The Last of the Sky Pirates (37 page)

‘I called the crew together as soon as we’d left the Free Glades safely behind, and explained our situation. Tarp clapped me on the back, Bogwitt shook my hand and Grimlock almost broke my ribs with a great banderbear-hug. They all agreed they would stay with me in my search, even though, with just the four of us, it would be backbreaking work. Dear brave fellows, they were,’ he said wistfully. ‘Long gone now, of course.’

Twig looked into the distance for a long time, saying nothing. At last Rook asked, ‘What happened?’

Twig’s face grew sad. ‘It was a stupid thing really. But deadly. You see, we needed provisions. So, not daring to venture into villages or settlements for fear of con tamination, we scavenged in the Deepwoods themselves – for tilder and woodhog meat, fruits and roots we could dry or pickle, and twenty barrels of water which Grimlock, being so strong, managed to collect in a single afternoon.’

He shook his head miserably. ‘It was the water which was to seal our fate, for poor, stupid Grimlock – Sky rest him – ignored that most important Deepwoods law of all.
Never drink from a still pool
. Grimlock had filled every single barrel with the same tainted water … But it was
my
fault, not his!’ he said, his eyes blazing. ‘I was the captain. I should have checked; I should have known …

‘Before long, all of us had gone down with blackwater fever. I staved it off a while longer than the rest, but soon I too was held in its terrible grip. I vomited till my stomach was empty. I lost consciousness. How many days and nights I lay there on the deck, while the
Skyraider
drifted on across the Deepwoods unchecked, I will never know. Tossing and turning as the fever raged on, burning up one moment, shivering with bitter cold the next.’

Rook nodded sympathetically. He knew only too well how terrible a raging fever could be.

‘It was daybreak when I finally came round. I sat up, my head spinning groggily, my stomach grumbling. A
cold, damp mist swirled through the air. It clung to my clothes, my hair, my skin, and had covered every surface of the
Skyraider
with a fine coating of slippery wetness. I struggled to my feet, looked around.

‘There were no trees beneath us now, only rock; a vast, greasy-grey expanse, broken up into broad, flat slabs with deep cracks between them. I knew at once where I was, and my heart filled with dread. The Edgelands; an eerie wasteland of mists and nightmares.

‘It was in the Edgelands, many years before, that I had come face to face with a horror I can scarcely bring myself to share with you. For me, you see, Rook, the Edgelands hold a particular terror, for it was there that I met the gloamglozer – and lived to tell the tale.’

Rook gasped. ‘The gloamglozer! But how? When …?’

‘One day I’ll tell you the whole story,’ said Twig. ‘But suffice to say, I survived, and vowed never to return to that accursed place. Yet, as fate would have it, it was to the Edgelands that the poor, battered old
Skyraider
had carried me. I looked around.’ Twig’s eyes grew sad. ‘The
Skyraider
seemed deserted. My crew! Where were they? I hadn’t seen or heard any of them since wakening. I called out, but there was no reply. I left the helm and dashed to the fore-deck. And … and there they were. All three of them …

‘Oh, Rook,’ he groaned. ‘They were dead. Bogwitt. Tarp Hammelherd. Even poor Grimlock, great, powerful brogtroll that he was, had proved no match for black – water fever …’ His voice faltered. ‘Th-their bodies were sprawled out on the cold, wet deck, rigid in their death throes – arms reaching out, faces twisted with fear and horror. Each one of them had died a terrible death …’ He swallowed hard. ‘I performed the funeral rituals as best I could. It was the least I could do for a fine, loyal crew who had served me and the
Skyraider
so well …’

He fell still, and Rook watched as the tall, rugged sky pirate captain wiped a tear from his eyes. A lump formed in his own throat.

‘You see, Rook, I had finally failed. There was nothing for it …’ Twig took a deep breath. ‘Sailing back to the Deepwoods was not an option. I could never have sailed the
Skyraider
single-handed,’ he said. ‘And so I tethered her to a great rocky outcrop that jutted out from the cliff-face, like some crouching demon, black against the sunrise, and left.’

‘You mean, the
Skyraider
is still there!’ gasped Rook.

‘Aye, lad,’ said Twig. ‘If she hasn’t rotted away or succumbed to stone-sickness in the meantime, then she
is
still there. A fine drizzle was falling the morning I bade her farewell. Despite what she’d been through, she looked magnificent, floating above that barren wasteland, a cruel reminder of all that had been lost.’ He paused. ‘The last sky ship …’ Again Twig fell silent until – with a small sigh – he continued. ‘Three days it took me to cross the treacherous Edgelands, and another two
weeks before I chanced across a band of itinerant cloddertrogs who gave me food, drink and shelter. And I have wandered the Deepwoods ever since.

‘Although there is now only me, and I am old and weary, I have never truly given up hope. I look for Riverrise on the horizon every morning when I wake, and I think of the friends I left there every evening when I lay myself down to sleep.

‘I see their faces, Rook. Goom. Maugin. Woodfish. They are not angry with me. Sometimes I wish they were. The look of hope and trust in their eyes as they gaze upon me is a thousand times worse. I let them down, Rook,’ he said. His voice broke. ‘They believed in me … My poor, lost friends …’ He held his head in his hands. ‘I’m haunted by memories of all those I have known. The living and the dead, clustered together. Faces I’ll never see again. My father. Tuntum. The old Professors of Light and Darkness. Hubble. Spooler. Spiker …’ He shook his head. ‘And the Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax, the way he looked on that morning so long ago when my quest began, as he waved us goodbye …’

Rook nodded. The captain’s tale had come full circle.

‘The excitement, touched with apprehension, in his smile. The pride in his stature. The hope in his eyes. He had once been my apprentice, and now he was the new Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax! How proud I was of him …’ He shook his head. ‘Poor, dear Cowlquape—’

‘Cowlquape?’ said Rook, startled. ‘But I know that name.’

‘Yes, Cowlquape Pentephraxis,’ said Twig bitterly. ‘Murdered long ago by that tyrant, Vox Verlix. I learned the news at Lake Landing.’

With a shock, Xanth’s words came back to Rook.
I am as much a prisoner of the Tower of Night as my friend Cowlquape, to whom I must now return
. Despite the fever raging at the time, he was sure that was what Xanth had said.
It was Cowlquape who first filled my head with stories of the Deepwoods, and his adventures with Twig the sky pirate
…

Rook leaped to his feet. Twig’s friend and Xanth’s prisoner were one and the same.

‘So young,’ Twig was saying, ‘and I left him to rebuild Sanctaphrax on his own, to go on this failed quest. If only I had got to Riverrise, I could have returned to help him and perhaps he’d still be alive today’

‘But he is!’ shouted Rook, unable to keep quiet a moment longer. A couple of banderbears glanced round curiously in mid yodel. Rook seized Twig by the arms. ‘He’s alive!’ he exclaimed. ‘Cowlquape is alive!’

The colour drained from Twig’s face. His jaw dropped. ‘Alive?’ he gasped.

wig stared at Rook in astonishment. ‘But how do you. know he’s still alive?’ he demanded. ‘Parsimmon said … Let me see … Yes, even after all this time, I can remember what he told me. When I asked after Cowlquape the High Academe, he shook his head and said, “Vox Verlix is the Most High Academe now. Cowlquape’s name has been stricken from the records. Murder, plain and simple, so it was – though you’ll find few in New Sanctaphrax who dare say as much.” Those were his very words—’

‘But he
is
alive,’ said Rook. ‘A prisoner in the Tower of Night. A friend …’ He paused, a sudden twinge of pain in his chest. ‘At least, I thought he was my friend,’ he murmured. ‘He told me that he had seen Cowlquape in the Tower of Night – and that he was very much alive. He even said that Cowlquape spoke to him of you, Twig, and the adventures you’d shared.’

‘He did?’ said Twig. He was on his feet now, clutching both Rook’s hands and staring hard into his eyes. Around them, the banderbears were falling silent in the light of the new dawn, as Twig’s excited voice echoed round the valley. ‘What is this Tower of Night you speak of?’

Rook shook his head. ‘You’ve been out here for a long time, Captain Twig,’ said Rook. ‘Many things have changed since you left. Parsimmon told you of Vox Verlix becoming Most High Academe, but that was only the start.’

‘Tell me,’ said Twig. ‘Tell me everything you know!’

Banderbears were crowding about them now, great mountains of fur topped by twitching ears.

‘When Vox Verlix became Most High Academe, he ordered the construction of a tall tower on New Sanctaphrax, even as the rock began to crumble with sickness. From what I’ve heard, and read in the library, he claimed stone-sickness was a sign that the academics had grown soft and complacent and that he, Vox, would do something about it.’

‘That Vox!’ snarled Twig. ‘He was a bad lot when I first knew him as a young apprentice in Old Sanctaphrax.’

‘It gets worse,’ said Rook. ‘You see, Vox founded a sect of Knights Academic, whom he called the Guardians of Night. They enslaved Undertowners and forced them to work, not only on his accursed tower, but on his other great schemes as well. The Great Mire Road. And the Sanctaphrax Forest that props up the sick rock—’

Twig’s eyes blazed. ‘Slavery?’ he said angrily. ‘In Undertown?’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Rook. ‘It was a terrible betrayal of the principles which Undertown was founded upon, and there were many who resisted. But the Guardians of Night were brutal. They ensured that the schemes were completed. Those Knights Academic who disagreed with Vox’s plans split away and joined with the earth-scholars to found the Librarians Academic.’ He paused. ‘We live in hiding in the sewers of Undertown …’

‘Librarians living in sewers.’ Twig shook his head sadly. ‘That it should have come to this. Vox Verlix the bully, master of New Sanctaphrax!’