Nevermoor: Chapters 5–9

“Sorry, it’s all I could find!” whispered Jupiter in return, looking into the giant eye and shrugging contritely.

Looming in the doorway was a cat. Not just a cat. A giant cat. The biggest, scariest, toothiest, shaggiest cat she’d ever seen in her life. It sat back on its haunches and still struggled to fit in the frame.

Gas lanterns in sconces on the wall were turned low.

As a small handful of staff obediently shadowed Jupiter across the vast lobby, Morrigan realized—he didn’t just live in the hotel, he owned it. All of this—the marble floors and chandelier, the gleaming concierge desk, the grand piano in the corner, that resplendent staircase—it was his.

“Morrigan, this is Mr. Kedgeree Burns, my concierge. When you get lost in the hotel—and you will get lost—call for Kedgeree. I suspect he knows this place better than I do. Any messages? I’ve been out of range.”

The elevator climbed, lighting up floor numbers as outside the glass walls the foyer fell away beneath them.

Morrigan carefully unwrapped the paper to find a black oilskin umbrella with a silver filigree handle. The tip was a little bird, carved from opal.

Morrigan ran her fingertips over the tiny iridescent wings, feeling utterly lost for words. She’d never had anything so lovely.

She felt expansive, bursting with a new joy and temerity that could only come from having cheated death.

Compared to what she’d seen of the hotel, with its gilded mirrors and oil paintings, lavish carpets, lush green plants, and crystal chandeliers, her bedroom came as a surprise.

“But I want two fresh towels every morning,” Frank said with a note of petulance. “I need one for my hair.”

“Fairy tale and superstition,” Jupiter told her with a resolute nod, and turned back to his driver.

“Naturally Jupiter gets away with his own...interesting sartorial choices, because he’s so handsome,” Dame Chanda continued.

“Oh, no need to worry, darling. Just be yourself. Now, if I may ask...we’re all dying to know”—she leaned in, her eyes twinkling, and spoke quietly in Morrigan’s ear—“what’s your knack? What marvelous talent do you possess?”

Glittering rays of shattered glass and crystals sprayed across the marble. Wires dangled from the ceiling like entrails from a carcass.

He spoke rapidly. “The Gossamer is an invisible, intangible network that...hmm. Imagine a web. Imagine a vast and delicate spider’s web laid over the entire realm, like...no. You know what, forget the Gossamer, all you need to know is that I see things other people don’t.”

“Forgive me, I was thinking of Mr. Squall. If word got out that he was offering an apprenticeship, he’d have been inundated with parents trying to foist their children on him. That’s why he bid on you anonymously. I did intend to return and speak with you, but Eventide took me by surprise.”

“Forgive me, I was thinking of Mr. Squall. If word got out that he was offering an apprenticeship, he’d have been inundated with parents trying to foist their children on him. That’s why he bid on you anonymously. I did intend to return and speak with you, but Eventide took me by surprise.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Mr. Jones said, sounding wistful. “I’m no expert on the inner workings of the Hotel Deucalion. But I have been coming here for many years, and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her wear the same dress twice.”

“There aren’t many other reasons to bring a child all the way from the Wintersea Republic to Nevermoor. May I ask you something impertinent, Miss Crow?”

It was the most disheveled she’d seen him. He was barefoot and wore a wrinkled, untucked white shirt over blue trousers with suspenders that hung down untidily against his hips.

Scholars in the Wundrous Society are never coddled.

“You just need to trust me. Do you trust me?” Jupiter’s face was earnest and open.

She felt braver, knowing that he was so staunchly on her side.

“When it’s time to get off, just pull the lever to release your brolly. Oh, and when you land, try to aim for a soft bit of ground.” Morrigan’s apprehension must have shown, because Jupiter added, “You’ll be fine. I’ve only broken a leg on this thing once. Twice, max. Ready...Go!”

“Baz Charlton,” he murmured, nodding discreetly toward a long-haired man in leather trousers and a wrinkled suit jacket. “Odious man. Avoid him like the pox.”

Baz leaned in close, his eyes gleaming, and whispered conspiratorially, “That in the Republic, is it? Smuggled her in, did you? Go on, tell your old friend Baz.”

“One of the arcane arts, perhaps. Sorceress? Oracle?”

“Told you. Odious man. Pay no attention.”
Morrigan took a sip of punch, Mr. Charlton’s words ringing in her ears. The Elders don’t go for the mean-looking ones.

She was poised and confident, with an easy smile.

He steered Morrigan left to avoid a boisterous group of teenagers who were trying to get his attention.

She lifted her trouser leg to reveal a limb of wood and metal that somehow, miraculously, seemed to move and flex almost like the muscles and tendons of a real leg, as though the wood itself were alive. “That’s good old-fashioned Wun ingenuity, Miss Crow. You wouldn’t believe the things they can do at the Wundrous Society Hospital. Proper miracle workers, them.”

A reverent hush descended as one of the Elders approached a microphone stand.

One of the other Elders stepped forward to steady her, but the old woman slapped his hands away, clearing her throat imperiously.

All around her, candidates shot furtive looks at their patrons, seeking reassurance.

“My esteemed colleagues and I,” Elder Quinn continued, “wish to thank you, young candidates, for your bravery, optimism, and trust. To face the challenges you are about to face, with no promise of a place in the Society at the end of it all...that takes no small amount of gumption. We applaud you.”

You can do this, Morrigan thought, galvanized by Elder Quinn’s extravagant promises. Family. Belonging. Friendship.

The boy was pretty strong for somebody so gangly, Morrigan thought. Despite his knobbly legs and skinny arms, he was carrying most of the weight.

“I don’t care,” said Morrigan, puffing with the effort of dragging the barrel up the steps, past the bemused players in the string quartet.

Morrigan and the boy sidled away from the crime scene, then broke into a run.