The Curse of the Gloamglozer (13 page)

‘Right, then,’ he said. ‘This is the up-down whatchamacallit and these are the lever things…’

‘The weight-levers,’ said Quint, nodding knowingly. ‘They're simpler than those on the helm of the
Galerider
, but if it's anything like a sky ship then they should maintain our angle, speed and balance.’

The professor was impressed. ‘So, do you think you can handle it?’

Quint leant forwards and pulled one of the levers towards him, then pushed a second one back. The cage responded by tilting first this way, then that. He
nodded appreciatively. ‘The weights have been well-tuned,’ he said. ‘Shall we go?’

‘At once,’ said Linius Pallitax. ‘Before it gets any colder.’ He patted the pocket of his gown. ‘It's time I discovered how accurately I have translated that barkscroll you brought me. The Old Woodscript can be tricky at times. I just hope I haven't made too many mistakes …’ He paused and an expression of utter weariness passed across his face. ‘Sky willing it will prove accurate enough. Come, Quint. Let us descend.’

As the winch turned, the chain chinked and the cage sank down below the landing-stage, a hulking great figure with a deep scar down one side of his face stepped out of the shadows. It was Bagswill, a flat-head goblin guard who had been observing the Most High Academe and his new young apprentice with growing interest ever since they'd arrived.

As the low-sky cage disappeared from view, Bagswill pulled a length of thick twine from his side pocket. This was his remembering-rope. In his head, he went over everything he had seen and heard. Linius Pallitax. The apprentice. He noted the time, the place, the weather … and with each detail he committed to memory, so he tied a knot in the remembering-rope. Later on, the knots would help him recall everything that had taken place. The information would be sold to the highest bidder.

At first, with the length of chain so short, there was little Quint could do to steer the cage. As it descended, however, and the unwinding winch-chain above them grew longer, the buoyant-rock came into its own and Quint was able to make use of the intricate controls. With nimble fingers he responded to Linius's instructions to
go lower
, or
further to the right
, or
closer to the rock
with no difficulty at all.

‘Admirable, Quint!’ he exclaimed. ‘Sky above, lad, it would have taken me half an hour to perform that little manoeuvre.’

‘It's just a matter of developing the touch,’ said Quint modestly. ‘Leastways, that's what my father says.’ He turned to the professor. ‘I don't suppose he has sent word since dropping me off in Sanctaphrax, has he?’ he said.

‘Your father?’ said Linius Pallitax absentmindedly, as the cage swung round and the pitted surface of the floating rock loomed up before him. ‘No. No, he hasn't. And I don't expect…’

All at once, he lunged forwards and wrenched at the brake-lever. The low-sky cage came to a juddering halt, and keeled over ominously to one side. Quint clung on to the bars for dear life.

‘What did you do
that
for?’ he yelled, forgetting for a moment whom he was talking to. His hands darted feverishly over the levers – raising this one, lowering that – until the cage was upright and stable once more. ‘I'm sorry, Professor, but this cage is old and delicate. It must be treated gently.’ He paused. ‘Shall we continue?’

Linius shook his head. ‘This is as far as we go,’ he said.

Quint was confused. The cage was hanging beside the great rock itself.

Just this week at the Fountain House school, Quint had been learning all about the sky around Sanctaphrax. It was, for academic purposes, divided into three areas.
Low Sky
was the area which lay between Sanctaphrax and Undertown; the cages were used to study it.
High Sky
was the area above the top of the floating rock; the tall towers of the sky-scholars probed this expanse. And then there was the sky around the rock itself, neither low nor high. He wasn't sure who studied here.

‘This is
Middle Sky
, isn't it?’ he said.

‘Indeed it is,’ said Linius. ‘And Middle Sky is an area of especial interest, my lad, if my esteemed colleagues did but know it. Oh, I know it's not fashionable these days, but here in Middle Sky, the air flows through this immense rock of ours.’ The professor had a faraway look in his eyes. ‘There are great mysteries to be
answered here,’ he said. ‘The old earth-scholars knew that.’ He pointed to a semi-circular patch to his right, darker than the rest of the pitted surface. ‘Can you steer the cage closer to that?’

‘I'll try,’ said Quint.

He raised the winch-chain and realigned the weight-levers. The cage swung gently several strides to the right. As the patch of darkness got closer, Quint saw that there was a small hole in the side of the rock. When they were parallel with it, the professor abruptly reached through the bars and grabbed hold of a jutting outcrop of rock beside the hole and, with expert hands, used it to secure the cage with a tolley-rope. Clearly he'd done this many times before. He turned to Quint.

‘Right,’ he said, climbing from his seat and unhooking the lantern. ‘There is something I must now do. Alone. You will wait for me until I return. You will not move from here. Is that clear?’

‘Yes,’ said Quint, ‘but…’

‘There is no time for questions now,’ the professor said, opening the door of the cage and scrambling out onto a ledge of rock at the entrance to what Quint could now see was a tunnel running into the great rock itself. ‘I shall be back as quickly as possible.’ With that, he ducked down and disappeared into the inky blackness.

Quint watched the yellow light and listened to the professor's scurrying feet and tapping stave as he hurried along the tunnel. The light faded and vanished. A moment later, the sound of footsteps was also gone.

If it hadn't been for the bell chiming the hour at the top of the Great Hall, Quint would have had no idea of the time. As it was, shortly after the professor had disappeared, a single muffled chime echoed through the air. It was one hour. By the time it chimed two Quint had had enough.

For a start, he was bitterly cold. As forecasted by the cloudwatchers, the temperature had dropped and a light, granular snow had begun to fall. Despite his cape, Quint was chilled to the bone. He tried flapping his arms around, hugging himself, kicking his legs up and down – but no amount of movement in the restricted space of the sky cage could warm his body or stop his
teeth from chattering. And as he trembled, tiny vibrations amplified themselves through the cage and up the chain until the whole lot rippled with movement. Quint peered down below him uneasily.

Having grown up on a sky pirate ship he was used to heights, but this was different. On board the
Galerider
he had always had complete faith in the flight-rock which, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, would maintain lift in even the most serious emergency. The buoyant-rock of the low-sky cage, on the other hand, seemed to be little more than a steering aid – certainly it was nowhere near large enough to keep the cage air-borne. That task was left to the chain – and a very ancient chain it was! The way it clanked and creaked as the cage swayed was making Quint increasingly anxious.

‘Don't break,’ he muttered miserably. ‘D … don't even c… c… consid … der it!’ he stuttered, with cold and with fear. To take his mind off the old rusty chain to which he'd entrusted himself, he tried thinking about his old life…

He imagined his father, Wind Jackal, sinking a glass of woodgrog and turning in for the night. He remembered his own hammock – how soft it was, how warm…

‘I'm so cold!’ he grumbled.

He turned his attention to the pitted rockface in front of him. It was the first time he'd been this close. In essence, the great floating rock was exactly the same as the flight-rocks which kept the fleets of sky ships aloft, and even the small buoyant-rock of the cage. Except for its immense size.

Wilken Wordspool's lesson at the Fountain House school came back to him. What was it he'd said? Ah, yes. The outer rock was not as solid as it seemed, but was hollow, translucent. At its centre was the hard rock. Red. Glowing … What had Wordspool called it? Quint frowned.

‘
Heartrock
,’ he murmured. That was it. Solid, permanent, and home to the treasury – the safest, most secret place in all of Sanctaphrax. Around it was … Quint shivered as the word came to him. There was the
stonecomb
.

The stonecomb – a vast network of cavities like wood-bee honeycomb – surrounded the heartrock. Alive, growing all the time, ever-changing, it was this stonecomb that gave the rock its buoyancy. But it was a terrible place, the old sky-scholar had warned the class. A place of terrors. A maze that changed behind you each time you took a step forward.
Sky-scholars don't go there
, Wilken had intoned solemnly.

And why would one want to? Quint had thought at the time. Yet, here he was, freezing cold and staring glumly at an entrance into what must be the dreaded stonecomb. Was he mad? He stamped his feet. The chain gave an ominous clang. More to the point, was the Most High Academe mad?

‘If only I could go back to bed,’ he whispered, his thick breath pouring from his lips. But the professor had been clear in his instructions. Quint was to wait for him to return. He was not to move.

The Great Hall bell chimed three hours.

The snow had by now stopped falling. Quint's hands and feet were numb. His temples throbbed. If it hadn't been for the burning lamp, he might have frozen solid. His thoughts had wandered so far, he was no longer thinking of anything at all. It was as if – like some of the hibernating creatures from the least hospitable depths of the Deepwoods – his body and mind had been switched off.

Quint didn't notice the bell chime four hours. He didn't register the flickering light in the tunnel, or hear the sound of approaching footsteps. It was only when the professor appeared before him, kicking the drifted snow away from the ledge as he emerged, that Quint stirred. He blinked once, twice. His long cold wait was finally over.

‘Professor,’ he said. ‘Am I glad to see you. I was beginning to worry that …’ He paused. Even by the flickering shadowy light cast by his failing lamp, it was clear that something was wrong. Ashen-faced and trembling, Linius looked dazed, drained. ‘Professor?’ Quint asked gently.

‘Over … it's all over,’ Linius Pallitax rasped. His voice, like his face, seemed to have aged during the time he'd been gone.

Quint unlatched the door and helped the professor back inside the cage. As the light from the cage-lamp fell across his face, Quint gasped and recoiled with horror. Linius's mouth was pinched, his expression desperate and his skin bore the waxy pallor of the dead. His eyes – usually so animated – stared straight ahead, dull and
unseeing. They registered nothing – neither his surroundings, nor Quint's helpless concern.

Quint knew he had to get the professor back to the Palace of Shadows as quickly as possible and get help. Tweezel would know what to do. Welma would have potions and medicines, he was sure. And Maris would …Quint winced. Maris! What would Maris say? He could only hope that she did not blame him, Quint, for her father's condition.