Clash of the Sky Galleons (37 page)

Yet, despite the fact that the rock had swollen to almost twice its original size, very little of its surface was visible, for the curved contours were almost entirely obscured by
jutting tiers of the giant mire-clams that now encrusted it. All round the rock, at regular intervals, these huge creatures opened their mouthlike shells wide to gulp greedily at the rich spore-laden air - only to expel it moments later, in curious spiralling wisps of warm steam.

Though the ancient flight-burners on the mossy flight-rock platform had burned out long ago, the giant mire-clams that had put down roots in the rock’s porous surface, had kept the rock stable and warm for numerous years. Clinging on tightly, regulating the temperature as they did so, they had ensured that the sky ship maintained an even altitude, preventing it from either crash-landing or soaring off into the aerial graveyard of Open Sky.

Instead, as a final indignity, the hapless sky wreck had been forced to hover in mid-air, drifting this way and that across the Edge - now above the Deepwoods, now above the Edgelands or the Twilight Woods; now back above the Deepwoods - a haven to the countless seeds, spores and windblown creatures of the sky.

From an opening in the wrecked sky ship’s once magnificent aft-castle, a long rope stretched off into the middle distance. There, like an obedient young prowlgrin at the end of its master’s leash, a small vessel bobbed about. Though evidently deserted, this skycraft - a humble sky barge - was, in marked contrast to the wreck, clearly skyworthy Its single mast was intact and its rubble cage undamaged - though how long they would remain this way, it was impossible to say. Since it was untended, it was only the thin rope tethered to the ancient sky wreck which was preventing the sky barge itself from spiralling off into Open Sky.

All at once, the quiet of high sky was shattered by the piercing shriek of a ratbird. Moments later, a tiny creature appeared through the clouds. With its wings beating furiously, it spiralled down towards the small sky barge that it knew instinctively as home. Around its middle was tied a length of twine which snaked out behind it.

Moments later, a third vessel - a fine sky pirate ship, heavily laden judging by its rolling gait, but sleek and well-maintained - appeared from the billowing clouds. It became immediately clear that the other end of the length of twine was attached to the jutting prow. This meant that, despite the swaying weights and billowing sails, it looked for all the world as though the great sky ship was being pulled across the sky by the tiny ratbird.

As the ratbird sped down to the sky wreck, the sky pirate ship went with it. The creature disappeared inside the sky barge - and the twine fell away. The sky pirate ship now approached the two deserted vessels - one huge and disfigured, the other small and lifeless - and hovered in mid air, its flight-burners flaring. From the helm, the tall figure of a sky pirate captain raised a polished telescope to one eye and took in the sight.

‘Father.’ Quint’s worried voice sounded at Wind Jackal’s side. ‘Father, please, talk to me.’

‘There’s nothing further to say’ Wind Jackal replied icily, still holding the telescope to his eye. ‘You have made your views quite plain to me. You wish to return to Undertown. I do not…’

‘But, Father,’ Quint pleaded. ‘You haven’t slept for
three days - ever since we left the Timber Stands. You’re not thinking clearly.’

‘How
can
I sleep?’ Wind Jackal turned to his son, his eyes blazing, but his voice scarcely above a whisper. ‘Knowing as I do that Daggerslash’s ratbird is leading me to the one I seek …’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Finally!’

‘But, Father, look! That’s a sky wreck out there.’ Quint shook his head miserably. ‘Remember the cliff quarries? And the Sluice Tower? A sky wreck is a thousand times more deadly … Can’t we just sky-fire a blazing harpoon at it, set the whole hideous thing on fire, and leave? After all, it’s no more than that skycur deserves …’

‘No!’ This time Wind Jackal’s voice was an impassioned roar. ‘Have you learned nothing, Quint? Fire is the weapon of the scoundrel and coward! No, Quint, I shall look into Turbot Smeal’s eyes, face to face, as I kill him with my own hands!’

‘And I would suggest we don’t delay,’ Thaw Daggerslash’s voice, smooth and silky, sounded from the aft-deck stairs behind them. ‘When he festooned me and stole the
Mireraider,’
he said, ‘Smeal said he intended to go mire-pearling.’ He snorted. ‘Looks like he’s found a fine wreck and is busy harvesting it as we speak.’

Wind Jackal nodded slowly as he glanced across at the sky wreck. Thaw smiled.

‘Surprise will be the key to success,’ he continued. ‘I propose a small boarding-party, Captain. And I’m happy to volunteer. Poisoning Hubble, stealing my sky ship …’ he muttered angrily.
‘I’ve
got a score to settle with Smeal myself, don’t forget.’

‘Prepare a harness, Thaw,’ replied Wind Jackal without another word. ‘Quint,’ he added, ‘you take the helm.’

‘B … but, Father!’ protested Quint. ‘I’m coming with you!’

‘That,’ said his father coldly, the words like a knife thrust to his son’s heart, ‘won’t be necessary.’

A few moments later, Captain Wind Jackal and Thaw Daggerslash slipped over the port-side balustrade of the
Galerider.
They climbed down the hull-rigging and, with a soft
thud
and a grunt of exertion, dropped onto the deserted deck of the small sky barge. Then, crossing to the prow, they silently hooked their harnesses to the tolley-rope, which was taut and sloping down towards the floating wreck, and launched themselves off from the side of the sky barge. With a low hiss, they slid down towards the distant sky wreck, gathering speed all the time.

Up in the caternest, Spillins turned away and crouched down, moaning softly as he covered his eyes with his hands. Far below him at the balustrade, Hubble grunted uneasily. Tem Barkwater stood on the fore-deck beside the harpoon, biting his lower lip nervously, while Duggin stared out ahead, equally nervous, by his side. On the flight-rock platform, the Stone Pilot - impassive beneath the great conical hood - patiently tended the flight-rock, hobbling now on a single crutch, while up at the helm, Maris beside him, Quint fought back bitter tears.

‘You did your best, Quint,’ Maris said soothingly, though the look on her face showed she was as worried as the rest of the crew. ‘He just wouldn’t listen to reason …’

‘It should be me, not Thaw, by his side, Maris,’ said Quint, swallowing hard. ‘But after all we’ve been through. All the horrors, the dangers, the deaths … I just wanted this voyage to be over …’

Maris laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it hard. ‘I understand,’ she said softly. ‘We all do.’

Quint raised his telescope and trained it on the great looming wreck in the distance. Wind Jackal and Thaw were approaching it fast, each of them tugging on their harness ropes to slow their descent. And, as Quint looked on, first Wind Jackal and then Thaw reached the aft-hull of the ruined vessel and slipped inside through a cavernous hole. High above them, up on the flight-rock, the rows of giant clams opened and closed in great ripples, like some monstrous chorus, their steamy breath wreathing the aft-hull in a ghostly mist.

The sight filled Quint with dread.

‘It’s no good, Maris,’ he said at length. ‘I just can’t stay here and watch.’

Maris heard the misery in her friend’s voice.

‘Take the helm,’ he told her. ‘I must go to my father!’ Before Maris could say anything, Quint turned away and made for the stairs which led down to the
aft-deck. Passing the anxious-looking young banderbear at the balustrade, Quint scrambled down the
Galerider’s
hull-rigging and leaped onto the sky barge. He looked about him desperately.

The small craft was open to the elements. A small lufwood awning covered the helm and rudder at the stern, between which the enclosed rock cage with its buoyant rubble and rock shards nestled. Rudimentary burners and cooling-levers sprouted from the rock cage’s sides, within reach of whoever stood at the helm.

A sky ship this simple had no need of a stone pilot, Quint realized. In fact, there was barely room for two crew-mates, let alone a young banderbear. It was little wonder that Smeal had got rid of Thaw and Hubble at the earliest opportunity.

Smeal!

The very thought of the evil quartermaster chilled Quint’s blood. He made his way across the deck, scrabbling over animal pelts, barrels of pine pitch and bundles of tilder leather - a meagre cargo, even for a rundown sky barge like the
Mireraider -
until he found what he was searching for: a coil of rope. Drawing his sword, he cut a length and tested it for strength.

From above, Quint could hear Hubble’s worried call. ‘Wuh-wuh. Wu-uu-uh!’

Yes, he
would
take care. The trouble was, there was no time to rig a harness. Quint knew he had to get over to the sky wreck, looming in the distance, as quickly as he could. Whatever happened, he was determined to be at his father’s side.

Hurrying to the prow, Quint looped the length of rope over the tolley-line that would carry him across to the terrible wreck. Taking a deep breath, he climbed over the low prow-rail, wrapped the ends of the rope round both hands and - gripping for all he was worth - slid off into the yawning void.

The rope scritched, scratched and juddered as it hurtled over the taut tolley-line. If Quint had only thought, he would have smeared it with tilder grease. As it was, all he could do was hang on tightly and concentrate on bracing himself for what, without the control a harness would have provided, was going to be a very heavy landing.

Halfway across now, the wind roaring in his ears, his arms were already beginning to ache. Far ahead of him, towering in the sky, the wrecked vessel looked even more gigantic and ominous. The fungal forest that covered it swayed and shimmered and, as Quint peered through streaming eyes, half-closed against the onrushing air, it was as if the sky wreck itself abruptly burst into life.

A scattering of tiny translucent razorflits emerged from a moss-fringed scar in the hull; while further along the bow, two large vulpoons launched themselves into
the air with haunting, sonorous hoots. From the flight-rock, the wheezing hisses of the mire-clams grew louder by the second and the air became tinged with a damp, tangy odour. Then all at once, up on the overgrown tangle of fronds and lichen that was the flight-rock platform, there came the flashing glint of metal.

Quint peered closely.

It was his father, Wind Jackal! He was standing by the shattered remnants of the main mast, waving his sword and shouting.

He must have spotted Quint approaching, for now Wind Jackal was gesturing and calling to his son. Quint struggled to hear, yet with the wind racing past his ears growing louder and louder as he gathered speed, it was all but impossible.

Turbot … Smeal … is …’ His father’s words sailed out towards him.

‘I’m coming, Father!’ Quint bellowed into the teeth of the wind. ‘I’m …’

Suddenly, from behind Wind Jackal, a second figure reared up. Dressed in a tall bicorne hat and dark, metal-studded greatcoat, the figure stared down at Quint’s father, its demonic, scarred face a monstrous splay of jagged fangs below deep, dark eye-sockets.