Hollowpox The Hunt for Morrigan Crow - Jessica Townsend Page 0,27
said the opera singer with an airy wave. ‘Of course you have. It’s De Flimsé. You know … De Flimsé.’
Jack looked up from where he was assembling the board for round five of Tax Collector. ‘De Whosay?’
The soprano sighed. ‘Darlings, De Flimsé is everything. De Flimsé is life.’
‘De Flimsé is a genius,’ added Frank, looking sombre as he picked up the discarded newspaper and read the news for himself.
‘This is De Flimsé,’ Dame Chanda continued, gesturing to her green embroidered silk gown. ‘At least a third of my wardrobe is by De Flimsé. My favourite perfume is Flimsé by De Flimsé. My second favourite perfume is Whimsé by De Flimsé, which I am wearing as we speak, and for which I am a brand ambassador and billboard model.’ She held a hand to her chest and lowered her head, taking a little bow.
‘What a coincidence,’ said Frank, sniffing at his wrists. ‘I’m wearing Whimsé by De Flimsé for Himsé.’
Jack caught Morrigan’s eye, and they both had to look away quickly, trying not to grin.
‘Oh, I thought so, darling, you smell delicious.’ Dame Chanda beamed at him, before returning her attention to Jack and Morrigan. ‘Juvela De Flimsé is an icon, my dears. A giant of the Free State fashion world. She once called me her muse, you know,’ she added as an aside to Frank.
‘She’s been to seven of my parties,’ he replied, puffing himself up with pride. ‘Eight, if you count the one she left in disgust because Countess von Bissing wore a gown made of summer-weight fabric. In autumn.’
‘Oh, but this is just dreadful,’ said Dame Chanda, taking the paper back from Frank. ‘It says here she was found early this morning, lying half-buried in the snow, eyes wide open but completely, catatonically unresponsive. Nobody knows how she got there. She’s in the Royal Lightwing Wunimal Hospital in some sort of … waking coma? They don’t know when or … or if she’ll recover. Oh, poor Juvela. Whatever could have happened to her?’
Voice breaking, she tossed the paper down and buried her face in her hands. Frank slid off his chair, disappeared underneath the table and emerged at Dame Chanda’s side, reaching up to pat her comfortingly on the shoulder, while Jupiter, Kedgeree and the others made noises of quiet sympathy.
Morrigan leaned over to get a better view of the photograph accompanying the article, and gasped. ‘Oh! Oh, I’ve seen her.’
Dame Chanda tutted miserably from behind her hands. ‘Yes, that’s just what I’m saying, darling, of course you’ve seen her, it’s De Flim—’
‘No, I – I mean I saw her,’ Morrigan clarified, snatching up the newspaper. ‘Last night. On the Wunderground.’
It was the leopardwun. Juvela De Flimsé was the leopardwun who had tried to attack Baby Dave. She looked a lot more composed in her photograph, of course. It was a very glamorous shot of her attending Nevermoor Fashion Week, draped in an oversized pink pashmina, but it was unmistakeably her. She had the same big, expensive-looking diamond earring studded in the tip of one ear. She was wearing enormous sunglasses in the photo, so Morrigan couldn’t tell whether her eyes were the same startling shade of green, but even so … she was certain it was the same Wunimal.
Dame Chanda looked up, frowning. ‘I don’t think so, darling. Juvela doesn’t take public transport. She has a driver.’
‘I heard she has a whole roster of drivers,’ said Frank. ‘And a fleet of motorcars.’
‘I heard she rides a unicorn everywhere she goes,’ said Fenestra from her spot on the floor, in a tone of mock reverence. Everyone turned to her in surprise; they’d all thought she was asleep. ‘And uses it to stab people wearing last season’s shoes.’
Jack, Kedgeree, Martha and Charlie put in a heroic effort not to react to this entirely inappropriate joke.
‘It has to be her,’ Morrigan insisted, ignoring them. ‘Look, it says she was found near the Nevermoor University West Campus. That’s where she got off the train, at Scholars’ Crossing! Well, it’s where she was forced off the train, actually.’
Morrigan recounted for them what had happened on the Wunderground the night before.
‘Oh, no,’ said Dame Chanda when she’d finished. ‘No, no, no. That doesn’t sound like Juvela at all. Juvela wouldn’t harm a fly. She’s a vegetarian! Well, a weekday vegetarian, but still – she would never, ever try to hurt a child.’
‘But I’m telling you, she did try,’ Morrigan insisted. ‘I watched her do it. There was a whole train carriage full of