Midnight Over Sanctaphrax (23 page)

Twig waited for the noise to subside before continuing. ‘Now, I need volunteers to crew this ship,’ he said. ‘How many of you have experience of skysailing?’

Half a dozen arms shot up into the air.

‘We've done our bit, Cowlquape,’ said Twig with a smile. ‘They'll be able to get back safely to Undertown. Our quest lies in the slave market.’ He turned back to the prisoners. ‘You will all be unshackled,’ he said. ‘Be patient. Your turn will come.’

Twig divided the keys up between himself and Cowlquape. One by one, the pair of them matched key to lock, unfastened the manacles and set the prisoners free. They streamed out of the dark, filthy hold, away from their prison and up on deck to taste the clear air and look at the stars. There was laughter and much hand-shaking; there were tears and heartfelt thanks. At last, wiping sweat from his brow, Cowlquape peered into the gloom of the farthest corners of the hold.

Only two shackled prisoners remained. A young pinched-looking gnokgoblin with an eye-patch and, at the opposite end of the cavernous chamber, a small figure bundled up in a ragged cloak.

Cowlquape approached the bundle. It let out a faint sigh as he fumbled with the key in the lock of the manacle around its leg. The mechanism failed to click.
He tried again, but it was no good.

‘I can't seem to unlock this one,’ Cowlquape called across the room. ‘It must be the key - or the rusty lock. Or something.’

‘Let me try my key,’ Twig called back. ‘I won't be a minute,’ he said to the gnokgoblin as he pulled himself up and crossed the filthy straw which covered the floor. ‘Let me see,’ he said to Cowlquape, putting the key in the lock. ‘Ah, yes, I think I've got it.’ He frowned. ‘Cowlquape?’ he said. ‘What's the matter?’

Cowlquape shook his head. ‘I don't believe it!’ he gasped. ‘Look, Twig, look!’

‘What is it, Cowlquape?’ said Twig. ‘Tell me …’

But Cowlquape was not listening. ‘It's fate, Twig! It's fate!’ he babbled excitedly as he stared unblinking at the young captain's outstretched hand. ‘Fate itself must have brought us to this place!’

‘Cowlquape,’ said Twig sharply. ‘What are you talking about?’

And then he saw. His hand, his arm - they were glowing. His entire body was aglow with the same bright light that had illuminated him before. When he had met up with Tarp Hammelherd, and Bogwitt, and Wingnut Sleet…

He turned and looked at the bundle of rags cowering immediately before him, his raised arm shielding his sensitive eyes from the sudden light. ‘It can't be. Can it? Spooler?’ he said. ‘Can it really be you?’

The oakelf started back. He lowered his arm - an arm that was also glowing. ‘Captain Twig?’ he whispered.
‘Captain Twig!’

‘Spooler!’ Twig exclaimed, and he embraced the oakelf tightly, lifting him up off the ground in his excitement. ‘It
is
you!’ He turned to Cowlquape, beside himself with joy ‘It's Spooler!’ he exclaimed. ‘The fourth missing member of my crew. Oh, Spooler,’ he said, releasing his grip on the oakelf and looking him deep in his eyes. ‘I hoped … but I never dreamed … But tell me, how did you end up in this terrible place?’

The oakelf looked down. His brow furrowed. ‘I … I'm not sure, Captain. It's all a blur,’ he whispered.

‘We were on board the
Edgedancer,’
Twig reminded him gently. ‘Tethered to the caterbird. We set off into open sky in search of my father, Cloud Wolf.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Spooler. ‘That I remember.’ He shuddered. ‘And I remember seeing the weather vortex from the top of the caternest, coming closer and closer …’

‘Yes?’ said Twig eagerly.

‘And then, nothing,’ said Spooler. ‘The next thing I knew I was lying in the gutter in the Undertown fish market.’

Twig hid his disappointment.

‘A mobgnome found me,’ Spooler continued. ‘He
offered me somewhere to spend the night; he gave me something to drink. Woodgrog …’ His face clouded over. ‘And then … And then,
thisV
he wailed, and sobs of misery wracked his frail body.

‘It's all right, Spooler,’ said Twig softly. ‘You're safe now. We've found you - though Sky alone knows how. And now this sky ship will take you back to Undertown.’

‘But what is there for me in Undertown?’ the oakelf wailed.

‘You must make your way to my study in Sanctaphrax,’ Twig said. ‘The others are waiting for me there: Tarp, Bogwitt, Sleet. They will be delighted to see you. You can wait with them. Cowlquape and I shall return when we have discovered what has happened to the rest of the missing crew.’ He took the oakelf's bony hands in his own. ‘And we must travel on alone, Spooler. We can't take you with us. It was the same with the others. The glow that we create when we are together makes us too conspicuous.’

Spooler pulled away with surprising force. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘No, Captain. I cannot spend another moment on this evil vessel.’ There was a desperate urgency in his voice.

‘But Spooler,’ said Twig, ‘I've explained …’

‘I can be useful to you,’ Spooler persisted. ‘On the long voyage here I gleaned a considerable amount of information - vital information - about the slave market from some of my fellow-prisoners.’

‘But, Spooler …’ Twig began again.

‘Besides,’ Spooler went on, ‘I am an oakelf. Observant. Sensitive. My faculties are sharp. And like all other oakelves I know how to read the signs in the behaviour of others. I will be able to determine how the slave market operates.’

Twig shook his head.

‘And as for the glowing,’ Spooler continued without taking a breath, ‘apparently, there are all sorts in the market.
All
sorts! Including creatures that glow - the glimpelt when its fur gets wet, the fritts when they're frightened, the lumhorn when it's attacked … No-one will give us a second look.’

Twig glanced up at Cowlquape, who shrugged.

‘If you transgress just one of the unwritten laws of this place, then you're done for,’ said Spooler, drawing a finger across his exposed throat. ‘Believe me, captain, without my help in the Great Shryke Slave Market, you won't last ten minutes.’

‘He's got a point,’ said Twig.

Cowlquape nodded vigorously. ‘He certainly has!’ he said. The thought of falling into the clutches of the cold, glinting-eyed shrykes filled him with horror.

‘Then it's decided. We shall continue as three,’ said Twig.

‘I think this was meant to be,’ said Cowlquape. He looked down, suddenly serious. ‘I read something in the barkscrolls the night before last, something that I think is important. It is what Kobold the Wise said to his followers as they gathered at Riverrise to await the Mother Storm.
“We are all but puppets, waiting for our strings to
be tweaked. Our lives are nothing more than the workings of the unseen hand that holds those strings.”‘

Twig smiled. ‘And you think someone or something tweaked
our
strings, do you?’

‘I'm just telling you what I read,’ said Cowlquape.

‘I know,’ said Twig. ‘And perhaps you and your Kobold the Wise are right. After all, here we are - we've found the fourth member of my crew. It's more than I'd ever thought possible. If this is the work of an unseen hand, Cowlquape my friend, then I hope its grip is strong, for I feel the greatest test lies ahead of us out there.’

‘In the slave market,’ said Cowlquape, with a shudder.

‘The slave market!’ said Spooler darkly. ‘And I shall be your guide.’

‘Good, well, if that's decided,’ came a weary voice from the opposite end of the dank hold. It was the gnok-goblin, still manacled and quite forgotten. ‘Then will someone please release
me.’

• CHAPTER FOURTEEN •
INTO THE GREAT
SHRYKE SLAVE
MARKET

H
aving kitted themselves out with fully-equipped longcoats and new para wings from the storeroom of the sky pirate ship, Twig, Cowlquape and Spooler bid a final farewell to the motley company and crew of the
Skyraider.
The sun was rising as they made their way to the end of the gangplank and Cowlquape was relieved to see that, away from the dark hold, neither Twig nor Spooler were glowing.

Twig squinted through the dense foliage at the slave market beyond. Everything was lit up by the oily yellow glow of the lamps, and it was just possible to make out the extraordinary architecture of this hidden city in the forest through the gaps in the leaves. There were tiled cabins and canopied platforms clinging to the trunks of the massive trees; turret-like constructions and curious
spheres woven from woodwillow and sallowdrop twigs which hung from their branches, while wooden walkways, slung from tree to tree and strung with smoking oil lamps, formed a network of paths. The noise was cacophonous and unbroken; the stench, repellent.

‘This is the place,’
a voice in Twig's head whispered.
‘Let Spooler guide you.’

Twig turned to the oakelf. ‘Spooler,’ he said, ‘do you really think you can guide us safely through this terrible place?’

Spooler nodded. ‘I shall do my best,’ he said. ‘First of all, we must see about some white cockades. Come, let us go. And Sky protect us all.’

Twig's heart missed a beat as he followed Spooler over the wobbling plank of wood. He hadn't realized how high up they were for, although docked, the
Skyraider
was still some fifty strides above the forest floor.

‘The whole market is raised up,’ Spooler was saying. They had reached the other side and were stepping through the outer canopy of leaves. ‘Everything is fixed to, or suspended from, the great trees.’

Twig stared ahead of him, open-mouthed. ‘It's stranger than I ever imagined it would be,’ he whispered.

‘And vast,’ said Spooler. ‘Searching for an individual in this lot…’ His voice faded away and he flapped his hands at the thronging walkways, creaking and groaning under the weight of the crowds that snaked their way along them.

‘We'll manage,’ said Twig. ‘Somehow. Eh, Cowlquape?’ There was no reply. Twig spun round.
‘Cowlquape?’ he called. ‘Where are you?’

‘Wuurgh!’
came a small groan from back the way they'd come.

‘Cowlquape!’ shouted Twig. He ran back through the curtains of foliage and along the landing-stage. And there was his young apprentice, down on his hands and knees in the middle of the bouncing gangplank, eyes tightly closed, shaking like a leaf and unable to move. ‘It's all right,’ Twig said. ‘I'll come and get you.’

‘
NO
!’
Cowlquape wailed. ‘I can't get up. I'll fall. I know I will.’

Born and raised in Undertown, the youth had never liked heights. Living on the floating city of Sanctaphrax had been fine because it was so vast - though he'd avoided the higher walkways and always shut his eyes in the baskets. Sky sailing had scared him at first, but again the ship had been large and, when up on deck, he'd taken care not to look down. But this - wobbling about on a thin gangplank in mid-air - this was almost as petrifying as dangling on that rope from the
Skyraider.
In some ways it was worse. At least boarding the sky ship had been over rapidly; he'd just had to hold on. But here, the walkways went on for miles.
How would he ever cope with them?

‘Crawl,’ he heard Twig instructing him. ‘Grip the sides of the plank and crawl forwards.’

Cowlquape's head spun. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. ‘I can't,’ he muttered. ‘I just can't.’ Even though his eyes were still clamped shut he could
feel
the space between him and solid ground.

‘You can!’ said Twig. ‘You can't stay here! Besides, if you fall, what would become of your precious barkscrolls?’

Cowlquape groaned. He felt for the sides of the board with his hands, then shuffled forwards on his knees. His toes dragged along the rough surface of the plank.

‘That's the way!’ Twig shouted encouragingly. ‘Just a little bit further.’

Arms trembling and teeth clenched, Cowlquape moved forwards again. And then again. Moving without thinking. All at once, hands gripped his jacket and he felt himself being dragged forwards. His legs turned to jelly and he fell with a thud on something hard - the walkway shuddered. He opened his eyes. Twig was crouching down beside him.