The Winter Knights

by Paul Stewart

  Fenviel closed his eyes and lowered his head. A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and, looking up, saw Tuggel, the gnokgoblin groom from the Hall of Grey Cloud, looking down at him, his face full of concern.

  ‘You should be careful, Hall Master,’ Tuggel whispered urgently. ‘If the gatekeepers report back to Hax Vostillix that you've been interfering …’

  Fenviel rose to his feet and snapped his riding crop in two, as he barked a single word. ‘Hax!’

  iv

  The Hall Master of High Cloud

  The only remaining hall master of the Lower Halls stared at the bowl of tilder stew in front him. The spoon in his bony fingers shook so badly that its contents dripped down onto his robes.

  ‘Sky blast it!’ he grunted, dropping the spoon back into the bowl, seizing his napkin and dabbing at the brown stain.

  A moment later, he frowned. His hand froze. He continued to stare down at his front.

  ‘Marsh-gems,’ he murmured. ‘These purple robes were once decorated with marsh-gems …’

  It seemed, for a moment, like the final straw. Someone – a hall servant or squire, probably – had painstakingly picked the precious marsh-gems from his robe; every last one of them! Did they really hate him so much? Hax Vostillix, Hall Master of High Cloud and sole head of the Knights Academy, thought gloomily.

  He reached for his spoon again, but stayed his hand. He wasn't hungry. Abandoning all thought of eating the stew, he returned the full bowl to the silver tray and pushed the whole lot away. Like the day before, and the day before that, he simply had no appetite.

  How could he eat at a time like this, anyway? he asked himself, when the sky yielded only snow and ice, and the sacred floating rock grew more buoyant with every blizzard.

  He turned towards the window, his dark-ringed eyes searching the sky for a sign, however small, that the weather was changing. But, he noted with a sinking heart, the blizzard was still raging outside – and there wasn't even the faintest whiff of sourmist in the air. If there had been, he would have ordered a voyage at once – for all the good it would do. Yet he had no other choice.

  He shook his head bleakly.

  ‘Why is this happening to me, a faithful sky-scholar?’ he groaned. ‘Haven't I done enough? I've banished earth-scholarship. I've purified the Knights Academy.’ He picked idly at the threads on his robes. ‘I've taken the purge into the schools and academies of Sanctaphrax, rooting out earth-scholarship wherever it occurs … Yet still the sky shows its displeasure …’

  Seeds of doubt, already sown, had begun to swell and grow. Could he have been wrong with the predictions about the imminent arrival of a Great Storm after all?

  He clenched a fist and slammed it down on the table top, making the dishes jump and upsetting a goblet of sapwine.

  No! he thought. I cannot think like that, not after sending all those brave knights academic off into the storm-racked skies. I must not! I am Hax Vostillix, the greatest sky-scholar there has ever been!

  But he'd seen the way the two Most High Academes looked at him. And the others; the professors, the squires, the academics-at-arms … They'd all lost confidence in him.

  He shook his head again as memories came flooding back.

  It had all been so different that afternoon in the great Lecture Dome. They'd listened to him then as, with Daxiel Xaxis and the gatekeepers by his side, he'd purged the Lower Halls of those scoundrels and infidels posing as loyal sky-scholars. Why, even Screedius Tollinix had come round to his way of thinking in the end, and set off to serve Sanctaphrax …

  What had happened to the brave young knight? he wondered.

  No, things had certainly changed. Back then, they'd looked up to him. Now they despised him. Hated him. He looked down at his purple robes, picked clean of their marsh-gems. Yes, they hated him all right, he thought bitterly. If it wasn't for Daxiel Xaxis and his army of gatekeepers, the academics would surely have risen up and thrown him out of Sanctaphrax long before now. Yet he had to be careful, Hax told himself; make sure Daxiel Xaxis himself didn't get too big for his boots.

  ‘After all, we don't want the servant becoming the master, do we?’ he murmured.

  He looked back down at his desk. It was strewn with sky charts, weather predictions, mist readings and …

  He frowned. ‘What's that?’ he wondered.

  There on his silver tray, nestling next to the jug of sap-wine, was a small gold bowl with sugared delberry bonbons in it.

  Someone had taken the time to coat the little del-berries in a fine dusting of exquisite icing and present them in a small gold bowl for his pleasure. Clearly, not everyone hated him, Hax thought, with a little smile.

  He picked one up with a thumb and forefinger and turned it in the light. The sugar glittered. Hax licked his lips. A hall master eating bonbons! He really shouldn't – but one couldn't possibly hurt.

  He popped it in his mouth and closed his eyes. The bonbon slowly melted on his tongue. It tasted so sweet …

  •CHAPTER EIGHTEEN•

  THE BARKSCROLLS

  Dear Maris,

  I'm pleased you enjoyed my last letter. I'm afraid this one will be much shorter. I'm giving it to Vilnix Pompolnius to deliver to you because, despite my initial impressions, he has turned out to be a trustworthy comrade and a loyal companion. You know, I really misjudged him, and am only sorry to have passed on my silly misgivings to you.

  Which brings me to my big news! Both Vilnix and I are to be elevated to the Upper Halls! I shall be a knight's squire and Vilnix will be an apprentice high professor (which is no less than he deserves, considering all his hard work). Our Elevation Ceremony is in three days’ time, and I need to collect my sword miniature, buy some new robes, get my sword polished and sharpened - a hundred and one things.

  Unfortunately, they all cost money, and I have already run through my father's allowance. What's more, my mentor, the Professor of Light, is turning out to be as mean as everybody here says he is. Vilnix is so lucky to have the Professor of Darkness as his mentor!

  I don't suppose you could lend me a small sum – say fifty gold pieces? After all, your father must have left you plenty. You could put the money in the copperwood urn I've concealed this barkscroll in, and give it to Vilnix in the market-place tomorrow.

  I know you won't let me down,

  Your friend,

  Quintinius Verginix

  Upper Hall Squire

  Dear Quint,

  Since when do you sign yourself ‘Quintinius Verginix’ when you write to me? It sounds so formal and odd! I do hope your elevation to the Upper Halls isn't going to make you too high and mighty!

  I'm only teasing …

  I do understand about the money, and how expensive it must be getting all the things you need for your Elevation Ceremony, but you're quite wrong about my having plenty. Heft is such a terrible old miser, and Dacia is just as bad. You should see the clothes they wear. All full of patches and holes, and the very latest in fashion – about fifty years ago!

  Heft has taken everything Father left me and locked it away with all his other gold. It is so unfair, but whenever I protest, he just waves the will that Father wrote making him my guardian, and says it's his to look after until I'm ‘grown up and sensible’. I can't wait to be grown up, but I hope I'm never ‘sensible’ if sensible means acting like Heft and Dacia and their boring friends.

  Oh, which reminds me! Something is definitely going on, because the other evening, that Daxiel Xaxis person showed up in his white cape with the horrible badge on it, and had a long meeting with Heft. I couldn't hear much from my room (my door was locked again, just like most other evenings!) – just some shouting. But Delby – she's the tearful mobgnome chambermaid I told you about – had to bring a log for the fire, so she filled me in later on the details of their big argument.

  She said that Daxiel wanted Heft to find even more Undertowners to join those horrid gatekeepers of his, because soon he'd need every one of them he could g
et! Heft just kept whining (he's very good at whining, by the way – when he's not bullying) and saying that he'd already spent too much of his hard-earned gold finding recruits for Daxiel, and that now he wanted ‘a return on his investment’. I suppose he means that stupid job controlling the log burners on the East and West Landings that he's always going on about.

  Then, apparently, Daxiel said something really interesting. He said that Heft should be patient, find him some more recruits and wait for the moment when ‘under shall rule above’. But Heft kept on pestering him, and they ended up shouting at each other. Daxiel warned Heft not to come to the Knights Academy until he was sent for, and then he stormed off.

  Don't you think that's strange?

  I think you should tell the twin Most High Academes about this, as I'm pretty sure that Hax Vostillix is behind the whole thing. Is he as mad as they all say he is? I heard that they're planning to send another knight academic stormchasing again, even though hardly anyone believes that these blizzards we keep having are Great Storms, or anything close.

  Oh, do be careful up there, Quint, won't you? Although it's not much, I have been saving the allowance Dacia gives me once a week – it's five gold pieces all together, and it took me ages to save it! Heft keeps all his gold in a great big lufwood chest at the foot of his bed – or so Delby says. And he opens it up and counts it every night before he goes to bed. He is such a miser!

  Sorry I can't send more. You know I would if I could. I'll give it to Vilnix with this letter like you said – and good luck with the Elevation Ceremony.

  Your friend,

  Madame Maris Pallitax-Vespius

  (only joking!)

  P.S. The funniest thing, Quint. Your letter – the barkscroll parchment you wrote it on – it is exactly the same sort that Father wrote his will on. Smooth texture, with small grey flecks on it. I remember thinking it was odd at the time because Father always used sumpwood barkscrolls (more grainy and lighter). But it was definitely his writing. And now, here you are, using the same sort!

  Dear Maris,

  I'm sorry you found it formal and odd that I signed myself Quintinius Verginix in my last letter, but you must understand that I have moved on to the Upper Halls and left childish things behind. You might only be teasing, but these things matter. And as daughter of a Most High Academe, I would expect you to understand this.

  I am very disappointed that you only sent me five gold pieces, and can only count myself fortunate that my loyal friend, Vilnix Pompolnius, came to my aid at the Elevation Ceremony. He sharpened the blade of my sword beautifully and ran all sorts of useful errands for me, including picking up your letter – and the measly gold coins you decided to let me have.

  If you were as true and loyal a friend to me as Vilnix, you would find a way to take the gold your guardian has taken from you, and send it to me. I'm sure it's what your poor dear father would have wanted – especially as my new mentor, the Professor of Light, has turned out to be so tight-fisted. As my true friend, you would take as much of the gold as you could and give it to Vilnix in this copperwood urn. He will pass by your window each week on market day until you wave a red kerchief to show you have been successful. Do not expect any further barkscrolls from me until you have proved your friendship by doing this.

  I shall pass on your concerns to the Professors of Light. I certainly wouldn't be at all surprised if Hax Vostillix was up to something – he is not only mad, but also devious, as poor Vilnix has found out to his cost. After doing him many kindnesses and small acts of service, Vilnix was promised a position in the Upper Halls as an apprentice high professor. But Hax Vostillix cruelly betrayed him, sending him to the Upper Halls and making him a knight academic squire instead, even though he has no interest in or intention of going stormchasing.

  I was so angry when Vilnix told me this that I felt like murdering Hax Vostillix with my own two hands. It is no more than he deserves! That is what true friends do for each other.

  Do not let me down again.

  Yours,

  Quintinius Verginix

  Upper Hall Squire

  Dear Quintinius,

  I was very hurt by the tone of your last letter. In fact, I cried for a whole week, if you must know. I do want to be a good friend to you, you know I do. I don't think murdering anybody – even Hax Vostillix – with your bare hands is proof of friendship, and even though you seem to think so highly of Vilnix, I'm afraid he still gives me the creeps.

  For three weeks he's been appearing outside my window on Market Day, with that horrid little twisted smile on his face. It's almost as if he's happy that you're angry with me and that I'm miserable. Indeed, I've been so miserable that I have actually gone and done what you asked me to. It was against my better judgement, because stealing is wrong, and both of us know that.

  I managed to sneak into Heft and Dacia's bedchamber last night, and watched while the loathsome fat barkslug quaffed sapwine and rocked back and forth while he counted out that gold of his. Dacia was as drunk as he was, and they kept singing ‘under shall rule above’, and laughing. It was horrible!

  But eventually they both fell asleep and I managed to tiptoe from behind the hanging drapes and take about a hundred gold pieces out of the lufwood trunk, literally from under Heft's big fat snoring nose!

  I say ‘about’ because I'm sure you'll understand I couldn't stop to count it out. There, so I've done it! You'll find them in the copperwood urn with this letter. I'll give it to Vilnix when he turns up tomorrow (which I'm sure he will). Perhaps it'll wipe that horrid little smirk off his face!

  When Heft finds out, I'll be in big trouble, I know, but you asked me to prove my friendship, and I have, so there! And I say ‘when’ not ‘if’ because he knows exactly how much he's got – or rather, how much he had. I'm not proud of what I've done, and I intend to slip away as soon as I can. I'll go to the twin Most High Academes and throw myself on their mercy. I've decided to tell them everything, Quint – I'm sure it'll be for the best.

  Your true friend,

  Maris

  Dear Maris,

  We must see each other. Don't, I beg of you, do anything stupid!

  You must escape and get to the Loftus Observatory. Wait for me on the north gantry platform of the Observatory Chamber at eight hours tomorrow morning and I will explain everything …

  Please excuse my poor handwriting, but I injured my hand at Gantry Tower practice.

  Thank you for the money. You are a true friend.

  Your friend,

  Quint

  Maris slipped a coin into the calloused palm of the old gnokgoblin basket-puller and stepped onto the West Landing. She shivered and lowered her head. With the howling wind tugging at her cape, it seemed, if anything, even colder up here on the great floating rock than back in Undertown.

  From behind her there came the creaking noise of the great wooden treadmill as it raised and lowered the log burners – the huge glowing cage-like structures she'd watched so often from the window of her bedchamber. Up close, she could now hear the barks and whinnies of the hardworking prowlgrins that turned it, as well as the curious mournful hooting of the giant fromps.

  So many changes since I was last here, she thought.

  She scurried along the jutting platform, keeping to the long, early-morning shadows as best she could. There were gatekeepers everywhere, she noticed with a shudder, in their white tunics with the horrible red insignia. But they were too busy shouting and bullying the stable-hands to pay her any attention. How different from the days when her father had been Most High Academe. He would never have allowed Hax Vostillix to build up his own personal army …

  Still, she thought, as she reached the end of the landing and stepped down onto the broad, snow-covered avenue that led, in a majestic sweep, from the Great Library to the Loftus Observatory, the twin Most High Academes would put a stop to it, she was sure. Especially as she was going to tell them all about the Captain of the Gatekeeper's suspicious meetings with
her guardian, Heft. But first she had to get to the Loftus Observatory before eight hours, to meet Quint.

  Her heart gave a leap. Quint! It was going to be so good to see him again after all this time.

  There was so much she wanted to say to him, and so many questions she couldn't wait to ask. What was it really like being an Upper Hall squire? To ride a prowlgrin, and learn to sail a stormchaser? And his friends; she wanted to know all about them – Stope, Raffix, Phin and … even Vilnix.

  What did he see in that thin, shifty-eyed apprentice whose twisted smile made her flesh creep?

  These sorts of things couldn't be explained in barkscroll letters, but Maris was sure Quint would explain everything to her now that, at last, they were going to meet face to face. She quickened her pace.

  Cutting through an alleyway at the back of the School of Mist, she emerged on the main avenue, the tall towers of the College of Cloud ahead of her. There were mob-gnomes and cloddertrogs out clearing the snow as best they could, and the air was filled with the sound of scraping shovels. Above her, though, the early morning sunlight was already being blocked out by an approaching bank of black cloud. She turned right. The Loftus Observatory loomed ahead of her.

  Not far now, she told herself, and she'd see Quint again and could tell him everything. About the long, lonely, cold nights locked up in her room, about the petty unkindnesses and meanness of her guardians and the deep ache in the middle of her chest whenever she allowed herself to think about her former life in the great floating city.

  And then there was the hurt. The angry hurt that his letter had caused her, with its haughty tone and accusation that she wasn't ‘a real friend’. It had stung her so deeply that Maris had seized the first opportunity to prove him wrong. She hadn't had to wait long …

  A gatekeeper had arrived with a message for Heft which had transformed her moaning bully of a guardian into a laughing, giggling fool. He'd pranced delightedly round the palace, ordering the servants to bring the sap-wine, and shouting for Dacia to come and celebrate with him. Before long, the pair of them were roaring drunk and staggering off to their bedchamber, singing, ‘Under shall rule above!’ – and forgetting to lock Maris's door on their way.