Clash of the Sky Galleons (35 page)

A gasp rippled through the column. There, towering above them, at the top of the last stack in the Stone Gardens, was a huge pitted rock, silhouetted against the silvery sky.

‘Truly outstanding,’ Imbix Hoth exclaimed gleefully. ‘I congratulate you, Stone Marshal.’

But at his side, the stone marshal had a tense worried expression on his face. ‘We haven’t a moment to lose!’ he announced, hurriedly turning from the high master and gesticulating to the academics-at-arms. ‘I chose you because you are the best,’ Zaphix Nemulis told them. ‘Don’t let me down …’

At his words, the academics-at-arms sprang instantly into action. The young swordmaster, Phin, and his companion Balfus quickly scaled the rock stack, a great weight-fringed rock net in their hands. Scrambling up, agile as lemkins, they expertly dropped the net over the mighty rock to form a hanging canopy. Then the others -using their hooks and grappling-poles - eased the huge rock from its perch at the top of the stack and gently
guided it down to the waiting rock-handlers with their white-hot rock callipers.

‘Carefully! Carefully!’ Nemulis clucked, like a broody woodhen over a newly-laid egg. ‘Easy with those callipers. I want no chippings!’

From the rock stacks nearby, the white ravens eyed them suspiciously, flapping and cawing uneasily.

Normally the vicious birds would attack intruders who dared to trespass within the Stone Gardens, keeping the place safe from robbers, vandals and vagabonds. But not this night. Their flock-leaders recognized the tall academic in his violet and white robes as the stone marshal - and besides, the chunks of meat and offal the academics-at-arms had been careful to place beneath each stack they passed went a long way to compensate for the disturbance in the middle of the night.

As the icy wind blew, the huge rock teetered and tugged, threatening to break free of the rock net. Nemulis flapped his violet and white robes desperately.

‘The braziers!’ he shrieked. ‘More heat!’

In answer, the academics tending the sumpwood-burning braziers raised them in gauntleted hands and gathered beneath the huge rock. The warm air beneath it brought the massive rock down and eased the strain on the rock net and the academics-at-arms clutching it.

‘Now we must get it to the carts before this wind gets any stronger!’ the stone marshal commanded.

Struggling and straining, the academics-at-arms set off for the gates of the Stone Gardens as quickly as they could, tugging the huge rock after them. Even the High Master of the Leagues of Flight, Imbix Hoth, played his part, seizing a corner of the rock net with his razor-sharp finger-spikes and gripping ferociously. Having waited so long and paid so much, he had no intention of losing his precious flight-rock now.

At the gates at last, the huge buoyant rock was loaded up onto a waiting hammelhorn cart and bound tightly into place with ropes - and not a moment too soon, as the wind turned into a snow-flecked gale. The stone marshal ran round the cart, checking each of the knots, before declaring himself satisfied.

‘Move it on out!’ he bellowed, hands cupped to his mouth.

The mobgnome driver - a wagoneer who worked for the League of Rock Merchants, his eyes obscured beneath a low-brimmed cap - lashed his whip and the great bull hammelhorn trotted forward, with the exhausted academics-at-arms following behind on foot.

Back at the gates to the Stone Gardens, an ornate two-seater barrow pulled by two lugtrolls drew up, and the High Master of the League of Rock Merchants climbed in, his hat-tipper fussing behind him. Settling himself on a velvet cushion, he reached into his robes and drew out a small fromp-skin purse and handed it to a smiling Zaphix Nemulis.

‘A little bonus for you, Zaphix,’ Imbix Hoth grinned, his small eyes gleaming. ‘The finest mire-pearls - for a job well done. You have done the Leagues of Undertown a great service tonight, Zaphix; more than you know!’

‘The honour is all mine, High Master,’ said Zaphix proudly.

Imbix Hoth raised a metal-spiked finger to the barrow-pushers - then paused for a moment.

‘Just one last thing,’ he said to the stone marshal, with a thin smile. ‘If you’re thinking of celebrating with a bottle of sapwine in one of our fine Undertown taverns, take my advice…’ Imbix clicked his fingers, and the barrow jolted into movement. ‘Avoid the Tarry Vine tavern tonight!’

ii
The Knights Academy

Raffix Emilius pushed his small round spectacles up over the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. He was standing in his chamber at the top of one of the thirteen towers, staring out of the open window. Ever since he’d been made a knight academic-in-waiting, he had spent most of his time in his quarters, reading, meditating, studying - awaiting the day when he would be called upon to embark on a stormchasing voyage to the Twilight Woods in search of sacred stormphrax.

Such a voyage would test him to the very limit, calling upon all the skills and knowledge he had gained in his time in the Lower and Upper Halls of the Knights Academy. Now those carefree days of model sky ships,
prowlgrin rearing and tilt-tree practice were behind him. The knight academic-in-waiting’s mission now was to do just that -wait. And while he waited, to prepare himself for the greatest test any Sanctaphrax academic could face: the quest for stormphrax.

Yet, Raffix thought grimly, this waiting was hard. He was meant to be clearing his mind, focusing on the quest to come -yet he couldn’t stop thoughts from the past from flooding back. There was that extraordinary voyage into Open Sky, the cloudeater, the battle in the inner courtyard, the winter knights and …

‘Quintinius Verginix,’ he whispered, the words lost to the icy air outside.

Perhaps it was this biting wind, whistling through Sanctaphrax with its promise of snow, that was bringing the events of that terrible winter back to him. Raffix peered out of his window, past the tilt trees and the West Wall of the Academy, over the domed roofs of the Hall of Wind, past Undertown and the bleached Mire beyond, and on towards the horizon, far, far away above the distant Deepwoods.

‘Oh, Quint,’ he whispered. ‘I wonder where you are now?’
Stope, the grey goblin forge-hand, raised the visor of his furnace hood and held the honed tip of the harpoon up to the light. It was magnificent, with long razor-sharp jags glinting in the golden light. Furnace-fired fifty times and hammered out on the armoury anvil, the massive harpoon’s smooth surface was patterned with flowing swirls of exquisite beauty.

Since he’d first found a home in the foundry of the Hall of Grey Cloud, young Stope had built a reputation for fine craftsmanship and an eye for detail. The two furnace masters - hulking Clud Mudskut and diminutive Spedius Heepe - didn’t know what they’d do without him. Now, instead of a bed of rags behind the main furnace, Stope had his own sleeping-closet in the hall’s upper chambers and the furnace masters had even presented him with three cloddertrog stokers to fire up the furnaces -a job Stope had previously had to struggle with single-handed.

Of course, the furnace masters had ulterior motives for making their talented young forge-hand’s life more comfortable. Freed from menial tasks around the armoury, Stope could devote his energies to forging the finest weapons and armour in the whole of Sanctaphrax or Undertown.

As his reputation grew, so both Spedius Heepe’s order-book
and
Clud Mudskut’s great chest filled, one with scrawled ink entries, the other with gold. As for Stope, so long as he was fed and watered, he seemed
happy to spend long hours in the heat of the armoury, forging weapons for his furnace masters to sell.

Stope placed the completed section of the great harpoon in the rack beside the cooling-trough and hung up his furnace-hood and gauntlets. He’d forgotten all about the time, and now, through the high narrow windows of the armoury, he could see a full moon.

Working on the harpoon - one of a whole flurry of commissions from Imbix Hoth, High Master of the League of Rock Merchants - Stope’s head had been filled with thoughts of sky ships. A weapon as large and powerful as this one, he realized, could be destined only for the most magnificent of vessels. Oh, how Stope wished he could sail in such a ship! After his extraordinary adventure on board the old sky ship
Cloudslayer
in the terrible winter of the previous year, Stope’s imagination had been filled with thoughts of sky-flight - and of his friend, Quintinius Verginix.

‘I wonder, Master Quint,’ he whispered to himself, ‘exactly where you are now?’

Phin climbed out of the hanging-basket and followed the rest of the academics-at-arms across the West Landing, back towards the Knights Academy. It had been a long night and the muscles in his arms and legs were aching. But they’d managed to get the great flight-rock safely to the sky-shipyard without attracting attention - and had ten gold pieces each to show for it.

Although urged to celebrate their night’s work, Phin declined - bidding goodnight to his comrades outside the Academy Barracks, golden light streaming through its great oval window - and crossed to the Lower Halls. Climbing the great Central Staircase of the Knights Academy, he reached the Upper Halls. Then, at the western end, he went up a second set of steps to the top of the tall gantry tower and - despite the lateness of the hour and his own fatigue - walked out onto the gantry platform. The old sky ship, the
Cloudslayer
, creaked and swayed from the tether-ring above as, with aching muscles, Phin climbed the ladder and boarded her.

‘Phin!’ came a voice as his foot landed on the fore-deck. ‘Not you as well!’

Raffix Emilius, knight academic-in-waiting, strode across the deck and embraced his friend.

‘What do you mean, not me as well?’ Phin asked.

‘This cold weather, of course!’ grinned Raffix. ‘The snow in the air … Don’t tell me your thoughts aren’t full of last winter and our incredible voyage …’

Phin smiled. ‘Well, now you mention it, Raff, I
was
thinking about the old times. That’s why I came up to visit the old girl…’

‘Me, too,’ came a third voice from the prow and, emerging from the shadows, Stope stepped forward.

‘Well, well, well,’ laughed Raffix. ‘If it isn’t Sanctaphrax’s most celebrated forge-hand! I’m surprised you had time to leave that armoury of yours, what with all the weapons you’ve been producing …’