Midnight Over Sanctaphrax (29 page)

‘Jump!’ he shouted.

‘
WUH
!’
cried the banderbear, and the pair of them leapt from the branch and down to the walkway below. Scrambling to his feet, Twig looked around wildly. Angry shrykes on the adjacent walkways were running at them from every side, shoving their way through the crowds who were still thronging towards the
extraordinary spectacle unfolding in the pit.

‘Twig! Twig!’ came an urgent voice.

Twig spun round to see Cowlquape and Spooler on a broad platform just ahead, pushing towards them through the crowd. They both held a tether in each of their hands, at the end of which were four startled prowlgrins.

‘Well done, Cowlquape!’ he shouted.

Just then, four shryke guards dropped onto the walkway from above. They landed between them, cutting Twig and the banderbear off from escape. In a split second the banderbear was on them. With a mighty blow from his paw, he swept two shrykes from the walkway in a flurry of feathers. The other two dropped their clubs and flails, and fled with terrified screeches.

‘They were the biggest ones I could find,’ panted Cowlquape, as he and Spooler finally reached the others. The prowlgrins bucked and whinnied from the end of their tethers.

‘Ideal,’ said Twig. ‘Goom, take the biggest. Climb up, all of you.’ He grabbed the reins and leapt onto his own prowlgrin.

Goom remained still. ‘Wuh-wuh!’ he groaned miserably.

‘It's the
only
way,’ said Twig. ‘Come on!’

Already more shrykes were gathering. For the moment they hung back, but when there were enough of them, they would rush forward. There was murder in their yellow eyes.

Reluctantly, the massive banderbear clambered up onto the waiting prowlgrin. The creature groaned under
the heavy weight, and locked its bow-legs.

‘All right?’ said Twig.

The banderbear nodded unhappily.

‘Let's get out of here!’ Twig shouted.

Gripping the reins tightly, he kicked hard into the prowlgrin's flanks. The others did the same. The next instant - as if in some strange dance - the four beasts reared up, pawed the air with their fore-legs and leapt forwards.

Clutching on for dear life, Twig and Cowlquape, Spooler and Goom found themselves charging along the walkway away from the ironwood tree and the terrible arena. They knocked spectators and shrykes aside. Cowlquape held on desperately. He'd never ridden a prowlgrin before, and never wanted to again. It was terrifying.

The walkways swayed and shuddered beneath them, market-stalls crashed as they careered past - but the prowlgrins were as sure-footed as they were swift. The market sped by in a hazy blur of colour and oily lamplight. Suddenly, they were approaching the end of a walkway that gave way to nothing. It was the edge of the slave market. The astonished face of a slate-grey shryke peered out from a tally-booth directly ahead.

Now what? thought Cowlquape, his heart pounding.

Without a moment's hesitation, the prowlgrin beneath him launched itself off from the end of the walkway and into mid-air. Cowlquape sank his heels deep into its belly as the wind whistled past. He gripped the reins, white-knuckled.

Below him, the forest opened up like a gaping chasm. Falling. They were falling. His stomach leapt up into his mouth; he screwed his eyes shut. This was worse than the Sanctaphrax baskets, worse than the sky ship, worse than …

Ker-dunk!

His whole body jarred as the prowlgrin grabbed a branch with its fore-paws and, in an instant, kicked off again with its hind-legs. Cowlquape gripped the reins tighter still. Again, the forest opened up. And again, the prowlgrin landed, sure-footed on a branch before kicking down hard with its powerful hindquarters and leaping again.

The prowlgrin was well trained. Even though Cowlquape had never ridden before, all he had to do
was hold on as it forged its way through the forest from tree to tree.
Ker-dunk - whoosh! Kerdunk
… Little by little, it became easier. Cowlquape was learning when to tense his stomach and when to relax; when to lean forwards, when to sit back.

But what of the others?

Cowlquape stole a hurried glance back over his shoulders. Twig and Spooler were close behind him. And behind them was the banderbear. Despite the weight on its back, Goom's prowlgrin was managing to keep up. Then, with a jolt, Cowlquape saw a flurry of movement behind the banderbear. Half a dozen or more of the tawny shryke guards, on prowlgrins of their own, were close on their heels.

‘What do we do, Twig?’ Cowlquape shouted out.
‘They're catching up.’

‘Courage, Cowlquape!’ Twig called breathlessly. ‘Prowlgrins are beasts of the Deepwoods. They're used to travelling through the dark forest. But shrykes are roost creatures. They seldom stray far from the flock.’

Quite suddenly, the lights of the slave market disappeared and they were plunged into gloom. Cowlquape cried out with fear and screwed his eyes tightly shut.

‘It's all right!’ he heard Twig shouting happily. ‘Cowlquape, open your eyes. It's all right.’

Cowlquape did as he was told and was relieved to discover that, though the forest itself was indeed pitch black, the sky pirates he was travelling with were glowing brightly in the darkness. Twig, Spooler and Goom; all three of them were bathed in the strange luminous light.

On they went, without easing up for a moment, from branch to dark, looming branch; fleet and sure-footed.

Then Twig called out. ‘They've stopped!’

Cowlquape glanced round a second time. He saw the group of prowlgrins with their shryke riders perched on branches in the shadows, some distance behind them. They seemed in no hurry to continue the chase into the depths of the black forest. He saw something else; his cockade had disintegrated completely. All that remained was the pin.

‘Thank Sky!’ he murmured. ‘We've beaten them! We …
whooah!’
he gasped as he slipped in the saddle.

‘Careful, Cowlquape,’ said Twig. ‘We might have escaped the Great Shryke Slave Market, but there are still
wig-wigs below on the forest floor.’

Cowlquape gripped the reins grimly. And as they continued on their flight and the slave market was left far behind, he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the forest ahead.

They did not stop, nor even slacken their pace. Before they could descend to the forest floor to rest up for the night, they had to ensure that they were well away from the voracious wig-wigs that had been attracted by the slave market. Cowlquape grew weary as they pressed on.

‘How much farther?’ he shouted after Twig.

‘Just a little,’ Twig shouted back. ‘We must…’

‘Captain!’ shouted Spooler. The agitation in his voice was unmistakable. ‘Captain Twig, it's Goom's prowlgrin.’

Twig spun round. ‘Oh, no,’ he muttered. The poor creature was suffering under the burdensome weight on its back. Its strength was all but used up. Each leap was laboured, each landing a gamble. As for Goom himself, the banderbear's glowing face was contorted with fear as his mount struggled on, ever more precariously.

‘Wuh,’ it was groaning. ‘Wuh-wuh.’

Twig sighed. There was nothing for it. Wig-wigs or no wig-wigs they would have to descend. Sky willing, they had already put enough distance between them and the vicious orange creatures.

‘Down!’ he bellowed, and tugged on the reins of his own prowlgrin. ‘We're going down.’

Their slow descent coincided with a thinning of the trees. As they leapt down, from branch to branch, lower
and lower, Cowlquape scoured the forest floor for any tell-tale flash of orange.

There was none. He sighed with relief.

They landed in a tussocky glade of greatgrass. First Twig, then Spooler and Cowlquape, and finally Goom. His prowlgrin slumped to the ground, panting with exhaustion. Goom rolled off and lay beside it. The others dismounted, too. Spooler led the prowlgrins to a nearby tree and tethered them to a low branch. Twig crossed over towards the banderbear and crouched down next to him. He wrapped his arm around the creature's great neck and Goom rose, lifting Twig right off his feet.

The two figures lit up the glade with their eerie glow.

Cowlquape ran over to join them.

‘You did it!’ he exclaimed. ‘You did it!’

Twig turned his head and smiled at his young apprentice.
‘We
did it,’ he said. ‘You and me and Spooler, and Goom himself. We all did it!’

• CHAPTER SIXTEEN •
THE WELL
-
TRODDEN
PATH

H
aving ridden so far and for so long, the four travellers were weary. Twig knew there was no point in forging on any further that night.

‘We'll stop here,’ he said ‘and set off again early tomorrow morning. Cowlquape, Spooler, get a fire going. Goom and I will see about something to eat.’

‘Aye, aye, captain,’ said Spooler.

Cowlquape shivered as he watched Twig and the banderbear setting off into the darkness of the great forest. They looked so small against the massive trees: so insignificant, so vulnerable.

‘Take care,’ he muttered, and busied himself collecting sticks and branches from the surrounding undergrowth - taking care himself not to stray too far.

‘Good,’ said Spooler when he returned. ‘Make a pile over there.’

Cowlquape dropped the huge bundle of wood and
watched Spooler coaxing a flame from something grey and fluffy. ‘What's that?’ he said.

‘Barkmoss,’ said Spooler, between blows. ‘Excellent tinder. Usually’ He blew some more. His face was red and gleaming. ‘The accursed stuff's damp though.’ He blew harder still. Abruptly, the moss burst into flames. Spooler placed it gently down on a flat rock and turned to Cowlquape. ‘Get me some small twigs,’ he said. ‘Dry ones.’

Cowlquape leapt to the pile and returned with a handful. He handed them to Spooler, who arranged them in a pyramid-shape above the flames. They too caught, and the pair of them stoked up the blaze with larger logs. Soon, they had a huge fire burning.

While Spooler sorted through their provisions for pots, plates and mugs, Cowlquape sat himself down next to the fire. With the night-sounds all around - a screech here, a squawk there - he felt safer there next to its protective flames. He reached into his bag for his beloved barkscrolls.

At that moment, there was a crashing noise to their left, and Goom came blundering back through the forest. Twig followed close behind, keeping to the trail the banderbear had carved out. He approached the fire and emptied a sack of fruits and roots onto the ground. ‘Oak-apples, dellberries, yarrowroots,’ he said, ‘and numerous other delicacies especially selected by Goom with his sensitive banderbear nose, as being both nutritious and delicious!’

‘Wuh!’ said the banderbear, nodding his head in agreement. He lowered his great shoulder and lifted off
the body of a young tilder. An arrow stuck out from its neck.

‘Did you shoot that, Twig?’ said Cowlquape, impressed.

‘With my improvised home-made bow and arrow,’ Twig laughed. ‘It's been a long time, but I haven't lost my touch,’ he said. ‘Steaks for us and the rest of the carcass for the prowlgrins.’

A sudden fit of spluttered coughing echoed round the trees just above. Cowlquape ducked down and covered his head with his hands - only to see the others laughing at him.

‘It's just a fromp,’ said Twig. ‘Quite harmless …’

‘Wa-iiiiiii-kakakakaka …’

The mating call of a night-lemuel cut him short. Cowlquape ducked down for a second time.

‘Cowlquape,’ said Twig softly. ‘You're right to be cautious, for the Deepwoods is a dark and dangerous place. But I'm afraid you're just going to have to get used to the sounds it makes.’

Cowlquape nodded sheepishly. He didn't mean to keep reacting the way he did. ‘I think I need some more of that gabtroll's special tea,’ he said.

Twig smiled. ‘Perhaps that could be arranged. We've got the oak-apples.’ He turned to Goom. ‘Did you find any hairy charlock?’

The banderbear rummaged through the pile of fruit and roots with surprising delicacy for one so huge. He selected a stubby root with a topknot of feathery leaves. ‘Wuh,’ he announced, holding it up together with a bunch of sugar grass.