‘Reviews? What reviews? There isn’t a single review of The Maledictions anywhere. Not in the Sentinel, not in the Morning Post, not in the Looking Glass.’ She held up the front page of Nevermoor’s trashiest tabloid.
Morrigan frowned, trying to make sense of the headline. ‘They misspelled—’
‘Yes, they think they’re being funny.’ Dame Chanda sniffed, tossing the offensive paper aside. ‘It’s all about the horsewun and his … whatever that was. Barely a word about my performance, or Theobold’s! And they didn’t even mention the De Flimsé costumes.’
Morrigan picked up the discarded paper and began to read it, her frown deepening.
WUNIMAL SHOCK AT NEVERMOOR OPERA HORSE!
The superlative soprano Dame Chanda Kali was injured in a vicious and unprovoked attack by a rabid Wunimal on the opening night of Gustav Monastine’s opera The Maledictions yesterday. Onlookers at the scene talked of the terror they felt as the disgruntled equine cast member, Victor Oldershaw – playing the role of ‘Horse’ – brutally trampled the leading lady during the first act finale.
Many have speculated as to the motivation behind the attack.
‘He’s very ambitious, Victor,’ said ensemble actor Stephen Rollins-Huntington. ‘Very driven, you know. I’m just saying, he’d do anything to get his teeth into a bigger part. No one’s quite sure how he got to play “Horse”, to be honest – plenty of people have told me I’d have been a natural for it, and of course I’ve much more experience in the theatre. What happened there, that’s what I’d like to know.’
Morrigan looked up from the paper. ‘Do the police think it was a deliberate thing, then? That the horsewun – Victor – that he meant to attack you?’
‘The police think no such thing, darling,’ said Dame Chanda. ‘There isn’t a single word in there about what the police think. This is all about what the Looking Glass wants people to think. I contacted them this morning to give my version of events, but of course they weren’t interested. The Glass has never been renowned for its quality investigative journalism, but they are quite well known for slandering Wunimals every chance they get. Poor old Victor.’
‘Why don’t they like Wunimals?’ Morrigan asked as she skimmed the article for a second time. ‘Jupiter said the same thing at Christmas, when I told him about De Flimsé on the Wunderground. He said, “The tabloids love a story about Wunimals behaving badly.”’
Dame Chanda gave a deep sigh, then winced as she adjusted the bandage on her head. ‘Darling, you know better than anyone, people hate what they are afraid of, and they are most afraid of what they don’t understand. Wunimals are still something of an enigma, I suppose, and therefore some people see them as a threat. Especially – though of course, not exclusively – the older generations.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, of course for us youth –’ (Morrigan tried not to raise her eyebrows too high at that statement; Dame Chanda was at least twenty years her senior) ‘– Wunimals have always been part of the landscape. It’s easy for us to forget that Wunimal rights are a fairly new thing – but it was only eight or nine Ages ago that it was legal to keep some Wunimals as pets.’
This was news to Morrigan. ‘As pets. You mean, like … like pets? Like unnimals? With collars and leashes and – and cutesy nicknames?’ She felt queasy even saying it.
‘Mmm, and sometimes as witches’ familiars.’ Dame Chanda’s face was grim. ‘Thankfully, we live in a fairer, more enlightened Age. Though some still wish we were in the dark.’ She threw a dirty look at the Looking Glass. ‘Morrigan, my darling, I have a chill. Throw that worthless thing on the fire for me, won’t you?’
Fenestra and Jupiter had both been gone when Morrigan woke up, and they still hadn’t appeared when Jack arrived home from boarding school at lunchtime.
Jack wasn’t due home until the following weekend, but he said he’d seen the article in the Looking Glass and wanted to make sure Dame Chanda was all right. The ailing soprano declared him ‘the dearest, most thoughtful boy who ever lived’, and gave him the honour of refilling her teapot.
‘There seems to be some confusion about what happened last night,’ Jack said to Morrigan later that afternoon. They were hanging around the lobby, playing card games and watching for Jupiter’s arrival. Morrigan was determined to interrogate her patron the second he walked in the door. ‘Some of the papers are reporting that there was a fire, and it startled