Then, blackness …
Quint wasn’t sure how long he slept, but when he awoke, he found himself in his own hammock. The fetid stench of wreck-mould still clung to his clothes. There were sounds of activity coming from the fore-deck and, pulling on his jacket with aching arms, Quint stumbled out of his cabin towards them. As he emerged onto the aft-deck, Thaw Daggerslash’s voice rang out in the frost chilled air.
‘FIRE!’
Quint started.
From the prow, a blazing harpoon soared off through the air like a great shooting star, hissing and spitting as it went. In a great fiery arc it flew, from the Galerider down towards the great sky wreck below. With a great splintering crash, the harpoon’s flaming tip drove into the vessel’s hull and continued right up to its shaft. Instantly, the wooden planks and beams burst into flame and, as the fire spread rapidly through the sky wreck, the air filled with a thick, pungent smoke.
Slowly at first, the sky wreck began to climb in the sky as the fire took hold and the buoyant wood blazed. Then, as Quint watched, its ascent slowed until, once again, the great vessel hovered motionless in the air. Realizing that the heated flight-rock was acting as a counterweight to the up-thrust of the burning timber, Quint gripped the balustrade and watched closely as the great ship - now parallel with the Galerider - shuddered violently, its rotten timbers ablaze.
The ancient bloated flight-rock grew hotter and hotter, and the mire-clams hissed and screamed as they sizzled. One by one, the giant shells began falling, taking chunks of hot rock with them and tearing the heart out of the ancient rock. The next moment, unable to take the strain any longer, the flight-rock disintegrated in a blazing shower of white-hot rock shards and shell splinters, which hissed like woodsnakes as they plunged down into the forest canopy far below.
Freed from the great flight-rock, the blazing vessel soared off into the sky. The wood hissed and crackled -but the sounds were drowned out by the noise of the wreck’s hideous inhabitants shrieking as they burned. Little by the little, the noise faded as the great fireball rose higher and higher. Quint watched as the blazing vessel became as small as a distant moon, a twinkling star, a pinprick of light that, in the blink of an eye, was extinguished.
‘Fare well, Father,’ Quint whispered.
He turned from the aft-deck balustrade, crossed the flight-rock platform -where the hooded Stone Pilot nodded silently to him - and climbed down to the fore-deck. There he was greeted by the rest of the crew.
Tem Barkwater stood by the prow from which he’d just launched the lufwood harpoon, Duggin - pitch-bucket and flaming torch in hand - by his side. An anxious, distracted-looking Spillins stood, cap clutched in his gnarled hands, and large eyes darker than ever, next to the huge figure of Hubble the banderbear. Maris stepped out from behind them and rushed over to Quint, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘We were going to wait for you, Quint, but Captain Daggerslash thought…’ she began.
Quint handed her his handkerchief and turned to the sky pirate who stood tall and erect at the fore-deck balustrade, one arm in a sling.
‘Captain Daggerslash?’ he said, raising an eyebrow.
Thaw gave Quint a dazzling smile. ‘Only of the Mireraider just now,’ he said, ‘though if the crew of the Galerider will have me …’ His face grew serious. ‘You’ve been through a lot, Quint. Without you, I wouldn’t have survived on that hideous wreck. I’m only sorry that neither of us could save Captain Wind Jackal…’
Quint nodded slowly. ‘Where were you, Thaw, when Turbot Smeal killed my father?’ He tried to keep his voice steady.
‘We’d split up to search the vessel,’ Thaw said smoothly. ‘I was in the fore-hold when I heard the clash of swords. I met Smeal coming down from the flight-rock platform. He ran me through with a sword-thrust,’ he said, fingering his shoulder gingerly. ‘But I managed to trip him as I went down - sent him hurtling to his death over the side, Sky curse him!’ He shook his head at the memory of it all. ‘Evil-looking creature, he was; a grin like a skullpelt…’
Quint shuddered as he remembered the hideous face he’d seen looming over his father on the flight-rock platform.
‘I’m sorry for your terrible loss, Quint, believe me, but if it’s any help, I have avenged his murder …’
Quint reached out and shook the sky pirate’s hand. ‘For which I thank you, Thaw,’ he said. ‘But my father always intended that I should succeed him as captain. He gave me a sky pirate name long ago. Cloud Wolf.’
‘Captain Cloud Wolf,’ Thaw smiled. ‘It does have a ring to it, to be sure, but your father was a great one for tradition, was he not?’
Quint nodded.
‘And in true sky pirate tradition, a captain has to be elected by his crew.’
Quint nodded again.
‘Each crew-member draws a shryke tooth and has a full day aloft to present that tooth to his choice of captain…’
‘A “shryke-smile”,’ Quint agreed.
‘A shryke-smile it is, then, Cloud Wolf,’ said Thaw, his own smile flashing brightly, ‘and may the best captain win!’
As the senior crew-member, it fell to Spillins the oakelf to organize the drawing of shryke teeth, which he kept secure in a small bundle in the caternest.
‘Never thought I’d live to see another shryke-smile,’ the old oakelf muttered sadly as he counted out six jagged yellow teeth - one for each crew-member - and climbed back down the mast.
It rained heavily during the night. The following morning the decks were glazed with the recent downpour, and the sails and rigging dripped as the first blush of morning lit the sky. Spillins shuffled round the sky ship as the sun rose, pressing each tooth into the palm of every crew-member and keeping one for himself. He smiled at Quint as he passed him at the helm - but then his dark eyes clouded over and he averted his gaze when Thaw Daggerslash greeted him cheerfully on the fore-deck.
‘Sky protect us!’ the old oakelf muttered to himself, peering up at the misty, watery-coloured sun. ‘Sky protect us all!’
As Quint left the helm and made his way to the aft-deck, Spillins met him on the stairs. The old oakelf was heading for the mast, and the safety and comfort of his caternest.
‘If it was up to me, young master,’ he said. ‘If there had been any way that this could have been avoided …’ He left the words hanging in the air. ‘Unfortunately, tradition is tradition.’ He shook his head unhappily.
‘My father always spoke warmly of Thaw Daggerslash,’ said Quint. ‘A little too ambitious, he thought, but that’s not a bad thing, surely?’
The oakelf shrugged, his dark eyes growing wider. ‘Let’s just say your father could always see the good in people, whereas some of us see a little more …’
Quint frowned. ‘You mean, his aura?’
‘I have never seen a more poisonous hue,’ Spillins replied, and shuddered.
‘And what does that mean?’ Quint asked.
‘It could mean any number of things …’ said Spillins. ‘Pain and suffering; sorrow in the past, causing black moods -or worse; thwarted ambition leading to evil thoughts …’
Quint hesitated. ‘That doesn’t sound good …’
Spillins stared into Quint’s face with his huge dark eyes.
‘I see the stain of sorrow in your aura, my lad,’ he said with a sad smile, ‘but also the golden glow of greatness - which is why I’m giving you this.’ Spillins slipped his shryke tooth into Quint’s hand, and winked. ‘Good luck,’ he said, softly.
Hubble was down in the aft-hold when Thaw Daggerslash caught up with him. Since Ratbit’s untimely death, the number of scrabsters had multiplied a dozenfold. Hungry, now that the tallow candles they had fed on were gone, they had started making forays into other areas of the sky ship - the fore-hold, the food stores, the infirmary cabin, devouring anything they could find. It was when Thaw Daggerslash had discovered his tilderskin breeches half-consumed that he had announced that ‘something had to be done’ - and had volunteered Hubbl
e for the task of eradicating the vermin.
‘There you are,’ he said.
Hubble, who was crouching silently by a small hole in a cross-beam of the great hold, a clawed paw raised, glanced round.
‘Wuh-wuh,’ he murmured.
‘Never mind “wuh-wuh”. You know what I want,’ said Thaw. He stepped closer. ‘Hand it over.’
‘Wuh?’ said Hubble, his great furry face creased with confusion.
‘You really are a stupid creature,’ said Thaw in exasperation. ‘The shryke tooth. Hand it over!’
For a moment, Hubble did not move. Thaw Daggerslash reached towards his sword - a sudden gesture which caused the albino bander-bear to yelp involuntarily.
‘It gives me no pleasure inflicting pain, but you force me into it…’
The banderbear raised a great fist, as if to strike the sky pirate, only to open its paw and allow a shryke tooth to fall to the floor. Thaw Dagger-slash snatched it and pushed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then, turning on his heel, he marched back towards the exit.
‘Excellent choice, Hubble,’ he chuckled. ‘For such a stupid creature!’
As Thaw disappeared up the stairs, a scrabster poked its scaly head out into the hold and sniffed. Before it had a chance to determine what exactly it could smell, the banderbear’s great paw descended, decapitating the creature with a single slash of a great claw.
Returning to the helm, Quint busied himself realigning one of the flight-levers. The lever cord was frayed and would need to be repaired by the look of it. Quint called to Tem on the fore-deck to join him. The young deckhand climbed the stairs to the helm, two at a time.
‘What seems to be the problem?’ he said, cheerfully, peering over Quint’s shoulder.
‘It’s the stud-sail lever cord. Needs replacing…’ Quint muttered.
‘Steg used to keep an eye on the lever cords,’ Tem sighed. ‘I do miss old Steg …’ He swallowed hard.
Quint nodded and looked up. ‘Why Tem Barkwater!’ he exclaimed. ‘When are you going to stop growing? You were shorter than me when I first untethered you from that whipping-post, and as light as a vulpoon feather. Now look at you! Half a head taller and built like an iron-wood privy!’
It was true. The thick jerkin, tilderskin jacket, heavy canvas leggings and stout boots that he had bought in Undertown were all now looking tight and skimpy -even the huge hammelhorn felt cap no longer looked too big for him. Tem smiled amiably.
‘I reckon it must be all that good food Mistress Maris serves up,’ he said. ‘Here, give me that,’ he said, leaning over and taking the end of the cord from Quint. ‘I know how to fix nether-fetters. Steg taught me.’
With deft fingers, he twisted the frayed end of the cord, doubled it back on itself, and slipped the tide-ring into place.
‘There,’ he said, as straightened up. ‘Try the flight-lever now.’
Quint did so. It worked perfectly. ‘Excellent, Tem!’ he said. ‘Well done.’
‘My pleasure,’ he replied, beaming happily. The next moment, his face grew suddenly serious. ‘You know that Thaw Daggerslash was down on the fore-deck this morning, complimenting me on my harpoon firing and ropecraft, and acting all nice and friendly like …’
‘Thaw is always friendly,’ admitted Quint.
‘Yet behind those smiles,’ said Tem, shaking his head, ‘there’s something else; something mean …’
‘Mean?’ said Quint.
‘Yes,’ said Tem, frowning. ‘Like that time he was talking about using me as tarry-vine bait…’
‘It was just a joke, Tem,’ said Quint. He shook his head. ‘Though it wasn’t funny.’
‘That’s right,’ said Tem. ‘It wasn’t funny. Not to someone who’s actually been used as tarry-vine bait. Not funny at all. And a captain of a sky pirate ship should know that…’
He reached into the pocket of his tight jerkin and teased out the shryke tooth wedged there.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘For you, Quint.’
‘Duggin! Duggin! Duggin!’ said Thaw Daggerslash, laughing lightly. ‘What a fine sky pirate you’ve turned out to be!’
The pair of them were on the fore-deck. Ever since he’d been brought aboard the Galerider, Duggin had spent his every spare moment working on his Edgehopper - moderating the sail/hull-weight ratio, adding adjustable cleat-mechanisms to the under-rigging and attaching jutting wind-spoilers to the aft-hull to reduce the risk of turning turvey in heavy winds. The vessel was sleeker, faster and more stable than ever before.
Now, with the Edgehopper finished and the Mireraider on board, Duggin had turned his attention and expertise to the sky barge. He had stripped the mast and rebuilt it at a ten-degree back-sloping angle. He had lengthened the prow, trimmed the boom and, at the stern, added a device all of his own design.
‘So, what is it exactly?’ Thaw asked, tapping the series of oblique pipes that had been attached to the stern on either side of the rudder.
‘I call it a wind-lift,’ Duggin explained. ‘Sky barges are notoriously sluggish. This should exploit the wind-flow at the stern, thereby reducing the drag of the rubble cage - and double the Mireraider’s speed.’
Thaw laughed. ‘Ingenious!’ he said, and patted the gnokgoblin heartily on the back. ‘Duggin, old friend, with your skills, you could have a glittering future. You just need a captain who appreciates your talents.’
‘Appreciates them how, exactly?’ Duggin looked Thaw steadily in the eye.
‘By making you the present of his sky barge …’ Thaw smiled, holding out his hand. ‘After all, you deserve it for all the hard work you’ve put into the Mireraider.’
Smiling broadly, Duggin reached into his pocket, drew out his shryke tooth and dropped it into Thaw’s waiting hand.
‘It’s a deal,’ he said.
‘My dear Stone Pilot,’ said Thaw Daggerslash. ‘I am so, so sorry.’
Crossing the flight-rock platform, he had knocked into the Stone Pilot - sending the dropped crutch skittering one way, and the Stone Pilot herself tumbling in the other. He quickly recovered the crutch, and stuck it under his arm, then turned to help the floundering Stone Pilot.
‘Allow me,’ he said, crouching down, pushing his arm under hers and helping her back to her feet. ‘No bones broken, I trust,’ he said, smiling winningly as he patted her down and pushed the crutch back into place. ‘No lasting harm?’
The Stone Pilot shook her head.
‘Well, thank Sky for small mercies,’ said Thaw, straightening her crutch and smoothing her robes into place. ‘I can be so clumsy sometimes … Still, so long as you’re all right.’
Behind the hood, the Stone Pilot nodded curtly, and returned to tending the flight-rock. Thaw Daggerslash turned and, whistling softly under his breath, continued across the flight-rock platform.
He was on the other side before he opened his clenched fist and inspected the contents of his hand. Then, glancing back at the Stone Pilot, engrossed over the cooling rods, he tossed something yellow and glinting over the side of the sky ship, before sauntering off towards the infirmary-cabin, where he found Maris.
‘Oh, Thaw,’ gasped Maris, as he entered the small cabin. ‘You look awful. Is it your shoulder?’
Thaw smiled bravely and nodded. ‘If you wouldn’t mind taking a look,’ he said.
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Loosen your shirt, sit down and let me see.’
Thaw Daggerslash did as he was told. Maris used boiled water and wads of wood-cotton to clean the wound. Then, wincing with sympathy as she dabbed at the vicious sword cut with hyleberry salve, she proceeded to dress the wound.
‘It’s a deep cut,’ she said, ‘but it seems to be healing well.’
‘All thanks to these excellent treatments.’ Thaw smiled at Maris, his head cocked to one side. ‘And an even better nurse.’
Maris blushed.
‘You like Quint, don’t you?’ Thaw continued.
Maris nodded, blushing even harder.
‘
And you want what’s best for him?’
Maris stopped and looked at Thaw. ‘Of course,’ she said.
‘Have you ever considered that becoming captain of the Galerider might not be what he wants?’
‘But Wind Jackal…’ Maris began.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Thaw, ‘but what about Quint’s academic career in Sanctaphrax? His hopes and dreams of completing his education in the Knights Academy and setting forth, as a fully-fledged knight academic, on a stormchasing journey to the Twilight Woods … Isn’t that what he really wants?’
‘Yes, but that was before …’
Thaw shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’m wrong. After all, you know him better than I, Maris.’ He frowned, his face a picture of concern. ‘But just imagine how resentful he will one day feel if the death of his father leads him into a future he does not want, while his true goal in life remains forever thwarted …’
As the sun slipped down towards the far horizon, the crew of the Galerider assembled on the aft-deck. The helm was secured and the rock-burners locked into position.
‘It is time to count the teeth,’ Spillins announced. ‘Thaw Daggerslash, how many do you have?’
The young captain reached into his pocket for the shryke teeth. ‘Two,’ he said, displaying them both for all to see.
‘Quint?’ said Spillins.
‘Also two,’ said Quint.
‘Which means that two teeth have still to be cast,’ said Spillins. ‘Whoever wishes to cast their teeth must do so now, before the sun sets.’
The Stone Pilot reached into the folds of her heavy coat, looking first in one pocket, then in the other. Despite the conical hood she wore, her confusion was obvious as neither pocket revealed the shryke tooth. She looked again. And then a third time, before leaning forwards and seizing Quint by the arm.
It was clear she wished to vote for him.
But Spillins shook his head. ‘I’m sorry’ he said. ‘Tradition is tradition. If you cannot find your tooth, then I’m afraid it cannot count.’
Clash of the Sky Galleons Page 24
