Stormchaser (13 page)

‘I answer this question with a question of my own, be it permitted,’ he began. Xintax nodded. ‘If I were to ask you whether, for the successful conclusion of this hazardous endeavour, I might become the new Leaguesmaster of the Undertown League of Free Merchants, how would
you
verily reply?’

Xintax's eyes narrowed. He had learned much about Slyvo Spleethe through the questioning. The quartermaster, he knew, was a greedy creature, treacherous and self-important – his question came as no surprise. ‘Yes,’ he answered.

‘In that case,’ Spleethe smiled, ‘my answer be also yes.’

On hearing his reply, the leaguesmen all climbed solemnly to their feet, clutched their tricorn mitres to their breasts and hung their heads. Simenon Xintax spoke for them all.

‘We have asked, you have answered, and a deal has been struck,’ he said. ‘But be sure of this, Spleethe. If you should attempt to dupe, deceive or double-cross us, we
shall not rest until you have been hunted down and destroyed. Do you understand?’

Spleethe stared back grimly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I understand. But be aware, Xintax, that what is true for the woodboar is also true for the sow. Those who cross
me
do not live long enough to tell the tale.’

Back in the stuffy room behind the bar of the Bloodoak tavern, a mood of optimism held sway. Once business had been concluded – with the flurry of double-handshakes that ritual required – Mother Horsefeather had rung a bell to summon her servants. It was time for the feast which had been prepared to celebrate the successful conclusion to the deal.

The food was delicious and plentiful, and the woodale flowed freely. Twig sat in contented silence, listening with only half an ear as the others talked on and on.
Stormchasing. Stormchasing
. It was all he could think about, and his heart thrilled with anticipation.

‘I still think it was very forward of you to assume that we’d come to an agreement,’ he heard Cloud Wolf chuckling as he tucked into his succulent hammelhorn steak.

‘Who is to say I would not have provided a meal even if we had not?’ Mother Horsefeather said.

‘
I
say so,’ said Cloud Wolf. ‘I know you, Mother Horsefeather. ‘
If you do anything for nothing, do it for yourself
– isn’t that how the saying goes…?’

Mother Horsefeather clacked her beak with amusement. ‘Oh, Wolfie!’ she said. ‘You are a one!’ She rose to
her feet and lifted her glass. ‘Since, however, the matter
has
been settled to everyone's satisfaction, I would like to propose a toast. To success,’ she said.

‘To success!’ came the enthusiastic response.

The Professor of Light turned to Cloud Wolf. ‘I am so very glad you have consented,’ he said warmly. ‘After all, I would not have liked to entrust so valuable a cargo to a lesser person.’

‘You mean the stormphrax,’ Cloud Wolf said. ‘We’ve got to find the stuff first.’

‘No, Quintinius, not the stormphrax,’ the professor said, and laughed. ‘I was talking about myself, for I shall be accompanying you. Together, with your skill and my knowledge, we shall return with enough stormphrax to end the current madness of chain-building once and for all.’

Cloud Wolf frowned. ‘But won’t Vilnix be suspicious should he get wind of it?’

‘That's where
we
come in,’ Mother Horsefeather said, and nodded towards the nightwaif. ‘Tomorrow morning, Forficule will pay a visit to Sanctaphrax to announce the Professor of Light's tragic accident and untimely death.’

‘I see that, between you, you’ve thought of everything,’ said Cloud Wolf. ‘There is, however, one last thing
I
have to say.’ He turned to Twig.

‘I know, I know,’ Twig laughed. ‘But it's all right. I promise I won’t mess up on this voyage – not even once.’

‘No, Twig, you will not,’ said Cloud Wolf sternly. ‘For you are not coming with us.’

Twig gasped. His face fell; his heart sank. How could his father say such a thing? ‘B… but what will I do? Where will I go?’ he asked.

‘It's all right, Twigsy,’ he heard Mother Horsefeather saying. ‘It's all been sorted. You’re to stay with me…’

‘No, no, no,’ Twig muttered, hardly able to take in what was happening. ‘You can’t do this to me. It's not fair…’

‘Twig!’ his father barked. ‘Be still!’

But Twig could not be still. ‘You just don’t trust me, do you?’ he shouted. ‘You think I’m no good at anything. You think I’m useless…’

‘No, Twig,’ he broke in. ‘I do not think you are useless, and one day, Sky willing, you will become a formidable sky pirate captain – of that I am sure. But, at the moment, you lack experience.’

‘And how will I gain that experience if you leave me behind?’ Twig demanded. ‘Besides,’ he said hotly, ‘no-one alive has any experience of stormchasing. Not even you.’

Cloud Wolf did not rise to the bait. ‘I have made my decision,’ he said calmly. ‘You can accept it with good grace, or you can rant and rave like a child. Either way, you are not coming, and that is an end to it.’

• CHAPTER EIGHT •
D
EPARTURE

‘S
etting sail?’ Tem Barkwater exclaimed.

‘That's what the Stone Pilot reckons,’ said Spiker.

‘But that's admirable news,’ said Tem. ‘Why, three days ago, after all the trouble with the ironwood, and then losing the rudder-wheel like that, I had truly feared that the
Stormchaser
might never set sail again. Yet now look at her – all fixed and ready, and raring to go. I en’t never seen the brasses gleam so bright.’

‘And it's not just the brasses,’ said Stope Boltjaw. ‘Haven’t you noticed the sails and ropes? And the rigging? Brand spanking new, the lot of them.’

‘And the weight-workings have been tuned to perfection as well,’ said Spiker.

‘We must be about to embark on something very important,’ said Tem Barkwater, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

‘You don’t need to be a genius to work that one out,’ said Stope Boltjaw. ‘The question is, what?’

Tem shook his head. ‘I’m sure the cap’n’ll tell us when he's good and ready,’ he said.

‘Aye, well,’ said Stope Boltjaw. ‘If we
are
to set sail then we’d do well to leave now, under the cover of darkness.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Tem Barkwater. ‘We should bide our time and wait until morning.’

‘What, and set off in full view of the leagues patrols?’ said Stope Boltjaw. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

‘Not I, Stope,’ Tem retorted. ‘It is you who has forgotten that, with the
Stormchaser
as she now is, we could outrun any and every league ship they might care to send after us.’

‘Yes, but…’ Stope protested.

‘And anyhow,’ Tem Barkwater went on, ‘the Mire is a treacherous place at the best of times – crossing it in darkness is madness. What with them poisonous blow-holes erupting all round about. And nowhere to attach the grappling-irons in a storm. Not to mention that it's impossible to see where the sky ends and the ground begins. I remember once – I couldn’t have been much more than a lad at the time – we were on our way back from…’

He was interrupted by Spiker. ‘It's the captain,’ he hissed. ‘And he's not alone.’

Tem Barkwater fell silent, and he, Stope Boltjaw and Spiker turned to greet the two figures climbing the gangplank.

‘Cap’n,’ said Tem warmly. ‘Just the person I wanted to see. Perhaps you could settle a little dispute for us. Stope, here, maintains that…’

‘No, Tem, I can’t,’ Cloud Wolf snapped. He peered round into the darkness. ‘Where's Hubble?’

‘Below deck, cap’n,’ said Tem. ‘With Mugbutt. I believe the pair of them are helping the Stone Pilot make his final adjustments to the new rudder-wheel.’

Cloud Wolf nodded. ‘And Spleethe?’

The sky pirates shrugged. ‘Spleethe, we haven’t seen,’ said Tem Barkwater. ‘We lost him in Undertown. He must still be on shore.’

Cloud Wolf turned on him furiously. ‘He what?’ he roared. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that Slyvo Spleethe is never
ever
to be left to his own devices? Who knows what he might be up to now?’

‘One minute he was with us in the Bloodoak,’ Stope Boltjaw explained. ‘The next minute he was gone.’

Cloud Wolf shook his head in disbelief. ‘Spleethe is our quartermaster,’ he explained to the Professor of Light. ‘A slippery character with a mutinous heart. I’ve half a mind to set sail without him. Trouble is, he's good at his job. And with Twig staying behind, that’ll put us at two crewmen down.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t risk it.’

‘Twig's staying behind?’ Tem Barkwater said, surprised. ‘Has the lad fallen ill?’

‘No, Tem, he has not,’ Cloud Wolf said angrily. ‘Though it is no concern of yours
what
has happened to him.’

‘But…’

‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘I will not have such insubordination in front of our guest.’ He turned to the Professor of Light. ‘Now, if you’d like to follow me, sire, I’ll show you to your quarters myself.’

‘Thank you, I should like that,’ the professor said. ‘There are a few last-minute calculations I need to work on before we set sail.’

‘Quite, quite,’ said Cloud Wolf, and ushered the professor away before he could say too much about the proposed voyage.

The three sky pirates looked at one another in confusion. Who was this old character? Why was Twig not coming with them? And where
were
they going? Cloud Wolf suddenly spun round. ‘Idle speculation is the pastime of the fool,’ he remarked, causing them all to look down guiltily at the deck. ‘You will inform me the moment Spleethe returns,’ he said.

‘Aye-aye, cap’n,’ came the reply.

*

Twig stared down miserably into his glass of woodfizz. Mother Horsefeather had poured the drink long ago – ‘to raise his spirits’ as she’d commented to Forficule. Now it was warm and flat.

All round him, the drunken revelry continued at full-throttle. There was raucous laughter and loud swearing; tales were told, songs were sung, violent arguments broke out as the flat-head and hammer-head goblins became increasingly volatile. At the stroke of midnight, a lumpen she-troll started up a snake dance and, within minutes, the whole tavern was squirming with a long line of individuals, winding its way round and round the room.

‘Oy, cheer up, mate,’ Twig heard. ‘It might never happen.’

He turned and found himself face to face with a grinning mobgnome standing beside him. ‘It already has,’ he sighed.

Puzzled, the mobgnome shrugged and returned to the dance. Twig turned back. He placed his elbows on the bar, rested his head in his hands with his fingers clamped firmly over his ears and closed his eyes.

‘Why did you have to leave me here?’ he whispered. ‘Why?’

Of course, he knew what his father would reply. ‘I’m only thinking of your well-being’ or ‘One day, you’ll thank me for this’ or, worst of all, ‘It's all for your own good.’

Twig felt his sadness and regret shifting, by degrees, to anger. It was not good for him; not good at all. Life on the
Stormchaser
was good. Being with his father, after so long a separation, was good. Sailing the skies in pursuit of wealth and riches was good. But being placed in the charge of Mother Horsefeather in her seething, seedy tavern while the
Stormchaser
and its crew set off on so wonderful a voyage was unutterably bad.