Wundersmith: The Calling of Morrigan Crow

Morrigan didn’t like the sound of the Goal-Setting and Achieving Club for Highly Ambitious Youth, which met on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings, and all day Sunday. But she thought she could probably get on board with Introverts Utterly Anonymous, which promised no meetings or gatherings of any sort, ever.

I don’t know what to tell you, Mog.’ Jupiter sighed. ‘Some people are brave bullies. Some people are friendly cowards.

One thing you all should know about me: I’ve got very high biscuit standards.

How did you find it?” “Well, it took me a while,” he said. “But luckily I know lots of people who know lots of things. And I’m nosy by nature, aren’t I?

You bought poisonous mushrooms,” Mahir said, blinking at him, “from somewhere called a murdergarden?” Francis shrugged and said again, “They have a little shop.

Morrigan frowned. She sometimes felt that her true knack had nothing to do with being a Wundersmith. That it was, in fact, her remarkable ability to assume the worst. It came, of course, from a lifetime of believing she was cursed, and it seemed to be stitched into the very fabric of her being, even now. Telling her not to worry about bad things happening around her was like telling Hawthorne not to get excited about dragons, or Jupiter not to be ginger.

It was a small act of pettiness, but by gentle, tenderhearted Martha’s standards, it was a declaration of all-out war, and Morrigan adored her for it.

Where are you going, o son of the morning?” he sang softly. When he sang, Squall’s voice was unsettlingly gentle and sweet. Much lovelier than Morrigan’s. It shouldn’t sound like that, she thought. It should sound ugly and jagged. Like his heart.

Their motto is If Not for Us, You’d All Be Speaking Zombie.

I have no time for childish problems. Should any arise, you will either take them up with your unit conductor, or squash them deep down in the pit of your soul where they shall no longer bother you. Have I made myself clear?

She cast a look at the octopus-shaped armchair in the corner, which gave a sinister flick of its tentacles. The maid shuddered. “I do wish you’d get rid of that thing. It’s a nightmare to dust.

Cook used to tell stories about angels,” said Morrigan, recalling her family home, Crow Manor. “The Angel of Death, the Angel of Mercy, the Angel of Ruined Dinners…

then—casually defying the law of gravity—proceeded to walk skyward up the wall,

Welcome, Unit 919, to the first day of the rest of your lives.

Her voice made Morrigan think of a sheet of glass: perfectly smooth all along its surface, with a sharp edge concealed at the end.

I was having the best dream,” he croaked. “I was flying over a jungle on the back of a dragon and I fell off and tumbled down into the trees… and then I got adopted by a gang of monkeys. They made me their king.

She’d never met Israfel in her life and yet she couldn’t bear the thought that he was unhappy. She felt a strange urge to give him a biscuit. Or a puppy. Something.

The door swung shut in Jupiter’s wake. Morrigan threw a piece of toast at it.

Don’t forget who finished the Show Trial in the number one spot on the leaderboard.” He paused for a moment, then added, “It was you. In case you actually did forget.

Morrigan shook her head, trying—and failing—to control a smile that was twitching at the corners of her mouth. She felt a warm, sunshiny glow right in the center of her chest, as if a cat had curled up there and was purring contentedly.

Jupiter made a space on the sofa for Morrigan to sit, delicately removing items of rubbish and placing them in the trash… then he got carried away and spent the next forty minutes tidying, wiping down surfaces, and making the room as habitable as he possibly could. He didn’t ask Morrigan to help, and Morrigan didn’t offer. She wasn’t touching this health and safety hazard with a ten-foot pole.

The thing you must remember above all else, scholars, is this: You. Are. Not. Important.

The real, actual Paximus Luck? Plucky?” Mahir clarified. “The famous master illusionist slash stealth prankster slash vigilante street artist?

Seeing her own name spelled out in dragon fire was only the latest in a series of firsts, but she had to admit it was one of the better ones so far.

She was dressed all in black, from her heavy boots to the pair of woolly earmuffs hanging around her neck. (Morrigan approved.)

He gently pressed the grouting between the bricks with his fingertips, leaned in to sniff it, and then gave the wall a tentative lick. Morrigan gave him a look of horror. “Ugh, stop that. What are you doing?

Some people are brave bullies. Some people are friendly cowards.

idea this would happen. I didn’t know Squall could—’ ‘I know you didn’t!’ Morrigan cut in. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not your fault.’ ‘It is – partly, at least. I should have realised the danger you were in. I should have known Squall would take advantage if he could. I’ve been preoccupied for months – so focused on Cassiel and Paximus Luck and Alfie Swann, when I should have been focused on what was happening right in front of me.’ ‘Cassiel!’ Morrigan said, sitting up straight. ‘I forgot all about him! So, what happened to him? And Paximus Luck?’ ‘The Stealth has a lead on Paximus, which they’re following across the border into the Republic – that’s strictly confidential. But as for Cassiel,’ Jupiter shrugged, looking baffled, ‘I honestly have no idea. I’ve chewed through more resources at the League of Explorers than I can possibly justify, looking for him on-realm and off. We’ve handed it over to the Celestial Observation Group for now. They don’t quite have our reach, but they can watch the skies. They’ll keep me informed.’ ‘So you don’t think it was anything to do with Squall or the Ghastly Market?’ He didn’t answer immediately. Staring at the floor, he sat and breathed in the lemon smoke.