The Curse of the Gloamglozer (39 page)

the flames and surrounded by swirling smoke, was the unmistakable figure of the Most High Academe. A cry of recognition went up.

‘It
is
him!’ ‘There he is!’ ‘
YES
!’

Teetering dangerously close to the edge of the parapet, Linius was clearly in trouble. He was waving down at them, frantically, desperately. Then, as they watched, his foot slipped and for a moment it seemed that he was about to hurtle down to certain death on the paving-slabs below. The crowd breathed in as one and the square echoed with the loud, horrified gasp – followed by a groan of relief as he managed, just, to hold on.

‘That was a close one,’ someone muttered close by.

‘He was lucky indeed that time,’ said another, ‘but I fear his luck is about to run out.’

Maris turned on them. ‘Then someone must rescue him before it does,’ she said.

The two who had spoken shrugged and turned away – but others took up where they had left off.

‘He's had it, so he has.’

‘No doubt about it, he's on his way out.’

‘We'll be looking to choose a new Most High Academe before the night's done, you mark my words.’

Maris rounded on the crowd, her eyes ablaze with anger. ‘We must rescue him!’ she cried out.

‘And how do you propose to do that, missy?’ came an insolent voice. ‘Even the goblin-guard couldn't save him now.’

Quint elbowed his way to the very front, turned and confronted the crowd. ‘Shame on you!’ he cried. ‘The professor is worth a thousand of any of you.
You
might be able to stand by and watch the Most High Academe of our great city die, but
I
can't!’

As he strode forwards, he felt someone seize him by the arm. ‘Quint,’ came a voice.

He turned. Maris was standing before him, her eyes welling up. ‘Oh, Quint,’ she said, ‘aren't you forgetting something?’

Quint paused. His indigo-dark eyes widened questioningly.

‘The fire, Quint,’ said Maris, the tears running down her cheeks. ‘You know as well as I do that flames terrify you. You wouldn't stand a chance. No, if none of these
brave scholars
will save their Most High Academe, then
I
must.’ She shot a contemptuous look over her shoulder at the gawping faces, and strode towards the palace entrance.

Quint's hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. ‘I'm a sky pirate's son,’ he said. ‘If there's one thing I can do, it is climb.’

‘But the flames, Quint!’ Maris insisted. ‘What about the flames?’

Quint swallowed hard. ‘Let me worry about that. Your father needs me.’

He turned quickly away and ran up the steps to the front entrance, two at a time.

‘And so do I,’ Maris whispered after him.

At the top of the staircase, instead of going through the door, Quint shinned up the fluted column to its right. Higher and higher he climbed. The crowd below began to murmur. There was an embossed cap at the top of the pillar, directly beneath one of the second-storey balconies. Gripping on to it with his legs, Quint reached up. The moment his outstretched hand made contact with the ornate railings above, he gripped them tightly, released his legs and pulled himself up.

‘Bravo!’ a voice cried out.

‘Now climb up to the balcony above you!’ someone advised.

‘Rubbish!’ shouted another. ‘It's too high. You want to use that drainpipe and head for the Central Turret.‘

But Quint had his own plans. Without hesitating even for a moment, he picked himself up off the floor of the balcony, skirted round the flames billowing from the
broken window and climbed up onto the surrounding balustrade. The next moment, a cry of disbelief echoed round the square as the young apprentice performed a gravity-defying leap onto the neighbouring balcony.

Maris gasped in amazement and blinked away her tears. Even though he was so terrified of fire, Quint's life on board a sky pirate ship had indeed left him with unmatched agility and a fearless head for heights.

For a second time, he leapt across the gaping void below him to the next balcony. And again. And then one last time.

‘But what's he doing?’ the crowd was asking itself. ‘Why doesn't he simply go straight up?’

Their questions were answered a moment later when Quint reached the balcony closest to the corner of the building. Although it looked like all the others, it had one thing none of the others had. A flag-pole. Not that Quint was interested in the signal-banners which
fluttered in the rising breeze, but rather in the rope which had raised them. Without his sky-pirate grappling-hook, he had to improvise. Hopefully, with a perfectly executed clamp-knot and a steady aim, he would be able to navigate the overhang at the top of the building.

Having removed the rope from the pulley wheels, wound it round in a coil and slung it over his shoulder, Quint was off again. He leapt up, grabbed and heaved himself on to the Low Parapet. Then, using a sunken lightning-rod for support, he climbed over the arch above the windows and from there, up to a broad plinth which jutted out from a shell-shaped alcove.

‘He's nearly there,’ said someone in the crowd excitedly.

‘The most difficult part is still to come,’ cautioned another.

‘What's he doing?’ asked a third, as Quint suddenly jerked forwards and tossed the end of the rope up into the air.

‘Isn't it obvious?’ came an impatient reply. ‘He's trying to lassoo one of the parapet urns. He's going to pull himself up.’

Maris could barely dare to look as the rope flicked up over the top of the parapet wall. Twice, three times, four times it flew over the wall, only to drop back down again the next moment.

Come on! she willed him on. You can do it!

Five times. Six times – and still the rope did not catch. Then, at the seventh attempt, the pear-shaped loop dropped down so smoothly over the sculpted roofpot
that it seemed almost as if it had been teasing before. Quint tugged on the rope. The knot tightened.

The crowd held its breath. Maris mouthed a silent prayer. The next instant, everyone gasped in unison as Quint swung away from the plinth and dangled there, high up in the smoky air, his cape flapping in the gathering wind. No-one watching from below so much as blinked as, hand over hand, Quint inched himself slowly upwards.

Above him, they saw the professor flapping his arms more desperately than ever. The flames were getting closer. Valiant though he undoubtedly was, if the young apprentice wasn't quick, then both he and his master would surely perish.

Maris closed her eyes. She simply couldn't bear to watch any more. A moment later, however, a joyous cheer rang out, and she looked up again to see Quint pulling himself over the balustrade.

‘Thank Sky,’ she murmured gratefully. She strained to see through the smoke. ‘But where is my father?’

She scoured the whole of the High Parapet, but there
was no sign of him now. He must have slipped back, away from the edge and out of view.

At that moment, there was a crack and a crash and, a large triangular section of burning wood and shattered masonry broke away from the top of the palace. As it tumbled down, a dazzling sheet of flame and a billowing plume of thick, black smoke exploded on to the parapet.

Maris stared up, unable for a few seconds to see anything at all. Then, as the smoke cleared, her pounding heart missed a beat. Quint, too, had disappeared.

‘It's all right, Professor,’ said Quint softly. ‘But we don't have much time. Just come over here and I'll tie the rope around your waist. We'll soon …’ He paused. ‘Professor?’ he said. ‘Professor, come back!’

Without saying a word, Linius had turned and was heading off behind the turret. Quint swallowed nervously. The heat from the flames was intense – it burned his face yet chilled him to the bones. Any anxiety he'd felt climbing up the front of the great palace was nothing compared to the terror which gripped him now.

Quint glanced down over the balustrade. Far beneath him, he could see Maris staring back up at him. He couldn't fail her. Not now.

‘Professor!’ he called out. ‘Wait!’

Just then, there was a violent explosion. Quint ducked down as fiery debris flew past him and the air filled with a thick, choking smoke. With his eyes streaming and his throat burnt raw, he staggered towards the side of the tower.

‘Professor!’ he rasped. ‘Professor,
please
wait.’

As the smoke cleared, Quint saw him. He was leaning, almost nonchalantly, against the tower wall.

‘Professor, you must listen to me,‘ said Quint, as he wiped away the stinging tears from his eyes. ‘We must get out of here at once.’

But Linius was unmoved by the urgency in his voice. ‘So soon?’ he said. ‘But you have only just arrived. Sit down and catch your breath at least, my lad.’

‘You don't understand – the building could collapse at any moment,’ Quint insisted.

The professor shook his head. ‘Come now, Quint,’ he said. ‘Take the weight off your feet and warm yourself this chilly night at the fire.’ He raised his hands and rubbed them theatrically by the flames. ‘Ah, but the flames … I sense fear, Quint. They fill you with horror, do they not?’

Quint shuddered and turned away. The professor's tongue flicked out and tasted the air greedily.

Poor Linius, Quint thought in despair. After everything he's been through, this fire must have finally pushed him over the edge. With his heart hammering in his chest, he turned back to console him. ‘You're not yourself, Professor. But it'll be all right. I promise…’

As their eyes met, however, he was so startled by the expression on the academic's face – a keen, almost hungry look – that it took his breath away. And as he gasped, he saw the professor's tongue lap at the air.

He noticed something else, too. Something which glinted brightly in the flickering light: the Great Seal of High Office of Sanctaphrax.

‘No,’ he breathed. ‘No, it
can't
be.’

Down in the small square in front of the blazing Palace of Shadows, the atmosphere had changed. Neither the Most High Academe nor his apprentice had been spotted for ages and, with the increasing amount of blazing debris tumbling down through the air, waiting for their return was becoming more and more perilous. What was more, as the wind got up, pieces of flaming material were being blown to the surrounding buildings and beyond.

Already, there were rumours coming in of minor blazes breaking out in both the School of Light and Darkness and the Raintasters' Tower, while a third fire had been reported on the roof of the Great Hall. Although none of the sky-scholars felt any great sadness about the Palace of Shadows burning to the ground, the thought that their own colleges and academies might be in danger soon sent panic buzzing round the crowd.

A group of apprentices and sub-acolyte raintasters sped off back to the College of Rain, faces white and gowns flapping. The Sub-Dean of the School of Light and Darkness ran back and forth like a headless woodcock. While at the back of the square, numerous apprentice cloudwatchers and assorted volunteers had formed a long line in front of the College of Cloud and were passing bucket after bucket of water up the stairs – twenty flights in all – to the roof, where a second contingent of helpers was pouring it down every time a
stray spark from the blazing building opposite threatened to start a fire.

All round the square, the academics, servants and guards were abandoning the Palace of Shadows to its fate and the air resounded with their shouts as they streamed away.

‘We don't have time for that old place!’ ‘We must preserve our own buildings!’ ‘Let the palace burn to the ground. And good riddance!’

Maris alone stood still as the chaos continued all round her. She stared up at the High Parapet. ‘Please let them be all right,’ she whispered grimly. ‘Please let them be safe.’

But no matter how hard she peered into the smoky fire far above her head, she could find no sign of either her father or Quint. An icy fear gripped her.

‘Oh, Quint,’ she murmured. ‘What have you done? I…’

At that moment, there came the sound of sudden activity from the top of the palace stairs. Anxious voices. A bolt sliding. A key turning…

The door flew open and a small, rounded figure emerged from the entrance. She was wearing slippers and an apron – and had a small blue-furred creature perched on her shoulder.