Stormchaser (14 page)

Torturing himself all the more, Twig thought of everything he was missing. He imagined how it must feel to be sucked along in the wake of a Great Storm. He tried to envisage the single lightning bolt as it froze in mid-air and turned to solid stormphrax. And he asked himself what it must be like inside the notorious Twilight Woods. For, although the
Stormchaser
had often passed above them, none of the Sky Pirates had ever risked venturing down.

Would they be like the Deepwoods of his childhood? he wondered. Endless, luxuriant forest. Teeming with life. Filled with all manner of trees, from humming lullabees to the flesh-eating bloodoaks, and home to countless tribes and villagers and creatures of every kind…

Or were they indeed as mysteriously treacherous as the legends described? A place of endless degeneration. A place of confusion and delusion. A place of madness.
That
was how the storytellers spoke of the Twilight Woods, as they passed their tales on, word of mouth, down the generations.

Twig sighed. Now he would never know. What should have been the greatest adventure of his life had been
snatched cruelly away by his own father. Even if it had been done for his own safety, because he was, as Cloud Wolf had put it, ‘important to him’; even if that
was
the case, the fact remained that to Twig, it felt like a punishment.

‘And it's just not fair!’ he complained.

‘What is not fair?’ came a voice at his elbow. Twig started. If it was the ridiculous grinning mobgnome trying to get him to dance again, he would give him what for! He swung round angrily.

‘Spleethe!’ he said.

‘Master Twig,’ said Spleethe, his narrow lips curling to reveal a set of stained and crooked teeth. ‘I thought it was you. Just the person I was looking for – though it saddens me, of course, to see you so down in the mouth,’ he added.

Twig frowned. ‘You were looking for
me
?’ he said.

‘Indeed I was,’ Spleethe purred as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Twig swallowed queasily at the sight of the quartermaster's hand, with its missing fingers and mess of puckered skin. ‘You see, I couldn’t help noticing that you were present during the discussions between the good captain and the bird-woman.’

‘What if I was?’ said Twig suspiciously.

‘It's just that, well … although, naturally, the captain has filled me in on all the details of our little venture…’

Twig was surprised. ‘He has?’

‘Of
course
he has,’ Spleethe said. ‘Chasing the Great Storm to the Twilight Woods. The quest for the sacred stormphrax … I know it all. It's just that … One's memory, you understand … That is…’

Spleethe was fishing. The Leaguesmaster had demanded even more of him than he’d expected – taking the
Stormchaser
, killing Cloud Wolf, delivering the stormphrax. His task would be difficult and he had kicked himself for leaving the Bloodoak tavern so hastily before. After all, if he was to be successful, he needed to know
everything
about the meeting – including the part which took place after his departure.

‘Silly of me, I know,’ he continued slyly, ‘but I cannot for the life of me remember how Cloud Wolf said the meeting was concluded.’

Twig's reaction took the quartermaster by surprise.

‘Concluded?’ he said angrily. ‘I’ll tell you how it was concluded. I was told to remain here, in Undertown, with Mother Horsefeather, while the rest of you go sailing off to the Twilight Woods.’

Spleethe's brow furrowed. ‘Remain here?’ he repeated softly. ‘Tell me more, Master Twig,’ he said. ‘Open up your heart.’

Struggling to fight back the tears, Twig shook his head.

‘But Master Twig,’ Spleethe persisted, his voice whiny and wheedling, ‘a problem shared is a problem halved. And of course, if there's anything that
I
can do, anything at all…’

‘It's the captain,’ Twig blurted out. ‘He says he's worried about my safety, but … but … I don’t believe him. I can’t believe him. He's ashamed of me, that's what it is!’ he sobbed. ‘Ashamed to have such a gangly, blundering oaf for a son.’

Slyvo Spleethe's eyebrows shot upwards with surprise. Cloud Wolf, the lad's father? Now that
was
interesting – very interesting indeed – and his head spun with ways in which he could use this latest piece of information to his advan-tage. Composing himself, he laid his hand on Twig's shoulder.

‘The captain has a good heart,’ he said softly. ‘And I am sure he has your best interests in mind. Yet…’

Twig sniffed, and listened.

‘Yet there is a fine line between being protective and being
over
-protective,’ he said. ‘Why, the trip to the Twilight Woods would be the making of you.’

Twig scowled. ‘Not now it won’t,’ he muttered. He shook Spleethe's bony hand off his shoulder, and turned away. ‘Why don’t you just go?’ he said.

For an instant, a smile flickered at the edge of Spleethe's mouth; then it was gone. ‘Master Twig,’ he said. ‘I do not intend to return to the
Stormchaser
alone. I believe – and here I must speak frankly – I believe that Cloud Wolf has erred in his judgement. Of
course
you must accompany us on our Twilight Woods adventure. This is my plan,’ he said, and brought his face close to Twig's. His breath was stale and sour. ‘We will smuggle you aboard. You can stow away below deck in Mugbutt's berth – no-one will ever suspect you of hiding there.’

Twig continued to listen in silence. It all sounded too good to be true. Yet he knew well enough that Cloud Wolf would find him eventually. There would be trouble when he did!

‘It’ll all be fine, you’ll see,’ Spleethe's nasal wheedling continued. ‘When the time is right I myself shall reveal your presence to Cloud Wolf. I’ll talk him round. I’ll make him see sense. You just leave it all to me.’

Twig nodded. Spleethe squeezed Twig's elbow with his hard bony fingers. ‘Come on, then, let's go,’ he said. ‘Before I change my mind.’

All was not well on board the
Stormchaser
. The crew stood nervously by while their captain paced up and down the quarterdeck, purple with rage.

The Professor of Light – freshly kitted out with a pirate longcoat and parawings – had informed the captain that the Great Storm could strike ‘at any minute’. That was several hours ago. Yet the sky ship had still not set sail.

Cloud Wolf ceased his pacing, seized the side rail and bellowed into the night. ‘
SPLEETHE, YOU MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A MANGY SKYCUR, WHERE ARE YOU
?’

‘At your service, cap’n,’ came a familiar voice.

Cloud Wolf spun round to see the quartermaster emerging from the aft-hatch. He stared in disbelief. ‘Spleethe!’ he spluttered. ‘You’re here!’

‘I thought you called me,’ he said, innocently.

‘I’ve been calling you for three hours or more!’ Cloud Wolf raged. ‘Where have you been?’

‘With Mugbutt,’ Spleethe replied. ‘A wound to his foot has become infected. Septic and swollen it is. The poor creature was quite delirious.’

The captain breathed in sharply. It seemed he had found his quartermaster only to lose his finest fighter. Mugbutt was fearless in any battle and had got them out of more scrapes than Cloud Wolf cared to remember.

‘How is Mugbutt now?’ he asked.

‘I’ve left him sleeping,’ said Spleethe. ‘Sky willing, he will be back to his old self when he wakes.’

Cloud Wolf nodded. Setting sail for the treacherous Twilight Woods without Mugbutt was a risk. And yet, with the Great Storm imminent, it was a risk he had to take.

He raised his head. ‘Gather round,’ he called. ‘I have something important to tell you all.’

The sky pirates listened, open-mouthed, as Cloud Wolf outlined the plans. ‘Stormchasing,’ Tem Barkwater whispered reverently.

‘The Twilight Woods,’ Spiker shuddered.

Cloud Wolf continued. ‘And our quest will be, as it ever was, to retrieve stormphrax for the treasury of Sanctaphrax.’

‘Stormphrax!’ Slyvo Spleethe – feigning surprise – exclaimed with the rest.

‘Yes, stormphrax,’ said Cloud Wolf. ‘That is why the Professor of Light is travelling with us. He understands its properties. He will ensure we travel safely with our precious cargo.’

Spleethe frowned. So
that
was who the newcomer was. If only he’d known before.

‘Right then, you scurvy skycurs,’ Cloud Wolf announced. ‘To your posts. We set sail at once.’ While the sky pirates scurried this way and that, Cloud Wolf strode to the helm. ‘Release the tolley-ropes,’ he cried.

‘Aye-aye,’ Spiker called back. ‘Tolley-ropes, released.’

‘Unhook the grappling-irons!’

‘Grappling-irons, unhooked.’

‘And weigh anchor.’

As the heavy anchor was winched up, the
Stormchaser
leapt from its moorings and up into the sky.

‘Come on, my lovely,’ Cloud Wolf whispered to his sky ship as it bucked and lurched, responding to the lightest touch of the weight and sail levers. ‘My, but you’re frisky once more. Just like you were when you were first built. Forgive me for all the times I used you as a common tugship. I had no choice. But now, my wonderful chaser of storms, your time has come.’

As the dawn broke – and keeping both Tem Barkwater
and
Stope Boltjaw happy – the
Stormchaser
sailed majestically out of Undertown, unchecked. Wispy wings of pink and orange fanned out across the morning side of the sky. A moment later, the sun appeared above the horizon on the starboard side. It rose slowly, bright red and tremulous.

Cloud Wolf sighed impatiently. The weather looked unpromisingly good. What
had
happened to the Great Storm that the windtouchers and cloudwatchers had predicted; that the Professor of Light himself had confirmed?

Just then, Spiker let out a yell from his look-out. ‘Storm to port!’ he cried.

The captain spun round and peered into the distance. At first, he could make out nothing unusual in the featureless darkness of the receding night. But then there was a flash. And another. Short, dazzling bursts of light in the shape of a circle – a circle which, when the lightning faded, still remained. Black on indigo. Growing larger with every passing second.