by Paul Stewart
‘WAA-iiii – kha-kha …’
‘Digit!’ Maris cried in a sudden fury. ‘Will you be quiet!’
‘…kha-kha …’
Welma lunged forwards and swiped at the screeching, scratching creature, knocking it firmly away from the door. Maris seized the end of the leash and wrapped it round and round her hand. At the same instant, the door opened and the angular head of the spindlebug looked round furtively.
‘I've brought the master's cordial,’ he began, ‘together with…’
‘YAAOOOW!’ the lemkin howled with a mixture of pain, rage and frustration.
Tweezel paused. ‘Wh… where is the young mistress's little pet?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘You're quite safe,’ said Welma. The spindlebug noticed the furious lemkin writhing in Maris's grasp and winced. Welma smiled. ‘Shame on you, a great big spindlebug frightened by a little wood-lemkin.’
‘I … that is …’ Tweezel's antennae quivered uneasily. ‘A new message came for the master, the Most High Ac…’
‘Yes, yes, get on with it!’ said Welma impatiently. The old spindlebug could be painfully slow at times.
‘The message comes from Wind Jackal, captain of the sky pirate ship, Galerider.’ Tweezel cleared his throat. ‘He regrets that unforeseen circumstances have delayed him, but hopes to arrive no later than two hours after the time I originally informed the master would be the time of his official appointment…’
‘As usual, you're too late,’ said Welma, interrupting him for a second time. She nodded towards the now open balcony-doors, where Linius Pallitax was warmly greeting Wind Jackal behind the flapping white curtains. ‘I dare say the captain will be able to deliver his own message,’ she added sniffily.
‘This is most irregular,’ the spindlebug muttered miserably. ‘I haven't announced him yet…’
‘Oh, well, never mind,’ said Welma, who had never found the glassy creature's behaviour anything less than bizarre. ‘But I'd go if I were you,’ she added, ‘before Digit breaks free again.’ The lemkin screeched, louder than ever. Tweezel drew back his head and Welma closed the door. ‘Ridiculous creature,’ she laughed. ‘Haven't announced him, indeed! Why, Wind Jackal is the master's oldest friend. Now, Maris,’ she said, turning to her charge, ‘hurry up and clear everything away. Your father's got work to attend to.’
But Maris was not listening. Idly stroking the now purring lemkin under its chin, she was staring out on to the balcony where a third person had joined her father and Captain Wind Jackal. Although dressed up in sky pirate gear, with a longcoat and parawings, he was a mere youth – little older than Maris herself judging by his height and build.
Yet when he caught her gazing at him, the look he returned with his deep, dark eyes was sky-wise beyond his thirteen or so years. To her horror, Maris realized she was blushing.
· CHAPTER TWO ·
QUINT
‘It has been a long while, Linius,’ said Wind Jackal as he pumped the Most High Academe's hand up and down. ‘Too long,’ he added. ‘I noticed you were limping.’
‘Oh, a little accident, no more,’ said Linius. ‘It's on the mend.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Wind Jackal. He looked round to inspect his ornate surroundings and nodded appreciatively. ‘Sky-fortune has clearly shone down upon you.’
‘You, too, Wind Jackal,’ said Linius, nodding at the Galerider which hovered above them. ‘That's certainly a magnificent vessel.’
‘Sails from the costliest woodspider-silk,’ the sky pirate captain confirmed. ‘And the finest lufwood timber that money can buy.’ He shook his head. ‘Mind you, the whole sky ship could do with an overhaul. You wouldn't believe what we've been through on our journey here. Storms, gales, turbulent fog – and then the most almighty sky battle you could possibly imagine! It was us against the Great Sky Whale.’
‘The Great Sky Whale,’ Linius murmured. Such matters as sky battles seemed far removed from his life of study and research – yet even he had heard of the Great Sky Whale. The slave-ship's terrible reputation went before it.
‘We were lucky to escape with our lives,’ said Wind Jackal. ‘Eh, Quint?’
From her hiding-place behind the billowing curtains, Maris watched as the youth stepped forward. He looked so horribly sure of himself, and when he spoke his voice was big and confident.
‘But we did escape, Father,’ he said, his dark eyes flashing gleefully. ‘And with enough black diamonds to pay for the Galerider to be overhauled a hundred times over!’
‘Well said, lad,’ Wind Jackal laughed, clapping his son on his shoulder. He turned to Linius, and tapped his prominent nose conspiratorially. ‘That accursed Leagues-master, Marl Mankroyd, got more than he bargained for, I can tell you. He'll think twice before trying to ambush Wind Jackal the sky pirate captain again.’
Quint chuckled throatily. ‘That is, if he ever makes it back to Undertown at all.’
Wind Jackal looked back at Linius. ‘He had a little “accident” with his flight-rock,’ he explained. ‘It got chilled and…’
‘Hurtled upwards into open sky,’ Linius completed for him. ‘Why, you wily old skycur!’ he said, and embraced his old friend a second time. ‘I see you haven't changed a bit. Welcome to the Palace of Shadows – to you, Wind Jackal, and to you, too, Quint.’
Maris watched the youth touch his heart with his left hand and lower his head respectfully.
‘So, Quint, my lad,’ Linius went on, ‘you were three years old when I last saw you. How old are you now? Twelve? Thirteen?’
Quint raised his head. ‘Seventeen next year,’ he announced.
‘Wishing your life away again, Quint?’ said Wind Jackal, and cuffed his son lightly round the head. ‘He's fourteen,’ he said.
Maris stifled a snigger.
‘But it's true,’ said Quint, a little sulkily. ‘I'll be fifteen later this year and sixteen next year, at which time I shall enter my seventeenth year and…’
‘I see young Quint here has quite a head for creative counting,’ said Linius, amused. He looked the youth up and down.
‘So, tell me, Linius,’ said Wind Jackal, his face growing more serious. ‘Why such an urgent summons, eh? What's on your mind?’
Linius smiled. ‘All in good time, old friend,’ he said, and called back through the open doors to his daughter. ‘Maris? Are you still there in the balcony-chamber?’
Heart racing, Maris scampered from the curtain and over to the table where the half-finished mosaic lay. ‘Y… yes, Father,’ she called back, hoping he wouldn't hear how breathless she was.
‘Come here, then, child!’ said Linius. ‘You haven't yet greeted Wind Jackal.’
With her head down, Maris left the shadow-filled room and stepped out onto the balcony. She smiled at Wind Jackal.
‘Sky above!’ the sky pirate captain gasped as he moved towards her. ‘Who is this tall and elegant vision before me? Surely it can't be Maris.‘ He placed his finger under her chin, and tipped her head upwards. ‘Can it?’
Maris beamed. ‘It is me,’ she said.
Wind Jackal shook his head in disbelief. ‘But it's not possible,’ he said, then added, ‘though there's one way to find out. My little Maris always kept a single gold piece in her ear.’ He reached forwards and grazed her cheek with his hand. ‘And here it is!’ he announced. ‘It must be Maris.’
He slipped the coin into her hand.
‘Thank you,’ Maris whispered shyly. She was beginning to feel self-conscious being the centre of attention, particularly with Wind Jackal's son, Quint, staring at her so intently. ‘I didn't … I mean, I wasn't expecting …’ She looked down at the gold piece.
‘Of course you weren't,’ said Wind Jackal.
‘Maris,’ said her father, ‘Wind Jackal and I have some important business to attend to. I wonder if you'd be so good as to entertain our young guest here.’ He paused. ‘His name is Quint.’
‘Quint,’ said Maris slowly, pretending that she was hearing it f
or the first time. She glanced at him quickly. His eyes, she noticed, were not black, but rather a deep indigo, like the darkest storm clouds that sometimes swirled in from beyond the Edge. ‘You'd better come with me, then,’ she said.
As the two of them disappeared into the building, Wind Jackal turned to Linius. ‘She is growing up to resemble her mother closely,’ he said softly.
Linius nodded sadly. ‘I confess that sometimes I find it difficult even to look at her. And it isn't just her appearance … The way she purses her lips. The way she chews the tips of her hair. I mean, how is it possible that she should have the mannerisms of a mother she never even knew?’ He shook his head.
Wind Jackal placed his hand on Linius's shoulder. ‘Do not forget, my friend,’ he said, ‘I, too, have had my share of loss.’
Linius swallowed guiltily. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I've had a lot on my mind. I did not intend to be so thoughtless…’
Wind Jackal nodded. ‘It hasn't been easy,’ he said.
‘I'm sure it hasn't,’ said Linius. ‘That's what I want to talk to you about. Please sit.’
The sky pirate captain took a place beside the Most High Academe on the wrought ironwood bench at the edge of the balcony. The shadows of the neighbouring towers fell across them, deepening the mood.
‘Losing your family like that must have been hard, Wind Jackal,’ Linius said.
‘It was, Linius, it was,’ said the captain. ‘But I saved one – and I haven't let the lad out of my sight since. The pair of us travel everywhere together. Quint and me, and the Galerider …’ He paused.
‘I have a great favour to ask of you, old friend,’ said Linius. He rubbed his injured leg tenderly.
‘Anything, Linius. You know that. Just ask.’
‘This leg of mine,’ said the Most High Academe. ‘It's brought home to me the fact that I can't do everything myself. I have important work. Difficult work. And I need help with it.’
‘I'm just a sky pirate captain,’ laughed Wind Jackal. ‘But anything I can do for the Most High Academe of lofty Sanctaphrax, I do willingly.’
‘You can give up your son to me,’ said Linius, quietly. Wind Jackal stood up abruptly. ‘Quint?’
‘I need an apprentice,’ Linius continued hurriedly. ‘Someone I can trust to help me. You don't know Sanctaphrax like I do, Wind Jackal. It's a treacherous place. I cannot share my Great Work with an academic who would smile to my face and then betray me behind my back. I need a Deepwooder. Someone young, agile, eager to learn. I need a sky pirate's son as my apprentice.’
‘This is quite a shock,’ said Wind Jackal, sitting down again. ‘After losing his mother and the young'uns on that terrible night, the thought of losing Quint…’
‘You wouldn't be losing him, Wind Jackal, old friend,’ said Linius reassuringly. ‘He'd be with me, the Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax. He'd live here in the palace, be educated at the Fountain House with my own daughter and perform certain simple duties as my apprentice. Why, who knows? A fine lad like Quint – in due course, he might even secure himself a place in the Knights' Academy.’
‘Yes, well, I don't know about that,’ said Wind Jackal, who understood all too well the perils of life as a knight academic. His eyes moistened. ‘I couldn't bear it if…’
‘Wind Jackal, my old friend,’ said Linius, taking him warmly by both hands, ‘Quint will be safe here. Nowhere in all of the Edge could be safer. While the lad is in my charge, not a single hair on his head will come to harm. I give you my word.’
‘A word I trust as much as my own,’ said Wind Jackal. He smiled. ‘You are offering my son a fine opportunity, Linius. I won't stand in the lad's way.’
‘Thank you, old friend,’ the professor said warmly. ‘You don't know how much this means to me.’ He cocked his head towards the open balcony-doors, from where the low buzz of conversation was coming. ‘He seems to be making himself at home already.’
‘Put it back!’ Maris snapped.
Quint turned the curious yellow crystal over and over in his hand. ‘But what is it?’ he persisted.
‘It's a sky-crystal, if you must know,’ said Maris impatiently as she snatched it from his hand. ‘My father created them in his laboratory.’
‘He must be very clever,’ said Quint.
‘He is.’ Maris sniffed. ‘Recognized by all in Sanctaphrax as the most brilliant academic of his generation. That, after all, is why he was made Most High Academe.’ She returned the crystal to its place in the mosaic. ‘Please don't touch anything again,’ she told him primly. ‘I am making this picture for my father. On my own.’
Quint shrugged. He didn't like the bossiness in her voice, or the fact that she clearly thought herself superior to him. But he said nothing. Better answer with silence than with indignation, as the saying went. And while Maris continued to select the beautiful crystals and slot them into place, her back turned pointedly towards him, he wandered off to look round the rest of the room by himself.
When he'd first come in through the balcony-doors, it had been too dark to see properly. A ‘chamber', the Most High Academe had called it – and that was what he'd expected to see. Somewhere small, somewhere cosy.
Yet now his eyes had become accustomed to the curious shifting shadows, Quint found himself standing in a vast hall with tall pillars, lofty arches and magnificent crystal chandeliers. And though there were indeed a few armchairs and hanging-sofas clustered round a rug at the far end of the room beside a cavernous fireplace where a tiny lufwood stove burned, they looked ridiculously small and out of place, and served only to emphasize the grandeur of the great stately room.
He was about to ask Maris more about the exact function of this curious Palace of Shadows when a voice piped up from the hanging-sofa in front of him. ‘It's rude to stare!’ it said.
Quint started back. ‘I … I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was there,’ he said. He peered into the shadows and saw a short, roly-poly creature – a woodtroll, by the look of her – sitting on a hanging-sofa, her stubby legs sticking out before her.
He stepped forwards and held out his hand. ‘My name is Quint,’ he said, and added formally, ‘I am honoured to make your acquaintance.’
Welma giggled as she put her embroidery aside and jumped down onto the floor. ‘The honour is all mine,’ she replied as etiquette demanded, and shook his hand. ‘My name is Welma Thornwood.’ She smiled. ‘It is a long time since I have come across a youth with such fine manners.’
‘Then it must be a long time since you came across the son of a sky pirate captain,’ said Quint, glancing round to see whether Maris was listening. She should know she wasn't the only one with an important father.
‘A sky pirate captain,’ said Welma, clearly impressed.
‘The bravest, the finest and the noblest sky pirate captain who ever took to the sky,’ said Quint.
Poised over the mosaic with a piece of red crystal in her hand, Maris groaned. It was bad enough having been asked to entertain such an obvious roughneck in the first place, but for Nanny to be taken in by a couple of oily phrases! Couldn't she see how rough he was underneath? How uncouth? How…
‘Oh, is that a wood-lemkin?’ she heard Quint exclaim, and turned to see Digit leaping down from the chandelier and onto the back of Welma's hanging-sofa.
‘Why, don't you like them?’ Welma asked. ‘I can tie her up if you'd prefer.’
Maris held her breath. Could this be a chink in the youth's otherwise impenetrable armour? she wondered.
Of course it couldn't! With a broad grin plastered across his face, Quint reached a hand out towards the screeching creature and rubbed his thumb and forefingers together. Instantly soothed, the lemkin jumped up into his arms and began purring with pleasure. Her hopes dashed, Maris turned away petulantly.
‘I love lemkins,’ Quint was saying, ‘and this one's an absolute beauty. Does she have a name?’
‘Digit,’ said Welma.
Quint smiled down at the creature and tickle
d it behind the ears. ‘You like a good tickle, don't you, Digit? Oh, yes, that's nice …’ The lemkin went helplessly floppy and purred all the louder.
Maris scowled. First her nanny. Now her pet. She just wished that Wind Jackal and her father would hurry up and finish their business and the sky pirate captain would take his horrible son and go. At the other end of the room, Welma was having other ideas.
‘If you're staying,’ she said, ‘I'll see about some refreshments. What do you fancy?’
Quint looked up. ‘Anything at all,’ he replied. ‘Except for one thing. Pickled tripweed. I know it's a woodtroll delicacy but I'm afraid I can't stand the stuff.‘
‘What a coincidence,’ Welma laughed. ‘Neither can Maris.’ She bustled off and, as she reached the door, Digit leapt down from Quint's arms and scampered after her. ‘It's her tea-time, too,’ she said. ‘I shan't be long. Just you make yourself at home.’
With Welma and the pet lemkin gone, the huge hall fell into awkward silence. Quint paced over to the walls to have a closer look at the inlaid panels. The footfall of his boots echoed eerily.
Maris wanted to abandon her mosaic work for the day. The fading light was making it difficult for her to see the exact shades of the sky-crystals. But if she gave up now, she'd have no option but to talk to Quint – and she had no intention of doing that.
Unaware of Maris's irritation, Quint stopped by the walls and traced his fingers lightly over the intricate marquetry. Each of the panels was decorated with delicate patterns picked out in different coloured woods. Twists and coils and plaits were carved into the timber in great interlocking swirls and raised lattice-work sections, each one cornered with curlicues and containing complicated and unfamiliar emblems. A flower and coiled rope. Three crossed ladders. A series of concentric circles split up by a seven-pointed star …
The panelled wall was quite unlike anything Quint had ever seen before. ‘It's amazing,’ he whispered softly.
‘It's amazing … amazing … zing …’ his echo repeated excitedly.
