by Paul Stewart
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.
All at once, a brutal volley of hailstones - the size of ratbird eggs - hammered down on Undertown, smashing through windows, and turning fear to pandemonium as everyone ran screaming for cover. With his arm raised protectively, Twig looked up.
Boiling and bubbling, flashing and flickering, an immense ball of pitch-black cloud was tumbling in across the night sky towards them.
The Mother Storm was all but upon them!
Twig leapt down off the platform and levered one of the slabs of paving from the ground with his sword. He dashed back to the chain-moorings again and slammed the rock into the end of the cotter-pin.
It moved!
Twig tried again. This time the cotter-pin jammed tight. He tried again. But it was no use. The pin wouldn't budge.
‘Move, Sky curse you!’ Twig roared in his fury and frustration. ‘Move!’
‘Twig!’ shouted a familiar voice. ‘What do you think you're doing?’
Twig looked up. The Professor of Darkness was hurrying across the square towards him.
‘Please, Professor,’ Twig grunted as he slammed the heavy rock into the mooring-block again and again. ‘There's no time to explain.’
‘Twig! No!’ the professor cried. Pulling up his robes, he climbed onto the plinth and seized Twig's arm. ^ ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? What has happened to you - you of all people - that you should attack the Anchor Chain?’
Twig shook him off. ‘All will be lost if I do not,’ he said. ‘The Mother Storm is almost upon us! She will strike at midnight.’
‘But Twig, how can you say that?’ said the professor.
‘I have remembered what I learned in open sky,’ said Twig. ‘What I had forgotten when you found me in the Stone Gardens. If life on the Edge is to survive, then Sanctaphrax must be unchained! The Mother Storm must be allowed to pass on to Riverrise unimpeded.’
‘No!’ the professor murmured, stunned. ‘No.’ His breathing quickened. ‘I agreed to the evacuation … I feared structural damage might lead to injuries, or even fatalities. But to unchain Sanctaphrax! No, it cannot be. I should have remained up there with the rest.’
‘The rest?’ said Twig, and glanced up at the floating city to see a row of tiny figures peering down from a balustrade. ‘Tarp? Bogwitt… ?’
‘Oh, your crew are down, but several of the older academics refused to leave,’ the professor said. ‘The Professor of Fogprobing, the Professors of Windtouchers and Cloudwatchers - even that upstart, the Professor of Psycho-Climatic Studies … Professors evidently more loyal to Sanctaphrax than myself,’ he added as, without any warning, he leapt forwards and shoved Twig with all his weight.
Distracted by the sight of the stubborn academics, Twig didn't see him coming. The heavy blow knocked him off balance and sent him keeling backwards off the platform, striking his head sharply on the edge as he fell. He looked up groggily, to see the Professor of Darkness standing above him.
At that moment, a bell rang out. It was the heavy, brass bell of the Great Hall, chiming the hour.
Bong! it tolled.
The professor looked up. ‘You see,’ he cried. ‘Midnight, and all is well.’
The crowds milled about nervously, eyes to the sky, as colossal banks of clouds tumbled over and over one another. Despite the professor's hopeful words, all seemed very far from well.
Bong!
Far above their heads the massive ball of cloud pulsed in and out, like a great, beating black heart. The air crackled. The wind wailed. The Mother Storm was about to release - and squander - her rejuvenating power here at Sanctaphrax, far from Riverrise.
Bong!
Flushed and breathless, Cowlquape was suddenly at Twig's side. A hammer was clenched in his hand.
‘Twig!’ he cried. ‘What's happened?’
Bong!
The sky rumbled and rolled. Purple and blue bolts of lightning plunged down to the earth, cracking paving-stones, razing buildings to the ground and sending the terrified inhabitants of Undertown and citizens of Sanctaphrax scurrying this way and that in search of safe shelter.
Twig clutched his throbbing head. ‘Release the Anchor Chain, Cowlquape,’ he croaked weakly. ‘Before the bell tolls twelve.’
Bong!
Cowlquape leapt up onto the platform where the Professor of Darkness lay wrapped around the workings of the mooring block.
‘Move!’ he shouted.
‘You'll have to kill me first!’ the Professor said defiantly.
Bong!
Cowlquape stepped forwards and seized the old professor by the sleeve.
‘No, no!’ he cried out, tearing his arm free. ‘If you think I'll allow centuries of knowledge to be lost, then …’ The professor's voice was high and querulous. ‘Then you're as mad as he is!’
Bong!
‘Cowlquape, hurry!’ Twig groaned, as he struggled groggily to his feet. ‘Hurry!’
The storm roared. The earth shook. The sky shuddered.
‘No, Cowlquape,’ pleaded the professor. ‘I … I'll give you anything you want!’ he cried. ‘Name your price. Your own department. A professorship. Tell me, and it is yours - only don't release the Anchor Chain!’
Bong!
‘Here,’ the professor babbled as he tore off his heavy chain of office. ‘Take the great seal of Sanctaphrax. It's yours - only don't destroy our great city,’ he begged as he reached out and slung it around Cowlquape's neck.
As he did so, Cowlquape grasped the professor by his bony wrist and tugged hard. With a cry of despair, the Professor of Darkness was wrenched from the winding-gear and propelled away from the mooring-platform. He landed heavily on the ground.
Bong!
Cowlquape turned, bent over and hammered furiously at the cotter-pin. Groaning and creaking, the toothed axle moved. Flakes of rust crumbled away as cogs and gears that hadn't been touched for hundreds of years juddered and turned.
Bong!
Above him, the approaching Mother Storm was drifting lower, filling up more and more of the sky as she descended. The heavy air was charged with electricity that set the hair on every head on end, and laced with the smell of sulphur and tar and toasted almonds. A great whirlwind spun round and round, causing Sanctaphrax itself to turn. Fearing for their lives, those beneath the great rock sped off in all directions.
Abruptly, the final link in the great chain sliced through the cotter-pin like a hot knife through butter. Sanctaphrax was free.
Bong!
‘No!’ wailed the Professor of Darkness, scrambling to his feet. He hitched up his gowns and dashed after the great chain trailing behind the floating rock. ‘It cannot be!’ he screamed. ‘No!’
‘Professor!’ Twig called after him. ‘Listen to me!’
But the Professor paid him no heed. Sanctaphrax was at the heart of his very soul. He would not - could not -live without it. He took a flying leap at the end of the chain, and clung on tightly.
‘Professor!’ Twig cried out.
Bong!
The bell tolled twelve. It was midnight over Sanctaphrax.
The Mother Storm bellowed like a mighty beast. Unchained, the Sanctaphrax rock soared ever higher and out of sight as the Mother Storm - pulsing with power and new life - rolled on across the sky to keep her dawn appointment with Riverrise.
Cowlquape jumped down from the plinth and ran over to Twig.
‘Sky protect you, Professor,’ Twig called, gazing upwards.
Cowlquape rested a hand on his shoulder.
The Professor of Darkness was a good person, Cowlquape,’ said Twig. ‘Dedicated, loyal … like those other misguided academics who refused to leave,’ He sighed. ‘They couldn't let go of their beloved Sanctaphrax.’
There they are!’
came a loud, angry voice.
They cut the Anchor Chain!’ bellowed another.
Twig and Cowlquape found themselves confronted by a furious mob - academics, guards, basket-pullers -advancing towards them.
Cowlquape turned to Twig. ‘What do we do?’ he gasped.
Twig raised his arms. ‘Friends! Fellow Academics! People of Undertown!’ he called out. ‘It is true, Cowlquape here released the Anchor Chain …’
The growing crowd hissed and booed.
‘But had he not done so,’ Twig shouted above the noise, ‘the terrible storm you all witnessed overhead would have destroyed not only Sanctaphrax but also Undertown - and all life as we know it on the Edge!’
‘Says who?’ bellowed a tall robed figure.
‘Why should we believe you?’ demanded another. The cries grew louder, angrier.
‘Because I speak for your new Most High Academe,’ Twig bellowed back. The crowd hesitated. ‘Yes, you heard me correctly; the Most High Academe!’ He pointed to the heavy gold seal hanging from the chain round Cowlquape's neck. ‘For that was the title conferred upon him by the old Most High Academe, as is his right, according to the ancient customs of our beloved Sanctaphrax.’
Cowlquape shrunk with embarrassment. ‘But … but…’ he murmured.
‘There is no beloved Sanctaphrax!’ shouted an angry voice.
‘Good thing, too!’ shouted an Undertowner. ‘Lazy academics!’
‘Undertown scum!’ came the furious response.
Scuffles broke out, punches were thrown. Then, the next instant, the crowd froze, each and every one, as their cries were drowned out by the frantic shrieking and cawing of the flock of white ravens circling the sky above them.
“The chorus of the dead,’ the Undertowners groaned, scurrying away to safety.
‘The white ravens,’ whispered the academics, holding their ground.
In a great swirling blizzard of feathers the white ravens landed and stood in a protective ring around Twig and Cowlquape. The largest of them turned to Twig and thrust its great beak forwards.
‘Kraan,’ said Twig. ‘Thank you for …’
‘Lightning bolt hit Stone Gardens,’ the bird interrupted. ‘Blue lightning bolt. You remember?’
‘Y … yes,’ said Twig. ‘I do.’
Kraan nodded vigorously. ‘There, a rock grows. Biggest ever. Growing fast. Fast and fast. Must secure it. Secure it now. Before fly-away’
Twig frowned. He recalled the sight of the glinting new rock he'd glimpsed beneath the surface. ‘You don't suppose …’ he said, turning to Cowlquape.
‘You mean,’ said Cowlquape, ‘you think this rock might grow big enough to be …’
‘A new Sanctaphrax!’ said Twig. ‘That's exactly what I think!’ He motioned to the academics before them. ‘Quick! Go to the Stone Gardens, all of you! Take ropes, chains, netting, rigging, weights - anything you can lay your hands on. For the rock which is growing down at the Edge shall be your new floating city. Together you can build a new Sanctaphrax.’
The academics stared back mutely. Cowlquape stepped forward, hand on the chain of office round his neck. ‘Do as he says!’ he commanded.
For a moment, the academics remained still. Then a lone voice cried out. ‘To the Stone Gardens!’ and they turned and began to stream from the square.
Twig turned to Cowlquape. ‘Ah, Cowlquape,’ he said. ‘How I envy you.’
‘You envy me?’ said Cowlquape.
‘Surely,’ said Twig. ‘For you will be able to start afresh -to create the academic city the way it should always have been. Away with the pettiness, the backbiting, the whispered intrigue. For you are the bridge, Cowlquape, that will bring Undertown and the new Sanctaphrax together. No longer will merchants and academics look down on one another, for you have seen both sides, Cowlquape -and you have a good heart. Now you also have a new floating rock upon which to build your dreams.’
‘And what about you, Twig?’ said Cowlquape.
‘Me?’ said Twig. ‘I must be reunited with my crew -both here and back at Riverrise.’ He sighed. ‘If only Spooler had not died …’
‘Stay here!’ said Cowlquape, gripping Twig by the arms. ‘We'll build the new Sanctaphrax together. You and me …’
‘My place is not here,’ said Twig firmly. ‘It never was. My place is at the helm of a sky ship with my loyal crew by my side.’
Cowlquape screwed up his face. ‘But me?’ he said. ‘What about me? I can't do it all on my own.’
‘Follow your heart, Cowlquape,’ said Twig. ‘Do that, and you won't go far wrong, believe me. Remember, just follow your heart.’ He smiled. ‘And I will follow mine.’
By the time the sky above the Edge began to lighten, the growing rock in the Stone Gardens had been encased in strong netting to which all kinds of heavy weights were being attached by the scurrying academics.
‘Right,’ said Cowlquape, satisfied that, for the time being at least, the rock was secure. ‘I must hurry back to Undertown,’ he said, ‘to discuss the matter of a new Anchor Chain with Silex Makepiece of the League of Forging and Founding. In the meantime, I want you to supervise the rock. Ensure that enough weights are attached to keep it from soaring off.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ Vox, the tall apprentice from the College of Cloud, replied, his voice hushed, oily.
Cowlquape dashed off to the waiting barrow. Vox's eyes narrowed and an unpleasant smirk played on his lips. ‘You little runt,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘I'll get you one day …’
When he reached the main square of Undertown, Cowlquape noticed a gathering around the dry central fountain. He leant forwards and tapped the barrow-driver on the shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘If you could let me down for a moment.’
The barrow-driver lowered the shafts of the barrow and Cowlquape jumped out. He ran across to the fountain.
‘What is it?’ he said. ‘What's happening?’
‘Sshhh, Your Most Highness!’ said a gnokgoblin insistently. ‘Listen.’
Cowlquape cocked his head to one side. From the depths of the fountain echoed a loud gurgling sound. ‘What… ?’ he began.
Then, all at once, as the first rays of the dawn sun fell across the square, there was an ear-splitting roar, and a powerful jet of water gushed up into the air - ten, twenty, thirty strides high - and poured down on everyone standing there.
Cowlquape gasped. ‘It's happened!’ he exclaimed. ‘The Mother Storm has reached Riverrise. She has seeded it with new life. The waters of the Edgewater River are flowing once more. We are saved!’
Forgetting all about their former venerable status, the professors and apprentices leapt for joy with the Undertowners and frolicked in the torrent of water until they were all soaked to the skin. Their doubts were
washed away and, as they opened their mouths and drank the cold, clear water, their bodies were suffused with such energy and optimism, that they cried out in triumph.
‘Long live the Edgewater River!’
‘Long live Undertown!’
‘Long live the new Sanctaphrax!’
And the air trembled with the tumultuous roar that followed, ‘LONG LIVE THE NEW SANCTAPHRAX!’
Cowlquape smiled and stepped from the pouring water. The warm sun set his clothes steaming. ‘Cowlquape!’ came a voice. ‘It is time!’
He looked round. There was no-one there, and for the briefest of moments, he wondered whether it wasn't Kobold the Wise speaking to him.
‘Cowlquape! Up here!’
Cowlquape looked up, and shielded his hand against the sun. ‘Twig!’ he cried.
The young captain looked down from the helm of the sky ship, hovering in the sky above. Peering down next to him on one side were Bogwitt, Tarp Hammelherd and Wingnut Sleet. Although they were standing in the dark shadow thrown by the towering aftcastle, neither they nor Twig were glowing: the luminous light had been extinguished with the passing of the Mother Storm. On Twig's other
si
de were Teasel, Stile, Jervis and, bedecked in feathers and jewels, the brogtroll, Grimlock - most of Thunderbolt Vulpoon's crew. Cowlquape noticed the name of the sky ship, its gold letters gleaming. It was the Skyraider.
‘I found them waiting for me at the boom-docks!’ Twig shouted down. ‘Now, I will return to Riverrise for the others - Sky willing! For Goom. For Woodfish. For Maugin …’ He smiled. ‘I came to say goodbye.’
Cowlquape's heart sank. Goodbye? ‘So soon! You're going so soon, Twig?’ he shouted.
‘I must. But our paths will cross again,’ Twig called back. ‘For now though, Cowlquape, your place is here.’
The sails of the Skyraider billowed. The sky ship lurched forwards.
‘Twig!’ called Cowlquape.
‘Fare you well, Cowlquape!’ Twig cried out, as he turned his attention to the flight-levers.
The sky ship soared off into the sky Cowlquape watched as it grew smaller and smaller, silhouetted against the lemon yellow of the rising sun. It had been wonderful accompanying Twig on his quest - and part of him yearned to be by his side now, on board the Skyraider and heading back for Riverrise. In his heart, however, Cowlquape knew that his place was not on board a sky pirate ship. It was indeed here that his duty lay.
Follow your heart, and I will follow mine, was what Twig had told him. It was all anyone could do. And as Cowlquape took one last, lingering look at the sky ship, he smiled.
Twig was following his heart; now it was time for him, Cowlquape, to follow his.
‘Farewell, Twig, my friend,’ he cried out. ‘And may Sky be with you, wherever you may go!’
For Anna and Katy
A DAVID FICKLING BOOK
Published by David Fickling Books
an imprint of Random House Children's Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
Text and illustrations copyright © 2000 by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
