Nevermoor: Chapters 20–26

Fenestra rolled over and clawed at the rug, then rubbed her ears languorously.

Morrigan was flummoxed. Exactly what were the Elders looking for?

Hawthorne seemed entirely unfazed by his proximity to an ancient reptile that could burn him to a crisp if it sneezed the wrong way.

It was just that this poised, dazzling dragonrider was hard to reconcile with the boy who had once spent an afternoon showing her how he could make fart noises with his armpits.

When Baz Charlton announced “Noelle Devereaux of the Silver District,” Noelle entered the arena like a queen at court. After a minute of preening she opened her mouth to sing, and it was like a choir of angels had exploded and spewed stardust over the Trollosseum.

Ahead of her was Hawthorne, who’d dropped to second place, and in third was a boy named Mahir Ibrahim, who performed a long soliloquy in thirty-seven different languages with what Elder Quinn declared “perfect intonation.”

Ahead of her was Hawthorne, who’d dropped to second place, and in third was a boy named Mahir Ibrahim, who performed a long soliloquy in thirty-seven different languages with what Elder Quinn declared “perfect intonation.”

Anah’s patron, a woman called Sumati Mishra, boasted that her candidate had a knack for knowing the human body. To prove this, she volunteered to lie down on a metal hospital gurney while Anah sliced her open with a scalpel, removed her appendix, and sewed her back up again with neat, tiny stitches. Most extraordinarily, Anah did all this blindfolded.

The trials continued with mixed results as candidate after candidate took the nerve-racking walk to the center of the arena. Some were confident and brash, others looked like they were praying for the arena floor to open up and swallow them.

One frightened girl trembled so violently that she appeared to fade into the air, becoming incorporeal from the sheer terror of stage fright. Luckily, that was her knack—becoming incorporeal.

Meanwhile, Morrigan tried to quell the anxiety that had been growing in the pit of her stomach.

With a slightly sheepish grin, he emptied his pockets of what turned out to be quite a lot of jewelry, wallets, watches, and coins that he’d managed to purloin while playing the violin.

Hawthorne didn’t seem at all put out that a pickpocket had ranked above him. If anything, he was delighted by Archan’s knack, even after realizing his own leather dragonriding gloves were among the pile of pilfered loot that the boy was now returning, piece by piece, to its rightful owners.

The camera panned shakily across the sunny lawn and bustling dessert buffet queue, before zooming in on two people: Noelle and Cadence.

Morrigan had the uncomfortable experience of watching herself on the big screen yet again when Cadence’s film showed the debacle of the Chase Trial in its entirety, from the stampeding rhinoceros to Fen’s daring rescue to the moment of devastation when Cadence convinced the race official that it was she who ought to go through to the Fright Trial and not Morrigan.

Scene after scene of manipulation and trickery followed.

People leapt to their feet, shouting at the Elders, demanding an explanation for this madness, demanding to see a knack from Morrigan Crow, the wretched interloper.

She stood frozen, absorbing the deluge of fury.

“I know—I know. I’m sorry. Please, Mog, I’m so sorry. I know how confusing this is.” He was all remorseful eyes, appeasing voice, and shielding hands—Don’t hurt me, don’t shoot.

“I know—I know. I’m sorry. Please, Mog, I’m so sorry. I know how confusing this is.” He was all remorseful eyes, appeasing voice, and shielding hands—Don’t hurt me, don’t shoot.

Seconds later the doors burst open and the Elders swept in, their faces schooled and emotionless, their cloaks billowing behind them.

“We’ve just allowed a dangerous entity into the Society and nobody has thought to inquire about a safeguard.”

“Heavens, no. A three-signatory safeguard would be fine were the child merely a conjurer of hurricanes or a mesmerist or some ordinary dangerous entity. For this, I suggest five signatories.”

Baz Charlton stomped down the hallway, followed by a flouncing, furious Noelle Devereaux, a bored-looking Cadence Blackburn, and the smuggest moustache in all of Nevermoor—Inspector Flintlock.

“You might have hoodwinked the Elders, North, but you can’t fool me. You two have stolen the rightful place of my candidate, Noelle.”

“You need to brush up on your Wun Law handbook, North. Article ninety-seven, clause H: ‘A winning candidate is not an official member of the Wundrous Society until receiving his or her golden pin on completion of the unit inauguration ceremony, and until that time his or her provisional membership may be revoked without due process if deemed necessary and appropriate by the High Council of Elders.’”

His eyes had taken on a manic shine.

The Nevermoor Police Force officers hovered uncertainly, completely mystified by this strange turn of events, before obediently trailing after their commanding officer.

As they traversed tunnels and stairwells, Hawthorne kept looking over his shoulder at Morrigan, desperate to ask about her trial, but it was too noisy.

“It’s true,” said Hawthorne, nodding fervently. “He was there, I saw him too.”

“Just another stupid delay, son,” said the man, sighing the defeated sigh of a seasoned commuter. “Mouse on the tracks or something.”

“They failed the first time, of course, allowing that abominable ginger to spirit you away in his ridiculous mechanical spider. But I knew they wouldn’t fail again, not once I finally found a weakness to exploit on the Gossamer Line. It’s taken most of the year and one or two minor Wunderground disasters—”

“This is what you want, isn’t it, Miss Crow?” Another snap, and a flagpole sprouted from the uppermost spire, a black flag bearing Morrigan’s face waving proudly in the breeze.

“This is why you chose that ostentatious fool, isn’t it, with his Wundrous Society and his arachnipod and his jumping off the roof at Morningtide?”

The outer walls turned to piles of dust and debris, revealing the warmly lit rooms inside, untouched by Squall’s destruction: a tableau of life as normal for the Crow family.

I couldn’t have anyone diluting the source of energy that’s made me obscenely wealthy and powerful, could I? If I am the only conductor of Wunder, its power resides with me.

Once upon a time you little wretches were a cause for pity and compassion, having your insignificant lives snatched from you at such a tender age. But somewhere along the way, the heinous true nature of humanity kicked in, and people began to see cursed children as convenient scapegoats.

Soon the cursed child was to blame for all sorts of mischief and strife. The legend grew and grew until cursed children were not only the sorrow of their families, but the bane of everybody else’s existence.

A bright, blinding light filled the room, obliterating the Hunt of Smoke and Shadow and dousing the flames with one booming golden-white pulse that lasted several seconds, or maybe several days, or maybe an entire lifetime, and then was gone.

He shook his head, one side of his mouth curving into a rueful smile. “I told you—it would have been a mercy, letting the Hunt of Smoke and Shadow kill you..."