Midnight Over Sanctaphrax (36 page)

‘Twig!’ said Maugin, seizing him by the arm. ‘Twig, listen!’

Twig fell still. He cocked his head to one side. ‘What?’ he said. ‘I can't hear anything.’

‘Exactly,’ said Maugin. ‘It is silent.’

Twig frowned. ‘What do you mean? I…’ An icy shiver ran the length of his spine. The regular
drip drip
of the Riverrise water had stopped.

‘The Riverrise spring has finally died,’ said Maugin in a low voice. ‘It can mean only one thing …’

Twig looked up, his eyes wide. ‘The Mother Storm is
on her way,’ he said. ‘I remember everything now. She should reach here at dawn. But that will never happen. Instead, she will strike Sanctaphrax at the stroke of midnight, expending her energy uselessly - and the Edge will descend into darkness. I've failed,’ he said bitterly. ‘I've failed Cloud Wolf. I've failed Sanctaphrax. I've failed myself.’

Woodfish stepped forwards. ‘Yet, perhaps there is a solution, after all.’ He looked at Maugin, and his eyes narrowed. ‘I can read it in her thoughts.’

‘What?’ said Twig. ‘What is she thinking, Woodfish?’ He turned to Maugin. ‘Is there something you're not telling me?’

She looked away.

‘Maugin!’ said Twig. ‘Please!’

‘Do you want
me
to tell him?’ said Woodfish.

Maugin swallowed back her tears. ‘There's only one way of getting back to Sanctaphrax in time,’ she said quietly. ‘But at terrible risk.’

Twig's jaw dropped. ‘By midnight?’ he said. ‘How?’

‘But it's madness,’ said Maugin. She glared at Woodfish. ‘Just a foolish thought.’

‘Tell me!’ Twig demanded.

Maugin sighed. And although she stared back at him evenly enough, when she spoke, her voice was no more than a tremulous whisper.

‘By sky-firing.’

• CHAPTER NINETEEN •
FLIGHT TO SANCTAPHRAX

S
ky-firing! Twig blanched. It was a method the more unscrupulous captains - both sky pirates and leaguesmen - had of dealing with mutinous crew-members. The offending individual was tied to a burning length of buoyant wood and launched off like a rocket on a one-way trip into open sky. It was a horrific punishment, feared by all who took to the skies in ships. Surely Maugin couldn't really mean …

‘I know it sounds insane, captain,’ said Maugin. ‘But instead of launching a blazing tree-trunk upwards, it could just be possible to calculate an angle of ascent that would take you in a wide arc over the Deepwoods and on to Undertown. But the risks are appalling. You could fall short and land in the Twilight Woods or the Mire, or overshoot Undertown entirely and disappear over the Edge itself. And even if, by some miracle, you did reach Undertown, the chances are you'd be a charred
corpse when you hit the ground.’

Twig looked back at Maugin steadily. ‘That's a chance I'm prepared to take,’ he said.

‘But, Twig,’ said Cowlquape. ‘You heard what she said. It would be certain death!’

‘I must try,’ said Twig firmly. ‘It'll be certain death for Sanctaphrax if I don't. And for every single creature in the Deepwoods if the river is not rejuvenated. I
must
try’

Cowlquape grasped Twig's hand. He was trembling; his breath came in gasps. ‘Let
me
go in your place. Let
me
be sky-fired to Sanctaphrax. I am younger than you. Lighter. And what's the life of a failed apprentice compared with that of the finest sky pirate that ever lived?’ He paused. ‘And … and you could tie a message to my back addressed to the Professor of Darkness, just in case I didn't make it there alive …’

Twig smiled. ‘You are not a failed apprentice, Cowlquape; you have served me well.’ He shook his head. ‘I can't ask you to do this. It is my task.’

‘But Twig!’ protested Cowlquape, tears in his eyes.

‘Thank you,’ said Twig, ‘but I won't hear another word on the matter …’

‘And yet the idea of someone accompanying you is not a bad one,’ Maugin said thoughtfully. ‘A stout tree should bear the weight of two passengers, and it would mean that if one blacked out, the other would still have a fighting chance.
I
shall go with you, captain.’

‘You?’ said Cowlquape incredulously.

‘I am a Stone Pilot,’ said Maugin. ‘I have the knowledge and expertise. I should be the one to accompany Twig.’

Twig smiled and bowed his head. ‘I'm very touched,’ he said. ‘But I must go alone.’

‘But, captain!’ protested Maugin.

‘I'm sorry, Maugin,’ said Twig. ‘You and the rest of the crew have followed me faithfully for long enough. I risked all your lives by sailing into open sky. I've already asked too much of you.’ He paused. ‘Give me your expertise, not your life.’

Maugin took his hand. ‘You have my life already,’ she said.

They searched the luxuriant gardens of Riverrise for the tallest, stoutest, most buoyant tree they could find. At last, they settled on a magnificent silver-grey lufwood standing proud at the very edge of the still water of the spring.

‘It seems almost a shame to cut down such a beautiful tree,’ said Cowlquape with a faraway look in his eyes. ‘I wonder how long it has stood here, drinking the waters of Riverrise. Why, Kobold the Wise might himself have sat in its shade.’

‘It's a fine choice, captain,’ said Maugin. ‘It'll burn long and bright.’

‘Let's get to work,’ said Twig impatiently. ‘Time is running out. The Mother Storm is on her way - and midnight is drawing closer and closer over Sanctaphrax.’

Goom felled the great tree with massive blows of Tuntum's axe; splinters of ash-grey lufwood peppered the air. At last the tree fell with what, to Cowlquape at

least, seemed like a sad, creaking sigh, followed by a tremendous crash.

While Goom stripped the branches, till all that was left was the trunk itself, Twig and the others - under Maugin's close supervision - set about feverishly lashing together a launching ramp from the stoutest branches.

‘We must align the ramp with the east star, for there lies Sanctaphrax,’ said Maugin. ‘And angle it carefully. The flight's path must not be too high, or you'll never return to earth.’

‘But how can you possibly judge the distance?’ asked Cowlquape, shaking his head.

‘I can't,’ said Maugin bluntly. ‘But I was a Stone Pilot before you were born. Flight is my trade. It's all I know. I must use all my experience - though even then it only
comes down to making a good guess.’ She turned away. ‘Twig, you will have to keep your wits about you. We'll rope you to the very tip of the trunk with slip-knots that you can pull to release yourself when Undertown appears beneath you.’

‘I understand,’ said Twig.

As the sky darkened, they set the log against the ramp, angled to Maugin's satisfaction, and bundles of the leafy branches were arranged around the base in a tight cluster. Twig buttoned up his longcoat and tightened the straps of his parawings. Then, at Maugin's insistence, he was smeared all over with a thick covering of the cooling Riverrise mud from the water's edge.

‘The mud will protect you from the intense heat from the flames,’ she explained. ‘And take this,’ she added, handing him a small bottle. ‘It contains the restorative water of Riverrise - though, Sky willing, you will not have to use it.’

Finally, Twig was lashed to the underside of the great tree trunk. Maugin secured the final slip-knot.

‘Farewell, Captain Twig,’ she whispered.

Twig twisted his head round and watched as Maugin climbed down the launching ramp and jumped to the ground. He looked along the length of the tree-trunk behind him, straight and streamlined for flight; and at the bundle of leaves bound to its base that, even now, Woodfish was waiting to ignite with the flaming torch in his hand.

‘Wait for my signal,’ called Maugin. ‘Light those leafy branches first, exactly at the places I point out.’

‘Stop!’ shouted Cowlquape. He was running from the water's edge, his clothes covered in mud, hastily daubed. ‘I can't let you go alone, Twig,’ he cried. ‘I can't!’

He shinned up the sloping lufwood tree and clung tightly to the trunk.

‘We don't have time for this!’ said Twig impatiently.

‘Then move over, Twig,’ said Cowlquape. ‘Maugin, tie me into place. You said yourself that two stand a better chance than one.’

‘You would really do this for Sanctaphrax?’ said Twig. ‘Even though it could mean death?’

‘Not for Sanctaphrax,’ said Cowlquape. ‘For you, Twig.’ He smiled. ‘And perhaps also for Kobold the Wise.’

Twig turned to Maugin. ‘Do as he says,’ he told her.

Finally they were ready. Twig smiled down at his loyal crew-members standing on the ground below him.

‘Wuh-wuh, T-wuh-g!’ Goom called.

‘My dreams will go with you,’ said Woodfish. He bent down to the branches Maugin pointed to, one after another, and touched them with the burning torch. The oily leaves exploded into flame.

‘I will be back!’ Twig shouted above the roar of the blaze.

White hot inside the blazing branches, the base of the trunk caught fire. It hissed. It steamed. It juddered and shook, and then …

Tearing away from its tethers, the great burning tree-trunk blasted away from the scaffold and soared up into
the sky - leaving a fan of orange sparks in its wake. The top of the tree, with its two tethered passengers, soon disappeared into the darkness, until only the blazing base could still be seen - a dot of light that grew smaller and fainter as it sped off on its perilous journey.

‘Sky protect you, Twig!’ Maugin whispered.

When the blazing tree launched itself into the air the upward force was so strong that it stole Twig's breath away and left him gasping for air. Face to one side, eyes clenched shut, he gripped the ropes that bound him to the trunk, and prayed they'd hold.

And still they were accelerating. The pressure was intolerable. His stomach sunk down to his toes. The blood rushed from his brain. His mouth was tugged down at the corners. At unimaginable speed, the tree hurtled over the Deepwoods with its living cargo. Any forest-dweller noticing it would have wished upon a shooting star in vain.

Feeling sick and light-headed Twig saw the moonlit canopy of burnished silver blurring past beneath him.

He gritted his teeth. His temples throbbed, his neck ached, his stomach churned with fear.

‘Don't black out!’ he told himself grimly, and prayed again that the knots would hold.

The caterbird's words of encouragement on board the
Edgedancer
came back to him. Crystal clear, as though his great wise protector had never left him after all, they whispered inside his head.
This too will pass,
they said.
This too will pass.

Twig closed his eyes. Everything passes. Joy. Pain. The moment of triumph; the sigh of despair. Nothing lasts for ever - not even this …

Reluctantly, Twig opened his eyes. Travelling almost horizontally now, they seemed to be at the top of the flaming comet's great arc. The endless expanse of trees flashed past, far below him. Speed. Pressure. Unbearable heat. He heard Cowlquape groaning beside him.

The flames had consumed more than half of the great tree-trunk. Huge chunks of blackened cinder broke off and fell away and, as the flames came closer, the heat grew more and more intense. Neither Twig nor Cowlquape could stand it much longer. Their hearts thumped. Their hands trembled. Their bodies were bathed in sweat.

‘Don't give up now,’ Twig whispered. His head spun with weakness. ‘Keep going …’

The great buoyant tree had passed its highest point, that much was certain. Grunting with effort, Twig peered ahead - and his heart gave a leap. Far in front of them, gleaming brightly beneath the silver moon, was the barren wasteland of the Mire. Twig had never been so happy to see the terrible, bleached landscape before. A moment later, they were above it - further off in the distance, the lights of Sanctaphrax glimmered.

Down, they were flying now. Lower and lower. The intense heat was staggering. Cowlquape's boots blistered. The hairs on Twig's hammelhornskin waistcoat shrivelled and fell limp.

Keep going, Twig urged himself again. Just a little longer …

Low in the sky, the great towers of Sanctaphrax gleamed in the moonlight. Beneath it, the squalid mess of Undertown sprawled down to and along the banks of the now waterless Edgewater River. It had dried up completely, Twig realized with a jolt. And now that the water from Riverrise had ceased to flow…