Beyond the Deepwoods (24 page)

‘Sky willing,’ came the reply.

Twig stretched up again, but could still see only the one pirate. He stepped up onto the branch for a better look and – CRACK – the wood gave under his foot.

‘What was that?’ bellowed Tem Barkwater. He spun round and scoured the silvery shadows.

‘Probably just an animal,’ the second sky pirate said.

‘I'm not so sure,’ said Tem Barkwater slowly.

Twig cowered down. The whispering sound of tip-toe footsteps approached. Twig looked up. He found himself staring into the delicate yet broad face of someone little older than himself – an oakelf by the look of him. It must be Spiker.

The oakelf stared at Twig, a puzzled frown playing over his features. Finally, ‘Do I know you?’ he said.

‘You find anything?’ Tem Barkwater called.

Spiker continued to stare. His tufted ears twitched. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly.

‘What's that?’

‘I said
yes
!’ he shouted back, and seized Twig by the shoulder. The hammelhornskin fleece turned at once to needles, and stabbed the oakelf's hand. He yelped, pulled away and sucked his fingers tenderly, all the while staring suspiciously at Twig. ‘Follow me,’ he instructed.

‘What have we here, then?’ said Tem Barkwater, as Spiker and Twig emerged before him. ‘Lanky little so'n'so, ain't he?’ he said, and squeezed Twig's upper arm
with a bulging finger and thumb. ‘Who are you, lad?’

‘Twig, sir,’ said Twig.

‘Extra hand on board, eh?’ he said, and winked at Spiker.

Twig felt a thrill of excitement shudder through his body.

‘If there's still an “on board” left,’ the oakelf commented.

‘Course there is!’ said Tem Barkwater. He laughed throatily. ‘Just a matter of finding out where it's got to.’

Twig cleared his throat. ‘I think it's over there,’ he said, pointing to his right.

Tem Barkwater turned and stooped and pressed his large, red hairy face into Twig's. ‘And how would you know that?’

‘I … I saw it crash,’ he said uncertainly.

‘You
saw
it,’ he bellowed.

‘I was up a tree. Watching the storm. I saw the sky ship get trapped in the whirlwind.’

‘You saw it,’ Tem Barkwater repeated, more softly now. He clapped his hands together. ‘Then you'd better lead us there, Twig, me-old-mucker.’

It was a mixture of luck and guesswork that got him there, but get there he did. They hadn't gone more than a hundred steps before Tem Barkwater spied the hull ahead of them, glinting in the moonlight high up in the branches. ‘There she is,’ he murmured. ‘The
Stormchaser
, herself. Well done, lad,’ he said to Twig, and slapped him heartily on the shoulder.

‘Sssh!’ hissed Spiker. ‘We're not the first ones back.’

Tem cocked his head to one side. ‘It's that rogue of a quartermaster, Slyvo Spleethe,’ he muttered.

Spiker raised a finger to his lips, and the three of them stood stock-still, straining to hear the murmured conversation.

‘It would seem, my dear Mugbutt, that our captain has over-reached himself,’ Slyvo was saying. His voice was nasal and precise, with every
d
and
t
being spat out like something distasteful.

‘Over-reached himself!’ came a low gruff echo.

Tem Barkwater shifted about restlessly. His face grew thunderously dark. He craned his neck. ‘The Stone Pilot's with them, too,’ he whispered.

Twig stole a glance through a gap in the leaves. There were three pirates there. Mugbutt was a flat-head goblin. With his broad flat skull and wide ears, he was typical of his kind, yet fiercer by far than the flat-head who had helped Twig out of the swamp. Behind him stood a squat creature dressed in a heavy overcoat and heavier boots.
His head was hidden beneath a large pointed hood which extended down over his chest. Two round glass panels allowed him to see out. He did not speak. The third pirate was Slyvo Spleethe himself; a tall yet stooped figure, all angles and points. His nose was long, his chin sharp, and behind his steel-rimmed spectacles his shifty eyes were constantly on the move.

‘I mean, far be it from me to say I told you so,’ he continued, ‘but … well … If we
had
left the ironwood,
as
I suggested … The price of the stuff is plummeting anyway at the moment.’ There was a pause, and a sigh. ‘If we
had
left it, we wouldn't have been anywhere near the storm.’

‘Near the storm,’ growled Mugbutt.

‘Still. Who am
I
to argue with fate? If the command of the ship was destined to fall upon my shoulders, I must accept my responsibility with…’ He searched for the right word.

Mugbutt filled the silence. ‘Responsibility with…’

‘Oh, do stop interrupting me!’ Slyvo snapped. ‘You are brave in battle, Mugbutt, don't get me wrong; a credit to your tribe. But you lack any sense of occasion.’

‘Occasion,’ Mugbutt repeated.

Slyvo grunted impatiently. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let's break the glad tidings to the others.’

Tem could remain still no longer. ‘Treacherous dog,’ he growled as he burst through the undergrowth and into the clearing. The Stone Pilot, Mugbutt and Slyvo Spleethe all spun round.

‘My
dear
Tem,’ said Slyvo, his disappointment turning
instantly to a tight-lipped smile. ‘And Spiker. You two made it too.’

Twig held back; watching, listening.

‘
He
ought to be chained up,’ said Tem, pointing at the flat-head goblin. ‘Cap'n's orders.’

Slyvo lowered his head coyly and fiddled with one of the knots in his moustache. ‘The thing is,’ he whimpered, looking up over his glasses. ‘As I was just saying to Mugbutt here, our illustrious captain, Quintinius Verginix, is…’ He looked round theatrically. ‘
Not
here.’ He smirked. ‘And Mugbutt does
so
enjoy his freedom.’

Tem grunted. For the time being, at least, there was nothing he could do. ‘What state is the ship in?’ he asked.

Slyvo looked up. ‘How's it going, Stope?’ he called.

‘OK,’ came a voice, which squeaked as it spoke. ‘Superficial damage, mainly. The rudder's taken a hammering. But nothing I can't fix.’

‘Will she soon be sky-worthy?’ said Slyvo impatiently.

A head poked out from the overhead foliage. A hard bullet-head it was, with a close-fitting metal frame over the skull which held a bolted jaw in place. ‘She won't be sky-worthy till we get the flight-rock back in place,’ he said.

Slyvo grimaced and stamped his feet sulkily. ‘Can't you improvise? Lufwood, bloodoak – they rise. Just burn more…’

Stope Boltjaw tutted and shook his head. ‘Can't do it,’ he said. ‘You could never contain a fire the size it would have to be to achieve the required lift, and besides…’

‘There must be
something
you can do!’ Slyvo screamed. ‘I still don't understand why the blasted rock fell in the first place.’

‘Coz it was struck by lightning,’ said Stope Boltjaw.

‘I know
that
, you idiot!’ snapped Slyvo. ‘But…’

‘Cold rock rises, hot rock sinks,’ Stope continued patiently. ‘Scientific fact. And I'll tell you another scientific fact. What heats up, cools down. If you lot don't find that flight-rock before much longer, it'll have floated off for ever. And now, if you'll excuse me, I've got the cradle-moorings to repair – just in case you should find it.’ His head disappeared back behind the leafy branches.

Slyvo bit into his lips. The blood drained from his face. ‘You heard him,’ he snarled. ‘
FIND THE FLIGHT-ROCK
!’

Spiker and Mugbutt turned and hurried off. The Stone Pilot plodded after them. Tem Barkwater held his ground.

‘Well?’ Slyvo demanded.

‘I might be able to tell you where the rock is. On one condition. When it's back in place, we wait for the cap'n.’

‘Oh, but of
course
,’ said Slyvo. ‘I give you my
word
.’ He reached out and shook Tem by the hand.

From his place in the undergrowth, Twig saw the
quartermaster's other arm swing round behind his back. The hand was missing two fingers, and the raw scars looked recent. The two remaining fingers were stiffly crossed.

Tem nodded. ‘I aim to ensure that you keep your word,’ he said. He turned away. ‘Twig,’ he called out. ‘Are you there, lad? Come out where I can see you.’

Twig stood up and stepped forwards.

‘A spy!’ hissed Slyvo.

‘A witness,’ said Tem. ‘To what you promised.’ He turned to Twig. ‘Do you know where the flight-rock landed?’ he asked. Twig hesitated. He glanced up at Slyvo Spleethe. ‘It's all right,’ Tem assured him.

Twig nodded. ‘I know, all right,’ he admitted. ‘I saw it. Like a shooting star it looked – well, a
dropping
star. A
falling
star…’

‘Get on with it!’ said Slyvo sharply.

Twig blushed. He was talking too much. But he couldn't help it. The whiff of adventure about the rough and rugged sky pirates quickened his heart and loosened his tongue. He turned away from Slyvo's intense gaze and started walking. ‘It's this way,’ he said.

‘Hey, you lot,’ Slyvo Spleethe called out to Spiker, Mugbutt and the Stone Pilot. ‘Follow us.’

Twig led the ragtag rabble of pirates back through the forest. The way looked familiar in the swaying lamplight. He first heard, and then saw the humming combbush. He marched up to it and parted the branches. The stone was still there, embedded in the ground. It glowed a deep buttery yellow.

‘It was white before,’ said Twig.

‘It's cooling down,’ said Tem. ‘The trick will be to get it back to the sky ship while it's light enough to carry, but heavy enough not to fly away.’

Slyvo turned to the Stone Pilot. ‘
You
are responsible for transporting it,’ he said.

From deep within the Stone Pilot's pointed hood came a grunt of acknowledgement. He lumbered forwards, crouched down and embraced the rock in his broad arms. The sleeves and front of his fireproof coat hissed. Twig sniffed. The air smelt of scorched mud. The Stone Pilot heaved and strained, and the glass panels at the front of his hood misted over. But the flight-rock did not budge.