Stormchaser

by Paul Stewart

  Both were coming closer.

  •C H A P T E R S E V E N•

  ASSENT AND BETRAYAL

  Mother Horsefeather watched uneasily as the ancient figure approached Cloud Wolf. She knew from bitter experience that it could be disastrous to allow the different parties the supply and demand, so to speak to meet. Far better to remain in the middle: fixing the deal, pulling the strings. And yet, as Forficule had pointed out, since she had singularly failed to persuade Cloud Wolf to embark on the journey, the newcomer was their only hope.

  He leaned forwards and tapped Cloud Wolf with his staff. ‘Arise, Quintinius Verginix,’ he said.

  Twig watched his father climb to his feet and look up. He saw his eyes gleaming with reverence, with respect, and at that moment, Twig knew with absolute certainty who the old, shabbily dressed person must be. It was his father’s erstwhile patron and mentor, the Professor of Light.

  ‘It has been a long time, Quintinius,’ he said. ‘The finest Knight Academic in a hundred generations, you were yet…’ He paused and looked at Twig, seeing him for the first time. ‘Who is this, Horsefeather?’ he demanded.

  ‘The lad is with me,’ Cloud Wolf answered for her. ‘Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of him.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ the professor asked.

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Cloud Wolf, polite yet firm.

  The Professor of Light nodded resignedly. ‘We failed you, Quintinius Verginix. I appreciate that. Now, we come to you, cap in hand. We need your help.’

  Watching his father shuffling about under the professor’s penetrating gaze, Twig was reminded of himself. And when Cloud Wolf spoke, it was his own faltering tones that Twig heard in his voice.

  ‘I… errm … that is … Mother Horsefeather has already outlined the … the problem.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said the professor, surprised. ‘Then you will understand the gravity of the situation or should that be the lack of gravity of the situation,’ he added, chuckling at his little joke.

  Cloud Wolf smiled weakly. ‘Sanctaphrax is truly in danger then?’ he said.

  ‘It could break free of its moorings at any moment,’ the professor said. ‘We must have fresh supplies of stormphrax.’

  Cloud Wolf listened in silence.

  ‘The windtouchers and cloudwatchers have already confirmed that a Great Storm is imminent’ the professor continued. ‘By the time it arrives, someone must be ready to chase it to the Twilight Woods so that he might retrieve the stormphrax it creates. And that someone, my dear Quintinius Verginix’ he said, ‘is you. There is not another soul alive equal to the task. Will you help us or will you see Sanctaphrax cast for ever into open sky?’

  Cloud Wolf stared back impassively. Twig couldn’t begin to guess the thoughts spinning round his head. Yes? Or no? Which was the answer to be?

  Then Cloud Wolf gave the slightest of nods to the Professor of Light’s proposal. Twig’s heart pounded with excitement. No matter how minimal the response, his father had accepted.

  They were to go stormchasing.

  On the other side of the door with his ear pressed against the wood, someone else was excited to hear of the proposed voyage to the Twilight Woods. It was Slyvo Spleethe, the Stormchaser’s quartermaster. He listened carefully to the plans being made, memorizing each and every detail mentioned. There were those who would pay well for such information.

  At the sound of chairs being pushed back, Spleethe pulled away from the door and slipped back into the bar-room. He couldn’t be caught eavesdropping now. The good captain would discover soon enough that his plans had been overheard.

  By Undertown standards, the Leagues Chamber was luxurious that is, there were floorboards rather than trodden earth underfoot and there was glass in the majority of the windows. Most of the room was taken up with a giant ring-shaped table, at which were seated all the senior leaguesmen who had been available at such short notice.

  In the circular hole at the centre of the table was a swivel stool. And upon this sat Slyvo Spleethe.

  Simenon Xintax, the Leaguesmaster, rapped loudly on the table with his gavel. ‘Order!’ he bellowed. ‘Order!!’

  The Leagues Chamber fell silent, and all eyes turned towards him. Xintax arose from his chair.

  ‘Tricorn mitres on!’ he said, and there was a flurry of activity as each of the leaguesmen picked up their headgear and put it into place. Xintax nodded approvingly. ‘I declare open this emergency session of the Undertown League of Free Merchants,’ he announced. ‘Let the questioning commence.’

  The leaguesmen remained silent, waiting for Xintax, as chairperson, to frame the first question, the most important question the question that would set the tone for all subsequent questions. For truth, as the leaguesmen were well aware, was a slippery thing. It had to be approached with care if it was not to change into something completely different.

  Xintax took his seat. ‘If we were to ask you, Slyvo Spleethe, whether you be an honest individual’ he began, in the contorted form that tradition demanded, ‘how would you verily reply?’

  Spleethe gulped. Now that’s a difficult one, he thought. Certainly he intended to answer the leagues-man’s questions honestly. But as to whether he himself was honest, well, an honest person would not have been eavesdropping in the first place. He shrugged, and wiped away the droplets of sweat from above his top lip. ‘It’s like this, you see …’ he began.

  ‘You will answer the question with a yes or a no,’ Xintax interrupted. ‘You will answer all questions with a yes or a no. Nothing more, nothing less. Is that quite clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Spleethe.

  Xintax nodded approvingly. ‘So, I repeat. If we were to ask you, Slyvo Spleethe, whether you be an honest individual, how would you verily reply?’

  ‘No,’ said Spleethe.

  A ripple of surprise went round the table. Then all the leaguesmen thrust their arms up into the air. ‘I. 1.1.1,’ they called, each one trying to grab the chairperson’s attention.

  ‘Leandus Leadbelly, Gutters and Gougers,’ he said.

  Leandus, a short angry-looking character with one dark eyebrow which ran the width of his heavy brow, nodded towards Spleethe. ‘If we were to ask you whether you have information concerning your captain, Cloud Wolf, the former Quintinius Verginix, how would you verily reply?’

  Spleethe swivelled round to face his questioner. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Farquhar Armwright,’ said Xintax. ‘Gluesloppers and Ropeteasers.’

  ‘If we were to ask you whether the Stormchaser was currently sky worthy, how would you verily reply?’

  ‘No’ said Spleethe, swivelling back again.

  ‘Ellerex Earthclay, Melders and Moulders.’

  ‘If we were to ask you whether, should the need arise, you would be prepared to kill one of your fellow crew-members, how would you verily reply?’

  Spleethe breathed in sharply. ‘Yes.’

  And so it continued. The leaguesmen put their questions and Spleethe answered them. One after the other after the other. There was no order to the questions at least, if there was, then Spleethe was blind to it. As far as he was concerned it would have made far more sense if he’d been allowed to tell them precisely what he’d overheard. But no. The interrogation continued, with the questions coming thicker and faster as the time went on.

  Little by little, the entire story was revealed and not just the bare facts. By pursuing the information so obliquely, the leaguesmen managed to build up a picture, complete in every single detail and, with it, the knowledge of precisely what to do.

  Simenon Xintax arose for a second time. He raised his arms. ‘The questioning be concluded,’ he said. ‘If we were to ask you, Slyvo Spleethe, to swear allegiance to the Undertown League of Free Merchants, forswearing all other ties and pledging obedience to our will, how would you verily reply?’

  Spleethe’s head was in a whirl. From the questions they had framed, he guessed that untold wealth was on offer. Plus
a sky ship of his own. Plus, most important of all, league status. But he also knew precisely what was expected of him and for such a feat, Spleethe wanted more than wealth. He wanted power.

  ‘I answer this question with a question of my own, be it permitted’ he began. Xintax nodded. ‘If I were to ask you whether, for the successful conclusion of this hazardous endeavour, I might become the new Leaguesmaster of Undertown League of Free Merchants, how would you verily reply?’

  Xintax’s eyes narrowed. He had learned much about Slyvo Spleethe through the questioning. The quartermaster, he knew, was a greedy creature, treacherous and self-important his question came as no surprise. ‘Yes’ he answered.

  ‘In that case’ Spleethe smiled, ‘my answer be also yes.’

  On hearing his reply, the leaguesmen all climbed solemnly to their feet, clutched their tricorn mitres to their breasts and hung their heads. Simenon Xintax spoke for them all.

  ‘We have asked, you have answered, and a deal has been struck’ he said. ‘But be sure of this, Spleethe. If you should attempt to dupe, deceive or double-cross us, we shall not rest until you have been hunted down and destroyed. Do you understand?’

  Spleethe stared back grimly ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I understand. But be aware, Xintax, that what is true for the woodboar is also true for the sow. Those who cross me do not live long enough to tell the tale.’

  Back in the stuffy room behind the bar of the Bloodoak tavern, a mood of optimism held sway. Once business had been concluded with the flurry of double-handshakes that ritual required Mother Horsefeather had rung a bell to summon her servants. It was time for the feast which had been prepared to celebrate the successful conclusion to the deal.

  The food was delicious and plentiful, and the woodale flowed freely. Twig sat in contented silence, listening with only half an ear as the others talked on and on. Stormchasing. Stormchasing. It was all he could think about, and his heart thrilled with anticipation.

  ‘I still think it was very forward of you to assume that we’d come to an agreement,’ he heard Cloud Wolf chuckling as he tucked into his succulent hammelhorn steak.

  ‘Who is to say I would not have provided a meal even if we had not?’ Mother Horsefeather said.

  ‘I say so,’ said Cloud Wolf. ‘I know you, Mother Horsefeather. ’If you do anything for nothing, do it for yourself- isn’t that how the saying goes …?’

  Mother Horsefeather clacked her beak with amusement. ‘Oh, Wolfie!’ she said. ‘You are a one!’ She rose to her feet and lifted her glass. ‘Since, however, the matter has been settled to everyone’s satisfaction, I would like to propose a toast. To success,’ she said.

  ‘To success!’ came the enthusiastic response.

  The Professor of Light turned to Cloud Wolf. ‘I am so very glad you have consented’ he said warmly. ‘After all, I would not have liked to entrust so valuable a cargo to a lesser person.’

  ‘You mean the stormphrax,’ Cloud Wolf said. ‘We’ve got to find the stuff first.’

  ‘No, Quintinius, not the stormphrax,’ the professor said, and laughed. ‘I was talking about myself, for I shall be accompanying you. Together, with your skill and my knowledge, we shall return with enough stormphrax to end the current madness of chain-building once and for all.’

  Cloud Wolf frowned. ‘But won’t Vilnix be suspicious should he get wind of it?’

  ‘That’s where we come in,’ Mother Horsefeather said, and nodded towards the nightwaif. ‘Tomorrow morning, Forficule will pay a visit to Sanctaphrax to announce the Professor of Light’s tragic accident and untimely death.’

  ‘I see that, between you, you’ve thought of everything,’ said Cloud Wolf. ‘There is, however, one last thing I have to say’ He turned to Twig.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Twig laughed. ‘But It’s all right. I promise I won’t mess up on this voyage not even once.’

  ‘No, Twig, you will not,’ said Cloud Wolf sternly. ‘For you are not coming with us.’

  Twig gasped. His face fell; his heart sank. How could his father say such a thing? ‘B … but what will I do? Where will I go?’ he asked.

  It’s all right, Twigsy‘ he heard Mother Horsefeather saying. ’It’s all been sorted. You’re to stay with me…’

  ‘No, no, no,’ Twig muttered, hardly able to take in what was happening. ‘You can’t do this to me. It’s not fair …’

  ‘Twig!’ his father barked. ‘Be still!’

  But Twig could not be still. ‘You just don’t trust me, do you?’ he shouted. ‘You think I’m no good at anything. You think I’m useless …’

  ‘No, Twig,’ he broke in. ‘I do not think you are useless, and one day, Sky willing, you will become a formidable sky pirate captain of that I am sure. But, at the moment, you lack experience.’

  ‘And how will I gain that experience if you leave me behind?’ Twig demanded. ‘Besides,’ he said hotly, ‘no-one alive has any experience of stormchasing. Not even you.’

  Cloud Wolf did not rise to the bait. ‘I have made my decision,’ he said calmly. ‘You can accept it with good grace, or you can rant and rave like a child. Either way, you are not coming, and that is an end to it.’

  •C H A P T E R E I G H T•

  DEPARTURE

  ‘Setting sail?’ Tern Barkwater exclaimed.

  ‘That’s what the Stone Pilot reckons,’ said Spiker.

  ‘But that’s admirable news,’ said Tern. ‘Why, three days ago, after all the trouble with the ironwood, and then losing the rudder-wheel like that, I had truly feared that the Stormchaser might never set sail again. Yet now look at her all fixed and ready, and raring to go. I en’t never seen the brasses gleam so bright.’

  ‘And It’s not just the brasses,’ said Stope Boltjaw. ‘Haven’t you noticed the sails and ropes? And the rigging? Brand spanking new, the lot of them.’

  ‘And the weight-workings have been tuned to perfection as well,’ said Spiker.

  ‘We must be about to embark on something very important,’ said Tern Barkwater, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

  ‘You don’t need to be a genius to work that one out’ said Stope Boltjaw. ‘The question is, what?’

  Tern shook his head. ‘I’m sure the cap’n’ll tell us when he’s good and ready’ he said.

  ‘Aye, well’ said Stope Boltjaw. ‘If we are to set sail then we’d do well to leave now, under the cover of darkness.’

  ‘On the contrary’ said Tern Barkwater. ‘We should bide our time and wait until morning.’

  ‘What, and set off in full view of the leagues patrols?’ said Stope Boltjaw. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’

  ‘Not I, Stope’ Tern retorted. ‘It is you who has forgotten that, with the Stormchaser as she now is, we could outrun any and every league ship they might care to send after us.’

  ‘Yes, but…’ Stope protested.

  ‘And anyhow’ Tern Barkwater went on, ‘the Mire is a treacherous place at the best of times crossing it in darkness is madness. What with them poisonous blow-holes erupting all round about. And nowhere to attach the grappling-irons in a storm. Not to mention that It’s impossible to see where the sky ends and the ground begins. I remember once I couldn’t have been much more than a lad at the time we were on our way back from…’

  He was interrupted by Spiker. ‘It’s the captain’ he hissed. ‘And he’s not alone.’

  Tern Barkwater fell silent, and he, Stope Boltjaw and Spiker turned to greet the two figures climbing the gangplank.

  ‘Cap’n,’ said Tem warmly ‘Just the person I wanted to see. Perhaps you could settle a little dispute for us. Stope, here, maintains that…’

  ‘No, Tem, I can’t’ Cloud Wolf snapped. He peered round into the darkness. ‘Where’s Hubble?’

  ‘Below deck, cap’n,’ said Tem. ‘With Mugbutt. I believe the pair of them are helping the Stone Pilot make his final adjustments to the new rudder-wheel.’

  Cloud Wolf nodded. ‘And Spleethe?’

  The sky pirates shrugg
ed. ‘Spleethe, we haven’t seen,’ said Tem Barkwater. ‘We lost him in Undertown. He must still be on shore.’

  Cloud Wolf turned on him furiously. ‘He what?’ he roared. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that Slyvo Spleethe is never ever to be left to his own devices? Who knows what he might be up to now?’

  ‘One minute he was with us in the Bloodoak,’ Stope Boltjaw explained. ‘The next minute he was gone.’

  Cloud Wolf shook his head in disbelief. ‘Spleethe is our quartermaster’ he explained to the Professor of Light. ‘A slippery character with a mutinous heart. I’ve half a mind to set sail without him. Trouble is, he’s good at his job. And with Twig staying behind, that’ll put us at two crewmen down.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t risk it.’

  ‘Twig’s staying behind?’ Tern Barkwater said, surprised. ‘Has the lad fallen ill?’

  ‘No, Tern, he has not’ Cloud Wolf said angrily. ‘Though it is no concern of yours what has happened to him.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘I will not have such insubordination in front of our guest.’ He turned to the Professor of Light. ‘Now, if you’d like to follow me, sire, I’ll show you to your quarters myself.’

  ‘Thank you, I should like that’ the professor said. ‘There are a few last-minute calculations I need to work on before we set sail.’

  ‘Quite, quite’ said Cloud Wolf, and ushered the professor away before he could say too much about the proposed voyage.

  The three sky pirates looked at one another in confusion. Who was this old character? Why was Twig not coming with them? And where were they going? Cloud Wolf suddenly spun round. ‘Idle speculation is the pastime of the fool’ he remarked, causing them all to look down guiltily at the deck. ‘You will inform me the moment Spleethe returns’ he said.

  ‘Aye-aye, cap’n’ came the reply.

  *

  Twig stared down miserably into his glass of woodfizz. Mother Horsefeather had poured the drink long ago ‘to raise his spirits’ as she’d commented to Forficule. Now it was warm and flat.