Clash of the Sky Galleons (39 page)

‘Fare well, Father,’ Quint whispered.

He turned from the aft-deck balustrade, crossed the flight-rock platform -where the hooded Stone Pilot nodded silently to him - and climbed down to the fore-deck. There he was greeted by the rest of the crew.

Tem Barkwater stood by the prow from which he’d just launched the lufwood
harpoon, Duggin - pitch-bucket and flaming torch in hand - by his side. An anxious, distracted-looking Spillins stood, cap clutched in his gnarled hands, and large eyes darker than ever, next to the huge figure of Hubble the banderbear. Maris stepped out from behind them and rushed over to Quint, tears streaming down her cheeks.

‘We were going to wait for you, Quint, but Captain Daggerslash thought…’ she began.

Quint handed her his handkerchief and turned to the sky pirate who stood tall and erect at the fore-deck balustrade, one arm in a sling.

‘Captain
Daggerslash?’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

Thaw gave Quint a dazzling smile. ‘Only of the
Mireraider
just now,’ he said, ‘though if the crew of the
Galerider
will have me …’ His face grew serious. ‘You’ve been through a lot, Quint. Without you, I wouldn’t have survived on that hideous wreck. I’m only sorry that neither of us could save Captain Wind Jackal…’

Quint nodded slowly. ‘Where were you, Thaw, when Turbot Smeal killed my father?’ He tried to keep his voice steady.

‘We’d split up to search the vessel,’ Thaw said smoothly. ‘I was in the fore-hold when I heard the clash of swords. I met Smeal coming down from the flight-rock platform. He ran me through with a sword-thrust,’ he said, fingering his shoulder gingerly. ‘But I managed to trip him as I went down - sent him hurtling to his death over the side, Sky curse him!’ He shook his head
at the memory of it all. ‘Evil-looking creature, he was; a grin like a skullpelt…’

Quint shuddered as he remembered the hideous face he’d seen looming over his father on the flight-rock platform.

‘I’m sorry for your terrible loss, Quint, believe me, but if it’s any help, I have avenged his murder …’

Quint reached out and shook the sky pirate’s hand. ‘For which I thank you, Thaw,’ he said. ‘But my father always intended that
I
should succeed him as captain. He gave me a sky pirate name long ago. Cloud Wolf.’

‘Captain Cloud Wolf,’ Thaw smiled. ‘It
does
have a ring to it, to be sure, but your father was a great one for tradition, was he not?’

Quint nodded.

‘And in true sky pirate tradition, a captain has to be elected by his crew.’

Quint nodded again.

‘Each crew-member draws a shryke tooth and has a full day aloft to present that tooth to his choice of captain…’

‘A “shryke-smile”,’ Quint agreed.

‘A shryke-smile it is, then, Cloud Wolf,’ said Thaw, his own smile flashing brightly, ‘and may the best captain win!’

As the senior crew-member, it fell to Spillins the oakelf to organize the drawing of shryke teeth, which he kept secure in a small bundle in the caternest.

‘Never thought I’d live to see another shryke-smile,’ the old oakelf muttered sadly as he counted out six
jagged yellow teeth - one for each crew-member - and climbed back down the mast.

It rained heavily during the night. The following morning the decks were glazed with the recent downpour, and the sails and rigging dripped as the first blush of morning lit the sky. Spillins shuffled round the sky ship as the sun rose, pressing each tooth into the palm of every crew-member and keeping one for himself. He smiled at Quint as he passed him at the helm - but then his dark eyes clouded over and he averted his gaze when Thaw Daggerslash greeted him cheerfully on the fore-deck.

‘Sky protect us!’ the old oakelf muttered to himself, peering up at the misty, watery-coloured sun. ‘Sky protect us all!’

As Quint left the helm and made his way to the aft-deck, Spillins met him on the stairs. The old oakelf was heading for the mast, and the safety and comfort of his caternest.

‘If it was up to me, young master,’ he said. ‘If there had been
any
way that this could have been avoided …’ He left the words hanging in the air. ‘Unfortunately, tradition is tradition.’ He shook his head unhappily.

‘My father always spoke warmly of Thaw Daggerslash,’ said Quint. ‘A little too ambitious, he thought, but that’s not a bad thing, surely?’

The oakelf shrugged, his dark eyes growing wider. ‘Let’s just say your father could always see the good in people, whereas some of us see a little more …’

Quint frowned. ‘You mean, his aura?’

‘I have never seen a more poisonous hue,’ Spillins replied, and shuddered.

‘And what does that mean?’ Quint asked.

‘It could mean any number of things …’ said Spillins. ‘Pain and suffering; sorrow in the past, causing black moods -or worse; thwarted ambition leading to evil thoughts …’

Quint hesitated. ‘That doesn’t sound good …’

Spillins stared into Quint’s face with his huge dark eyes.

‘I see the stain of sorrow in
your
aura, my lad,’ he said with a sad smile, ‘but also the golden glow of greatness - which is why I’m giving you this.’ Spillins slipped his shryke tooth into Quint’s hand, and winked. ‘Good luck,’ he said, softly.

Hubble was down in the aft-hold when Thaw Daggerslash caught up with him. Since Ratbit’s untimely death, the number of scrabsters had multiplied a dozenfold. Hungry, now that the tallow candles they had fed on were gone, they had started making forays into other areas of the sky ship - the fore-hold, the food stores, the infirmary cabin, devouring anything they could find. It was when Thaw Daggerslash had discovered his tilderskin breeches half-consumed that he had announced that ‘something had to
be done’ - and had volunteered Hubble for the task of eradicating the vermin.

‘There
you are,’ he said.

Hubble, who was crouching silently by a small hole in a cross-beam of the great hold, a clawed paw raised, glanced round.

‘Wuh-wuh,’ he murmured.

‘Never mind “wuh-wuh”. You know what I want,’ said Thaw. He stepped closer. ‘Hand it over.’

‘Wuh?’ said Hubble, his great furry face creased with confusion.

‘You really are a stupid creature,’ said Thaw in exasperation. ‘The shryke tooth. Hand it over!’

For a moment, Hubble did not move. Thaw Daggerslash reached towards his sword - a sudden gesture which caused the albino bander-bear to yelp involuntarily.

‘It gives me no pleasure inflicting pain, but you force me into it…’

The banderbear raised a great fist, as if to strike the sky pirate, only to open its paw and allow a shryke tooth to fall to the floor. Thaw Dagger-slash snatched it and pushed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then, turning on his heel, he marched back towards the exit.

‘Excellent choice, Hubble,’ he chuckled. ‘For such a stupid creature!’

As Thaw disappeared up the stairs, a scrabster poked its scaly head out into the hold and sniffed. Before it had a chance to determine what exactly it could smell, the banderbear’s great paw descended, decapitating the creature with a single slash of a great claw.

Returning to the helm, Quint busied himself realigning one of the flight-levers. The lever cord was frayed and would need to be repaired by the look of it. Quint called to Tem on the fore-deck to join him. The young deckhand climbed the stairs to the helm, two at a time.

‘What seems to be the problem?’ he said, cheerfully, peering over Quint’s shoulder.

‘It’s the stud-sail lever cord. Needs replacing…’ Quint muttered.

‘Steg used to keep an eye on the lever cords,’ Tem sighed. ‘I do miss old Steg …’ He swallowed hard.

Quint nodded and looked up. ‘Why Tem Barkwater!’ he exclaimed. ‘When are you going to stop growing? You were shorter than me when I first untethered you from that whipping-post, and as light as a vulpoon feather.
Now
look at you! Half a head taller and built like an iron-wood privy!’

It was true. The thick jerkin, tilderskin jacket, heavy canvas leggings and stout boots that he had bought in Undertown were all now looking tight and skimpy -even the huge hammelhorn felt cap no longer looked too big for him. Tem smiled amiably.

‘I reckon it must be all that good food Mistress Maris serves up,’ he said. ‘Here, give me that,’ he said, leaning over and taking the end of the cord from Quint. ‘I know how to fix nether-fetters. Steg taught me.’

With deft fingers, he twisted the frayed end of the cord, doubled it back on itself, and slipped the tide-ring into place.

‘There,’ he said, as straightened up. ‘Try the flight-lever now.’

Quint did so. It worked perfectly. ‘Excellent, Tem!’ he said. ‘Well done.’

‘My pleasure,’ he replied, beaming happily. The next moment, his face grew suddenly serious. ‘You know that Thaw Daggerslash was down on the fore-deck this morning, complimenting me on my harpoon firing and ropecraft, and acting all nice and friendly like …’

‘Thaw is always friendly,’ admitted Quint.

‘Yet behind those smiles,’ said Tem, shaking his head, ‘there’s something else; something mean …’

‘Mean?’ said Quint.

‘Yes,’ said Tem, frowning. ‘Like that time he was talking about using me as tarry-vine bait…’

‘It was just a joke, Tem,’ said Quint. He shook his head. ‘Though it wasn’t funny.’

‘That’s right,’ said Tem. ‘It wasn’t funny. Not to someone who’s actually been used as tarry-vine bait. Not funny at all. And a captain of a sky pirate ship should know that…’

He reached into the pocket of his tight jerkin and teased out the shryke tooth wedged there.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘For you, Quint.’

‘Duggin! Duggin! Duggin!’ said Thaw Daggerslash, laughing lightly. ‘What a fine sky pirate you’ve turned out to be!’

The pair of them were on the fore-deck. Ever since he’d been brought aboard the
Galerider,
Duggin had spent his every spare moment working on his
Edgehopper -
moderating the sail/hull-weight ratio, adding adjustable cleat-mechanisms to the under-rigging and attaching jutting wind-spoilers to the aft-hull to reduce the risk of turning turvey in heavy winds. The vessel was sleeker, faster and more stable than ever before.

Now, with the
Edgehopper
finished and the
Mireraider
on board, Duggin had turned his attention and expertise to the sky barge. He had stripped the mast and rebuilt it at a ten-degree back-sloping angle. He had lengthened the prow, trimmed the boom and, at the stern, added a device all of his own design.

‘So, what
is
it exactly?’ Thaw asked, tapping the series of oblique pipes that had been attached to the stern on either side of the rudder.

‘I call it a wind-lift,’ Duggin explained. ‘Sky barges are notoriously sluggish. This should exploit the wind-flow at the stern, thereby reducing the drag of the rubble cage - and double the
Mireraider’s
speed.’