Clash of the Sky Galleons

by Paul Stewart;Chris Riddell

  ‘Crew, report!’ Wind Jackal roared, untying his tether and hurrying down from the helm, across the aft-deck, towards the flight-rock platform.

  ‘Tem, tethered and safe, Captain!’

  ‘Steg, tethered and safe!’ The voices rang out from the fore-deck.

  ‘Spillins, tethered and safe!’ called the oakelf from the caternest.

  ‘Sagbutt, safe!’ The goblin’s growling call sounded from behind Wind Jackal in the shadows of the aft-deck gunwales, followed by, ‘Duggin, tethered and safe!’

  ‘Queep, tethered and safe, Captain - though Sky alone knows how …’ came the quartermaster’s voice from below deck.

  Wind Jackal reached the steps to the rock platform and raced up them. At the top, he fell to his knees in front of the Stone Pilot. The black pitch had burned itself out and was now a thick, brittle crust coating the Stone Pilot’s protective clothing. Black soot covered the conical hood, covering the eye-pieces and making it impossible to tell whether the person beneath was dead or alive.

  A low groan told Wind Jackal that the Stone Pilot had managed to survive her terrible ordeal. She must have dragged herself up from the rock cage and, with the last of her strength, relit the rock burners. Below them, the warm flight-rock continued to wheeze contentedly. By her selfless actions, the Stone Pilot had saved the Galerider. Carefully, Wind Jackal lifted her in his arms, the heavy overalls creaking and crackling as he did so, and carried her back to the aft-cabins, despite her weak protests.

  ‘You’ve done well, Stone Pilot,’ he told her. ‘You’ve saved us all. Now you must let us tend you.’

  They met Filbus Queep at the door to the aft-cabins, and Wind Jackal passed the Stone Pilot to him. Duggin hurried over to join them.

  ‘Take the Stone Pilot to the infirmary cabin and do what you can for her,’ Wind Jackal commanded.

  ‘Aye-aye, Captain, we’ll take care of her,’ said Duggin, ushering Filbus through the door.

  ‘Hyleberry salve,’ muttered the quartermaster, disappearing with the gently moving bundle. ‘And plenty of it…’

  Wind Jackal turned to find Steg Jambles, Tem and Sagbutt the flat-head goblin standing in front of him on the aft-deck. They looked miserable and downcast, Steg clutching an injured arm, Tem’s face battered and bruised, and Sagbutt’s right eye blackened and almost closed. The Galerider had fared little better.

  ‘Report, Mister Jambles,’ said Wind Jackal.

  ‘The mast’s badly cracked above the sail-ring, but Spillins reckons it should hold. The aft-hull’s holding up, but the fore-hull’s taken quite a battering. The main-braces to the rock cage need shoring up before we can attempt a launch, Captain …’

  ‘Take Tem and Ratbit and see to it right away,’ said Wind Jackal. ‘The sooner we get skyborne the better. We’re sitting snowbirds here …’ He paused. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Wind Jackal looked from face to face.

  ‘It’s Ratbit, Captain,’ Steg Jambles began, swallowing hard. ‘I’m afraid we lost him …’

  ‘Lost him?’ Wind Jackal frowned. ‘You mean … ?’

  Steg nodded. ‘He’d tied himself down to the high gunwale on the fore-deck, but his tether must have failed,’ he said. ‘We found this …’

  Tem stepped forward and held out a frayed length of woodvine rope. Wind Jackal took it and examined the splayed-out strands at the end of the rope for a moment.

  ‘Sky blast it!’ he muttered. ‘He was always checking and repairing everyone else’s tether ropes, making sure they were good and strong. Took hours over it, he did, yet when it came to his own …’

  Wind Jackal threw the frayed rope to the deck in disgust and slammed his fist down on the port balustrade. He hated losing a crew-member, especially one as resourceful and loyal as the mobgnome.

  ‘That’s the way he was, Captain, you know that,’ said Steg sadly. ‘Always thinking of others before himself, was old Ratbit.’

  ‘And friendly’ added Tem. ‘Made me feel welcome when I joined the crew, right from the start…’

  ‘Very brave,’ Sagbutt grunted. ‘Slight of build, but big of heart.’

  Wind Jackal turned back to his remaining crewmembers and took off his tricorne hat. Bowing his head, he raised a hand to his heart.

  ‘Sky bless Ratbit, our loyal crewmate, and watch over him until that final voyage when we shall all meet again in Open Sky’

  ‘Open Sky’ repeated Tem, Steg and Sagbutt, their own heads bowed.

  ‘Open Sky’ said Filbus Queep, his hat in his hand as he stepped through the aft-deck door and joined them. The quartermaster smelled strongly of aromatic hyleberry. ‘I’ve done my best for the Stone Pilot, Captain. The hood and apron offered some protection, but she has severe burns to her arms and lower legs, and is running a temperature …’

  Just then, Spillins’s voice rang out from the caternest above. ‘Figures moving through the forest, Captain! Lots of them…! To the east … And the north … south … and west!’

  Wind Jackal slammed his hat back on to his head.

  ‘Steg, you and Tem shore up those braces. Nothing fancy. Just make them strong enough to withstand the launch. Move!’

  He spun round and thrust a pair of gauntlets into the quartermaster’s hands.

  ‘Filbus, you’ll have to take the Stone Pilot’s place. Just keep those burners alight and douse the rock on my command …’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Filbus uncertainly, climbing the steps to the flight-rock platform. ‘What do you think is out there, Captain?’

  As if in answer, there came a whirring sound, followed by three splintering thuds as three black barbed arrows embedded themselves in the mast just above the quartermaster ‘s astonished head. Sagbutt leaped up onto the flight-rock platform, tore an arrow from the mast and held the ragged flight feathers to his nostrils.

  ‘Pah!’ he spat in disgust, flinging the arrow away. ‘Goblins … Grey goblins, Captain.’

  Wind Jackal groaned. Grey goblins were renowned for their single-minded tenacity in battle. Small and wiry, individually they were nowhere near as strong as a hammerhead or a flat-head, but what they lacked in strength and stature, they more than made up for in naked aggression. Agile, fast and spectacularly violent, they specialized in mass attacks, known as ‘swarms’. The effectiveness of a swarm depended on complete fearlessness - which was aided by the lullabee-grub juice they swigged from the flat bottles that hung from their necks before and during an attack.

  ‘Ten strides and closing, Captain. From all sides!’ came Spillins’s report.

  ‘Sky damn me, if I give up a hold full of tallow to grey goblins!’ roared Wind Jackal. ‘Swarm or no swarm. Sagbutt, can you defend the decks until I get us out of here?’

  Sagbutt gave a snaggle-toothed leer and drew his sword.

  ‘Sagbutt pleased to oblige!’ he replied, stroking the blade. ‘Skullsplitter chop woodonions for too long … Now for some real work!’

  Wind Jackal hurried to the helm and began setting the flight-levers, as the forest floor below filled with hideous shrieks and ear-splitting howls, and the great lullabee tree began to tremble. Almost in the blink of an eye, like frenzied woodants, grey goblins burst from the undergrowth in their hundreds, surrounded the base of the tree and began to clamber up its knobbly trunk. Moments later, their feet pattered up the sides of the Galerider, making a sound like hailstones in a skystorm.

  ‘Prepare to repel boarders, Sagbutt!’ shouted Wind Jackal, drawing his own sword. ‘Report, Steg! Are the braces secure?’

  ‘Just a moment longer, Cap’n,’ came the harpooneer’s harassed reply.

  Suddenly the fore-deck was awash with grey goblins. Small, quivering and long-limbed, each one wore a battered leather jerkin and carried a rudimentary wooden shield and short serrated sword, equally suited to stabbing or hacking. Round their necks, gleaming in the sun, were round flat flasks that clinked against their breast-plates.

  With a howl of rage, Sagbutt spread his massive legs wide
and swung a great flashing arc with Skullsplitter. The fore-deck exploded in a ring of spattered blood as the first wave of goblins lost heads, limbs and bodies.

  Whirr! Crunch!

  Sagbutt swung again and a second wave of grey goblins was mown down like glade-wheat before a scythe. All around, the shrieks and howls intensified, butthe crowd of grey goblins gathered at the Galerider’s sides seemed now to hesitate before the fearsome flat-head’s blade.

  ‘Braces secured!’ Steg’s voice could just be heard rising up from below the fore-deck.

  ‘Now, Filbus!’ Wind Jackal roared, and the quartermaster doused the warm rock. With a creaking and splintering of wood, the Galerider lurched and battled with the lullabee tree to break free. A bloodied Sagbutt looked up at Wind Jackal, a great smile on his broad face.

  ‘Sagbutt repel boarders, Captain,’ he beamed. ‘Sagbutt … Urrrghh!’

  Suddenly, the flat-head goblin’s eyes bulged and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, followed by a stream of blood, as a black barbed arrow pierced his throat. Sagbutt - the smile frozen on his face - toppled forwards onto the bloodstained deck as the Galerider broke free of the tree and soared up into the air in a steep climb.

  The grey goblin swarm clinging to the sides of the sky ship fell away in howling shrieking clumps, like Mire mud from a mudshoe, until only one or two remained, their small angry faces contorted in fear.

  ‘No!’ cried Filbus Queep, flinging off his gauntlets and rushing down from the flight-rock platform - only to skid on the bloody gore-drenched decking. Sliding to a halt on his knees, the quartermaster cradled the flat-head’s great head in his lap. ‘Sagbutt, old friend, speak to me,’ he moaned, rocking backwards and forwards.

  ‘Sagbutt go … to Open … Sky…’ croaked the flat-head, his eyes glazing over. ‘Sagbutt wait for you there … We cook great feast together …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Filbus. ‘Yes, Sagbutt, old friend, we’ll cook great feasts together…’ The quartermaster bowed his head, his body shaking with barely suppressed sobs.

  ‘Filbus! Look out!’ Wind Jackal screamed from the helm as the Galerider soared high into the sky above the Deepwoods.

  The last remaining grey goblin had hauled himself up the hull-rigging and onto the deck and now stood over the quartermaster, his serrated sword raised above his head, poised to strike. Too late, Filbus, his eyes streaming with tears, looked up - to see the blade descend.

  Without a sound, the quartermaster slumped forwards over his flat-head friend, mortally wounded. Their blood swirled together on the twisted deck.

  With a shout of rage, Wind Jackal raced down to the fore-deck, his sword flashing in his hand, only for the grey goblin to leap over the high gunwale and fall howling to his death.

  Moments later, Steg Jambles, Tem and Duggin - who had left the Stone Pilot sleeping fitfully in the infirmary cabin - found Wind Jackal standing over the two fallen crew-members, amidst the carnage.

  ‘Clear the deck and find some lufwood decking,’ he said simply, his face impassive, before striding back up to the helm.

  Tem Barkwater turned to Duggin, his face drained of all colour. ‘Sagbutt … Queep …’ he murmured. ‘Gone!’

  Duggin shook his head. ‘I thought Undertown was dangerous. I had no idea that it could be so … so wild out here in the Deepwoods.’

  Steg Jambles glanced round at Wind Jackal. The captain couldn’t have failed to hear the two crew-members’ words, yet his face - set like a mask - betrayed no emotion as he gripped the helm. Steg knew, however, that with Quint and Maris out there somewhere, the dangers of the Deepwoods would be uppermost in Wind Jackal’s mind.

  With nimble fingers, the captain brought the Galerider round and headed back in the direction they had been blown from the previous night. Through the afternoon they sailed - pausing only briefly for a short funeral ceremony and to release the hastily constructed lufwood raft which, blazing fiercely, carried the bodies of Sag-butt the flat-head goblin and Filbus Queep the quartermaster off into Open Sky. Then it was on again, soaring across the sky in search of Quint and Maris. The shrykes would have to wait for their consignment of tallow candles.

  As darkness fell, the crew exchanged uneasy glances. It was rare indeed that a sky pirate ship didn’t anchor for the night. But Wind Jackal clearly had no intention of interrupting the search.

  ‘We fly on,’ he announced from the helm. Thankfully, the sky was cloudless and clear that night, and as he adjusted the flight-levers, Wind Jackal made calculations in his mind, desperately trying to retrace the chaotic storm flight of the previous night. If he could just get them back to roughly the same area …

  The sky pirate captain chewed into his lower lip. Would the lad have managed to set a beacon? he wondered. It was his only chance of being found. ‘Look out for a fire,’ he called up to Spillins. ‘Aye, Cap’n,’ came the oakelf’s reply as he trained his telescope on the horizon.

  As the first blush of dawn touched the distant horizon to the east, Wind Jackal stifled a yawn. He was exhausted - yet he would not give up. If his calculations were correct, then they should be close to the area where Quint and Maris had been festooned. Yet as the sun rose higher, and the golden light spread out once more across the endless canopy of leaves, the hope of finding them seemed more remote than ever.

  Steg brought him a simple breakfast. Black bread and pine-brew.

  ‘You must eat, Cap’n,’ Steg said, holding out the steaming bowl.

  Wind Jackal shook his head, his red-rimmed eyes never straying from the horizon for a moment.

  Just then, Spillins’s voice shouted down excitedly from the caternest. ‘Smoke!’ he cried. ‘A column of smoke, down on the horizon at twelve degrees!’

  Without the least expression registering on his face, Wind Jackal adjusted the flight-levers and steered a new course, heading now directly for the white column of smoke. Everyone was up on deck by the time they approached the fire.

  ‘It must be a beacon,’ Steg was saying to anyone who would listen. ‘A forest fire would have spread …’

  As they drew closer, however, it was clear that the fire generating so much smoke was out of control. Bright red embers were flying up into the air, while the top of the vast tree was swathed in roaring flames. As Wind Jackal brought the sky vessel lower, his crew trained their telescopes on the distant blaze.

  Suddenly, everyone was shouting at once.

  ‘There they are, on that branch!’

  ‘I can see them!’

  ‘They’re not moving …!’

  Wind Jackal tried his best to manoeuvre the Galerider round as he came in, but with the roaring flames threatening at every moment to lap against the flapping sails, he couldn’t get any closer. The fire was blazing both above and below the two unconscious figures. If they weren’t plucked away in seconds, then they would certainly perish - if they weren’t already dead …

  ‘Duggin!’ he shouted across at the gnokgoblin. ‘Could you take the Edgehopper in closer than this?’

  ‘I’ll give it my best shot, Cap’n,’ he shouted back.

  Together with Steg and Tem, Duggin unlashed the small sky ferry. Moments later, with Duggin at the tiller and Wind Jackal before him, the small vessel leaped up into the sky, circled round the mast of the Galerider - held in place by Spillins at the helm - and swooped down into the lofty inferno.

  The heat was appalling, singeing their hair and scorching their skin. As they came in as close as Duggin dared, Wind Jackal threw himself from the side of the ferry and onto the branch. Flames lapped at his fingers as he tied ropes around Quint and Maris’s chests.

  ‘Now, Duggin!’ he hollered.

  The gnokgoblin, who had been hovering just above them, pulled on the tiller and the sky ferry soared up into the air. As the bodies slipped away from the branch, Wind Jackal seized the two ropes, and held on for dear life. The heavy weight made the little vessel list precariously to one side - but Duggin managed not only to level up, but also to continue round
, and off towards the waiting sky pirate ship.

  As they came in to land on the fore-deck of the Galerider, Wind Jackal jumped down a moment early, so that he could steer the two unconscious bodies gently down onto the floor. He loosed the slip knots and knelt down beside them.

  ‘Quint,’ he whispered. ‘Maris. Open Sky shall not take you! Not after all the others … Speak to me! Speak to me …’

  • CHAPTER THIRTEEN •

  SISTER SCREECHSCALE

  The tallow candle sputtered and smoked. Its yellow -L light flickered, flared - and went out, plunging the small wickerwork tally-lodge into total darkness. Sister Screechscale the tally-hen blinked round blindly, her beak clacking with irritation.

  ‘Feckle! Feckle!’ she squawked. ‘Where is that scrawny insult to an egg? Feckle!’

  ‘Coming, mistress of my heart,’ cooed a timid-sounding voice in the darkness, accompanied by the scritch-scratch of clawed feet descending a ladder.

  ‘Don’t you “mistress of my heart” me, you moth-eaten excuse for a shryke-mate!’ shrieked Sister Screechscale. ‘How am I expected to do my talons in the dark? Get me another candle!’

  ‘One of the new ones from Undertown, dearest one?’ cooed the shryke-mate’s voice close to Sister Screechscale’s ear.

  ‘No, one of the rotten old ones from the league ships that burn too fast and smell of putrid ooze-fish!’ Sister Screechscale clucked sarcastically. ‘Yes, Feckle, of course one of the new ones! And be quick about it!’

  ‘Yes, light of my life,’ Feckle cooed back at her as he rummaged about in the dark, opening and closing various drawers and cupboards. ‘Ah, here we are!’ he exclaimed at last. ‘So these are the candles you were telling me about - the ones the sky pirate captain traded for the banderbear… ? Shall I light one for you, my perpetual joy?’

  ‘No, I’ll do it. I don’t trust you with fire, feather-brain,’ snapped Sister Screechscale, snatching hold of a thick, waxy smooth candle in the dark.

  She reached forward, brushing past the ledger and tally-discs on the desk in front of her as her clawed hand felt for, and found, the candlestick holder. Then she stuffed the new candle into the half-molten remains of the one that had just burned out.