Midnight Over Sanctaphrax (3 page)

Tarp Hammelherd, the slaughterer, was a Deep-woods dweller who had been lost to the taverns of Undertown.

Bogwitt, a flat-head goblin and fierce warrior, had once been a Sanctaphrax guard. Both had been treated harshly by capricious fate; both had been offered succour and a second chance on board the Edgedancer. Neither would ever forget the young captain's kindness.

And then there was Wingnut Sleet - who owed nothing to him - a clever, yet sly, quartermaster on whom Twig had taken a chance. Only the silent Stone Pilot had been known to Twig - and had sailed with him before.

To our first adventure together!’ Tarp had said, and raised his glass. ‘And may the caterbird guide us quickly to the cap'n's father, and bring us all safely back to the Edge.’

A ripple of assent had greeted his words.

‘To our first adventure,’ the sky pirates had cried.

Now, three weeks later, that adventure was reaching its climax.

‘Vortex, fifty thousand strides,’ Spooler shouted above the roar of the approaching vortex.

‘Listen up, all of you,’ Twig called loudly. He turned to the banderbear at the helm, still holding a steady course
despite the treacherous battering from the wind. ‘You too, Goom,’ he said. ‘Can you all hear me?’

‘Yes,’ came the chorus of voices and the crew, as one, turned to look up at their captain.

All round them, the clouds writhed and squirmed, yellow and grey, with flashes of electric blue. The wind gusted treacherously as the weather vortex - with the gaping opening to the spinning tunnel face-on - drew closer. Twig looked up nervously, his hammelhornskin waistcoat bristling. The caterbird was still heading straight for it.

‘I did not force any of you to come,’ said Twig. ‘Yet come, you did. And I am grateful for that - more grateful than you could imagine.’

Woodfish nodded his head knowingly.

‘I thought I had lost my father for ever. Now I have been given a chance to find him. I shall never forget that it is you who have made this possible.’

‘I would follow you to the end of open sky, cap'n!’ Tarp Hammelherd shouted back.

‘Wuh-wuh!’ Goom agreed.

Wingnut Sleet lowered his head and shuffled around awkwardly.

‘We have already come a long way together,’ Twig continued. ‘Now we are about to be tested to the limit. Sky willing, we will find Cloud Wolf and return to the Edge,’ he said. ‘But if …’ He paused. ‘If we fail, then I swear that so long as you are members of my crew, come what may, I will never abandon you. Never! As captain of the Edgedancer, I give you my word.’

Tarp Hammelherd looked up. ‘I can't speak for the others,’ he said, ‘but I'm with you, cap'n, all the way.’

‘Me, too,’ said Woodfish.

A rumble of agreement echoed round the deck. Even Wingnut Sleet nodded.

‘Though I still don't see why we have to make things so difficult for ourselves by sailing straight into the mouth of a weather vortex,’ he grumbled.

‘Have faith in the caterbird,’ Twig replied. ‘It knows what it's doing …’

‘Vortex at twenty-five thousand strides,’ cried Spooler. ‘Approximately four minutes to impact.’

The Edgedancer flew into a bank of grey, sticky cloud. The gale-force gusts of wind tipped it this way, that way. While Goom gripped the helm, Twig ran his fingers over the bone-handled levers in a frantic effort to keep the sky ship steady. All round them, blue lightning forked and flashed. The cloud was so dense that the sky pirates could barely see their hands before their faces.

‘Angle, speed and balance,’ Twig muttered. For once the words offered no comfort. With the thick air in his eyes, his nose, his mouth, he felt his nerve beginning to

At that moment, the Edgedancer burst through the bank of cloud. To a crew-member, the sky pirates started back in horror. Twig gasped. Even the caterbird seemed surprised by the sight which confronted them. The swirling entrance to the vortex was suddenly there, directly in front of them. Its great blood-red mouth gaped so vast, it took up most of the sky.

‘V … v … vortex, ten thousand strides and c … closing,’ Spooler stammered.

‘A little higher, Twig,’ the caterbird's voice floated back to them as it soared upwards, pulling the tether taut once again. ‘We must enter the vortex at the still point in the very centre of the spinning tunnel of air.’

Without giving the command a second thought, Twig's hands danced over the levers once more, raising the prow-weight, lowering the stern-weight and realigning the stud and staysails.

‘That's it,’ the caterbird shouted back. ‘Now hold this course. So long as we remain at the centre of the weather vortex, we stand a chance.’

An icy shiver of unease ran the length of Twig's spine.

The swirling vortex roared closer.

‘Five thousand strides,’ Spooler cried.

Hurricane-force winds battered the Edgedancer with immense power, threatening at any moment to send the sky ship into a fatal spin. The charged air smelt of sulphur and toasted almonds; it made the hair of the sky pirates stand on end.

‘A thousand strides!’

The ship trembled and creaked. The crew grabbed onto anything they could. They held on desperately.

All at once, the frayed edge of the spinning vortex was swirling round the sky ship. It was like staring down a monstrous throat. There was no turning back now.

‘Five hundred strides!’ cried the oakelf. ‘Four. Three. Two. One …’

‘Brace yourselves!’ Twig cried. ‘We are entering the weather vortex … now!’

• CHAPTER TWO •
THE WEATHER VORTEX

I
t was a world of red they were plunged into. There was a blast of furnace-hot air, and a terrible screaming which filled Twig's ears. His stomach knotted, his breath came in gasps and, when he managed to half-open an eye, the wind caused scalding tears to course down his cheeks.

‘Sky above!’ he exclaimed.

They were inside the raging red gullet of the monstrous weather vortex. All round them, the swirling currents wailed and screeched. Yet here, at the central still point, there was a clammy, eerie calm.

‘Heavy on the mainsail, Tarp,’ Twig bellowed above the roaring air. ‘And double-check that the tolley-ropes are secure.’

‘Aye aye, cap'n,’ he shouted back.

The weather vortex was vast beyond imagination. It was as if the sky itself had turned into a great voracious
beast. And the Edgedancer was inside it: swallowed up, consumed.

‘Hold fast!’ Twig roared. ‘Goom, chain yourself to the helm and keep us steady.’

The banderbear leapt to obey. Twig concentrated on the sail and hull-weight levers. With the wind spinning faster and faster - an angry red wall that surrounded them, constantly threatening to draw the sky ship off course and into its terrible turmoil - it was vital to maintain balance as they were sucked in deeper and deeper.

‘What now?’ Twig called out to the caterbird.

‘There is no going back,’ the bird boomed. ‘We are entering the turbulent heart of the Mother Storm, the birthplace of tempests and tornadoes - a place of terrible madness. Yet at its very centre, there is ultimate calm and …’

‘And?’ Twig called back. The air had turned icy blue, and tiny vicious hailstones stung his face.

‘And?’ boomed the caterbird, half lost in a bank of swirling fog far ahead, ‘it is there we shall find your father - if any of us survive.’

All of a sudden, Twig was gripped by a feeling of intense sadness. He fell to his knees, great sobs racking his body. Woodfish screamed with high, piercing sorrow. Sleet lay curled in a ball at the feet of a weeping Bogwitt. The tiny hailstones beat out a terrible rhythm on the decks.