by Paul Stewart
At the top of the stairs, Tillman opened the cabin door and ushered them inside. ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said with a shudder. His brow furrowed. ‘You had direct experience of those gangs, didn’t you, Cade?’
Cade didn’t reply. He’d been distracted again. For there in the lufwood cabin, sitting by a stove with a bundle in her lap, was a short, snub-nosed fourthling with thick fair hair plaited in a rope-like braid.
‘Whisp, it’s you!’ Cade exclaimed.
The fourthling put down the bundle and leaped to her feet. Cade rushed over and embraced her tightly, before stepping back and turning to the others.
‘May I present Feldia Dace.’ He smiled. ‘Or Whisp, as she’s known. High-jumping champion of Hive!’
‘With a little help from Dominix,’ said Whisp, blushing crimson.
‘Whisp works for Tillman,’ Cade explained, ‘and back when I was here with Gart and Thorne, trying to buy weapons to defend Farrow Lake against the mire-pearlers, she and I once raced against one another for the prize. Me on Rumblix; Whisp here on Dominix. And it was a close thing,’ he added with a laugh. ‘Though Whisp won …’
‘But only by a whisker,’ Whisp said quietly.
Turning away, she stooped and gathered up the bundle at her feet, then shyly held it out.
‘I always hoped you’d come back, Cade,’ she said. ‘This is for you. With all my love.’
Back on board the cloudcruiser, it was full steam to the Farrow Lake, the familiar whine of the phraxengine high-pitched and loud. As they sped on towards their destination, Cade realized his breathing quickened each time they passed over a landmark he recognized. And when the Five Falls suddenly came into view, his heart leaped into his mouth and his eyes welled up. He wiped them on his sleeve and, glancing round, saw Celestia doing the same – while for his part, Tug made no effort to stem the tears running down his cheeks.
‘Home,’ he said, in a soft voice choked with emotion.
‘Home,’ Cade repeated, and he and his two friends embraced one another tightly.
The cloudcruiser soared above the Needles and High Farrow, then skirted round the town of Farrow Lake, strung out along the western shore. Webfoot goblin stilt cabins, hammerhead hive towers and timber-walled long-huts clustered around a central square that was lined with silver-leafed sallowdrop trees.
Despite the length of time they’d been gone, on the opposite side of the lake, the wilder eastern shore still had far fewer dwellings, and Cade was able to pick out Thorne Lammergyre’s hive tower with ease. Behind it in the forest, Gart Ironside’s sky-platform towered high above the trees, wisps of smoke rising from the modest cabin at the far corner telling Cade his friend was at home.
Celestia brought the cloudcruiser in low over the glittering waters of the lake. She eased down the power to the phraxengine, while the flight-rock coil glowed white hot. Some way ahead, coming up to meet them at the northern edge of the Farrow Lake, was a simple timber cabin.
Cade’s eyes welled up again as he stared at the home that he – with a little help from his friends – had constructed. And this time he made no effort to wipe away his tears.
‘I’ll drop the two of you off here,’ Celestia told them, bringing the cloudcruiser to a thrumming hover just above the stone jetty. ‘If you don’t mind, I can’t wait to see my father and the hanging-cabin.’ She laughed. ‘To think I’m going to sleep in my own bed tonight …!’
Tug was already unbuckling his seat harness. He climbed to his feet and pushed open the hatch in the glass canopy, then he and Cade jumped down onto the jetty.
‘Give your father my best, Celestia,’ Cade called above the rising whirr of the phraxengine. ‘We’ll all meet up tomorrow.’
The cloudcruiser turned in the air and sped off across the glittering waters of the Farrow Lake.
· CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR ·
Cade waved goodbye to the cloudcruiser as he stood at the end of the stone jetty, the late afternoon sun warm on his back. A happy smile spread across his face. He could scarcely believe he was back.
‘Look at it, Tug,’ he said. His arm swept round in a broad arc that encompassed the glinting Needles, the cascading Five Falls, the red- and green-tinged marshes of the Levels, the towering trees of the Western Woods, and the Farrow Lake itself, glittering like a million shards of mirrored glass as a soft breeze ruffled its surface. ‘It’s all so beautiful,’ he breathed. ‘And it’s my home.’ He turned to his friend. ‘Our home.’
‘And home to plenty of others since we were last here,’ Tug observed. ‘See how many more buildings there are now lining the shore.’
Cade surveyed the recently constructed settlements and nodded. ‘New friends,’ he said, then frowned. ‘I wonder how our old friends are doing? I’m so looking forward to seeing them again.’ He paused. ‘I hope our message got to Gart. Do you think anybody saw us arriving?’
Gart Ironside, for one, certainly had. Hearing the high-pitched whine of a phraxengine, he’d laid the wooden spoon aside, returned the lid to the stewpot, then crossed the cabin to the window. He looked out.
Skycarriers appeared every other day now, with fifty or sixty passengers at most on board, rather than the hundreds there had been on the old skytaverns. It had all been different in the old days. Back then, the passengers had stayed on the skytaverns, staring down at Gart from the viewing platforms, and wouldn’t have dreamed of setting foot in the dangerous Deepwoods themselves. But these days, passengers would often disembark – and stay.
Farrow Lake was growing bigger every day.
Gart scanned the sky, trying to see what type of vessel was approaching. He was an old ‘steamer’ – always would be – and still could not differentiate between the sound of these new phraxvessels with their whining phraxengines and hissing rock coils. Was this another skycarrier arriving – or might it just be a cloudcruiser with his returning friends on board.
On the far side of the room, Delfina Dax put another log into the belly of the stove and sat back. Her flame-red hair gleamed in the flickering light.
‘Your cooking’s getting better and better, Captain, my love,’ she said, looking up with a contented smile. Her eyes narrowed as she looked past Gart and out through the window. ‘But wait – is that what I think it is?’
‘It is!’ said Gart as his gaze fell on the sleek new cloudcruiser passing by overhead. ‘I reckon that must be them now,’ he said excitedly, ‘all the way from New Sanctaphrax in the blink of an eye.’
Delfina joined Gart at the cabin window. She had loved her old life as a skyvessel engineer. But she loved everything about her new life out here in Farrow Lake even more: flying with the webfoots in their skycraft; hunting with the hammerheads in the Western Woods; exploring the glittering caverns below the Five Falls with the white trogs …
Most of all, though, she loved this old sky-platform keeper, and his cooking.
Far below the cosy cabin, the cloudcruiser had come down low and was gliding over the still waters of the Farrow Lake. The whine of its phraxengine changed as it came to a hover beside the stone jetty of the little timber cabin on the north shore.
‘Cade, Tug and Celestia!’ Gart exclaimed delightedly, hugging his wife. ‘It is them. They’re home!’
Delfina laughed. ‘And not a moment too soon,’ she said. ‘The preparations in Sallowdrop Square have all been made. The webfoots have rigged up that silkwood banner right across the square, and all the lanterns have been strung up, ready to be lit at dusk. It’s going to look so beautiful.’
‘I’ll go and tell them all about it!’ said Gart, reaching for his flight hat and jacket.
Delfina placed a hand on his arm. ‘Leave them for now, my dear,’ she said. ‘They’ve had a long journey. They’ll want to unpack and settle in. Thorne was over at Cade’s cabin yesterday, making sure that it was all stocked up – and returning Rumblix to his roost-perch.’
‘You’re right,’ said Gart. ‘Oh, but it’ll be so good to see them this evening and hear a
ll their news.’ He smiled and took her by the hand. ‘And we’ll be able to give them our news.’
‘If you want to make yourself useful,’ Delfina added, ‘why don’t you head across to Sallowdrop Square and see if they need any help there.’
Gart Ironside wasn’t the only one to have noticed the phraxvessel returning. On the far side of the Farrow Lake, Thorne Lammergyre was sitting on a tree-stump in front of his hive tower, mending his eel nets. His pet lemkin, Tak-Tak, sat on his shoulder, purring softly.
‘Cade?’ the fisher goblin murmured as the sound of a phraxengine passed overhead.
Dropping his work, he jumped up and, with a raised hand shielding his eyes from the low sun, looked out across the water. A cloudcruiser was powering down its phraxengine and gliding over the Farrow Lake like a huge glittering stormhornet.
‘So, they’ve arrived!’ he exclaimed. ‘And in plenty of time.’
‘In plenty of time … In plenty of time …’ Tak-Tak, his pet lemkin, mimicked, before jumping down from the old fisher goblin’s shoulder and scurrying off into the trees.
‘And no wonder,’ Thorne breathed as, spyglass raised to his eye, he recognized Cade and the others on board. ‘That’s one of them new-fangled phraxvessels if I’m not mistaken.’
In the distance, the cloudcruiser had come to a hover over the stone jetty. Thorne couldn’t take his eyes off it.
To think that the little model he’d engineered from Cade’s father’s drawings had led to this. It was incredible. The start of a new age: the Fourth Age of Flight. Thorne had never even dreamed that he would live to see it – but that was before his friends had left on their epic journey. Now they were back.
Rumblix would be so happy to see Cade and Tug, he thought. The celebrations weren’t till nightfall, so he’d give them time to get reacquainted before he picked them up. In the meantime, there was that batch of smoked eels he’d promised to deliver to Phineal.
In Sallowdrop Square, webfoot goblin Phineal Glyfphith had also seen the approaching cloudcruiser. He was standing at the top of a ladder, securing one end of a billowing spidersilk banner to a gable end with a double-hitch skycraft knot.
He smiled as they flew low over the far side of the lake, relieved that they hadn’t spotted the banner. That would have spoiled the surprise. The fettle-legger weavers had done a wonderful job with the lettering:
Phineal was looking forward to raising a glass of finest sapwine to them all … Which reminded him: they still had the barrels to set up, as well as the trestles and benches. Not to mention the hammelhorn spit-roast the slaughterers of the Southern Pastures had promised …
The webfoot smiled. At sunset, Thorne Lammergyre was going to the little cabin to bring Cade and Tug over for a ‘quiet’ supper at the Winesap Tavern. Celestia’s father, Blatch, was doing the same. Then they would all spring the surprise! The crest on Phineal’s head rippled orange then red with pleasure at the thought of it.
‘Anything we can do to help?’ came a voice.
‘And where do you want these smoked eels?’
Phineal looked down to see his friends Gart Ironside and Thorne Lammergyre standing at the foot of the ladder. He climbed down to greet them.
‘Everything’s coming along nicely here,’ he said. ‘How about the cabin?’
‘I’ve opened the shutters to air it,’ said Thorne, ‘restocked his larder, and I fed and watered Rumblix and left him in his stable below the cabin.’ He smiled. ‘What a magnificent creature that prowlgrin is.’
‘Indeed,’ said Gart. ‘And Cade trained him well. Not bad for a “city boy”, as Celestia’s always calling him,’ he added with a chuckle.
‘Everything the lad turns his hand to, he does well,’ said Thorne, his heart swelling with pride. ‘Fishing. Hunting …’
‘Sailing a skycraft,’ Phineal broke in. ‘I still remember that first flight we took when he was showing me around the Farrow Lake.’ He sighed. ‘How long ago that now seems.’
‘There are so many Farrow Lakers who will be pleased to see him back,’ said Gart. ‘Blatch Helmstoft, for a start. And I know the hammerheads are planning a special surprise – Chert still hasn’t forgotten how he rescued his son, Teeg, from that bloodoak. And there are rumours that the white trog queen herself is preparing to leave her caverns behind the falls to greet him in person …’
‘It isn’t just Farrow Lakers either,’ said Phineal. ‘Only the other day, I met someone who was asking about him. A stranger.’ He frowned, recalling the encounter. ‘I was mending my aft-sail when he walked past. A fourthling. Thin, slightly stooped, with large waif-like eyes behind dark tinted spectacles.’
He told the others how the stranger had stopped to admire the carved prows of his old-fashioned skycraft tethered at the shore. He’d chatted briefly to the webfoot, enquiring about the celebrations for the returning travellers which the whole town was so excited about.
‘You didn’t find out who he was?’ Thorne asked.
‘No,’ said Phineal, shaking his head. ‘I told him he’d be welcome to join us in Sallowdrop Square, and he thanked me and left. I thought no more about it. Until now,’ he added thoughtfully.
As the cloudcruiser had disappeared off into the forest, Cade turned to Tug.
‘Our little cabin,’ he said. ‘Just like we left it. It’s as though we’d never been away.’
His gaze fell upon a folded piece of barkscroll, anchored by a stone at the end of the jetty, the corners fluttering in the breeze.
Tug reached down and handed it to him.
‘It’s from Thorne,’ said Cade. ‘He says he’s fed and watered Rumblix, and settled him on his roost-perch.’ The two of them headed along the stone jetty. ‘He’s also stocked up the storeroom – though knowing Thorne,’ he laughed, ‘that probably means the place is full of smoked eels …’
‘Rumblix loves smoked eels!’ Tug exclaimed. ‘You check the storeroom and I’ll go and fetch him!’
‘Oh, and Thorne’s invited us for supper at the tavern in the square,’ Cade added. ‘He’ll call for us at sundown.’
He smiled. It was just what he felt like – a quiet supper with his friends.
The two of them had reached the wooden steps that led up to the cabin. Cade reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the little bundle that Whisp had given him back in Hive.
‘Show Rumblix this, Tug,’ he said. ‘But make sure you keep it warm,’ he cautioned.
‘I shall.’ Tug smiled lopsidedly. ‘Rumblix is going to be so happy to find out about his future friend.’
With that, he headed down to the undercabin, his broad shoulders swaying from side to side. Cade turned away and started up the steps.
With the precious prowlgrin egg that Cade had just given him cupped in one massive hand, Tug opened the door to the room below the cabin. It was where he and Rumblix had always slept and, as he stepped into the timber-walled undercabin, he was struck by the familiar sweet fragrance of the gladegrass carpeting the floor. He walked through the dark room, the sound of footsteps echoing around him as Cade crossed the timber boards of the veranda above his head.
‘Rumblix?’ Tug said softly. ‘Rumblix … There you are,’ he said happily, spotting the pale grey fur of his prowlgrin friend curled up in the corner. ‘Rumblix, it’s me, Tug. I’m back.’
But the little creature made no move, and Tug felt a sudden fierce pang of alarm. Something was wrong. He put the egg bundle carefully down and, reaching out, laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
It was cold.
Tug turned Rumblix over, gently, anxiously. And it was then that he saw the phraxbullet wound in the side of the prowlgrin’s head, deep and dark and encrusted with dried blood …
Up on the veranda, Cade had stooped down and picked up the strange shrivelled root that lay outside the door of his cabin. He turned it over in his hands, to find a curved fingernail on the other side.
‘No,’ Cade gasped.
It was like a p
unch to the gut. Suddenly before him was the image of the glass bowl full of severed fingers, brown and desiccated, that he’d seen in the gangmaster’s quarters, deep down in the bowels of the Xanth Filatine. But it had all been so long ago. Surely that evil monster Drax Adereth couldn’t still be looking for him.
With a shudder of revulsion, Cade dropped the dismembered finger to the floor – just as Tug’s agonizing howl of grief rang out:
‘NOOOOOOO!’
Cade instinctively reached for his phraxpistol. Gripping it tightly, he kicked open the cabin door – to be confronted by Drax Adereth himself staring back at him, his own phraxpistols pointed at Cade’s chest.
‘We meet again at last,’ Drax said softly. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you, Cade Quarter. Drax Adereth never forgets a debt.’
He kicked the shrivelled finger across the veranda as he stepped forward, the necklace of bony trophies around his neck tapping together as he did so.
‘I trust you appreciated my little present,’ he said. ‘A little present from me to you, to remind you of the old days.’ With a sneer, he jerked the weapons in his hands at Cade. ‘Drop the pistol.’
Cade let his phraxpistol clatter to the floor. Behind him, he heard Tug’s heavy footsteps thundering up the stairs.
‘He’s killed Rumblix!’ Tug roared as he reached the veranda and, overwhelmed by rage and grief, he threw himself at the smirking murderer before him.
‘Tug! No!’ screamed Cade as Drax Adereth fired, both phraxpistols flaring.
Tug toppled back, crashed through the copperwood balustrade of the veranda and hit the ground below with a heavy thud.
Cade threw himself down onto the wooden boards, grasped his own phraxpistol and came up firing. Once, twice, three times …
Drax Adereth staggered backwards and fell heavily, the green-tinted goggles dislodged from his face as his head struck the floor. A line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and pooled on the timbered boards. The smirk was frozen on his lifeless face.
