Clash of the Sky Galleons (9 page)

Despite its patched sail, its creaking timbers and the primitive flight-cauldron, filled with flight-rock rubble, that just managed to keep everything aloft, the vessel was in expert hands. It sped like an arrow from the east to the west bank of the river, and then made its way along the curve of the Edgewater. Past breweries and mills it went, and on over the foundry district, with its vast metalworks and factories, with tall smoke-belching chimneys, cramped workshops and cobbled inner courtyards, where heaps of raw materials were piled high beside crates of finished goods.

A little further to the north, on the edge of the foundry district, Quint could see the distinctive outline of the sky-ship cradles; huge cagelike structures which soared up into the air from square towers, high above the
neighbouring rooftops. These elegant pieces of scaffolding were the structures that supported the sky ships being built in the great sprawling sky-shipyards beneath them. It was towards the sky-ship cradles that the
Edgehopper
was heading.

Wind Jackal turned to the gnokgoblin pilot and pointed down below. ‘Just over there will do fine,’ he said with a smile.

‘Aye-aye, Captain.’ The gnokgoblin leaned down hard on the little vessel’s tiller.

Quint felt his stomach lurch and, for a moment, regretted his hearty breakfast. The
Edgehopper
swooped down out of the sky and glided to a halt in a large courtyard surrounded by tall square towers on all sides. With the sky ferry hovering a couple of strides above the ground, the gnokgoblin motioned for his passengers to disembark. Stepping to the ground after Quint and Maris, Wind Jackal tipped his bicorne hat to the pilot.

‘Excellent flying,’ he said, tossing the gnokgoblin another coin.

‘Learned my trade as a “leaguer”,’ the pilot laughed, pocketing the coin. ‘But I just couldn’t take to being ordered around by high hats the whole time. This way, I can be my own boss …’ He swept the
Edgehopper
back into the air. ‘Just like you, Captain!’

The gnokgoblin laughed again as he flew away, back towards the Edgewater River.

‘Throwing your money around, I see,’ came a terse, hoarse-sounding voice, and Quint turned to see a leaguesman in a high four-pronged hat, standing at the ornate entrance to one of the towers.

His rich robes were gathered and fastened above the ankle and he wore ‘mire-paddles’ - flat, wooden shoe-protectors for splashing through the muddy streets. A great cluster of the charms and amulets beloved of leaguesmen formed a cluttered ruff around his neck, and in one hand he carried a long thin ‘leagues-cane’; a walking-stick that could be unsheathed in an instant to reveal a razor-sharp sword.

Wind Jackal tipped his hat. ‘Yardmaster Hollrig,’ he said coolly. ‘Just come to find out what your shipwrights have to report on the
Galerider
.’

Thelvis Hollrig, high-hat yardmaster in the League of Sky Shipwrights, smiled to reveal teeth filed down to points - the very latest Undertown fashion.

Quint shuddered.

‘Hummer!’ The yard-master clicked his fingers. A moment later, a harassed-looking clerk came bustling out of the tower clutching a sheaf of barkscroll plans. ‘The
Galerider
berthed with us … the day before yesterday?’ Thelvis Hollrig glanced at Wind Jackal, who nodded.

The clerk, a thin grey goblin with white tufted ears, fished a pair of grubby-looking spectacles out of his waistcoat pocket
and began examining the barkscrolls. As he did so, Quint looked around. When the
Galerider
had limped in to dock here, after the terrible voyage to the cliff quarries, it had been the middle of the night. The shipyards had been quiet and deserted, with the cradles and ship towers nothing more than dark silhouettes against the sky.

Now, in the morning sunshine, it was as if some giant had disturbed a nest of woodants and sent them scurrying here and there with twigs and leaves to repair their home. Yet instead of woodants, the tiny figures high up in the sky cradles, dangling from sky barges and tenders, or balancing on thin swaying ladders that snaked up from the tops of the towers, were shipwrights and boat-builders. Tree-goblins, oakelves, waifs and mobgnomes, skilled in woodcraft and with a head for heights, they swarmed over the great timber carcases of the sky ships, carrying ironwood struts rather than twigs, and lufwood decking instead of leaves.

‘Galerider … Galerider…’
the clerk muttered. ‘Ah, yes, here we are …’ He pulled out a barkscroll plan and traced the ink lines with a finger. ‘West Tower …’

He looked up and Quint, Wind Jackal and Maris followed his gaze. High above, nestling in a sky cradle at the top of the West Tower, was the
Galerider.

Her sails were gone and the rigging - both from the mast and the hull - had been uncleated and taken off. The rudder, the harpoon and the balustrades had also been removed, while at the stern there was a massive hole right through the ship, light streaming in from the
other side, where extensive repairs were being made to the hull.

‘Considerable cloud-limpet and sky-fungus damage to the stern, brought to a crisis by storm damage,’
the clerk read from the barkscroll in a monotonous voice.
‘Localized storm damage to sails, rigging and winding-ropes … Storm damage to outer timberwork … And to hull-weights and alignment mechanism …’

The yardmaster smiled his pointy-toothed smile. ‘What in Sky’s name were you doing out at the cliff edge, Captain? You must have realized what damage those winds can do …’

‘I had my reasons,’ said Wind Jackal, his brow furrowing.

‘No report on the flight-rock, as your stone pilot has refused our shipwrights access at the present time.’ The clerk concluded his report and looked from Wind Jackal to the yardmaster, and back again.

High above their heads, Quint could just make out the small defiant figure of the Stone Pilot in her tall conical hood, standing on the flight-rock platform with her arms folded in front of her.

‘Yes, well,’ said Thelvis Hollrig, tapping his leagues-cane briskly on the ground. ‘Leaving aside the issue of re-boring and trimming the flight-rock, I’m afraid your sky ship needs a lot of work, Captain, which - as I’m sure you’ll understand - will not come cheap …’

Wind Jackal nodded grimly.

‘If you’ll just follow me to my chambers, we’ll discuss the delicate matter…’ The yardmaster smiled and
motioned for Wind Jackal to follow him inside. ‘Of payment.’

As Thelvis and his father made their way to the yardmaster’s chambers, Quint and Maris were left to wander round the shipyard. Far above them, massive cranes and towering derricks, as lofty as ironwood pines, twisted and turned, their luffing-jibs extending and contracting as they swung round. Suspended from their great hooks were gigantic wooden structures and metal casings, which flew through the air as the crane-operators raised and lowered the winch-cables, moving each separate segment of the new sky ships into position with extraordinary accuracy. Then, when a bellowed command from below had confirmed that the pieces were in place, a work team of sky-shipwrights swarmed over the sections, joining one to the other.

‘They look like woodants,’ Maris commented.

Quint smiled. ‘That’s just what I was thinking,’ he said. ‘Only a moment ago …’

Each sky ship was made up of three main parts. The wooden prow, the metal flight-rock cage and platform, and the helm. It was only when these three parts had been bolted, riveted and dove-tailed together that the final additions could be made. Maris and Quint circled the yard, gazing up at the towers, one by one.

In one cradle, a bowsprit and figurehead were being added to the prow. At another, a vast rock-sling was being bolted into place above the flying-jib. Further along, a main-mast, complete with rigging-eyelets and caternest, was being secured to the central part of a ship, while at yet
another of the towering cradles, the aft-castle and rudder were being mounted simultaneously above and below an impressive helm of finest redoak.

‘So many sky ships,’ Maris said in wonder. ‘And each one different.’

Quint nodded. ‘That’s ‘cause they all have a different purpose,’ he told her. ‘That one there, for instance,’ he said, pointing up to a double-master to his left, ‘must be a league ship. Or rather it will be when it’s finished. See how heavy and low-slung the wheelhouse is. It can hold a huge cargo, and it’s particularly stable in bad weather. And look at the flight-rock cages …’

‘There are four of them,’ said Maris.

‘Precisely,’ said Quint. ‘For four smaller flight-rocks. Once again, to aid stability. At the expense of speed and manoeuvrability,
of course. In fact, this type of league ship is notoriously slow and cumbersome …’

‘But doesn’t that make them easy prey for … well, for sky pirate ships?’ said Maris.

‘Not necessarily’ said Quint. ‘Look up there, just above the rudder casing - can you see those hooks?’

Maris nodded.

‘They’re for fire-barges,’ he said. ‘Half a dozen of them. Small and fast, and usually packed with goblin “leaguers” - they can be used to fight back if the vessel’s attacked.’ He paused and looked round. ‘And that ship there,’ he said, pointing to a small, sturdy craft with a solid-looking metal sphere where the flight cage should be. ‘That’s your typical tug. Staple of the league fleet…’

Maris frowned. ‘It hasn’t got a sky cage,’ she said. ‘What’s that huge round casing for?’

‘Rubble,’ said Quint. ‘Flight-rock rubble. The bits and pieces from old, broken flight-rocks; chips and splinters … Occasionally robbers will break into the Stone Gardens and take buoyant rocks before they’re ready … Old, new; all the bits end up as rubble, which is put inside the sealed metal cases. No use for a sleek sky pirate ship, of course, but for a league tug, they work well enough. And over there …’

‘I was awake last night,’ said Maris, interrupting Quint and changing the subject, her dark-ringed eyes suddenly serious.

Quint turned to her. ‘You heard … ?’

‘Everything,’ she said. ‘I heard both of you. I know all about the fire … About Turbot Smeal …’

Quint swallowed hard. ‘Then you know why my father came for me. What’s driving him on …’

Maris nodded. ‘And why he took such a risk with the
Galerider
out there at the cliff edge,’ she added, gripping Quint’s hands. ‘This hunt for Turbot Smeal,’ she said, ‘it’s forcing him to take terrible risks … Are you sure it’s worth it, Quint?’

Quint looked down at his feet. ‘He’s my father,’ he said miserably. ‘And I’m his right hand. Where he goes, I must follow.’

‘And me, Quint?’ said Maris, forcing him to look her in the eyes. ‘What am I?’

Quint smiled and returned the squeeze on his hands. ‘You’re my friend, Maris …’

Just then, there was the sound of the
tap-tap-tapping
of a leagues-cane and heavy footfalls, and into the sky-shipyard strode three individuals.

The first was a colossus of a leaguesman, as broad as he was tall. He had a patch over his left eye, a shaved head, the scalp mottled and uneven, and a thick, grizzled moustache. He wore heavy boots, gleaming gauntlets and a broad belt worn so tight it accentuated his huge paunch, and from which hung a collection of weapons - a long-sword, a dagger, a sling, a ball and chain. Over his shirt and breeches, thick leather armour plates protected his neck, his chest, his shoulders and shins.