The Curse of the Gloamglozer (29 page)

A dismissive snort emanated from the folds of the brown hood, followed by, ‘Stormphrax, indeed.’ Maris kicked Bungus lightly on the leg and hissed at him to stay silent.

‘And the ceremony must be performed by the Most High Academe. If it is not…’

Bungus spoke up again, louder this time. ‘Strictly speaking, couldn't
you
do it?’ he said, his voice muffled by the parchment-like material.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said the Professor of Darkness. He stared in disbelief at the gangly, shabbily dressed individual. ‘Who are you, sir?’ he demanded. ‘Show your face!’

But Bungus had no intention of doing any such thing. These meddlesome academics must not discover who he was.

‘As I understand it,’ he went on, ‘in your role as Next-Most High Academe you could perform the ceremony yourselves. Either individually. Or together.’

The Professors of Light and Darkness turned to one another, eyebrows raised. ‘Could we?’ they asked each other. ‘Should we? Is it legal? Is it constitutional?’

Certainly it was worth considering, for the great floating rock upon which the city had been built was growing bigger by the day. If the amount of heavy stormphrax in the Treasury was not constantly increased, then Sanctaphrax was always at risk of breaking its moorings and sailing off into open sky. Reaching their decision at the self-same moment, the two professors seized one another by the arm, and marched away.

‘First of all, we must consult the
Great Tome of Skylore
,’ the Professor of Light was saying.

‘Time is of the essence,’ the Professor of Darkness reminded him. Their voices grew fainter. ‘Perhaps it would be wiser to consult the great book
after
we have performed the ceremony.’

Bungus snorted for a second time. ‘Avaricious old buzzards,’ he muttered. ‘The first whiff of power and they're onto it like a woodcat on a weezit!’

‘At least they've gone,’ said Maris. She turned to Sigbord.
‘And since my father won't be leaving his room after all, he will have no need of your services either.’

The brawny Head Guard looked down at Maris and, for a moment, she was sure he was about to argue with her. But Sigbord bit his tongue. He had learned, and to his cost, that it was always as well to keep the daughter of the Most High Academe sweet.

‘Go on, then,’ said Welma. ‘You heard what the young mistress said.’

Sigbord nodded curtly. ‘I shall send a consignment of twelve guards to surround the palace and watch the doors,’ he said.

‘As you wish,’ said Welma. ‘Now, off you go!’ And, flapping her hands at him, she ushered the guard away.

The moment Welma moved from the door, Maris leapt forwards and seized the handle. She turned it – half expecting it to be locked – but her luck held. The door swung open, creaking as it did so. Welma turned.

‘Mistress Maris!’ she shrieked angrily. ‘What did we talk about earlier?’

But Maris was in no mood for further questions. Pulling Bungus into the bed-chamber behind her, she slammed the door shut and turned the key.

‘Maris!’ Welma shouted. ‘Maris, open this door at once.’

‘Shan't!’ Maris shouted back. ‘He's my father and I have a right to see him.’

Welma fell silent. Maris pressed her ear to the door. For a moment she heard nothing, then the sound of her old nurse's footsteps plodding away along the corridor.

Slowly, nervously, Maris turned round. Why had her
father not spoken? Surely he couldn't have slept through all the noise everyone had been making. She peered into the gloom. Apart from a stubby candle flickering from the mantelpiece, the room was in complete darkness.

Taking the candle with her, Maris walked towards the bed. The light fell across her father's face. Maris gasped.

Propped up in bed, he looked even worse than she had imagined he would. He was pale and haggard. Tufts of hair stuck out from the blood-stained bandages which swathed his head. Worst of all, however, were his eyes. They stared ahead, unblinking, unseeing, yet still filled with the horror of what they had witnessed.

‘Father!’ Maris cried. She climbed up on to the bed and hugged him tightly, her cheek pressed to his bony chest. His body was rigid and cold; if it hadn't been for the heartbeat hammering away beside her ear, he might have been dead. ‘Oh, Father, what has happened to you?’

Just then, there was a grating noise from the side of the chamber. Maris glanced round to see Bungus flinging open the shutters.

‘All this appalling darkness and shadow,’ he was muttering. ‘Light is what Linius needs.’

A single shaft of dazzling early-morning sun burst into
the room and streamed across the floor. It fell on the face of the stricken professor, who blinked, once, twice…

‘Maris,’ he said, his voice low and cracked.

Maris smiled. She knelt forwards and kissed him gently on the forehead. ‘Hello,’ she said.

Her father looked surprised. ‘Why are you crying?’ he asked.

‘I'm not,’ Maris sniffed.

Without saying a word, he raised a bony hand, lifted a tear from her cheek with the tip of his index finger and showed it to her. ‘Tell me what's wrong,’ he said softly.

‘Oh, Father!’ Maris wailed and hugged him again. ‘I was so worried about you. All those cuts and scratches … and your
ear
! What happened to you?’

‘Hush, Maris,’ he said, as he held her head and stroked her hair. ‘It's all over now. I'm back. I'm safe. I…’ He noticed the figure silhouetted against the window. ‘Who in Sky's name is that?’

Maris pulled away and looked round. ‘That's …’ she began.

But Bungus silenced her with a finger to his lips. He walked to the bed, away from the blinding light, and lowered his hood. ‘You tell me, Linius,’ he said softly. ‘Don't you remember your old friend?’ He smiled. ‘It's been a long time.’

Bursting with expectation, Maris looked at her father, then at Bungus – then at her father again. She watched the
initial confusion turn to a look of recognition; then a broad, child-like grin spread out across his face.

‘Bungus Septrill,’ he said, shaking his head with dis-belief. ‘Am I still dreaming? I never thought I'd live to see the day…’

‘Greetings, Linius,’ said Bungus, stepping forwards to shake his hand. ‘I am no dream.’

‘But I thought you had fled Sanctaphrax,’ he said weakly. ‘I was told…’

‘You were told I'd returned to the Deepwoods,’ Bungus said, ‘to pursue my earth-studies unhindered.’

‘Precisely that,’ said Linius.

‘Rumours started by myself,’ he explained. ‘I wanted noone to know that the Great Library was still being tended.’

‘You mean you've been hiding out in the Great Library all this time? But…’ Linius paused, confused. ‘But I've been there myself. Many times. I have never seen you.’

‘I chose not to be seen,’ said Bungus simply.

‘But why?’ said Linius. ‘If only…’ His voice trailed away.

‘I couldn't risk it,’ said Bungus, ‘for both our sakes.’

‘You're together now,’ Maris butted in. ‘That's what counts.’ She turned to her father. ‘Bungus is here to make you better again. He knows the healing secrets of the Deepwoods.’

‘Does he now?’ said Linius, his lips curling into a smile.

‘It's true!’ said Maris. ‘After Quint and I were attacked by a giant glister, he …’ She fell still, horribly aware of what she had just said. Her heart thumped. Her cheeks coloured.

‘Glister?’ gasped her father. He tried to sit up, but fell back,
his face pinched with concern. ‘Don't tell me you've been down in the stonecomb.’

Maris looked away, guiltily.

‘You have, haven't you?’ he said, gathering his strength. ‘It's that apprentice. He put you up to it.’ His eyes blazed. ‘I'll have his hide for gaiters!’ With great effort, he raised himself up on his elbows.

‘It wasn't Quint's idea,’ said Maris. ‘It was mine. Please, Father, you're not well.’

‘And there was me, thinking I could trust him,’ her father continued without a break. ‘You know, I've a good mind to get word to Wind Jackal to … to…’

‘You're not listening,’ said Maris. ‘It was
my
idea to go down into the stonecomb. I was so desperate to find out what you've been doing. How you got injured … I
forced
him to take me.’

Linius fell back exhausted, his face ashen grey. ‘And where is the little wretch now?’ he breathed. ‘Too ashamed to show his face, eh?’

‘He … he's still down inside the floating rock,’ Maris confessed.

The expression on Linius's face changed in an instant. He leant forwards. ‘You left him there?’ he said, his voice low with dread. ‘Quint – my dear friend Wind Jackal's one and only son – alone in the terrible stonecomb? But why? If you went there together, why didn't you also return together?’

‘I … I couldn't walk. Bungus was carrying me,’ said Maris. ‘Quint was following us …’ She swallowed. ‘And then he wasn't.’

Bungus stepped forwards. ‘The foolhardy youth went off in search of the Ancient Laboratory.’

Linius's jaw dropped. He gripped Maris by both wrists. ‘You know about the Ancient Laboratory?’ he said.

‘Of course they do, Linius, my old friend,’ said Bungus. ‘Why else do you think they were roaming about the stonecomb on their own?’

‘But Quint is in great danger,’ said Linius urgently. ‘He mustn't set foot inside the laboratory! He mustn't even open the door… !’ He buried his head in his hands and began rocking back and forth. ‘What have I done?’ he groaned. ‘What have I
done
?’

Bungus sat down on the side of the bed and pulled Linius's hands gently, but firmly, away from his face. He raised his head, and looked him straight in the eyes.

‘Perhaps a broken-down earth-scholar can help an old friend,’ he said. ‘Tell me, Linius. Tell me everything.’

· CHAPTER FIFTEEN ·

LINIUS'S STORY

L
inius lay on the bed, his face turned towards the window and the dazzling beam of sunlight shining in his eyes. From the streets outside, there came sounds of the waking city: bell-chime and wheel-clatter; the buzz of conversation and hum of rhythmic chanting; and the white ravens, cawing raucously as they stretched their wings in the warmth of the rising sun. Linius sighed, rolled over and stared up at the ceiling.

‘I started out with … with such good intentions,’ he murmured. His eyes misted over. ‘I wanted to do so much for Sanctaphrax.’

Bungus leaned forward and took the professor's left hand in his own. ‘Tell me your story, Linius,’ he said. ‘I'm listening.’

Linius turned his head towards his old teacher and breathed out, long and deep. ‘Oh, Bungus,’ he said wearily. ‘It seems like only yesterday that you shared with me the mysteries of the Great Library.’ He smiled
weakly. ‘You showed me so much. Little did I know what it would all lead to…’

He closed his eyes, the same faint smile playing over his lips. Bungus squeezed his hand reassuringly. Linius looked up.

‘Happy days,’ he breathed wistfully. ‘And yet I was so innocent then, Bungus; I was so naive. I assumed that Sanctaphrax was a benevolent place where all knowledge was good knowledge, and the duty of every academic was to add to the sum-total of that knowledge for the good of everyone.’ His face creased up in disgust. ‘Sky-scholars!’ he said. ‘I knew nothing then of the back-stabbing and double-dealing that went on among them: the treachery, the rivalry, the vying for position. Mistsifter against rain-taster, cloudwatcher against windtoucher … Sky above, the only thing that ever brought a temporary lull to their faction-fighting was the contempt and loathing they shared for earth-studies!’ He wiped away the beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead. ‘And I hated it,’ he said angrily. ‘As an apprentice, as a lowly mistgrader, I hated it so much.’ He sighed wearily. ‘Even when I was forced to play the same game…’

Maris turned to Bungus. ‘My father's too tired to go on just now,’ she protested. ‘He needs to rest.’

But Linius silenced her with a movement of his hand. ‘It‘s all right, Maris,’ he said, smiling bravely. ‘I
want
to talk about it. I want to tell you both about the hopes and dreams I once nurtured.’ He sighed again. ‘And what hopes and dreams they were. I thought that, as Most High Academe, I would be able to reunite the battling
academic factions for the common good. More than that,’ he said, turning to Bungus, his eyes wide and earnest, ‘I intended to bring earth-scholars back to Sanctaphrax. The schism between earth- and sky-scholarship had to be healed; the Great Library had to be re-opened. I knew we could not afford to lose such a wealth of information about the Edge.