Stormchaser (37 page)

‘Is that you, Bogwitt?’ he said. ‘It is I, the Professor of Darkness. I must have access to the treasury.’

‘Can’t,’ came the surly reply from the guard.

‘I … I … I beg your pardon,’ the professor spluttered. ‘Do you dare to deny me entrance?’

‘By order of the Most High Academe.’

‘What?’ exclaimed the professor. ‘But both you and I know that our worthy leader, Vilnix Pompolnius, would never
dream
of including me in such an order. So let me pass. At once.’

‘No-one is to enter the treasury,’ said Bogwitt with sudden ferocity. ‘Neither leaguesman nor academic.’ He lifted his lamp to the professor's face. ‘And especially not you. Those was my orders from Vilnix Pompolnius himself. What's more, you’re to surrender your key.’

‘Surrender my key? Over my dead body!’ the professor huffed.

‘If that's what you want, so be it,’ came the chilling response.

The lamp was placed on the ground with a clatter, and
Twig heard the
swoosh
and
thwip
of a sword and dagger being unsheathed. He peered round over the professor's shoulder at the guard blocking their view.

‘A flat-head,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I might have known.’ As he stared at the swaggering goblin – all glinting ear-rings, gold teeth and blades – fury and loathing rose up in his throat. How dare this barbaric flat-head goblin stand in their way when they had come so far and achieved so much – when they were so near to their final destination?

‘My dear Bogwitt,’ the professor was saying. ‘This must all be some kind of a misunderstanding. If you could just let us inside the treasury for a moment. No-one would ever know and…’

At that moment Twig's rage exploded. He wrested his own sword from its scabbard and leaped forwards.

‘Let us pass, curse you!’ he roared.

For a moment, the flat-head looked surprised – but only for a moment. With a leering smile playing over his lips, he squared up and lunged abruptly forwards, his sword thrusting towards Twig's neck. Twig stepped sharply back, and parried. The two swords clashed ferociously and – stunned by the awful force of the blow – Twig reeled backwards. Bogwitt was on him in a trice, sword thrusting and dagger slashing.

Twig trembled before the onslaught of wild, thrashing blows. Panting with effort, he staggered backwards, defending himself as best he could, but weakening with every second. Suddenly, the flat-head jumped to the right and swung his heavy sword in from the left. Twig
was caught unawares. He stumbled to the side and struck his elbow on the wall.

‘Aaaoow,’ he howled, as searing pain shot up his arm and down his spine. His sword clattered to the stone floor.

Bogwitt stepped forwards, eyes glinting. He raised his own sword. ‘Silly little fool,’ he hissed. ‘Did you really believe that you could defeat me – personal bodyguard to Vilnix Pompolnius himself – the fiercest and most feared guard in Sanctaphrax?’ He gripped the hilt of his sword till his knuckles went white. A glistening purple tongue flicked across his thin lips; his eyes gleamed. ‘I shall enjoy this.’

‘Stop!’ Twig cried out. ‘Do not strike.’

The flat-head sneered. ‘So the big brave bear was a
timid wee woodmouse all the time, was it?’ he said, and laughed unpleasantly.

‘Hear me out,’ said Twig, and reached inside his jacket.

‘What treachery is this?’ the flat-head roared. ‘Remove your hand at once, before I pin it to your heart.’

Twig slowly pulled out his hand, bringing with it the pouch which Mother Horsefeather had given him. He jingled it lightly in his palm. ‘Gold, Bogwitt,’ he said. ‘Ten gold pieces could be yours.’

‘Of course it could,’ said Bogwitt. ‘Or I could slit your pretty throat and take it all.’

‘You could,’ said Twig, standing his ground. ‘But it wouldn’t do you any good.’

The flat-head hesitated for a moment. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked gruffly.

‘He to whom you have pledged your allegiance is about to be dethroned,’ he said.

‘What, Vilnix Pompolnius? Don’t make me laugh!’ said the flat-head. ‘The Most High Academe?’

‘The scurrilous usurper,’ the Professor of Darkness muttered under his breath.

‘The leaguesmen are against him,’ Twig continued. ‘The academics are against him.’

‘But … but why?’ demanded the flat-head.

‘Why?’ the Professor of Darkness broke in. ‘Because he has run out of both the phraxdust which secured his alliance with the leaguesmen and the stormphrax which holds the floating city in place.’

Bogwitt looked confused. ‘But there is stormphrax in
the treasury,’ he said. ‘That is what Vilnix ordered me to guard.’

‘Why don’t you take a look then?’ suggested the professor, and handed him a heavy key.

The flat-head goblin's eyes narrowed. ‘If this is some kind of a trick…?’

‘Just look!’ snapped the professor.

With his sword still raised, Bogwitt picked up his lamp and crossed over to the treasury door. There, he turned the key in the lock, twisted the handle and pushed. He stuck his head in and stared round in disbelief. Anger rose in his throat.

‘Empty,’ he snarled. ‘The lying, cheating, no-good … It's completely empty!’

‘Vilnix lied to you,’ the professor said simply. ‘As he lies to everybody.’

‘You backed the wrong side, Bogwitt,’ Twig said, spelling it out for him. ‘And now there can be no place for you in Sanctaphrax. However…’

‘But I didn’t know!’ Bogwitt blurted out. ‘I was only doing my job. I…’

‘
However
,’ Twig repeated, ‘there is one possible way out of all this.’ He paused. ‘You are a good fighter, Bogwitt.’

‘The best,’ he nodded.

‘And clearly loyal,’ said Twig.

‘I am, I am,’ the flat-head agreed eagerly.

Twig nodded. ‘Then this is what I propose,’ he said. ‘You join the crew of my sky pirate ship. But not as a slave. There will be no bondmen or galley-slaves on board the
Edgedancer
.’ He glanced down at the leather pouch. ‘What do you say?’

For a moment, the flat-head goblin remained silent. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his broad face. He met Twig's gaze. ‘I says yes,’ he replied.

Twig slowly counted out ten pieces of gold into his hand. ‘But if you try to cross me, Bogwitt, it will be the worse for you,’ he added threateningly. ‘There are many, both in Undertown and Sanctaphrax, who would like to get their hands on Vilnix Pompolnius's former bodyguard.’

‘You can rely on me, Captain Twig,’ said Bogwitt.

‘I believe I can,’ said Twig, and he slapped the coins down into the palm of his hand. ‘Welcome aboard, Bogwitt,’ he said.

The professor, who had been watching the exchange
with some confusion, stepped forwards. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘let us complete our task.’

Twig nodded. ‘Bogwitt,’ he said, ‘will you take the other end of that chest.’ The flat-head did not move. ‘Bogwitt!’ Twig snapped. ‘I trust that this is not the first indication of a mutinous nature.’

‘No, no,’ said Bogwitt, and approached the chest. ‘Not at all, sir, but…’ He shuddered. ‘Why does the box glow so strangely?’

‘Stormphrax,’ Twig answered. ‘We have brought stormphrax. Equilibrium is about to be restored to the empty treasury of Sanctaphrax.’

A minute later, the treasury was no longer empty. In the middle of the circle which had been carved at the very centre of the chamber, stood the chest of stormphrax.

‘But why has nothing happened?’ asked Bogwitt.

‘Only when it's in darkness, pure and absolute, does the stormphrax attain maximum weight,’ the professor explained. He raised the lid of the chest and removed the twilight lantern. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘It is time.’

In a line, with the professor in front and Twig bringing up the rear, the four of them made for the door. As they went, the lantern and the lamp swung, sending dark shadows swooping round the chamber and across the chest. The stormphrax grew heavy, then light again – then heavier than ever. And as
that
happened, so the floor of the treasury rocked and trembled.

‘Quick!’ the professor cried, and broke into a run.

The others followed, stumbling and staggering as the
floor continued to judder. When he reached the door, Twig glanced back for one last look. The chest seemed absurdly small in the centre of the enormous chamber. Could it really be enough to stabilize the mighty floating rock?

‘Twig!’ said the professor sharply.

Twig stepped outside, seized the heavy iron handle and slammed the door shut behind him, the sound echoing back along the dark tunnels. At the same time, the floor beneath his feet abruptly dropped away.

His stomach lurched. His heart leapt into his mouth. Terrified, he cried out.

The next instant, the movement jerked to a halt. There was silence. There was stillness. Twig turned to the Professor of Darkness.

‘Is that
it
?’ he said.

‘That is it,’ the professor confirmed. ‘The perfect amount.’

Twig shook his head in disbelief.

‘Trust me,’ said the professor. ‘Deep down here at the centre of the rock, the effect is minimal. Up on the surface, however, in the city itself, the consequences will be cataclysmic. In fact, you must believe me when I say to you that Sanctaphrax will never ever be the same again.’

• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE •
S
HOWDOWN

V
ilnix Pompolnius was waking from a deep dreamless sleep when the floating rock first trembled. He opened his eyes, glanced round the luxurious Inner Sanctum and smiled a self-satisfied smile.

‘How wonderful this all is,’ he muttered. ‘And how exquisitely clever I am to have made it mine.’

He threw back his covers, climbed out of bed and walked to the window. The sun – large and red and wobbling like an immense bowl of dellberry jelly – had just risen up above the horizon. Pink, feathery light spread across the sky. Vilnix yawned and rubbed his hand over his stubbly scalp.

‘The start of yet another delightful day,’ he said, and threw the window wide open.

A blast of refreshingly dewy air struck him in the face, snatching his breath away. Behind him, the glass
droplets of the crystal chandelier tinkled like wind-chimes. Vilnix leaned out and pulled the window shut again – he didn’t want them to shatter. But the chandelier continued its insistent jangling music.