to fade and float away:
Veil
Weaving
Masquerade
Something pinged in Morrigan’s memory.
Ezra Squall. The Museum of Stolen Moments.
Nocturne. Weaving. Tempus. Veil.
‘Are these the Wundrous Arts?’ Morrigan whispered.
‘Some of them,’ said Sofia. ‘The person who created this ghostly hour has annotated it, so we would know what we’re looking at – the mark of a dedicated historian.’
‘All right, all right,’ called the elderly man in charge. ‘We’ve had our bit of morning fun. Well done, everyone, now— can tell me— yesterday’s lesson, if you— and why— for ten points— but nobody ever—’
Morrigan blinked in confusion. The man’s words were cutting in and out like a static-filled radio, and the room had begun to slowly dim.
‘Come on, Wundersmith,’ said Conall, ushering her away. ‘That’s our cue.’
They found the gap again, but from this side, the sliver of light was a sliver of darkness. Morrigan reached out to gently open the way back and instead of warmth, her fingers met cool air. She stepped through the strange rippling sensation again. The fabric of the world shook itself out like clean laundry.
Conall and Sofia followed her back to the cold, familiar darkness of Sub-Nine. Morrigan watched as the cut in the air stitched itself back up and the light disappeared completely. She reached out to run her hands over the spot where it had been, and felt nothing, not even a trace of residual heat.
‘What was that? Where did those people come from?’ she demanded breathlessly as they made their way out of Corcoran and down the dark hallway, and without waiting for answers, ‘Can we do it again?’
‘You’ll do it every day, if you wish to,’ Sofia told her. ‘But first, we have something important to show you.’
When they reached the cosy warmth of the study room, the foxwun leapt up onto the big wooden table, which had been cleared of yesterday’s teacups and paper piles and basement nerds. Cleared of everything, in fact, except one enormous book, right in the centre. It was bound in faded blue cloth, its pages swollen and warped from use.
Sofia touched it lightly with one paw. ‘This book is our most treasured possession.’
It was incredibly old, but lovingly cared for, that much was plain. The corners had been stitched up neatly in blue thread where the fabric covering had frayed. There wasn’t a speck of dust on it.
Morrigan ran her fingers along the black embossed title, reading aloud. ‘The Book of Ghostly Hours.’
‘More of a ledger, really,’ said Conall. He opened it with great care, turning to one of the early pages, and beckoned Morrigan over to see.
Each page was divided into columns and rows, each column and row filled with tiny, meticulous handwriting. Dates and places and names. Her eyes flitted across the page, trying to make sense of what she was reading.
LʘCATIʘN
PARTICIPANTS & EVENTS
DATE & TIME
School of Wundrous Arts, Sub-Nine of Proudfoot House, Williams
Brilliance Amadeo, Rastaban Tarazed
A conversation between Amadeo and Tarazed concerning the theory behind possible self-projected travel on the Gossamer
Avian Age, Seventh Tuesday, Winter of Six
13:02–13:34
School of Wundrous Arts, Sub-Nine of Proudfoot House, Shaw
Griselda Polaris, Mathilde Lachance, Decima Kokoro
An advanced workshop in Tempus given by Polaris to Lachance and Kokoro
Age of the East Winds, First Friday, Autumn of Eight
09:52–11:44
School of Wundrous Arts, Sub-Nine of Proudfoot House, Van ʘphoven
Brilliance Amadeo, Elodie Bauer, Owain Binks
A beginner’s lesson in Weaving given by Amadeo to Bauer and Binks
Age of Endings, Second Wednesday, Spring of Two
13:00–15:47
School of Wundrous Arts, Sub-Nine of Proudfoot House, Corcoran
Caw Molloy, Hani Nakamura, Melvin Hall, Amelia Allaway, Spencer Holland-Wright, Hathaway Savage, Griselda Polaris, Jimmy Bishop, Stanislav Radkov
Morning ‘free-for-all’; a warm-up showcase of various Wundrous Arts, led by Molloy and involving all contemporaneous Wundersmiths, to promote team spirit and boost morale
Age of Poisoners, Sixth Tuesday, Winter of Six
08:17–08:34
‘I don’t really know what I’m looking at,’ Morrigan admitted.
‘We wouldn’t expect you to,’ said Sofia. ‘Morrigan, this is a list of every ghostly hour that has ever been created – at least the ones within Wunsoc. This book has helped us conduct most of our research on Wundersmiths and the Wundrous Arts. And it’s going to teach you everything you need to know.’
Conall pointed to a spot at the bottom of the page. ‘See that? There you go.’
Morrigan read from the last row.
She saw the name of the room – Corcoran – and the names of those present, and the date and time, and it all made sense.
‘We travelled to the past?’ she said.
‘Strictly speaking, the past came to us,’ said Sofia. ‘A ghostly hour is a little parcel of