Midnight Over Sanctaphrax (37 page)

Cowlquape screamed.

The flames were roaring all round them and, despite the thick, protective layer of Riverrise mud, the pair of them were being baked alive. Twig turned to meet Cowlquape's panic-stricken gaze.

‘Hold on,’ he rasped. The boom-docks came into view. The farthest outskirts of Undertown passed below them. ‘Now, Cowlquape!’ Twig cried. ‘Pull the ropes!’

The apprentice's eyes rolled back in their sockets and his head slumped forwards.

‘
COWLQUAPE
!’

Beneath him, the great floating rock of Sanctaphrax passed by. Twig's head spun. What should he do? If he released himself, Cowlquape would hurtle on, over the Edge and into open sky. Yet if he tried to rescue him, Sanctaphrax itself might perish.

There was no choice.

Twig drew his knife and sliced through Cowlquape's binding ropes. They frayed and snapped, and the young apprentice was plucked from the stump of blazing wood by the wind. The parawings flew open and Cowlquape floated away.

Without missing a beat, Twig slipped the knot binding himself to the stubby remains of the once great tree, and flew up into the air after him. His parawings opened, and the silken folds billowed out behind him. Twig looked round nervously, half-expecting to see Cowlquape plummeting down to the ground. But no. There he was, gliding below him.

‘Cowlquape!’ he shouted and, by bringing his knees up and thrusting forwards, he tilted the angle of the parawings and swooped down towards him.

Cowlquape's face was as white as a sheet, but he was alive. And not only alive, but also - thank Sky -conscious once more.

‘How do I steer these things?’ he wailed.

‘Don't even try,’ Twig called back. ‘You're doing fine. Just don't make any sudden movements!’

As they glided down, the last signs of ramshackle habitation fell away behind them. The land beneath became rocky and inhospitable. It sped up to meet them.

‘There's no turning back now,’ Twig cried. ‘Prepare yourself for landing. Crumple and roll, Cowlquape!’ he bellowed. ‘Crumple and roll.’

The next moment Twig landed, followed immediately by Cowlquape. As they felt the ground beneath their feet, they let their legs relax and rolled over onto their sides. The baked mud cracked and fell away.

Twig was first up. He crouched down over the motionless body of his friend, unstoppered the little bottle Maugin had given him, and touched the Riverrise water to his lips.

Cowlquape opened his eyes at once and looked up.

‘How are you?’ Twig whispered.

‘Apart from being burned and battered half to death, you mean?’ said Cowlquape, sitting up.

Twig smiled. ‘Can you walk?’ he said.

‘I… I think so,’ said Cowlquape. ‘Where are we?’

Twig looked round at the silvery stacks of rocks, each one larger than the one beneath. ‘In the Stone Gardens,’ he groaned.

Wisps of mist coiled up from the earth where the cold air touched the warm ground. A wind was getting up. Cowlquape shivered.

‘The Stone Gardens,’ he complained. ‘But that's miles from Sanctaphrax!’

Just then, the air all round them filled with a flurry of wings. One by one, sleek white birds landed and loped towards them, forming an unbroken circle around the hapless pair. They scratched at the ground, they flapped their ragged wings, they stretched their necks forwards, opened their savage beaks and cawed menacingly. The smell of rotting meat filled the air.

‘The ravens!’ Twig muttered, drawing his sword. ‘The white ravens!’

Cowlquape grasped his knife, and he and Twig stood back to back, weapons raised, in grim anticipation. Two against so many were impossible odds. Had they come so far only to fail here, almost within sight of Sanctaphrax?

‘Listen to me,’ he called out to them. ‘You must listen to me.’

But the white ravens were in no mood to listen. They stabbed the air with their beaks and cawed all the louder. It could only be a matter of time before the bravest - or hungriest - of them broke ranks and attacked.

• CHAPTER TWENTY •
THE MOTHER STORM

T
he bright moon shone down impassively on the bleak scene in the Stone Gardens. Two individuals, the blades of their weapons glinting in the moonlight, stood together. In a circle around them, the flock of voracious white ravens scratched at the ground with their scythe-like talons.

‘What do we do, Twig?’ said Cowlquape.

‘I … We …’ Twig fell still. For the first time since he had set out on his quest to find his missing crew, he was at a loss to know what to do. Each one of the crew had been accounted for now, yet the quest was not over - or rather, it had changed. And if Sanctaphrax was not to be destroyed by the approaching Mother Storm, then Twig had to act - and act now.

All at once, the largest of the white ravens stepped forwards. It cocked its head to one side.

‘Shooting star?’ it croaked.

Twig's jaw dropped. Not only could the great bird speak, but it seemed to recognize him. ‘Y … yes,’ he said, nodding uncertainly.

‘Friend of Professor of Darkness?’

‘You know the Professor of Darkness?’ Twig gasped.

‘Kraan know,’ the white raven acknowledged.

‘Then you must help us …’ Twig began, only to be drowned out by the raucous cawing of the restless flock.

Kraan turned and screeched at them to be silent, then looked back at Twig. ‘Help you?’ it said.

‘I want you to deliver a message to the professor,’ said Twig. ‘An important message.’

‘Important,’ Kraan repeated.

‘The Mother Storm will strike Sanctaphrax at midnight,’ Twig said very slowly and clearly. ‘The floating city must be evacuated at once. Tell him Twig is
on his way.’ He looked into Kraan's glassy yellow eyes, trying to guess what the bird might be thinking. ‘Can you do that?’

Before the white raven could answer, the Stone Gardens were abruptly plunged into darkness. Everyone looked up. Curious dark clouds had swarmed in across the moon, where they squirmed and writhed; it was like looking into a barrel of woodmaggots.

The ravens croaked in unison - a raucous chorus of dismay.

At that moment, a bolt of jagged blue lightning hissed down through the sky and struck the ground nearby. Where it landed, the earth cracked and, as the smoke and dust cleared, the glinting surface of a newly emerging rock appeared from beneath the surface.

‘This weather heralds the arrival of the Mother Storm,’ said Twig grimly.

The white raven looked at him askance. ‘You know what Professor of Darkness does not know,’ he said suspiciously. ‘How?’

‘Because the secret was revealed to me,’ said Twig, and pointed beyond the Edge. ‘Out there, in open sky -where no professor has ever dared venture. Kraan, you must believe me. If you do not leave now, it will be
too late.
Too late for you, for me, for Sanctaphrax -
life on the Edge will end.’

‘Waaark!’ cried the great bird. It beat its wings and rose up into the air. ‘Waaark!’ it shrieked again, and the circle of white ravens opened to let Twig and Cowlquape
pass: they were not to be harmed.
‘WAAARK!’

‘Find the Professor of Darkness,’ Twig called. ‘Give him my message,’ Kraan wheeled round and flapped noisily off in the direction of Sanctaphrax. ‘And Sky speed be with you,’ Twig whispered.

The Stone Gardens receded behind them as Twig and Cowlquape hurried along the path that would take them to Undertown. All around them, the sky hissed and fizzed threateningly. Tendrils of flashing electric-blue light fanned out across the darkness. The Mother Storm was coming closer and the air was charged with her imminent arrival. Half an hour or more had already passed.

‘Faster,’ said Twig urgently, as he broke into a jog. ‘Midnight is approaching. We must hurry.’

‘I … I'm coming,’ Cowlquape panted wearily.

Ahead of them, the spires and towers of Sanctaphrax glinted in the sparking air. And, as the wind grew stronger still, the entire floating city bobbed at the end of
the taut Anchor Chain like a bladder-balloon on a string.

Finally - and much later than Twig would have wished - the outskirts of Undertown came into view. Low wood-framed workshops with corrugated iron-wood roofs, a small tannery, a hull-rigging manufacturer's.

‘Nearly there,’ said Twig breathlessly.

Behind him, the sky had turned purple, while the electric-blue flashes grew more intense. They fizzed all round the magnificent buildings of Sanctaphrax and down the mighty chain which anchored it to the ground.

This way,’ said Twig, veering abruptly down a narrow alley lined with stalls of basketware and clay pots, still open for business despite the lateness of the hour. Cowlquape struggled after him, his legs rubbery and weak.

They turned left again. Then right. The whole of Undertown was buzzing, thronging. Goblins and trolls stood in anxious clusters looking up at the sky, pointing,
murmuring with disquiet. Something sinister was happening. Something that seemed worse than all the other recent storms put together.

Barging their way through the crowds, Twig and Cowlquape kept on. Right. Right again. Then left. And there it was - in the centre of an open paved area ahead of them - the mooring-platform for the great floating rock itself.

The place was already full of academics. They looked bewildered, frightened and, in their robes of office, out of place amidst the grime and chaos of Undertown. Twig glanced up at the floating rock, where overladen baskets were bringing still more of the citizens of Sanctaphrax down to earth. Kraan, the white raven, had obviously delivered his message and the professor had acted.

The air glistened and sparked, and a deafening clatter of thunder set the ground trembling. The gale-force wind howled down the narrow streets and round the square.

Head down, Twig strode directly towards the platform unimpeded; the gnokgoblins of the Anchor Chain guard had clearly abandoned their posts. He looked at the chain and sighed. No sword could ever sever its mighty links. He climbed up onto the plinth and crouched down to see how the end of the chain had been secured.

The mooring-block was an intricate contraption. An iron plate, with two raised arches in the middle, had been bolted through the platform and into the rock beneath. The end of the Anchor Chain was wound round a cogged-axle, with the final link fixed into place
between the two arches by a massive levered cotter-pin. If Sanctaphrax was to be released, the cotter-pin would have to be removed. But how?

‘A hammer, Cowlquape!’ Twig shouted. ‘I need a heavy hammer. For Sky's sake, find me one now.’

Cowlquape darted off into the crowd.

A cheer went up, and Twig looked round to see a stooped figure in black robes climbing from a basket which had just touched down near the dry fountain at the far side of the square.

It was the Professor of Darkness. Twig sighed with relief. If the Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax had left the floating city, then the evacuation must be almost complete.

And not before time, thought Twig, as a low, stomach-churning sound rumbled in the distance. It was the Mother Storm, and she was drawing near.

Where was Cowlquape with that hammer? Twig looked around for something - anything - that he might use to knock the cotter-pin free.