Stormchaser (5 page)

‘All at once, there was a flurry of movement in the rows of benches. It was Vilnix, leaping up noisily onto his crutches and making his way to the front of the hall.

‘The Professor of Darkness sat forwards uneasily in his throne. What was the young fool doing now? he wondered. He watched Vilnix raise one of his crutches and tap the chalice lightly. “The good waters of the Edgewater River are no longer what they used to be,” he chuckled, then turned to address the hall. “So, isn’t it time we stopped fooling ourselves? All this nonsense about Knights Academic. About ‘stormchasing’. About ‘sacred stormphrax’.” He sneered unpleasantly. “When did a Knight Academic last return? Tell me that? What has happened to all those others?”

‘A murmur went round the hall. Garlinius Gernix? Lidius Pherix? Petronius Metrax? Where were they now? The murmuring increased. “Seven years ago, the last Knight Academic set sail,” Vilnix went on, “Screedius Tollinix, his name…”

“‘It was eight years ago,” someone cried out.

“‘Nearly nine,” called another.

‘Vilnix smiled slyly. He knew he had got them. “Nearly nine years,” he announced, his voice echoing round the hall. He turned to Quintinius Verginix and pointed accusingly. “And we are pinning all our hopes on
him
!” He paused dramatically. “Why should he succeed where others have – so tragically – failed?”

‘Just then, the Great Hall lurched violently. “Nine years!” Vilnix cried out again. “We need to do something now!” The hall lurched a second time. “But what?” Dust fell from cracks in the ceiling. “The answer is simple, my friends,” Vilnix announced. “We must build more chains.”

‘There was a gasp, then the hall fell still. The plan was indeed simple. It was also outrageous. There had only ever been one chain: the Anchor Chain.

‘A senior reader from the Faculty of Air Studies was the first to break the silence. “The production of chains would mean more factories, more foundries, more forges,” he said. “The Edgewater River is already polluted.” He nodded towards the chalice, still clutched in Verginix's hands. “We run the risk of making the water completely undrinkable.”

‘All eyes turned to Vilnix, who smiled benevolently. Then, making a mental note to reward the senior reader with a full professorship for his question, he hobbled back to Verginix and seized the chalice. With his free hand, he pulled a silver ball-shaped medallion from his gown and dipped it into the muddy liquid. Instantly, the water turned crystal clear. He returned the chalice to Verginix, who sipped. “It's sweet,” he said. “Pure. Clean. It's like the water from the Deepwoods springs.”

‘The Professor of Light grabbed the chalice and drank, too. He looked up, eyes narrowed. “How is this possible?” he demanded.

‘Vilnix returned the professor's gaze impassively. “It is possible because of an amazing discovery,” he said. “
My
amazing discovery.” He tapped the medallion. “Inside this pretty bauble is a substance so powerful that a single speck is enough to provide a person with drinking water for an entire year.” He turned to the rows of incredulous academics. “This stor…” He stopped himself. “This substance, which I call
phraxdust
in honour of our beloved floating city, signifies a new beginning. Now we can ensure the future of Sanctaphrax by building those chains we so badly need, safe in the knowledge that we will never go thirsty.”

‘A cheer resounded around the hall. Vilnix lowered his head modestly. When he looked up again, his eyes were blazing with the excitement of impending victory. “My associates in the League of Free Merchants are merely awaiting the go-ahead to get started on the chains,” he said. A smile flickered over his lips. “Naturally,” he said, “they will deal only with the Most High Academe – the
new
Most High Academe, that is.”

‘He swung round and stared at the Professors of Light and Darkness. “For what would you have – this pair of buffoons who, between them, have brought Sanctaphrax to the very edge of destruction with their arcane rituals and pointless traditions? Or will you have someone who offers change, a fresh start, a new order?”

‘Cries of “a fresh start” and “a new order” began to echo round the Great Hall. It lurched again. “And a new Most High Academe – Vilnix Pompolnius,” the soon-to-be Professor of Air Studies proclaimed. The others took
up the chant. Vilnix closed his eyes and bathed in their adulation as the chanting grew louder.

‘Finally, he looked up. “Let your will be done!” he cried. “I, your new Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax, shall speak with the leaguesmen. The chains will be built. And Sanctaphrax, teetering on the brink of oblivion, will be saved!’”

The caterbird looked sadly at Twig. ‘One person alone remained unmoved,’ it said. ‘One who, at the last possible moment, had seen everything he’d aspired to cruelly snatched away. Your father, Quintinius Verginix. His face hardened. There was something they would not take away: the sky ship that had been constructed especially for him. The
Stormchaser
.

‘He spat with disgust and strode across the floor. At the door, he paused, turned. “If I, Quintinius Verginix cannot prove myself as a Knight Academic, then I shall prove myself as Cloud Wolf, the sky pirate,” he bellowed. “And I make you this promise, Vilnix Pompolnius. You and your treacherous friends in the leagues will rue this day for so long as you shall live.”
And with that, he left.’

The caterbird shook its head sadly. ‘Of course, nothing is ever that simple,’ it said. ‘Despite your father's parting words, it was many moons before his defiant promise came true. His first ill-fated voyage almost saw the end of both him and his ship – indeed the only good that came of it was his initial meeting with the Stone Pilot. He was forced to lay low, to store the
Stormchaser
in a safe berth and take up a position on a league ship until he had gained sufficient money and inside information of the Leagues to try again.’ Its eye swivelled and narrowed. ‘The league captain he ended up serving was the notorious Multinius Gobtrax…’

‘It was upon his ship that
I
was born,’ said Twig thoughtfully. ‘But what about Sanctaphrax itself?’

The caterbird snorted. ‘For all Vilnix's fine words of
a fresh start
and
a new order
, the situation rapidly worsened. Nowadays, as you know, the Undertowners labour like slaves in the foundries and forges, making chains and weights to support the Anchor Chain. They manage to keep Sanctaphrax in place – but only just. It is
a never-ending task. And all the while, the waters of the Edgewater River are becoming more and more polluted. It is only because of the particles of phraxdust, supplied to the loyal leaguesmen by Vilnix Pompolnius, that Undertown hasn’t already choked to death on its own filth.’

Twig shook his head in dismay. ‘And Vilnix?’ he asked. ‘What does he get out of it all?’

‘Wealth and power,’ the caterbird replied simply. ‘In return for drinkable water, the leagues shower Vilnix and his new Faculty of Raintasters with everything they could possibly want – and more. Just so long as the specks of phraxdust keep coming.’

‘But surely the situation cannot last for ever,’ said Twig. ‘When the phraxdust runs out Vilnix Pompolnius will have to take more stormphrax from the treasury.’

The caterbird nodded. ‘That's precisely what he does do,’ he said. ‘And the Professor of Darkness is powerless to stop him. What's more, the production of more phraxdust has proved elusive. Despite a thousand attempts – many tragic – no-one has been able to reproduce the results of that first experiment.’

‘But it's crazy!’ said Twig. ‘The more stormphrax that's taken from the treasury, the more chains they need to manufacture. The more chains that are manufactured, the worse the pollution in the water gets. And the worse the pollution in the water, the more phraxdust they need to purify it!’

‘It's a vicious circle,’ said the caterbird, ‘that's what it is. A terrible, vicious circle. And twenty years after that
momentous meeting in the Great Hall, the situation is looking bleaker than ever for both Sanctaphrax and Undertown. Wrapped up in their own concerns, both the raintasters and the leaguesmen remain blind to what is going on around them. But if nothing is done – and done soon – then it is only a matter of time before everything falls apart.’

‘But what
can
be done?’ said Twig.

The caterbird shrugged and turned his head. ‘That is not for me to say.’ It swivelled a purple eye round towards him. ‘Right,’ it said, ‘my story is complete.
Now
, will you release me?’

Twig started guiltily. ‘Of course,’ he said, and retrieved the knife from his sleeve. He began jiggling the narrow blade about in the padlock again. There was a soft click. The lock was undone. He unclasped the padlock and pulled the door open.

‘
OY
!’ came an angry cry. ‘You said you were trust- worthy! What in Open Sky do you think you’re doing?’

Twig spun round and gasped with horror. It was Flabsweat, back at last with the animal-doctor, and bearing down upon him like a madman.

‘I can’t…’ he heard the caterbird complaining. ‘Help me, Twig.’

Twig looked back. The caterbird had managed to get its head and one wing out of the cage, but the door was small, and its other wing was twisted back and jammed. ‘Go back in and try again,’ Twig instructed.