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

by Paul Stewart

  Once dressed, Cade slowly descended the stairs, marvelling at the skill involved in the making of the spiral staircase with its triangular treads, its carved spindles and coil of banister. At the bottom, he stepped into a room that was similar to the bedchamber, but larger. It was fashioned from the same conjunction of beams and plaited willow, and there were five windows set high in the walls.

  There was a large stove at one side of the room, with a spiral chimney that snaked its way up to the beamed ceiling and outside. Suspended on ropes from the beams was a rack, from which pots, pans and skillets, ladles and knives hung on hooks. Three buoyant chairs at the centre of the room swayed gently on the end of chains attached to the copperwood floorboards. A row of hooks by the arched door were laden with tools and weapons – axes, hammers, saws; fishing rods and nets; bows and arrows, lances, harpoons, and what looked like an old phraxmusket, adapted with a spyglass at one end and a long, thin muzzle at the other.

  And there, returning a snare to its hook, was Thorne Lammergyre.

  ‘Cade Quarter,’ he said, striding across the room to the bottom of the stairs and gripping Cade by the shoulders. ‘I’ve been worried about you. How do you feel, lad?’

  ‘Good as new,’ Cade said. ‘Celestia gave me some medicine . . .’

  ‘Celestia is highly skilled in the healing arts,’ said Thorne approvingly. ‘Among many other things. Her father, Blatch Helmstoft, has taught her well, and what she hasn’t learned from him, she has picked up from the goblin tribes of the Western Woods. She’s a good friend to have out here, Cade,’ he added, showing him to a chair.

  ‘You’re a good friend too,’ said Cade, sitting in one of the floating chairs.

  ‘Not as good as I should have been,’ said Thorne, shaking his head. He sat down next to Cade. ‘I knew that storm would sorely test that little cabin of yours, and yet you seemed so pleased with it I didn’t have the heart to point out its failings. I should have insisted you come back here with me.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault—’ Cade began, his face colouring with shame and embarrassment – but the grey goblin held up his hand to silence him.

  ‘Folks have to look out for each other here in the Deepwoods,’ said Thorne, ‘else we’re no better than the savage trogs infesting the water caverns. I tell you, it fair broke my heart when I found you lying there in the lake meadow, your cabin gone and a fever burning you up . . .’

  Cade reached out and patted the grey goblin on the arm. ‘But you did look out for me,’ he said gratefully. ‘You brought me back here. You sent for Celestia . . .’

  Just then Rumblix came bounding in through the open door, yelping and squealing with delight. Half a dozen strides from Cade, he launched himself into the air on his powerful hind legs. Cade opened his arms wide, and the pup slammed against his chest, all but knocking the pair of them out of the chair and onto the ground.

  ‘Rumblix! Rumblix!’ Cade laughed as the pup’s tongue slurped at his face. ‘I missed you too, boy!’ he told him.

  From the doorway, he heard Celestia laugh. ‘That’s a fine pup you’ve got there. But in need of attention. I’ve fed and watered him, greased his feet, groomed his coat,’ she said. ‘And I’ve left you some kit for him. Make sure you use it.’

  Cade nodded. ‘Thank you, Celestia,’ he said. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  Sleek and healthy-looking, Rumblix wriggled and squirmed in his lap.

  ‘My father and I live in a tree cabin to the west of the lake,’ said Celestia, fastening the ties of her cape at her throat. ‘You must come and visit us.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ said Cade as he managed to disentangle himself from Rumblix’s grasping paws and place him down on the floor.

  Celestia swept back her hair; her green eyes sparkled. ‘Good luck, Cade Quarter,’ she said. Then, with a little wave, she stepped out of the doorway and was gone.

  Thorne turned to Cade, his face serious. ‘There’s something I want to show you,’ he said and pulled a roll of parchment from the inside of his jacket. ‘I was working on it while you were recovering.’

  He led Cade across the room to a table, unrolled the parchment and fixed it in place with four flat pebbles, one placed at each corner. Cade looked at the leadstick sketch drawn onto it; the bisected lines, the calculations, the block-print annotations.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘This,’ said Thorne, his blue eyes twinkling, ‘is your new cabin.’

  · CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE ·

  HAD IT REALLY been less than three weeks since he and Thorne had begun work on his new cabin? Cade wondered as he pulled the scroll from his inside pocket and unrolled it.

  The parchment was looking somewhat the worse for wear, frayed at the edges and with dried mud smeared in places. The actual drawings that Thorne had made were, however, still clear. A one-room cabin set against the side of the ridge and raised on stilts, and with a set of stairs leading down to the rock jetty from a jutting veranda. Behind the cabin, there was a storeroom carved into the cliff. The design was simple enough, but when Cade had first seen it, he had to admit he’d been daunted – though he had tried hard not to show it.

  The first stage had taken a week. An ironwood tree had been chopped down and turned into planks and posts. Then the stilts were put in place – stout ironwood stakes sunk deep into holes in the ground and anchored with rocks, then strengthened with diagonal crossbeams. Afterwards, the pair of them had constructed a platform of ironwood planks on top. The result was sturdy, and high enough to escape even the worst flooding from the lake.

  Next it was time to dig out the space for the storeroom by tunnelling into the ridge. But on the first morning of that second week, when Thorne Lammergyre came down for breakfast in the hive hut, Cade had noticed that the grey goblin looked hollow-eyed and unusually gaunt. Cade had been sleeping in a hammock slung from the ceiling beams beside the lufwood stove, and had got up especially early to lay out the hand-picks and spades they would need.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he’d asked.

  Thorne had stared past him, out of the window and across the lake, which was wreathed in coils of early morning mist.

  ‘Thorne?’ Cade had touched his arm. ‘Thorne, what is it?’

  The goblin had flinched, then re-focused his gaze. ‘I’m . . . Sorry, lad. I was miles away. Back at the Midwood Marshes.’

  Cade had frowned. ‘The Midwood Marshes?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Thorne had sighed. ‘There was a battle there—’

  ‘A famous battle,’ Cade had broken in. ‘I’ve heard of it. Between the armies of Great Glade and Hive . . . That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Aye, well, sometimes I relive those times. And my part in them . . .’ Thorne had hesitated, his eyes glazing over as memories played inside his head. ‘War’s a terrible thing, Cade,’ the grey goblin had said quietly, before slumping down at the table. ‘I’m afraid I’m not going to be much use to you for a day or so,’ he’d added weakly.

  And so Cade had set off alone along the lakeshore to the site of his new cabin, and had begun to dig. He’d made good progress. The air had filled with a cloud of earthy dust, and the platform had soon become laden with a fast-growing heap of pale yellow sandstone.

  By the time the sun had reached its zenith on that first day of digging, Cade had been able to stand inside the shallow hole he’d hacked out of the cliff. The muscles in his arms and shoulders throbbed with exertion, and he’d been hot, with sweat running down his face and back. But shaded from the sun in the ever-deepening hole, the temperature had been far lower than outside – perfect for the storeroom which Cade could already see in his mind’s eye, stocked to the ceiling with cured meat, smoked fish and provisions of all kinds, foraged from the surrounding woods . . .

  Cade had shuddered as the image of the misshapen creature he’d seen on the night of the storm invaded his thoughts. Had it simply been a fever-induced figment of his imagination? Cade had hoped so, yet ever since tha
t night he had avoided going into the forest alone. And when chopping down the ironwood trees for the cabin had meant venturing into the dappled shadows beyond the treeline, he was grateful to have Thorne at his side.

  Fortunately Thorne had recovered the following day and between them, the storeroom had been excavated in a week, with Cade loosening the rock, and Thorne shovelling it outside then loading it onto a barrow which he pushed to the end of the jetty and tipped into the lake. Four steps were cut into the rock which led down into the main room. The ceiling was levelled out, and wooden props were set along the side walls to strengthen the structure.

  By the beginning of the third week, with the storeroom finally completed, it had been time to start work on the cabin itself. Whereas the stilts, the veranda and the stairs that led down to the jetty had been made of ironwood, Thorne’s plans had indicated that two different timbers should be used for the little dwelling. It would mean heading back into the forest.

  Thorne had found Cade poring over the plans in the hall of the hive hut.

  ‘Looks like it was your turn to be afflicted by memories last night, judging by those dark circles beneath your eyes,’ the grey goblin had observed.

  ‘We have to go logging again?’ Cade had asked miserably.

  ‘That’s right,’ Thorne had said. ‘We need lufwood – a light and buoyant timber – for the walls. And leadwood for the roof shingles. It’s good and heavy. It’ll anchor everything down. And best of all, it’s lightning-proof.’ Thorne had smiled. ‘Cheer up, Cade,’ he’d added. ‘I’ve asked Celestia to lend us a hand.’

  Sure enough, when Cade and Thorne had arrived back at the site of his new cabin, Celestia was waiting for them, sitting in the saddle of her prowlgrin, Calix. Cade remembered how her hair had been tied back with a cord of red silk, and her green eyes had looked straight into his, making him blush and turn away.

  The three of them had walked up the meadowlands and into the forest, with Calix and Rumblix trotting along behind them, and Cade had found himself glancing around anxiously. Every shadow had seemed suspicious; every rustling leaf and cracking twig had set his senses jangling.

  Calm down, he’d told himself. It’s all right. There’s nothing there.

  Thorne had soon spotted what he was searching for: a lufwood tree some twenty strides or so tall, its rough bark dark and pitted and pale leaves dense overhead. The goblin had handed Cade one of the two axes he carried in his backpack and the pair of them had set to work cutting down the tree. As Cade got into a smooth rhythm, driving the hard edge of the axe into the wood, his fears had gradually subsided.

  The lufwood tree had proved much easier to cut down than the ironwood, and minutes later Thorne had stood back and bellowed, ‘Timber down!’

  The tree had fallen with a whisper and a thump.

  When they’d stripped the branches and sawn the massive trunk in two, Thorne and Celestia had tied one of the logs to ropes, which they attached to Calix’s saddle.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ Celestia had said, taking the prowlgrin by his bridle.

  Calix had grunted and pulled forward and, with Cade at the back, pushing, the log slowly shifted forward. Leaving Thorne to find a leadwood tree, the two of them had hauled the lufwood log out of the forest and down the meadowlands and unloaded it next to the platform. Then they had returned for the second log. It was when they were halfway back down the meadowlands that Cade had heard Celestia laugh.

  ‘What is it?’ he’d asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she’d said. ‘It’s just . . . When I first saw you lying on that bed, all pale and shaking and burning up with the fever, I thought, uh-oh, a city boy. He’s not going to last long out here in the Deepwoods. Yet here you are, with your very own cabin half built.’

  ‘Thanks to Thorne,’ Cade had said. ‘And you,’ he’d added bashfully.

  ‘Oh, we’ve helped a little,’ Celestia had said lightly. She’d fixed Cade with her piercing green eyes. ‘But you’ve done most of the work. Not bad for a city boy.’

  At the sound of Celestia’s praise, Cade had felt as buoyant as blazing lufwood – and almost as hot. He’d lowered his gaze, his face burning.

  ‘Thank you,’ he’d murmured.

  They had returned to Thorne in the forest to discover that the grey goblin had chopped down a leadwood tree, sawn off the lower branches and already split them into dozens of thin, rectangular pieces.

  ‘Your shingles,’ he’d said, looking up. ‘Ten more branches should do it.’

  They’d spent the rest of that day making the shingles, and that evening, with the forest darkening around them, they had loaded them onto Calix, who carried them back to the lakeside. Then Celestia had left them, galloping on Calix through the treetops to the hanging cabin she shared with her father, and which Cade longed to see.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay and help,’ she’d told Cade as she left, ‘but I promised my father I’d be home by nightfall.’

  ‘You . . . you’ll come back to see the cabin when it’s finished, won’t you?’ Cade had called after her.

  ‘When do you think that’ll be?’ Celestia had asked.

  ‘Three days, I’d say,’ Thorne broke in.

  ‘See you in three days, then,’ Celestia’s voice had floated back to them. ‘City boy.’

  The following day, Thorne and Cade had erected the walls of the cabin, which they strengthened with ceiling beams as the sun set and the light began to fail. On the next day, while Cade – under Thorne’s instructions – had knocked up a banister around the veranda, the grey goblin had put a window into each side of the cabin and a door at the front.

  Now it was the final day of construction, and as Cade stood looking at Thorne’s tattered, mud-smeared plans, all that remained to be done was fixing the shingles to the roof. With a lot of hard work, and the help of his friends, it had taken less than three weeks to build a perfect home beside the beautiful waters of the Farrow Lake.

  The previous evening, Thorne Lammergyre had shown him how to fix the leadwood shingles in place. First he drilled two holes at the top of the piece of wood with a bradawl, one on each side, then he nailed it to the crossbeam, taking care to align it with the neighbouring shingles. He had made it look easy. But it was not easy – as Cade found out as he set to work that morning.

  Thorne was out on the lake checking his nets, and Celestia had said she would visit later. Cade wanted to have the roof finished before either of them returned.

  The timber was hard and shiny. Sawing it had proved difficult, but Cade soon found that it was close to impossible to bore the holes without either the point of the awl skidding off to one side or, worse, splitting the shingle in two. And even with the holes in place, more often than not when it came to fixing the tiles to the roof, Cade managed to bring the hammer down hard on his fingers and thumb. His left hand was a mass of bruises and swellings.

  ‘Not that way, you greenhorn,’ said Cade, imitating the grey goblin’s gruff voice as he struggled with the shingles. ‘I swear, if you were any wetter behind the ears, you’d drown.’

  He could mimic Thorne’s voice almost as well as that pet lemkin of his. And as Cade and Thorne had worked together, they had fallen into an easy, gently mocking banter.

  ‘All right, all right – old-timer,’ Cade replied to himself in his own voice. ‘When I’ve finished bashing my thumbs, I’ll fashion you a walking stick . . .’

  Cade carried on both sides of the conversation as he secured the shingles to the sloping roof row by row, continuing up from the bottom to the top. He was on the very last one, carefully tap-tap-tapping the nail into the beam beneath and crooning, ‘Nearly there, old-timer. Nearly there . . .’ when he heard Rumblix yelping and squealing with excitement below. He looked down to see the prowlgrin pup dashing up the meadowlands towards the edge of the forest where, a moment later, Celestia Helmstoft appeared, sitting astride her own prowlgrin, Calix.

  Cade’s heartbeat quickened. Her long black hair was up and, as she
approached, the low sun glinted on the silver clasps. She raised a hand when she saw Cade staring at her, and smiled.

  ‘Greetings, city boy!’ she called out. ‘Am I mistaken, or were you talking to yourself up there?’

  ‘Of course not, Celestia,’ Cade called back, and laughed. ‘You probably heard Thorne’s lemkin.’

  The girl tugged lightly at Calix’s reins and the prowlgrin started into a gallop. Rumblix kept up, bouncing around at his side. Cade finished knocking the nail into place, then climbed down the ladder.

  Celestia pulled up beside him. Cade realized that instead of the tooled leather jacket she usually wore, she had on a sleeveless homespun tunic and mid-calf breeches.

  ‘The cabin’s looking wonderful,’ she was saying. ‘Is it finished?’

  Cade beamed proudly. ‘Just this minute,’ he said.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Celestia. She swung her leg over Calix’s back and jumped down lightly to the ground. ‘Then I’ve come at just the right moment.’ She patted the leather satchel at her side. ‘I’ve brought a bottle of my father’s finest sapwine. I thought we could all celebrate . . .’ She frowned and looked around. ‘Where’s Thorne?’

  ‘He’s checking his nets,’ said Cade, and looked across the lake at the sun, which was hovering above the horizon, large and blood-red. ‘He should be back soon.’ He laughed. ‘It’ll be fish for supper again, no doubt. I think I’m turning into a fish!’

  Celestia’s face suddenly became deadly serious. She reached out and ran her finger across one side of Cade’s neck, then the other.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ she said darkly.

  ‘What . . . what do you mean?’ Cade asked.

  ‘Gills,’ she said, and threw back her head in laughter. ‘You’re growing gills. Let’s go and check them out,’ she said, and with that she sprinted down the jetty, and then kicked off her boots and launched herself into the lake. ‘Come on!’ she shouted.