Stormchaser (3 page)

‘What do you mean?’ Twig asked.

‘It's a long story,’ he said slowly. ‘And…’ He paused.

‘What?’ said Twig.

The caterbird remained silent. It swivelled one eye meaningfully round towards the entrance of the shop.

‘Oy!’ came a gruff voice. ‘Are you intending to buy that bird, or what?’ Sliding the knife up his sleeve as he did so, Twig turned. He was confronted by a heavy-set character who was standing with his legs apart and his hands on his hips.

‘I … I just dodged in here when the chain broke,’ he said.

‘Hmm,’ said Flabsweat, looking round at the damage that had been caused. ‘A bad business it is, all this chain-breaking. And all for that bunch of so-called academics. What good do they ever do us? Parasites, the lot of them. You know what? If it was up to me, I’d cut
all
the chains and let Sanctaphrax fly off into open sky. And good riddance!’ he added bitterly, as he patted his glistening head with a dirty handkerchief.

Twig was speechless. He’d never heard anyone talk ill of the academics of the floating city before.

‘Still,’ Flabsweat went on, ‘at least none of my property's been damaged, eh?
This
time. Now, are you interested in that bird or not?’ he asked wheezily.

Twig glanced back at the bedraggled caterbird. ‘I was looking for a talker.’

Flabsweat chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Oh, you’ll get nothing out of that one,’ he said scornfully. ‘Thick, it is. Still, you’re welcome to try … I could let you have it for a very reasonable price.’ He turned abruptly. ‘I’m with another customer at the moment,’ he called back. ‘Give me a shout if you need any help.’

‘Thick, indeed!’ the caterbird exclaimed when Flabsweat had gone. ‘The cheek! The audacity!’ Its eye swivelled round and focused on Twig. ‘Well, don’t just stand there smirking,’ it snapped. ‘Get me out of here – while the coast is clear.’

‘No,’ said Twig.

The caterbird stared back at him, nonplussed. It cocked its head to one side – as far as the cage would allow. ‘No?’ it said.

‘No,’ Twig repeated. ‘I want to hear that “long story” first. “The situation is reaching crisis point”, that's what you said. I want to know why. I want to know what's happened.’

‘Let me out, and then I’ll tell you everything,’ said the caterbird.

‘No,’ said Twig for a third time. ‘I know you. You’ll fly off the moment I unlock the cage door, and then I won’t see you again till Sky knows when. Tell me this story first, and
then
I’ll set you free.’

‘Why, you insolent young whelp!’ the caterbird shouted angrily. ‘And after everything I’ve done for you!’

‘Keep your voice down,’ said Twig, looking round nervously at the doorway. ‘Flabsweat will hear you.’

The caterbird fell still. It closed its eyes. For a moment, Twig thought that it was going to remain stubbornly silent. He was on the point of relenting, when the caterbird's beak moved.

‘It all started a long time ago,’ it began. ‘Twenty years, to be precise. When your father was little older than you are now.’

‘But that was before you were even born,’ said Twig.

‘Caterbirds share dreams, you know that,’ it replied. ‘What one knows, we all know. And if you’re going to interrupt the whole time…’

‘I’m not,’ said Twig. ‘Sorry. I won’t do it again.’

The caterbird humphed irritably. ‘Just see that you don’t.’

• CHAPTER TWO •
T
HE
C
ATERBIRD'S
T
ALE

‘P
icture the scene,’ the caterbird said. ‘A cold, blustery, yet clear evening. The moon rises over Sanctaphrax, its towers and spires silhouetted against the purple sky. A lone figure emerges from the bottom of a particularly ill-favoured tower and scurries across the cobbled courtyard. It is an apprentice raintaster. His name, Vilnix Pompolnius.’

‘What,
the
Vilnix Pompolnius?’ Twig blurted out. ‘Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax?’ Although he had never seen the lofty academic, his reputation went before him.

‘The very same,’ said the caterbird. ‘Many of those who attain greatness have the humblest of origins – in fact he used to be a knife-grinder in Undertown. But Vilnix Pompolnius was always ruthlessly ambitious, and never more so than on that night. As he hurried on, head
down into the wind, towards the glittering spires of the School of Light and Darkness, he was plotting and scheming.’

Twig shuddered, and the fur of his hammelhornskin waistcoat bristled ominously.

‘For you see,’ the caterbird explained, ‘Vilnix had the ear – and an indulgent ear, what's more – of one of the most powerful Sanctaphrax scholars at that time. The Professor of Darkness. It was he who had sponsored Vilnix through the Knights’ Academy. And when Vilnix was later dismissed for insubordination, it was he who had secured his place in the Faculty of Raintasters rather than see him cast out of Sanctaphrax completely.’

The caterbird took a breath, and continued. ‘Once inside the opulence of the professor's study, Vilnix held up a glass beaker of liquid dramatically. “The rain coming in from over the Edge is becoming more acidic,” he said. “This is due to an increase in the number of sourmist particles in the raindrops. It was thought you might be interested,” he added slyly.

‘The Professor of Darkness
was
interested. Very interested. The presence of sourmist particles could presage the arrival of a Great Storm. “I must consult with the windtouchers and cloudwatchers,” he said, “to determine whether they have also identified signs of an approaching Great Storm. Good work, my boy.”

‘Vilnix's eyes gleamed; his heart missed a beat. Things were going better than he had hoped. Taking care not to arouse his suspicions, he drew the old professor on. “A Great Storm?” he said, innocently. “Does this mean that a Knight Academic will be sent in search of more stormphrax?”

‘The professor confirmed that it did. He tapped the papers in front of him. “And not before time, either, if these figures are correct,” he said. “The great rock which Sanctaphrax stands upon is still growing – larger and
larger, more and more buoyant…” His voice trailed away. He shook his head in despair.

‘Vilnix watched him out of the corner of his eye. “And you need more stormphrax in the treasury to weigh it down – to … to…”

‘The professor nodded vigorously. “To preserve the equilibrium,” he said, and sighed. “It is so long since a Knight Academic returned with fresh supplies of stormphrax.”

‘A smile played over Vilnix's curled lips. “And which knight is to be sent on this occasion?” he asked.

‘The professor snorted. “The Professor of Light's protégé. Quintinius…” He frowned. “Quintinius … oh, what's his name?”

‘Vilnix winced. “Quintinius
Verginix
,” he said.’

‘My father!’ Twig exclaimed, unable to keep quiet a moment longer. ‘I didn’t realize he knew the Most High Academe. Nor that he was ever in the Knights’ Academy…’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘But then there's much I don’t know about his life before he became a sky pirate,’ he added.

‘If you’d just hold your tongue for a moment,’ the caterbird said impatiently, ‘then perhaps…’ It was cut short by the sound of frantic yelping which came from inside the shop.

The next moment, Flabsweat appeared at the doorway, white as a sheet and babbling on about how a vulpoon – a straggly bird of prey with a viciously serrated beak and razor-sharp talons – had just slipped its tether and laid into a hapless lapmuffler.

‘Is it all right?’ asked Twig.

‘All right?’ Flabsweat wheezed. ‘The lapmuffler? No it's
not
all right. Guts everywhere, there are. And you can get good money for a lapmuffler. I’ll have to fetch the animal-quack,’ he muttered. ‘Get it stitched up again.’ He looked at Twig, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Are you trustworthy?’ he asked.

Twig nodded.

‘Hmm,’ Flabsweat mumbled. ‘Well, since you’re still here, would you mind watching the shop while I’m gone? There could be something in it for you.’

‘That's fine,’ said Twig, trying not to sound too eager.

The moment Flabsweat was out of earshot, the caterbird immediately asked once more to be set free. But Twig was adamant. ‘All in good time,’ he said. ‘After all, there's nothing worse than a tale which ends half way through its telling.’

The caterbird grumbled under its breath. ‘Where was I, then? Ah, yes. Vilnix and your father … The pair of them entered the Knights’ Academy on the very same morning and yet, from that first day, Quintinius Verginix outshone all the other young hopefuls – Vilnix included. In swordplay, archery and unarmed combat, he was unmatched; in the sailing of the stormchasers – the sky ships especially designed to chase the Great Storms – he was peerless.’

Twig beamed proudly, and imagined himself chasing a Great Storm. Pitching and rolling as the ship locked on to the whirling wind and then breaking through to the stillness within…

‘Pay attention!’ hissed the caterbird.

Twig looked up guiltily. ‘I am!’ he protested.

‘Humph!’ said the caterbird dubiously, its neck feathers ruffling. ‘As I was saying, the professor explained to Vilnix that, if the Great Storm
was
confirmed, then – as tradition demanded – Quintinius Verginix would be knighted and despatched to the Twilight Woods. Sky willing, he would return with stormphrax.

‘Vilnix smiled that smile of his. Inscrutable, reptilian. Now, at last, the time had come to touch upon the subject he had wanted to enquire about all along. “This … stormphrax,” he said, in as off-hand a manner as he
could manage. “When I was in the Knights’ Academy, it was often talked about as the most wonderful substance that ever existed. We were told that the shards of stormphrax are in fact pure lightning,” he continued, his voice oily, treacherous. “Can this possibly be true?”

‘The Professor of Darkness nodded solemnly, and when he spoke again it was as though he was reciting from an ancient text. “That which is called stormphrax,” he proclaimed, “is created in the eye of a Great Storm – a mighty maelstrom which is formed far beyond the Edge once every several years, which blows in on parched and sulphurous winds, which howls and sparks as it crosses the sky towards the Twilight Woods. There, the Great Storm breaks. It delivers a single mighty lightning bolt that scorches through the heavy twilight air and plunges into the soft earth beneath. In that instant it turns to solid stormphrax, gleaming in the half-light. Honoured is he who should witness such a sight.”