#wundersmith quotes

He handed her a folded paper square. It was a dark silvery-black, as thin as a dried leaf, but soft and supple.

Jack: If you ever need me—a proper emergency, I mean, not just some nonsense—if you’re in trouble and you need help, write down an address, or a landmark, on the paper. Somewhere I can come and find you. Then say my full name—John Arjuna Korrapati—three times, and burn the paper. It’s bonded to me, so no matter where you are, it’ll show up in my hand.

Morrigan: How does that work?

Jack: I have absolutely no idea. It’s a system my mate Tommy invented so he could cheat on tests, although why he needs to cheat on tests when he’s clever enough to invent stuff like this, I’ll never know. His mum’s a witch, she must have helped him. Anyway, it’s called the Black Mail. We used to use it to send messages to other dormitories after lights out, until we started running out of blackpapers. Tommy’s not allowed to make any more of them because he was caught cheating and got himself suspended, the idiot. I’ve only got a few of my blackpapers left, but with Jupiter away so much, and everything that’s…well. I think it’s best if you can reach me, that’s all.

Morrigan: Okay. Um, thanks.

Jack: Proper emergencies only.

Morrigan: I know, I know.

Jupiter: It’s not a tattoo. Do you really think i’d let them give you a tattoo?

Morrigan took a very large bite of her crumpet so that she didn’t have to answer. Truthfully, she never quite knew what Jupiter would and wouldn’t allow.

Her pointed silence wasn’t lost on him. He looked aghast.

Jupiter: Mog! Don’t be ridiculous. Tattoos hurt. Does it hurt?

Morrigan shook her head as she swallowed.

Morrigan: No. It doesn’t hurt at all. It just feels a bit...like it’s...there.

(Chapter Three: The Not-Tattoo and the Not-Door-page 43)

Morrigan wouldn’t have minded having a second door, except for two things. One: it had grown right next to the fireplace, which threw off the symmetry of the room (a small detail, but one she found surprisingly vexing). And two: she couldn’t open it, and therefore it was entirely without function. Morrigan was much too practical a person to ever want a purely decorative door in her bedroom. And yet...it was quite unlike the room to transform into something she wouldn’t like.

She frowned. Was her bedroom mad at her for some reason? Or could it be unwell? Maybe it had the architectural equivalent of a head cold. Maybe this door was her bedroom’s version of a great big snotty sneeze.

Martha: Still, it’s not the weirdest thing this room’s ever done, is it?

She cast a look at the octopus-shaped armchair in the corner, which gave a sinister flick of its tentacles. The maid shuddered.

Martha: I do wish you’d get rid of that thing. It’s a nightmare to dust.

She trailed off into sobs.

Miss Cheery: Heloise. I know how upset you must feel, but—

Heloise: What’s her knack? Nobody knows. Know why the Elders won’t tell anyone? Cos it’s something dangerous. How come all these disappearances only started happening when SHE joined the Society?

A sea of faces turned Morrigan’s way. A familiar creeping sensation climbed the back of her neck, and in that instant, she realised she’d been waiting for this. Since her first day at Wunsoc, since the disappearance of Paximus Luck, the cursed girl who still lived somewhere inside Morrigan had been waiting for this. The accusation.

Miss Cheery took Heloise’s arm again, just as the whispers began.

Lambeth: Be careful.

Miss Cheery: Why don’t you come with me, Heloise? Come on. Let’s get you up to Proudfoot House and we’ll sort this all out. I think you need a nice cup of tea.

Lambeth: Be careful.

Morrigan: What are you—

But Heloise was yowling like an angry cat, and wrenched her arm out of Miss Cheery’s grip. Heloise: Shut UP! Don’t you TOUCH ME!

Heloise drew her arm back and Morrigan barely had time to register the flash of silver in her hand before the girl had lashed out. Miss Cheery cried out in pain as Heloise sliced her right across the face with one of her throwing stars, drawing a thin, shallow line of blood.

There were gasps and shouts of dismay all around them on the platform.

Morrigan opened her mouth, a strangled noise of shock and fury rising up in her, but no sound came out. Instead, she felt a wave of anger such as she’d never felt before. It crashed over her not like water but lava, molten fire burning her from the inside. The taste of ash sprang to the back of her throat, just like it had when the first blackmail note had appeared. Her sudden rage was a monster, clawing its way up from deep within her chest, from her lungs, searing the flesh of her throat and bursting out of her mouth, igniting the very air around her.

She felt the wrath of a hundred dragons.

She would set the whole world aflame.

A fireball sprang from Morrigan’s lips.

It burned through the air, uncontrolled and without a target, singeing Heloise’s skin as it whooshed past her and shot straight into the domed canopy of trees overhead, setting the station roof ablaze.

Heloise screamed.

Everyone screamed.

Morrigan heaved in deep, gasping breaths, watching the horror unfold while her fury burned itself out.

Murgatroyd: ENOUGH!

Dave: But be safe.

Cat: Eat lots of treats—

Dave: But please not too much sugar—

Cat: And let’s see who can find the most ridiculous souvenir this year!

Dave: But nothing sharp, nothing alive, nothing explosive, nothing bigger than the front door and no weapons.

Jupiter: The Elders will come around. We’ll find a way to make them come around. I promise. And look—the summer holidays are about to start, anyway. Six whole weeks to cool off and chill out. By the time school starts back again, they’ll have had a change of heart.

Morrigan: You think so?

Jupiter thought for a moment.

Jupiter: I know Elder Quinn pretty well. She’s…not unfair. Sometimes she just needs time to see what is the fair thing to do.

Chronicling the misdeeds of the First-Line

Wundersmith, Brilliance Amadeo, her predecessor the Wundersmith Deng Li, his predecessor the Wundersmith Christobel Fallon-Dunham, her predecessor the…

Morrigan: Who are these people?

Onstald: Hmm?

Jupiter had told her that there were other Wundersmiths. But she’d never really thought about any of them as actual people. It was quite enough to worry about one known Wundersmith.

Morrigan: It’s just…well, where’s Brilliance Amadeo now? Is she still—

Onstald: She’s dead.

A dull weight dropped into Morrigan’s stomach.

Onstald: Your kind are…all…dead. And if they’re...not—

He blinked his watery eyes at her and took a long, rasping breath.

Onstald: —they should be.

(Chapter Six: Missteps, Blunders, Fiascos, Monstrosities and Devastations-page 110)

Jupiter had it wrong, Morrigan now realised. An unpleasant, heavy feeling was settling in the space behind her ribs. How had he got it all so wrong?

Wundersmiths really were horrible. Every last one of them.

Cadence: Keep going.

As Morrigan became increasingly desperate for air, her survival instinct kicked in and thrashed wildly within her, trying to pull her back the way they’d come, back to light and oxygen and safety.

Cadence: Trust me. All right?

And Morrigan realised…she did trust Cadence. (When had that happened, she wondered?)

She fought back against her instinct, stubbornly putting one foot in front of the other. Her lungs were empty, her head felt as if it would burst, and she was frantic for air but there was none to be had, just a burning in her chest and—

They burst through some invisible barrier, gasping for breath and finding it at last. Morrigan thought she might collapse from the pain in her lungs and the dizziness in her head, but they’d made it. Wordlessly, Cadence pointed upwards.

Like a mockery of the spectacular Nevermoor Bazaar welcome sign above East Gate, a shabby white wooden arch curved over their heads and on it—newly painted in black letters—were three words:

THE GHASTLY MARKET

Morrigan: It is real.

Cadence: I knew it.

(Chapter Sixteen: The Ghastly Market-page 262)

The farther into the Ghastly Market they went, the darker and uglier it became, until Morrigan wanted to close her eyes and run back. She longed for the bright lights and joyful music of the Bazaar. The jostling crowds at the Ghastly Market were easy to get lost in, and the clientele here didn’t seem inclined to make eye contact with anyone, but nonetheless, Morrigan was beginning to feel…visible. Two children alone, their golden W pins gleaming at their necks. They were utterly out of place.

She hastily unpinned the evidence of her Wun status and shoved it in a pocket.

Morrigan: Take your pin off.