Clash of the Sky Galleons (28 page)

Whirr! Crunch!

Sagbutt swung again and a second wave of grey goblins was mown down like glade-wheat before a scythe. All around, the shrieks and howls intensified, but
the crowd of grey goblins gathered at the
Galerider’s
sides seemed now to hesitate before the fearsome flat-head’s blade.

‘Braces secured!’ Steg’s voice could just be heard rising up from below the fore-deck.

‘Now, Filbus!’ Wind Jackal roared, and the quartermaster doused the warm rock. With a creaking and splintering of wood, the
Galerider
lurched and battled with the lullabee tree to break free. A bloodied Sagbutt looked up at Wind Jackal, a great smile on his broad face.

‘Sagbutt repel boarders, Captain,’ he beamed. ‘Sagbutt …
Urrrghh!’

Suddenly, the flat-head goblin’s eyes bulged and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, followed by a stream of blood, as a black barbed arrow pierced his throat. Sagbutt - the smile
frozen on his face - toppled forwards onto the bloodstained deck as the
Galerider
broke free of the tree and soared up into the air in a steep climb.

The grey goblin swarm clinging to the sides of the sky ship fell away in howling shrieking clumps, like Mire mud from a mudshoe, until only one or two remained, their small angry faces contorted in fear.

‘No!’ cried Filbus Queep, flinging off his gauntlets and rushing down from the flight-rock platform - only to skid on the bloody gore-drenched decking. Sliding to a halt on his knees, the quartermaster cradled the flat-head’s great head in his lap. ‘Sagbutt, old friend, speak to me,’ he moaned, rocking backwards and forwards.

‘Sagbutt go … to Open … Sky…’ croaked the flat-head, his eyes glazing over. ‘Sagbutt wait for you there … We cook great feast together …’

‘Yes,’ said Filbus. ‘Yes, Sagbutt, old friend, we’ll cook great feasts together…’ The quartermaster bowed his head, his body shaking with barely suppressed sobs.

‘Filbus! Look out!’
Wind Jackal screamed from the helm as the
Galerider
soared high into the sky above the Deepwoods.

The last remaining grey goblin had hauled himself up the hull-rigging and onto the deck and now stood over the quartermaster, his serrated sword raised above his head, poised to strike. Too late, Filbus, his eyes streaming with tears, looked up - to see the blade descend.

Without a sound, the quartermaster slumped forwards over his flat-head friend, mortally wounded. Their blood swirled together on the twisted deck.

With a shout of rage, Wind Jackal raced down to the fore-deck, his sword flashing in his hand, only for the grey goblin to leap over the high gunwale and fall howling to his death.

Moments later, Steg Jambles, Tem and Duggin - who had left the Stone Pilot sleeping fitfully in the infirmary cabin - found Wind Jackal standing over the two fallen crew-members, amidst the carnage.

‘Clear the deck and find some lufwood decking,’ he said simply, his face impassive, before striding back up to the helm.

Tem Barkwater turned to Duggin, his face drained of all colour. ‘Sagbutt … Queep …’ he murmured. ‘Gone!’

Duggin shook his head. ‘I thought Undertown was dangerous. I had no idea that it could be so … so
wild
out here in the Deepwoods.’

Steg Jambles glanced round at Wind Jackal. The captain couldn’t have failed to hear the two crew-members’ words, yet his face - set like a mask - betrayed no emotion as he gripped the helm. Steg knew, however, that with Quint and Maris out there somewhere, the dangers of the Deepwoods would be uppermost in Wind Jackal’s mind.

With nimble fingers, the captain brought the
Galerider
round and headed back in the direction they had been blown from the previous night. Through the afternoon they sailed - pausing only briefly for a short funeral ceremony and to release the hastily constructed lufwood raft which, blazing fiercely, carried the bodies of Sag-butt the flat-head goblin and Filbus Queep the
quartermaster off into Open Sky. Then it was on again, soaring across the sky in search of Quint and Maris. The shrykes would have to wait for their consignment of tallow candles.

As darkness fell, the crew exchanged uneasy glances. It was rare indeed that a sky pirate ship didn’t anchor for the night. But Wind Jackal clearly had no intention of interrupting the search.

‘We fly on,’ he announced from the helm. Thankfully, the sky was cloudless and clear that night, and as he adjusted the flight-levers, Wind Jackal made calculations in his mind, desperately trying to retrace the chaotic storm flight of the previous night. If he could just get them back to roughly the same area …

The sky pirate captain chewed into his lower lip. Would the lad have managed to set a beacon? he wondered. It was his only chance of being found. ‘Look out for a fire,’ he called up to Spillins. ‘Aye, Cap’n,’ came the oakelf’s reply as he trained his telescope on the horizon.

As the first blush of dawn touched the distant horizon to the east, Wind Jackal stifled a yawn. He was exhausted - yet he would not give up. If his calculations
were correct, then they should be close to the area where Quint and Maris had been festooned. Yet as the sun rose higher, and the golden light spread out once more across the endless canopy of leaves, the hope of finding them seemed more remote than ever.

Steg brought him a simple breakfast. Black bread and pine-brew.

‘You must eat, Cap’n,’ Steg said, holding out the steaming bowl.

Wind Jackal shook his head, his red-rimmed eyes never straying from the horizon for a moment.

Just then, Spillins’s voice shouted down excitedly from the caternest. ‘Smoke!’ he cried. ‘A column of smoke, down on the horizon at twelve degrees!’

Without the least expression registering on his face, Wind Jackal adjusted the flight-levers and steered a new course, heading now directly for the white column of smoke. Everyone was up on deck by the time they approached the fire.

‘It
must
be a beacon,’ Steg was saying to anyone who would listen. ‘A forest fire would have spread …’

As they drew closer, however, it was clear that the fire generating so much smoke was out of control. Bright red embers were flying up into the air, while the top of the vast tree was swathed in roaring flames. As Wind Jackal brought the sky vessel lower, his crew trained their telescopes on the distant blaze.

Suddenly, everyone was shouting at once.

‘There they are, on that branch!’

‘I can see them!’

‘They’re not moving …!’

Wind Jackal tried his best to manoeuvre the
Galerider
round as he came in, but with the roaring flames threatening at every moment to lap against the flapping sails, he couldn’t get any closer. The fire was blazing both above and below the two unconscious figures. If they weren’t plucked away in seconds, then they would certainly perish - if they weren’t already dead …

‘Duggin!’ he shouted across at the gnokgoblin. ‘Could you take the
Edgehopper
in closer than this?’

‘I’ll give it my best shot, Cap’n,’ he shouted back.

Together with Steg and Tem, Duggin unlashed the small sky ferry. Moments later, with Duggin at the tiller and Wind Jackal before him, the small vessel leaped
up into the sky, circled round the mast of the
Galerider -
held in place by Spillins at the helm - and swooped down into the lofty inferno.

The heat was appalling, singeing their hair and scorching their skin. As they came in as close as Duggin dared, Wind Jackal threw himself from the side of the ferry and onto the branch. Flames lapped at his fingers as he tied ropes around Quint and Maris’s chests.

‘Now,
Duggin!’ he hollered.

The gnokgoblin, who had been hovering just above them, pulled on the tiller and the sky ferry soared up into the air. As the bodies slipped away from the branch, Wind Jackal seized the two ropes, and held on for dear life. The heavy weight made the little vessel list precariously to one side - but Duggin managed not only to level up, but also to continue round, and off towards the waiting sky pirate ship.

As they came in to land on the fore-deck of the
Galerider,
Wind Jackal jumped down a moment early, so that he could steer the two unconscious bodies gently down onto the floor. He loosed the slip knots and knelt down beside them.

‘Quint,’ he whispered. ‘Maris. Open Sky shall not take you! Not after all the others … Speak to me! Speak to me …’

• CHAPTER THIRTEEN •
SISTER SCREECHSCALE

The tallow candle sputtered and smoked. Its yellow
-L
light flickered, flared - and went out, plunging the small wickerwork tally-lodge into total darkness. Sister Screechscale the tally-hen blinked round blindly, her beak clacking with irritation.

‘Feckle! Feckle!’ she squawked. ‘Where is that scrawny insult to an egg?
Feckle!’

‘Coming, mistress of my heart,’ cooed a timid-sounding voice in the darkness, accompanied by the
scritch-scratch
of clawed feet descending a ladder.

‘Don’t you “mistress of my heart” me, you moth-eaten excuse for a shryke-mate!’ shrieked Sister Screechscale. ‘How am I expected to do my talons in the dark? Get me another candle!’

‘One of the new ones from Undertown, dearest one?’ cooed the shryke-mate’s voice close to Sister Screechscale’s ear.

‘No, one of the rotten old ones from the league ships that burn too fast and smell of putrid ooze-fish!’ Sister Screechscale clucked sarcastically. ‘Yes, Feckle, of course one of the new ones! And be quick about it!’

‘Yes, light of my life,’ Feckle cooed back at her as he rummaged about in the dark, opening and closing various drawers and cupboards. ‘Ah, here we are!’ he exclaimed at last. ‘So
these
are the candles you were telling me about - the ones the sky pirate captain traded for the banderbear… ? Shall I light one for you, my perpetual joy?’

‘No, I’ll do it. I don’t trust you with fire, feather-brain,’ snapped Sister Screechscale, snatching hold of a thick, waxy smooth candle in the dark.

She reached forward, brushing past the ledger and tally-discs on the desk in front of her as her clawed hand felt for, and found, the candlestick holder. Then she stuffed the new candle into the half-molten remains of the one that had just burned out.