The Winter Knights (4 page)

‘It's a stormchaser,’ breathed Quint, shivering as the icy wind picked up.

As he watched, the stormchaser - sky ship of the Knights Academy - gathered speed and headed towards them, a blizzard of circling white ravens blurring the top of its tall mast. And as it drew closer, Quint saw all those who were on board the funereal vessel.

There were thirteen knights-in-waiting from the Knights Academy making up the crew, each one dressed in shining, burnished armour. On the foredeck stood Maris, flanked by the unmistakable figures of the Professors of Light and Darkness. And there, before them on a raised platform, the winding-cloth pale against the dark wood, lay the shrouded body of Linius Pallitax.

Quint longed to wave to Maris, or call out. He wanted so much to let her know that he was there, and felt the loss of her father almost as much as she did. But he knew he could not. He hung his head in sadness – and felt his own father's reassuring arm round his shoulders.

And at that moment, Quint realized that it had all been no more than a dream. The magnificent city upon the floating rock. The life he'd had in the Most High Academe's employ … Now Linius Pallitax was dead, and his dream was over.

What madness it had been to imagine that he could have ever fitted in. He could see that now. How could he become a knight academic like those proud, noble figures approaching in the stormchaser? It was never going to happen. The academy would never accept
him
. A sky pirate's son, with no mentor …

Quint returned his father's reassuring hug.

No, his future lay on board his father's sky pirate ship, where it always had. His time in Sanctaphrax had been a mirage, an illusion; a strange and beguiling dream that he would soon leave far behind.

The floating rock, the Knights Academy, the Most High Academe, and … Maris.

Quint felt a lump in his throat.

The stormchaser was now hovering directly overhead, the swirl of white ravens circling above it like a great storm. Slowly, carefully, the shrouded body of Linius Pallitax was lowered over the side of the vessel, suspended on golden ropes.

Quint could hear Maris's sobs, louder than ever, and the mournful trilling of Tweezel, Linius's faithful spindlebug. He bit into his lips, his eyes full of tears.

The body came to rest on top of the huge boulder that topped the stone stack, and the ropes were released from above. The voices of the Professors of Light and Darkness rang out in unison.

‘Linius Pallitax, Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax, we commend your spirit to Open Sky!’

At the sound of their voices, the academics below - Wind Jackal and Quint included -bowed their heads, and the raucous cries of the white ravens rose to an ear-splitting crescendo.

All around him, he could hear the academics. ‘Chorus of the Dead,’ and ‘Spirit unbound,’ and ‘Sky take him,’ they whispered under their breath, before bowing and turning to leave.

Quint looked up. On the great boulder, Linius Pallitax's body was covered in a soft down of screeching ravens busily devouring his remains, while above, the black sails of the sky ship billowed afresh as it returned slowly to Sanctaphrax.

‘Goodbye, and may Open Sky take you, Linius Pallitax,’ whispered Quint, turning to go. ‘And goodbye, Sanctaphrax,’ he added, looking up at the floating city in the distance.

‘Not so fast,’ he heard his father's voice in his ear. ‘I told you we'd have time to talk of the past and the future.’

‘Yes,’ said Quint, following his father through the crowd of academics shuffling back through the Stone Gardens. ‘My future with you, aboard the
Galerider
…’

Wind Jackal turned and looked deep into Quint's eyes. ‘Are you truly so keen to turn your back on this great floating city of yours?’ he asked him, with a smile.

‘Of course I'll be sorry to leave, Father,’ Quint began. ‘But I'll never get into the Knights Academy without a mentor and I don't want to end up as a gossipy old under-professor at the School of Mist or a scheming funnel-tender at the College of Rain. I'd much rather come with you.’

‘Before you decide,’ said his father, ‘perhaps you had better see what the new Most High Academes of Sanctaphrax want with you.’

Academics all around stopped and stared.

‘The new Most High Academes?’ said Quint.

‘Yes,’ said Wind Jackal. ‘They haven't announced it yet, but Linius passed the chain of office on to them when he was being carried from the fire at the Palace of Shadows. He decreed that they should be joint Most High Academes on his death, and told them to send for me.’ He smiled. ‘And now, they want to see
you
.’

‘But … but who … ?’ Quint began.

Wind Jackal smiled. ‘The Professors of Light and Darkness, of course,’ he told him.

Around him, the academics burst into an excited frenzy of whispers and muttering.

‘And we'd better hurry,’ said Wind Jackal, turning the collar of his coat up and holding out a hand as a soft white flake fluttered down. ‘I know I'm just a battered old sky pirate without all the sky learning and weather wisdom of these fancy professors of yours – but it looks like snow to me!’

•CHAPTER THREE•
THE KNIFE-GRINDER

N
ews of the unprecedented appointments to the highest office in Sanctaphrax spread rapidly as the crowds of mourners made their way back to the great floating rock from the Stone Gardens. No-one could quite believe that it was true. And all the while, the snow grew steadily heavier, swirling round them thickly, yet doing nothing to cool the feverish atmosphere.

Quint and Wind Jackal headed towards the hanging-baskets at the centre of Undertown as quickly as the worsening weather and clumps of gossiping academics allowed. But it seemed to be taking for ever. An hour later and they were still only halfway to their destination.

All round them, the buzz and clamour of conversation filled the air. Whoever was talking – be it scholars from the seven main schools, apprentices or under-professors from any of the fourteen minor academies, scribes from the viaduct schools, or even Undertowners returning home – the subject under discussion was the same.

‘Not one, but
two
Most High Academes,’ a mistsifter – his face as red as his robes – was expostulating to his three companions. ‘Absolutely unbelievable! The
pair
of them!’

‘Who'd have thought it?’ his neighbour chipped in.

‘And I'll tell you this for nothing,’ a third added, his chequered hood raised and metal nose glinting. ‘It doesn't bode at all well for any of us at the School of Mist.’

‘Aye, you're right enough there, Pentix,’ the first one said, nodding vigorously. ‘At least Linius was one of us. There's no knowing how these professors from the School of Light and Darkness are going to treat us.’

‘There'll be changes,’ the one with the nose-piece said darkly. ‘And you can bet your brass beak that they won't be for the better.’

As he pushed past them, Wind Jackal shook his head. ‘For all its splendid towers and magnificent academies, Sanctaphrax is just as full of spite, intrigue and petty rivalry as any Deepwoods slave market,’ he said, eyeing the academics with scorn. ‘And twice as dangerous.’

‘That's something I know only too well, Father,’ said Quint with a rueful smile. ‘And yet …’

‘And yet?’ said Wind Jackal.

‘And yet,’ Quint continued as they approached the Anchor Chain Square, with its rows of hanging-baskets, ‘there are such wonders to be found in the floating city. The bustle and colour of the Viaduct Steps, the Mosaic Square at twilight as the last rays of the sun hit the tiles, and the Great Library!’

Quint clasped his hands together and his eyes glazed over. Lost in his thoughts, he noticed nothing around him. Neither the hooded figure with four muzzled fromps on leashes hurrying past, nor the gang of cloddertrog young'uns darting in and out of the crowds, relieving the unwary academics of their valuables. And nor did he hear the strident calls of the Undertowners hawking their wares – everything from heavy ironmongery to tawdry lace.

‘The Great Library?’ said Wind Jackal, prompting his son to continue.

Quint turned and smiled. ‘Oh, Father! The wealth of knowledge in that place!’ he said animatedly. ‘You can't imagine. I tell you, a scholar could spend a thousand years in its rafters and still not read a tenth of the barkscrolls it contains!’ His face fell. ‘And yet it just sits there, shut up and forgotten …’

Wind Jackal smiled. ‘I can see that Sanctaphrax has certainly got to you,’ he said. ‘You sound like Linius, may Sky rest his soul. Despite all its faults and failings, he loved the place, and did his best to serve both academics and Undertowners alike …’

‘Hear, hear!’ came a voice to their left.

Wind Jackal turned to see a wizened mobgnome with grizzled side-whiskers and a threadbare jacket, who was suspended just above the ground in a hanging-basket.

‘Linius Pallitax was a fine Most High Academe,’ he said, ‘and there are many of us humble workers who have reason to be grateful to him.’ He frowned. ‘Going up?’

Wind Jackal nodded.

‘Then climb aboard,’ said the mobgnome, gesturing behind them. ‘Before all those academics push in front. Hanging-baskets are like gold dust today.’

Quint climbed into the hanging-basket after his father and held on as the mobgnome unhitched the crank-brake and began turning the set of hand-pedals. The basket began its long ascent.

‘So you knew the Most High Academe?’ said Wind Jackal to the mob-gnome as the streets and alleys of Undertown fell away below them.

The mobgnome grinned. ‘That I did, sir. When I was an earth-scholar.’

‘You?’ said Wind Jackal, surprised.

‘Under-librarian, I was, sir,’ he said. ‘In charge of the library baskets. Until the sky-scholars drove us earth-scholars out of Sanctaphrax.’

He hawked and spat over the side of the basket.

‘At the time, Linius Pallitax was a young mistsifter professor,’ he went on, ‘but he stood up for me when they closed the Great Library. And even though it made him unpopular, he saw to it that those of us that wanted them got jobs around the city.’

‘Excellent,’ said Wind Jackal.

‘Yeah, thanks to him, I make a very good living as a basket-puller.’ He grinned, to reveal a smile more gaps than teeth. ‘And I never miss an opportunity to overcharge those pompous sky-scholar types!’

Wind Jackal chuckled.

‘But for a fine sky pirate gentleman like yourself, sir,’ he added, ‘and a friend of the late Most High Academe, there'll be no charge.’

‘That's very good of you,’ said Wind Jackal, raising his hat to the basket-puller.

‘And as for you,’ said the mobgnome, eyeing Quint up and down when they arrived at the top. ‘You spoke well of the Great Library, Earth and Sky bless you. I thank you for that.’

Night had fallen and, by the time Wind Jackal and Quint had shaken the basket-puller's hand and bade him farewell, the lamp-lighters had already lit all the streetlamps lining the broad Grand Avenue which led into the centre of Sanctaphrax. Pools of golden light spread out across the intricate patterns of red, black and white tiles beneath their feet, while to their left and right, every building – from the squattest, sturdiest hall to the tallest, slenderest tower swaying in the rising wind   —  was illuminated by the light streaming from their windows.