The Edge Chronicles 11: The Nameless One: First Book of Cade

by Paul Stewart

  ‘Price to pay,’ Cade repeated.

  ‘The skytavern’s full of valuables,’ Drax said, and the flatheads on either side of Cade growled in agreement. ‘Just waiting for a quick-witted, light-fingered traveller to steal.’

  ‘You want me to steal?’ Cade said.

  Drax’s eyes turned to narrow slits behind the tinted goggles. ‘You can go up to the upper decks, steal something of value and bring it back to me – or you can pay in another way.’

  Even with the goggles, Drax Adereth’s gaze felt uncomfortably penetrating. Cade looked away, and found himself staring at a glass bowl perched on top of one of the cabinets. There were things in it, piled high, like twists of knotted wood . . .

  ‘You can have a week,’ Drax said, smiling as he followed Cade’s gaze.

  ‘A week,’ Cade said.

  ‘A week to pay for your passage.’ Drax turned back to Cade. ‘And don’t think you can just lie low,’ he cautioned, his soft voice laden with menace. ‘Because I know every inch of this ship. I’ll find you. And you will pay . . .’ A smile played at the corners of his narrow mouth. ‘One way or the other.’

  Cade stared at the glass bowl. Not wood, he thought. More like . . . fingers.

  · CHAPTER SIX ·

  ‘A WEEK TO pay for your passage.’

  Cade’s head spun as he left the dank, overcrowded depths of the lower hull, and climbed the narrow darkwood stairs. ‘And you will pay, one way or the other.’

  Drax Adereth’s voice, smooth and menacing, sounded over and over in Cade’s mind. He tried to push away the memory of the amputated fingers as Drax Adereth had given him his warning; the brown, desiccated nubs packed into the glass bowl like so many pieces of dried wood. Each finger had belonged to someone. Someone down on their luck. Someone poor and needy and at the mercy of others.

  Someone like him.

  It hadn’t always been this way, Cade thought bitterly. He was once the beloved son of celebrated Great Glade academics, Thadeus and Sensa Quarter. He had wanted for nothing.

  True, his mother had died when he was only three years old, but his father had done everything in his power to ensure that his childhood was a happy and stable one. Cade had attended the Junior Academy alongside the other privileged children of academics. In the mornings he had chanted his cloud tables, learned wind currents and studied phrax crystals; in the afternoons he had played tensticks on the playing fields or raced sumpwood model skyships with his friends in the long gallery. Yes, life had been good. Until, that is, the fateful night when Thadeus had come to his bedchamber and woken him from a deep sleep.

  ‘Pack your things, son,’ he’d said. ‘You’ve got to leave the Cloud Quarter tonight . . .’

  The stairs leading up from the lower hull were steep and shallow, and Cade used the rope banisters secured to the panelled walls to help him up, but it was still hard going, and by the time he reached the top of the second flight of stairs he was short of breath. He paused and looked around him. Despite the climb, he knew he was still deep down in the great skytavern.

  A long, thin, windowless galley extended both to his left and his right. Lining the inner wall were dozens of bunkbed frames, each one slung with hammocks, top and bottom. Packs and satchels, oilskin jackets and fustian overcoats hung on hooks between them; sacks and crates were stored underneath. Just like the Depths he’d left behind, the air here was hot and humid and rank with the smell of boiled knotcabbage, rancid tallowsmoke and countless unwashed bodies. And as Cade peered into the darkness, he made out dozens, maybe hundreds, of passengers.

  Some were busying themselves with day-to-day tasks; stirring stewpots, patching and darning, grooming one another, keeping diaries. Some sat on blankets, alone and pensive, or with others, deep in hushed conversation. Most, though, lay on their hammocks, hands behind their heads, staring at the ceiling, or curled up asleep. All of them looked poor – but not as ragged and desperate as the denizens of the Depths. Judging by the bundles of tools and equipment he saw stowed beneath each hammock, Cade could tell that these were artisans and craftsmen – simple, hard-working folk who had managed to scrape together just enough to pay for these miserable little berths in the fetid bowels of the skytavern.

  Cade didn’t have the heart to steal from them. He’d have to venture further up to the higher decks . . .

  He was about to continue up the next flight of stairs when he heard a low voice behind him. Cade turned to see a short, lean grey goblin watching him from the shadows. He was wearing filthy breeches which were too large for him and tied at the waist with twine, and a patched jacket which was too small and so threadbare it looked as though he’d been wearing it since he was a young’un. His features were sunken and gaunt, and together with the rags he wore, told Cade that this goblin came from the Depths.

  ‘You’re a forlorn hoper?’ the goblin repeated, glancing round over his shoulders as he spoke.

  ‘What?’ said Cade, feigning ignorance.

  The goblin shuffled closer, and Cade’s nostrils flared involuntarily at the sour odour emanating from the goblin’s clothes.

  ‘I could tell, soon as I spotted you. Fresh-faced, well-clothed and with a pack on your back, but climbing up from the Depths,’ he said, with a nod back down the steep staircase. ‘Jumped the hull at Great Glade, I’ll wager,’ he added, ‘and landed in Drax Adereth’s kingdom . . .’

  Cade swallowed, wondering whether to deny any knowledge of the fourthling gang boss. The goblin stroked his pointed chin and continued.

  ‘Gave you a week, did he? Told you to steal enough valuables to pay for your passage?’

  Cade nodded, the briefest jerk of his head.

  ‘Thought as much,’ said the goblin. He sighed. ‘Only it ain’t that simple, trust me.’

  ‘But . . . but Drax said there were lots of wealthy travellers on board,’ said Cade. ‘In the upper decks . . .’

  ‘Oh, there are. Don’t get me wrong,’ said the goblin with a rueful smile, ‘but stealing up there among the rich folk is far more difficult than down here in the shadows. For one thing, it’s bright and airy and we poor folk stand out. And then there’s the skymarshals. Brutal lot, they are. Always on the lookout for lower-deckers without tickets.’ He shook his head. ‘They like nothing better than skyfiring a pickpocket.’

  Cade swallowed. ‘Skyfiring?’

  The grey goblin rolled his eyes. ‘You don’t want to know, believe me,’ he whispered. ‘But it’s worse than anything Drax Adereth can do to you.’

  Cade trembled. ‘So what should I do?’ he asked.

  The grey goblin merely shrugged. ‘What’s your name, lad?’ he asked.

  ‘Cade.’

  ‘Cade,’ the goblin repeated slowly, as though committing it to memory. ‘I’m Brod,’ he told him. ‘I was a forlorn hoper like you. I jumped the hull in Hive eight voyages ago. Been trying to pay my passage ever since. But like I said, stealing from the upper decks is difficult, and I’ve never managed to get my hands on anything valuable enough to pay Drax off. And once Drax Adereth has his claws into you, he don’t let go.’ He shook his head miserably. ‘I’ve tried to jump ship when the skytavern docked several times, but Drax’s flatheads caught me each time. And I paid the price . . .’

  The grey goblin held up his right hand. The index and middle fingers were missing.

  ‘Drax Adereth did that?’ said Cade.

  Brod nodded. ‘Now I stay down in the lower decks and try to keep out of his way for the most part. And look at me. I’m too broken down and ragged to stand a chance in the upper decks.’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘But you might . . .’

  He took Cade by the sleeve and Cade winced once more at the rank odour of the goblin.

  ‘With a bit of luck and the right plan.’

  · CHAPTER SEVEN ·

  CADE FOLLOWED BROD up the next flight of stairs. It opened up onto a deck that was broader but, since it housed twice as many hammocks, no less crowded. The airless space buzzed and hummed with
activity and conversation.

  ‘This is where the servants of the rich folk up top are quartered,’ said Brod, pulling Cade back into the shadows by the hull wall. He scanned the crowded galley, his eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘Wait here a moment,’ he whispered before darting off between the hammocks.

  Cade lost sight of the grey goblin, and after a few minutes was about to go after him when he felt a tap on the back. He spun round to see Brod smiling back at him, a scarlet topcoat in his hand.

  ‘How did you do that?’ Cade exclaimed.

  ‘I’ve had lots of practice sneaking around down here,’ Brod laughed. ‘But up there, it’s a different matter,’ he went on, his expression growing serious. ‘No shadows to hide in. So you need to blend in.’ He held up the scarlet topcoat. ‘A footman’s jacket, Cade. Put it on. A fresh-faced lad like yourself won’t get noticed. Not like a shabby, grizzled old-timer like me.’

  Cade nodded but said nothing. Even if the look of the old grey goblin didn’t give him away, the smell certainly would.

  ‘Now give me your backpack,’ Brod was saying.

  Cade hesitated. The pack contained all his worldly possessions, and though in truth they didn’t add up to much in value, to him they were priceless.

  ‘Footmen don’t wear backpacks,’ Brod insisted. ‘I’ll look after it for you while you go up top.’

  Reluctantly Cade slipped the pack from his shoulders and handed it to the grey goblin. He put on the scarlet topcoat.

  A smile broke out across Brod’s face. ‘You really look the part,’ he said admiringly. ‘Now, you need to take these stairs till you get to the fourth landing,’ he instructed. ‘To the left are the upper berth cabins, but they have guards posted outside every door. You want to go right, out onto the promenade deck. Try to look busy, as if you’re on an errand, then hang around the deckstools and see what comes your way.’ Brod gave Cade a wink, but then frowned, suddenly serious. ‘And avoid the skymarshals. Blue uniforms, black crushed funnel caps . . .’ He pushed Cade out of the doorway and up the stairs. ‘Good luck,’ he called after him. ‘I’ll be waiting down here for you.’

  As Cade climbed the succession of staircases from landing to landing, the rough-hewn floorboards gave way to varnished corridors, and then carpeted ones. Portholes appeared on the outer walls. Similarly the lighting shifted by degrees from simple tallow candles, through lamps and lanterns, to ornate silver and crystal chandeliers set the length of the blondwood-panelled hallways, while the cabins that lined them became larger and more opulent with each successive staircase.

  When he reached the fourth landing, Cade turned to the right as Brod had instructed, and stepped through an arch, its wooden frame decorated with carved vines and beady-eyed passionbirds, and out onto the open deck. Cade breathed in long and deep, drawing the warm pine-drenched air down into his lungs. After the rank atmosphere in the skytavern’s depths, he thought it was the sweetest fragrance he had ever smelled.

  Cade smoothed down his hair, then pulled at the cuffs of the topcoat as he tried to build up his confidence. A message, he told himself. I have a message for . . . for the deck overseer . . . I’m looking for him . . . He’s wanted back in the midships galley . . .

  His hands were shaking and his mouth felt dry. He was on his own now and felt oddly exposed. Even his backpack was gone, and with it everything he owned in the world.

  Cade looked around. There were two outer decks on the Xanth Filatine, one above the other, sweeping round the top levels of the stern and midships of the mighty vessel. For while the low-deck passengers had to content themselves with, at best, portholes, to see out, the travellers with berths on the upper levels were able to promenade on these open decks. Cade surveyed the travellers milling about him. Freeglades dignitaries and Ambristown stilthouse and mine owners by the look of them, their families in tow.

  A tall, willowy couple, both dressed in ankle-length lemkinfur overcoats, were strolling towards him, arm in arm. The man carried a carved cane of tilderbone which tip-tapped on the dark varnished deckboards; his wife had a skittering fromp on a leash, its gem-encrusted collar sparkling in the midday sun. A corpulent figure wearing a frockcoat and breeches of dark huckaback, a silk shirt with lace at the collar and cuffs, and knee-length leather boots, was leaning over the deck-rail, looking out across the expanse of forest below with a bored expression on his face that suggested this was just one of many such journeys he had undertaken.

  Young’uns ran up and down the open deck, just like those in the Depths below – except these wore expensive-looking clothes, had neatly cut hair and clean, polished faces . . .

  Cade paused for a moment, and shined his boots as best he could on the backs of his legs, shifting from one foot to the other. He knew it probably made little difference, but it made him feel better.

  Further along the promenade deck, Cade could see clusters of deckstools and upholstered sunbenches, where wealthy merchants and their wives, resplendent in bejewelled damask, taffeta trimmed with fur, and with dazzling jewellery at their necks, their ears, their fingers and toes, were seated. As he watched, they exchanged pleasantries with one another, clinked glasses of fine sapwine and nibbled on the canapés of pearlshrimp, smoked beltane and purple caviar being offered to them by servants in scarlet topcoats that matched the one he wore.

  Cade was overwhelmed. It was all so exquisitely expensive, he thought; so luxurious, so opulent, so refined.

  The skytavern, Cade now saw, glancing over the side, was cruising low in the sky. Its mighty hull was no more than half a dozen strides clear of the tallest treetops.

  A little way off from the deckstools were spyglasses mounted on the deck-rails. As Cade watched, passengers rose from their stools and benches and took turns at the spyglasses to take in the spectacular views. And when they did so, they often left something behind, marking their place – an expensive beaded shawl, a pearl-handled purse, a quilted jacket with who knows what riches in its pockets.

  Cade realized why Brod had suggested he visit this spot.

  Taking a deep breath, he set off across the open deck, taking long, purposeful steps, and carefully weaving in and out of the promenading passengers. As he approached the first cluster of deckstools, he saw three underbiter matrons huddled together around the nearest spyglass, taking it in turn to look through the lens and point out the quarms and fromps and weezits they spotted in the forest below. One of them was ticking off the wildlife they had seen on a long card, illustrated with Deepwoods fauna.

  ‘I do believe that’s a rotsucker over there in that ironwood pine,’ one of them observed.

  ‘Oh no, dear, far too small,’ her companion corrected her. ‘I think you’ll find it’s a daggerslash.’

  On the stools behind them lay their shawls, parasols and purses, carelessly discarded. The purses had gold clasps and were studded with mirepearls. One lay open, its contents – silver powder-cases and little flasks of Riverrise tonics – spilling out on the velvet cushion of the deckstool.

  Just one of these purses was all it would take, Cade thought, his fingers itching with excitement despite himself. He would be able to pay for his passage and Drax Adereth would be off his back.

  Heart thumping, Cade approached the stools, only for a young tufted goblin in an embroidered waistcoat to beat him to it. As Cade watched open-mouthed, the goblin shot out a hand, grabbed the open purse and made off with it at full pelt back along the deck.

  From behind Cade there came a gruff roar and, turning, he saw a large hammerhead goblin in the dark blue uniform of a skymarshal step out onto the deck and block the tufted goblin’s escape.

  ‘Oof!’

  The tufted goblin ran into the hammerhead’s barrel chest. He bounced off, and was sent sprawling on the dark varnished boards.

  ‘Dirty little snatchpurse,’ growled the skymarshal, picking up the now whimpering goblin by a tufted ear. ‘I’d keep a closer eye on your valuables if I were you, madam,’ he said, returning the purse to th
e horrified underbiter matron.

  ‘Thank you, Marshal,’ she simpered with a tusked smile.

  ‘Lowdown filth!’ exclaimed the second matron, turning from the spyglass.

  ‘I trust he’ll be adequately punished,’ added the third, prodding the squealing tufted goblin with her parasol.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, madam,’ said the skymarshal darkly. ‘It’s skyfiring for thievery on the Xanth Filatine.’

  The hulking hammerhead barged past Cade without a second glance, dragging his prisoner with him. As they disappeared through the arch, Cade could hear the tufted goblin’s high-pitched appeals for mercy growing increasingly urgent as they echoed up from the stair-well.

  ‘I say, you, boy!’ Cade turned to see the first underbiter matron staring at him through small, yellow-tinged eyes. ‘Fetch me a glass of sparkling sapwine, and be quick about it!’

  Cade nodded, then turned and hurried gratefully away.

  · CHAPTER EIGHT ·

  CADE HEADED BACK down the stairs. His nerve had gone, at least for the time being. Stealing was going to be a lot more difficult than he’d thought.

  ‘You, there! Have you brought the phrax ice?’

  Cade stopped on the bottom step. A tall fourthling in a conical hat had stuck his head out of one of the cabins along the corridor to Cade’s right and was looking at him with an exasperated expression on his face.

  ‘No?’ the fourthling exclaimed. ‘Well, for pity’s sake, come in here and watch the eggs while I go and find out what’s happened to it. I ordered two buckets of ice an hour ago . . . I mean, is that too much to ask?’

  Cade looked about him. There was no one around, but even so, this was the upper decks and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

  ‘Er . . . yes, sir. Right away, sir,’ he said, smoothing down the front of his scarlet footman’s coat.

  The fourthling gestured for him to enter the cabin.