Clash of the Sky Galleons

by Paul Stewart;Chris Riddell

  All at once, the quiet of high sky was shattered by the piercing shriek of a ratbird. Moments later, a tiny creature appeared through the clouds. With its wings beating furiously, it spiralled down towards the small sky barge that it knew instinctively as home. Around its middle was tied a length of twine which snaked out behind it.

  Moments later, a third vessel - a fine sky pirate ship, heavily laden judging by its rolling gait, but sleek and well-maintained - appeared from the billowing clouds. It became immediately clear that the other end of the length of twine was attached to the jutting prow. This meant that, despite the swaying weights and billowing sails, it looked for all the world as though the great sky ship was being pulled across the sky by the tiny ratbird.

  As the ratbird sped down to the sky wreck, the sky pirate ship went with it. The creature disappeared inside the sky barge - and the twine fell away. The sky pirate ship now approached the two deserted vessels - one huge and disfigured, the other small and lifeless - and hovered in mid air, its flight-burners flaring. From the helm, the tall figure of a sky pirate captain raised a polished telescope to one eye and took in the sight.

  ‘Father.’ Quint’s worried voice sounded at Wind Jackal’s side. ‘Father, please, talk to me.’

  ‘There’s nothing further to say’ Wind Jackal replied icily, still holding the telescope to his eye. ‘You have made your views quite plain to me. You wish to return to Undertown. I do not…’

  ‘But, Father,’ Quint pleaded. ‘You haven’t slept for three days - ever since we left the Timber Stands. You’re not thinking clearly.’

  ‘How can I sleep?’ Wind Jackal turned to his son, his eyes blazing, but his voice scarcely above a whisper. ‘Knowing as I do that Daggerslash’s ratbird is leading me to the one I seek …’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Finally!’

  ‘But, Father, look! That’s a sky wreck out there.’ Quint shook his head miserably. ‘Remember the cliff quarries? And the Sluice Tower? A sky wreck is a thousand times more deadly … Can’t we just sky-fire a blazing harpoon at it, set the whole hideous thing on fire, and leave? After all, it’s no more than that skycur deserves …’

  ‘No!’ This time Wind Jackal’s voice was an impassioned roar. ‘Have you learned nothing, Quint? Fire is the weapon of the scoundrel and coward! No, Quint, I shall look into Turbot Smeal’s eyes, face to face, as I kill him with my own hands!’

  ‘And I would suggest we don’t delay,’ Thaw Daggerslash’s voice, smooth and silky, sounded from the aft-deck stairs behind them. ‘When he festooned me and stole the Mireraider,’ he said, ‘Smeal said he intended to go mire-pearling.’ He snorted. ‘Looks like he’s found a fine wreck and is busy harvesting it as we speak.’

  Wind Jackal nodded slowly as he glanced across at the sky wreck. Thaw smiled.

  ‘Surprise will be the key to success,’ he continued. ‘I propose a small boarding-party, Captain. And I’m happy to volunteer. Poisoning Hubble, stealing my sky ship …’ he muttered angrily. ‘I’ve got a score to settle with Smeal myself, don’t forget.’

  ‘Prepare a harness, Thaw,’ replied Wind Jackal without another word. ‘Quint,’ he added, ‘you take the helm.’

  ‘B … but, Father!’ protested Quint. ‘I’m coming with you!’

  ‘That,’ said his father coldly, the words like a knife thrust to his son’s heart, ‘won’t be necessary.’

  A few moments later, Captain Wind Jackal and Thaw Daggerslash slipped over the port-side balustrade of the Galerider. They climbed down the hull-rigging and, with a soft thud and a grunt of exertion, dropped onto the deserted deck of the small sky barge. Then, crossing to the prow, they silently hooked their harnesses to the tolley-rope, which was taut and sloping down towards the floating wreck, and launched themselves off from the side of the sky barge. With a low hiss, they slid down towards the distant sky wreck, gathering speed all the time.

  Up in the caternest, Spillins turned away and crouched down, moaning softly as he covered his eyes with his hands. Far below him at the balustrade, Hubble grunted uneasily. Tem Barkwater stood on the fore-deck beside the harpoon, biting his lower lip nervously, while Duggin stared out ahead, equally nervous, by his side. On the flight-rock platform, the Stone Pilot - impassive beneath the great conical hood - patiently tended the flight-rock, hobbling now on a single crutch, while up at the helm, Maris beside him, Quint fought back bitter tears.

  ‘You did your best, Quint,’ Maris said soothingly, though the look on her face showed she was as worried as the rest of the crew. ‘He just wouldn’t listen to reason …’

  ‘It should be me, not Thaw, by his side, Maris,’ said Quint, swallowing hard. ‘But after all we’ve been through. All the horrors, the dangers, the deaths … I just wanted this voyage to be over …’

  Maris laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it hard. ‘I understand,’ she said softly. ‘We all do.’

  Quint raised his telescope and trained it on the great looming wreck in the distance. Wind Jackal and Thaw were approaching it fast, each of them tugging on their harness ropes to slow their descent. And, as Quint looked on, first Wind Jackal and then Thaw reached the aft-hull of the ruined vessel and slipped inside through a cavernous hole. High above them, up on the flight-rock, the rows of giant clams opened and closed in great ripples, like some monstrous chorus, their steamy breath wreathing the aft-hull in a ghostly mist.

  The sight filled Quint with dread.

  ‘It’s no good, Maris,’ he said at length. ‘I just can’t stay here and watch.’

  Maris heard the misery in her friend’s voice.

  ‘Take the helm,’ he told her. ‘I must go to my father!’ Before Maris could say anything, Quint turned away and made for the stairs which led down to the aft-deck. Passing the anxious-looking young banderbear at the balustrade, Quint scrambled down the Galerider’s hull-rigging and leaped onto the sky barge. He looked about him desperately.

  The small craft was open to the elements. A small lufwood awning covered the helm and rudder at the stern, between which the enclosed rock cage with its buoyant rubble and rock shards nestled. Rudimentary burners and cooling-levers sprouted from the rock cage’s sides, within reach of whoever stood at the helm.

  A sky ship this simple had no need of a stone pilot, Quint realized. In fact, there was barely room for two crew-mates, let alone a young banderbear. It was little wonder that Smeal had got rid of Thaw and Hubble at the earliest opportunity.

  Smeal!

  The very thought of the evil quartermaster chilled Quint’s blood. He made his way across the deck, scrabbling over animal pelts, barrels of pine pitch and bundles of tilder leather - a meagre cargo, even for a rundown sky barge like the Mireraider - until he found what he was searching for: a coil of rope. Drawing his sword, he cut a length and tested it for strength.

  From above, Quint could hear Hubble’s worried call. ‘Wuh-wuh. Wu-uu-uh!’

  Yes, he would take care. The trouble was, there was no time to rig a harness. Quint knew he had to get over to the sky wreck, looming in the distance, as quickly as he could. Whatever happened, he was determined to be at his father’s side.

  Hurrying to the prow, Quint looped the length of rope over the tolley-line that would carry him across to the terrible wreck. Taking a deep breath, he climbed over the low prow-rail, wrapped the ends of the rope round both hands and - gripping for all he was worth - slid off into the yawning void.

  The rope scritched, scratched and juddered as it hurtled over the taut tolley-line. If Quint had only thought, he would have smeared it with tilder grease. As it was, all he could do was hang on tightly and concentrate on bracing himself for what, without the control a harness would have provided, was going to be a very heavy landing.

  Halfway across now, the wind roaring in his ears, his arms were already beginning to ache. Far ahead of him, towering in the sky, the wrecked vessel looked even more gigantic and ominous. The fungal forest that covered it swayed and shimmered and, as Quint peered through streaming eyes, half-c
losed against the onrushing air, it was as if the sky wreck itself abruptly burst into life.

  A scattering of tiny translucent razorflits emerged from a moss-fringed scar in the hull; while further along the bow, two large vulpoons launched themselves into the air with haunting, sonorous hoots. From the flight-rock, the wheezing hisses of the mire-clams grew louder by the second and the air became tinged with a damp, tangy odour. Then all at once, up on the overgrown tangle of fronds and lichen that was the flight-rock platform, there came the flashing glint of metal.

  Quint peered closely.

  It was his father, Wind Jackal! He was standing by the shattered remnants of the main mast, waving his sword and shouting.

  He must have spotted Quint approaching, for now Wind Jackal was gesturing and calling to his son. Quint struggled to hear, yet with the wind racing past his ears growing louder and louder as he gathered speed, it was all but impossible.

  Turbot … Smeal … is …’ His father’s words sailed out towards him.

  ‘I’m coming, Father!’ Quint bellowed into the teeth of the wind. ‘I’m …’

  Suddenly, from behind Wind Jackal, a second figure reared up. Dressed in a tall bicorne hat and dark, metal-studded greatcoat, the figure stared down at Quint’s father, its demonic, scarred face a monstrous splay of jagged fangs below deep, dark eye-sockets.

  ‘No!’ screamed Quint as the figure raised a curved sword above its grotesquely grinning head.

  But Wind Jackal hadn’t noticed him. ‘Not…’ His voice reached Quint, just as the sky wreck’s hull loomed up to meet him and the terrible scene disappeared from view.

  Bracing his legs, Quint crashed through the jagged opening in the aft-hull into which the tolley-line went. The next moment he landed, striking a great smothering mattress of foul-tasting dust and fetid spongy softness. Flailing around wildly, Quint fought off the clinging strands of spore-coated fungus that seemed to have enveloped him in the eerie blackness of the sky wreck’s interior. All around him, he could hear scratching and chattering as startled wreck-dwellers scuttled about.

  Sword in hand, Quint struggled to his feet and sliced through the fungal blooms that flourished on the rafters and decking all round. He made his way towards a thin shaft of light breaking through from the aft-deck above his head. He had to get to the flight-rock platform.

  Turbot Smeal was here! Even now, he could hear the unmistakable sound of metal on metal as two sky pirate swords clashed in battle.

  Reaching the shaft of light, Quint found a ladder coated with white powdery spores leading up to the aft-deck. A small rat-like creature with huge, unblinking eyes shrank back into the mouldy shadows at his approach, and Quint clawed his way up the rungs of the ladder in a cloud of choking dust. At the top, he slashed his way through a forest of stinking toadstools, disturbing pale, bloated-bodied spiders on stilt-like legs as he did so, and emerged at the steps to the flight-rock platform. Gasping for air and coated in foul-smelling dust, Quint looked up to see his father staring down at him.

  ‘Father! I…’ Quint’s voice choked in his throat, and hot stinging tears sprang to his eyes.

  Wind Jackal was half-sitting, half-slumped against one of the moss-covered flight-rock levers. He was covered in the same powder of white mould spores that now coated Quint from head to foot, giving them both the appearance of ghostly figures on the dead sky ship.

  As Quint climbed the steps to the flight-rock platform, the mark he’d instantly spotted on his father’s chest - bright red against the powdery white - rapidly grew from a tiny pinprick to a bloody blossom, to a great seeping stain …

  Gasping with horror, Quint grasped his father’s shoulders. As he did so, Wind Jackal slumped forward into his arms.

  ‘No! No! No!’ Quint wept, seeing the vivid wound between Wind Jackal’s shoulder blades where a sharp blade had been driven.

  Just then, between the wheezing of the mire-clams below him, came a hideous, chattering cry from inside the flight-rock itself. A moment later, it was followed by the sound of scuttling claws and leathery scales.

  Looking down, Quint saw, with a sickening lurch of the stomach, that his father’s blood was dripping from the flight-rock platform straight down into the flight-rock below. Quint laid his father gently down, climbed to his feet and brandished his sword - just in time to see first one viciously clawed hand grip the edge of the platform; then another.

  With a wheezing grunt, the creature pulled itself up out of the rock. There was a low, rasping sound as its leathery wings scraped against the tunnel-entrance to its lair at the heart of the flight-rock. The next moment, the mutant wreck-demon climbed onto the flight-rock platform. It paused, and regarded Quint malevolently through six gleaming yellow eyes.

  Shimmering, venom-tipped tentacles quivered at either side of its broad, fang-fringed jaws, and an evil-looking spur crowned its lumpen, misshapen head. Behind its thin, scaly body, a vicious-looking whiplash tail flicked menacingly backwards and forwards. The creature swayed from side to side - its tail hissing as it slashed the air. The scent of the fresh blood had awoken in it a great hunger; now it was sizing up the latest intruder to the sky wreck, preparing to strike.

  Quint stood his ground, his back against the shattered mast; his front stained with Wind Jackal’s blood. And as he stared ahead, a cold fury gripped him as all the trials and tribulations of the terrible voyage he had endured seemed suddenly to be embodied in this loathsome, malformed creature before him.

  ‘I won’t leave you, Father!’ Quint shouted defiantly, as the wreck-demon curled its lips and hissed. ‘Not to this monstrous creature. Not like this …’

  With a sharp crack, the razor-sharp barbed tail lashed out, ripping Quint’s greatcoat at the shoulder as it whistled past him and sending a thin streak of blood out across the powdery white moss on the platform. Quint leaped to one side as the tail swung back a second time -and sent the wreck-demon scuttling back with a deft slash of his sword.

  ‘I am a squire of the Knights Academy of Sanctaphrax,’ he roared defiantly, rounding on the creature and releasing a volley of plunging sword-cuts.

  The wreck-demon fell back, hissing indignantly.

  ‘Schooled by scholars!’ Quint bellowed, urging himself on.

  The creature howled in pain as a clawed hand was severed at the wrist, twisted in the air and clattered down to the mossy deck.

  ‘Trained by sword-masters!’

  The barbed tail fell in three pieces.

  ‘And raised by a sky pirate captain!’

  Six yellow eyes, wide with startled amazement, stared back at Quint as the wreck-demon’s head tumbled from its shoulders.

  Quint sank to his knees, the tears coming thick and fast now, and sobs racking his body. He had slain the monstrous creature, yet this offered no release from the torment of grief that overwhelmed him …

  ‘Magnificent swordplay, young Quint.’ Thaw Daggerslash’s voice sounded behind him. ‘Just a pity it came too late for your poor father …’

  Quint looked round. There was a hard, unfamiliar edge to Thaw’s voice. Then Quint saw why. The sky pirate had a deep wound in his shoulder, dark red with blood, which he gripped with white-knuckled fingers.

  ‘I saw Turbot Smeal,’ Quint began, ‘standing over my father, his sword raised …’

  ‘Turbot Smeal is dead,’ said Thaw. His face was drained of colour, his legs unsteady.

  ‘How … how do you know?’ asked Quint.

  ‘Because,’ said Thaw Daggerslash with a strained smile, ‘I have just killed him.’

  • CHAPTER EIGHTEEN •

  SHRYKE TEETH

  What followed was a blur for Quint - a blur of pain and movement, of shouts, cries and disturbing shrieks. The sky wreck had burst into life all around them, and he and Thaw Daggerslash had stood back to back on the mossy flight-rock platform and defended the body of Wind Jackal from the loathsome denizens of the dead ship.

  There were transparent wind snakes, bloated hull-crawlers, gelat
inous tentacle-spinners, and far worse. Not even the Galerider’s log-baits could have prepared Quint for the hideous, half-formed creatures that slithered, oozed and scuttled from the depths of the mighty wreck, up to the eagerly anticipated feast on the flight-rock platform.

  Quint’s arm ached now from the slashing cuts, parries and sword thrusts he rained down on anything that came near, while behind him Thaw’s grunts and snarls told him that the wounded sky pirate couldn’t hold out much longer. His own head was swimming, his eyes were blinded by sweat. He slumped back and, half-crouching, half-kneeling, supported his weight on his slime-flecked sword …

  All at once, strong arms grasped Quint by the shoulders. Before he could so much as cry out in protest, he felt himself being lifted off the flight-rock platform and into the air.

  ‘Wuh-wuh! Wuh!’

  Hubble’s voice sounded in his ears, followed, moments later, by Tem Barkwater’s anxious call.

  ‘Hold onto them, Hubble! I’m winching as hard as I can!’

  Quint looked up. He and Thaw were enfolded in the arms of the great white banderbear, who was gazing down at him with sad eyes. Hubble was in a harness attached to a long rope which extended up to the Galerider hovering high above his head, and getting closer by the second. Below him, Quint saw that the flight-rock platform was now seething with wriggling, crawling life.

  ‘Father!’ he cried out, as pain worse than any sword wound exploded in his chest.

  The rattle of the deck-winch grew louder. Suddenly Quint was being lifted over the balustrade and lowered, sobbing, on to the deck. For several minutes he was lost in a blind, hysterical grief, before he became aware of being carried to a darkened cabin, and gentle hands -Maris’s hands - pressing a sedating wood-camphor poultice to his forehead.