The Winter Knights

by Paul Stewart

  ‘We have examined the circumstances and nature of this unfortunate occurrence,’ continued the Professor of Darkness, his voice deep and rumbling, ‘and have come to an inevitable conclusion …’

  ‘Hax Vostillix was murdered!’ the Professor of Light announced in ringing tones.

  The Lecture Dome was absolutely silent. Everyone knew that Hax Vostillix had been murdered, and everyone had their own theory as to who had murdered him. After all, from the gossip-rich Viaduct Steps to the rumour-filled benches of the Great Refectory, talk was of little else. But, as tradition demanded, the Most High Academes were to have the final word.

  ‘Many had good reason to hate the late Hall Master of High Cloud,’ rumbled the Professor of Darkness. ‘The other hall masters, unjustly thrown out of the academy.’

  ‘Fenviel Vendix, Arboretum Sicklebough and the late Philius Embertine …’ intoned the Professor of Light, reedily.

  ‘We find them innocent of all charges!’ announced the Professor of Darkness.

  ‘On the evening of the murder, a young Upper Hall squire was taking a tray of food to Hax Vostillix's chamber when he was stopped by the Captain of the Gatekeepers, Daxiel Xaxis,’ said the Professor of Light.

  ‘This squire states that Daxiel Xaxis took the tray from him and placed a bowl of bonbons upon it, before entering the hall master's chamber alone,’ rumbled the Professor of Darkness.

  ‘The eggs of the woodwasp dipped in honey and rolled in hyleberry sugar would resemble the sweetest of bonbons,’ the Professor of Light trilled, ‘until …’

  ‘They hatch in the belly of one who consumes them and begin to sting their way out!’ boomed the Professor of Darkness.

  His voice was drowned by the rising tide of anger and revulsion that echoed round the hall as the gathered academics made their feelings known. The Professor of Light raised his staff for silence.

  ‘It is the finding of this Grand Inquiry that Daxiel Xaxis, Captain of the Gatekeepers, believing that his master's increasingly erratic behaviour threatened his position, did murder Hax Vostillix, Hall Master of High Cloud, by woodwasp poison!’

  The Professors of Light and Darkness's voices mingled as they announced their verdict in unison.

  ‘Order has been restored to the Knights Academy, and the terrible winter has come to an end, Sky be praised!’

  Cries of ‘Sky be praised!’ echoed round the gantries and balconies of the great Lecture Dome.

  ‘Now let us put this matter behind us,’ said the Professor of Light.

  ‘And return to our studies,’ said the Professor of Darkness.

  At a signal from the Professor of Light, the buoyant lectern was hauled back down to the jetty, and the twin Most High Academes made their way to the entrance, where a thin-faced Upper Hall squire with shifty-looking eyes was waiting. His eyes darted nervously back and forth over the crowd, as if he was afraid of being spotted at any moment.

  ‘If that'll be all,’ said the squire in a wheedling tone as the twin academes approached, ‘I really must be getting back to my studies, too.’

  ‘And what studies might they be?’ said the Professor of Light scornfully. ‘Hiding in the Gantry Tower? Or skulking in the wood-store of the Hall of Storm Cloud?’

  The squire shot the professor a murderous look and turned imploringly to the Professor of Darkness.

  ‘I've told you all I know,’ he pleaded. ‘Can't I go now?’

  ‘Not just yet,’ rumbled the Professor of Darkness, placing a hand on the squire's shoulder and leading him out of the Lecture Dome. The professor smiled kindly. ‘There is just one other little matter you can help us with.’

  Nothing unnerved Vilnix Pompolnius as a rule, and yet as he followed the Professors of Light and Darkness through Sanctaphrax to the School of Light and Darkness, the former knife-grinder felt decidedly ill at ease. He passed through the imposing doorway, with its heavy studded leadwood doors; he climbed the sweeping marble staircase; he passed along the ornately decorated corridors – his heart racing a little faster with each step he took.

  Suddenly, he was standing before the twin doors – one black and one white – of the professors’ studies. The last time he'd been there was that early evening, all those months ago, when the Professor of Darkness had first confirmed that he was to sponsor him through the Knights Academy. How long ago that now seemed …

  Then, of course, it hadn't just been him waiting to see the eminent professors. No, that snivelling son of a sky pirate, Quintinius Verginix, had also been present.

  Vilnix felt a cold fury rising up and catching in his throat.

  What had gone wrong with his plan? How had Quint and that stupid, spoilt girl not fallen to their deaths from the Loftus Observatory? It was a mystery. True, the two of them did seem to be keeping their mouths shut – but how long would that last? And meanwhile, Vilnix was getting weary of sleeping in the woodstore and hiding in the Gantry Tower. No, it couldn't go on. He'd have to fix them for good next time …

  ‘Come in, Vilnix,’ the Professor of Darkness said to him, as he pushed the black door open and entered the huge study on the other side.

  It took a moment for Vilnix's eyes to grow accustomed to the light – or rather the lack of it – inside the great chamber. For, just as the Professor of Light's study was blindingly bright, ablaze with lanterns, lamps and blazing torches which were reflected back on themselves a thousand times in the mirrors which lined the walls, so the Professor of Darkness's study was the opposite. It was dark and sombre, with heavy blackout curtains at the windows and only the luminescent moonstone-chandelier throwing out any light.

  Vilnix had never actually set foot in the study before, even when he'd returned the telescope over a year earlier. Now, he wasn't sure he was happy with this honour. Peering round uncertainly, his pupils slowly dilating, he was slowly able to take in his surroundings. He saw the shelves lining the walls, stacked with books. He saw cabinets filled with flasks and bottles, brass implements and glass instruments, and complicated multi-armed contraptions set with scales, dials, lenses and incandescent bulbs. And, over by a tall statue of an ancient scholar, a long padded sofa upon which Quint and Maris were sitting, their eyes fixed firmly on Vilnix.

  ‘You can't prove a thing!’ Vilnix blurted out, backing towards the door – only to find his way blocked by the Professor of Light. ‘I was just a messenger for those barkscrolls. A masked squire – with goggles and scarf – he gave them to me and told me to deliver them to her …’ he babbled, his voice rising to a guilty squeak. ‘How was I to know they were forged? Probably one of those snooty Sanctaphrax-born and bred friends of his playing a trick on both of us …’

  He turned to the Professor of Darkness imploringly — aware, all the while, of Quint and Maris's eyes boring into him.

  ‘You've got to believe me! I'm innocent! That gantry on the Loftus Observatory is a death trap – could have collapsed at any moment. Frost damage … Yes, that's what it probably was. Frost damage.’

  He ground to a halt, his cheeks blazing red and sweat running down his back.

  The Professor of Darkness fixed him with an unblinking gaze, his face betraying no emotion. He shook his head.

  ‘Oh, Vilnix, Vilnix,’ he said softly.

  Meanwhile the Professor of Light had crossed the room towards the window. ‘Come out, Gleet,’ he said.

  There was the sound of shuffling from behind the heavy blackout curtain, which was abruptly pulled to one side to reveal a bony individual with a hooked nose and pale yellow eyes.

  Vilnix stared at the forger from the viaduct School of Colour and Light Studies. ‘I've never seen this academic in my life!’ he protested desperately.

  ‘But he has seen you, my dear Vilnix,’ said the Professor of Darkness gently.

  The painter smiled and nodded.

  ‘We can't prove that you intercepted the barkscroll correspondence between Maris and Quint here,’ said the Professor of Light, nodding towards the two of them sitting silently
watching from the sofa. ‘We can't prove that you tricked Quint into giving you a sample of his handwriting, which you took to Ferule Gleet here, for the purposes of forging barkscrolls to Maris.’

  Vilnix stared at the Professor of Light, his face contorted into a mask of leering hatred.

  ‘We can't prove that you used these forged barkscrolls to obtain gold coins from Maris. Nor that, when certain to be unmasked, you tampered with the gantry in order to send both Maris and Quint hurtling to their deaths, thus covering up your crimes …’

  ‘Then what can you prove?’ spat Vilnix, glancing wildly at the faces around the room.

  ‘You've been a great help, my dear Vilnix,’ continued the Professor of Light. ‘Without your involvement, which we can't prove, of course, Quint would never have discovered that Ferule Gleet also forged the document granting the leaguesman Heft Vespius and his wife, Dacia, guardianship of Maris – a crime for which Heft has been made to pay with all the gold he possesses by my treasury guard.’ The Professor of Light permitted himself a little smile.

  ‘Why should I care?’ snarled Vilnix, trying not to look at Quint or Maris.

  ‘Why, indeed?’ said the professor sarcastically. ‘Why, indeed? But you will care, I think, that Quint also discovered that Ferule Gleet had some other interesting information.’

  The professor motioned for the painter to speak. Ferule looked at Vilnix with his pale yellow eyes.

  ‘I've seen you before, young master, indeed I have,’ he rasped. ‘Not wrapped up in scarf and snow-goggles and disguising your voice in my studio. Oh no. But bold as brass, on another occasion entirely, coming out of the viaduct School of Potions and Poisons just opposite, and glancing up at the stuffed vulpoon sign with an evil little sneer on your face as you pocketed a vial of woodwasp eggs.’

  Vilnix's jaw dropped open, but no sound came out. For a moment, there was complete silence, before the Professor of Light spoke.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘we can't prove that those were the same woodwasp eggs that ended up in our poor, late Hall Master of High Cloud's stomach.’

  A smile slowly crept across Vilnix's face. So that was it? That was the best they could do? He had got away with it after all. Of course, he always knew he would. He was just too clever; too clever for the lot of them.

  ‘Well, if you'll excuse me,’ he said, grinning, ‘I'll just be running along back to the Knights Academy.’

  ‘I'm afraid not,’ said the Professor of Darkness, taking Vilnix by the arm and escorting him towards the door. ‘You showed such great promise, Vilnix, when I first met you – and yet you have let me and yourself down. I'm afraid, as twin Most High Academes, we have no choice but to expel you from the academy.’

  ‘On what grounds?’ squeaked Vilnix, his voice shrill and high-pitched. ‘The Professor of Light says you can't prove a thing …’

  ‘You were identified coming out of the School of Potions and Poisons.’

  ‘So?’ protested Vilnix.

  The professor leaned over the young squire and spoke softly and clearly, as if to a small child.

  ‘It is forbidden for any but the senior academics to set foot in that school, for obvious reasons. Everyone in Sanctaphrax knows that.’

  ‘Sanctaphrax born and bred, that is,’ the Professor of Light added lightly.

  ‘For a junior academic – a squire, no less – to do so is rank insubordination of the most serious kind.’

  ‘I … I …’ stammered Vilnix.

  ‘It's true, I'm afraid,’ said the Professor Darkness, opening the door for Vilnix. ‘Gather your things and leave the Knights Academy tonight. I've arranged a place in the College of Rain, in the Faculty of Raintasters – a lowly, menial existence after what you've been used to here, but better than knife-grinding. Goodbye, Vilnix. I'm so very sorry.’

  The Professor of Darkness shook his head sadly as he propelled Vilnix through the door, and closed it behind him.

  Outside, the youth straightened up, the expression of bewilderment and shock on his face turning to dark loathing.

  ‘Insubordination,’ he hissed. ‘I'll get even with you, Quintinius Verginix – and you, you two pathetic buffoons – if it's the last thing I do.’

  Quint and Maris emerged from the School of Light and Darkness and gazed up at the evening sky.

  ‘The Professor of Darkness was right!’ Quint said, turning to Maris excitedly. ‘It is the Galerider!’

  ‘He's a sky-scholar,’ Maris laughed. ‘He doesn't miss much with that telescope of his. It's what's right under his nose, like scheming knife-grinders, that he can't spot.’

  Above them, the sky pirate ship cast a huge shadow on the ground below, all but blotting out the last remnants of the day as it approached one of the great mooring-rings set into the upper walls of the school. Moments later, Wind Jackal appeared at the portside balustrade.

  ‘Quint, lad!’ he shouted down. A long rope-ladder descended, uncurling as it dropped, and dangled in front of them. ‘I got your message, I was on my way back to fetch you when the ratbird found me. Climb aboard, we haven't a moment to lose!’

  ‘But Father, what about the Knights Academy? My studies? And Maris?’ Quint called up in confusion as he gripped the coiling rope-ladder and set foot on the first rung.

  ‘I'll tell you everything when you get on board,’ said Wind Jackal.

  ‘Not without Maris,’ Quint persisted, as she grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘The daughter of my oldest friend?’ Wind Jackal called back. ‘I wouldn't dream of leaving her behind. Now hurry!’

  They climbed the swaying rope-ladder and, almost the moment their feet touched the deck, the Galerider leaped into the air and sped off across the darkening sky. Beside him, Quint felt Maris grab his arm and tighten her grip.

  ‘I'm staying with you. I won't be left behind. Not this time,’ she said fiercely. ‘Not ever!’

  EPILOGUE

  Far out in the Mire, as the last rays of the setting sun fanned out across the bleached mud-flats, the broken body of a sky ship – a stormchaser – cast long, dark shadows back over the boggy ground. The vessel had clearly crash-landed, and badly. Its mast was broken, the hull smashed in on one side, while the flight-rock had broken in two. One half was still in the shattered cradle at the centre of the decks, the other some way off, half-buried in the sucking mud.

  Beside it, sitting upon an upturned barrel, a raw, half-eaten oozefish clutched in his hands, was a knight academic. His armour was dirty, the pipes and dials clogged up with the same white mud. To his left, his heavy helmet lay discarded.

  He was staring ahead, unblinking, at the Twilight Woods as he rocked slowly back and forwards, back and forwards. There – as the sun set and the sky about him darkened – the perpetual orange glow of twilight lit the flocks of fluffy clouds which gather above it.

  ‘Lost,’ he murmured, his voice cracked and gruff from lack of use. ‘All is lost.’

  And as he stared, so four figures emerged, their scrawny frames silhouetted against the glowing light.

  He scrambled to his feet and stumbled across the Mire towards them. As he drew closer, he saw that they were a small family of gnokgoblins, stragglers who had braved the perils of the Twilight Woods in their attempt to travel from their Deepwoods home to a new beginning in Undertown.

  Seeing the tall, noble-looking knight heading towards them, the party of goblins beckoned to him.

  ‘Please, sir,’ said the eldest – a wizened old'un – as they approached. ‘We need help.’

  ‘Help,’ the knight murmured.

  ‘We need shelter for the night,’ the gnokgoblin matron explained. ‘And a guide to help us across this wasteland …’

  ‘Shelter,’ the knight repeated. ‘Guide.’

  It was almost as though he hadn't noticed the gnok-goblin, for he wasn't looking at her as he spoke. Instead, he seemed transfixed by the tiny glittering particles which sparkled amongst the mud trapped both in the coarse tufts of hair between her toes and un
der her nails.

  As his eyes stared down at the gnokgoblin's feet, a strange expression crossed his troubled face – as if he was struggling with a problem and slowly making up his mind.

  ‘All is not lost,’ he said at last, a hand lightly touching the handle of the knife at his side. ‘Follow me.’

  A DAVID FICKLING BOOK

  Published by David Fickling Books

  an imprint of Random House Children's Books

  a division of Random House, Inc.

  New York

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the

  product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to

  actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text and illustrations copyright © 2005 by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell

  All rights reserved.

  Originally published in Great Britain by Doubleday, an imprint of Random

  House Children's Books, in 2005.

  DAVID FICKLING BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of David Fickling.

  www.randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at

  www.randomhouse.com/teachers

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Stewart, Paul.

  The Winter Knights / Paul Stewart & Chris Riddell.—1st ed.

  p. cm.—(The edge chronicles; 8)

  SUMMARY: Quint finally begins his training at the Knights Academy, Maris

  adjusts to life in Undertown, and Sanctaphrax shivers in anticipation of a

  legendary storm, while a storm of a different kind brews between sky-scholars

  and earth-scholars.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-49502-0

  [1. Fantasy] I. Riddell, Chris. II. Title. III. Series: Stewart, Paul.

  Edge chronicles; 8.

  PZ7.S84975Win 2007

  [Fic]—dc22

  2006012404

  v3.0

  Table of Contents

  Cover