The Curse of the Gloamglozer (19 page)

And then he heard it: a low pitiful sound that sent shivers scampering up his spine, like the sobbing of an infant in pain. He shifted forwards for a closer look, but the professor was still blocking his view. Whatever was in there sounded small, vulnerable.

‘Be still, you evil creature,’ the professor snapped.

As if in response, the plaintive cries turned into a hysterical high-pitched wail. And through the obvious distress, Quint thought he could hear words. Pleading. Imploring.

‘No more,’ it howled. ‘I beg you. No more …’

Quint scrambled upright and was about to take a step forwards when the door abruptly slammed shut. The unhappy voice was instantly silenced and Quint was left staring at the circular design on the rock once more. He crept towards the door and pressed his ear against it, but the rock was too dense and too thick for any but the most muffled of sounds to penetrate.

Quint turned away. The professor had something – or some
one
– locked up in this underground chamber. It was the last thing he'd expected and he shuddered uneasily, his head in a whirl. He had trusted Linius Pallitax, admired him even. Now he was unsure what to think.

What had the professor got imprisoned inside the chamber? And what terrible experiments could he have performed on this creature for it to cry out so desperately? And
what
, it occurred to him with a jolt, was he to tell Maris – that her father was a madman who tormented luckless creatures in an underground torture chamber?

One thing
was
certain. He had to get back to the lowsky cage before the professor. On no account must the Most High Academe discover, or even suspect, that he had followed him. Turning his back on the sealed chamber, Quint set off back along the corridor, vowing to return as soon as he could.

He took turning after turning, sweating with a mixture of exertion and nerves. The rock hummed all round him as he followed the black arrows down the endless tunnels until…

‘Oh, Gloamglozer!’ he cursed as the familiar carved door in the rockface loomed up in front of him. ‘How did
that
happen?’

Somehow, somewhere, he'd gone wrong and ended up back where he'd started. It was his own fault, he told himself angrily. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts of what was going on inside the chamber that he hadn't been paying proper attention to the trail he was following.

He set off once more. This time he would have to concentrate. The Most High Academe could appear at any moment. He could not afford to mess up twice.

Quint's heart began to race as he discovered
how
he'd gone wrong. Although he thought he'd marked the entire route from the entrance of the tunnel to the door of the chamber with small black chalk arrows, in his haste and nervousness, he'd drawn some so haphazardly that they hardly looked like arrows at all, while others were so faint that he could barely make them out. Moreover, in places the stonecomb was covered with
marks of its own; dark stains, blots and blotches, black sooty smudges…

Which marks had
he
made? he wondered. Which were there before?

Worst of all, however, was the sudden realization that the rock itself had moved. Some of the narrow passages had become narrower still, while in places the low ceiling now forced him to stoop. Panic rose in his throat. Those groans he kept hearing – they weren't the wind, but rather the sound of the porous stonecomb growing, shifting, twisting out of shape. And if the walls were moving, then what hope was there of following the trail of arrows?

‘Which way do I go?’ he whispered, his voice low and tremulous as he came to a fork in the tunnel with identical black smudges apparently singling out
both
of them as the correct way to proceed. ‘I can only have drawn one of you,’ he groaned, ‘but which one?’

He reached across, rubbed his index-finger over the first of the smudges and checked the tip. It was covered with a light powdering of black chalk.

This way, then, he thought, turning to the tunnel on the left – but then he tried the second mark as well, just to be sure. He inspected his hand. Like the index-finger, his middle-finger was now coated in the same black chalky substance.

‘
No!
’ he cried out, and the explosion of fear and frustration echoed down the intricate catacomb of tubes, tunnels and galleries all round him –
No No No No
– before fading away, only to be replaced a moment later by a different sound entirely.

It was the sound of scratching and scurrying. And it was coming closer.

For a moment, Quint thought it must be the professor, hurrying back to the sky cage. But only for a moment. The noise wasn't coming from behind him at all, but from one of the two tunnels in front of him. Which one though? The echoing acoustics were so confusing.

He stepped into the first tunnel, cocked his head to one side and listened. He frowned. It was impossible to be sure. He stepped back and was just about to inspect the left-hand tunnel when he saw a light approaching from the other end.

Quint's heart missed a beat. Bright crimson and pulsing rhythmically, the light was speeding down the tunnel towards him. The sniffing and snuffling grew louder and louder.

Without a second thought, Quint turned tail and dashed down the right-hand tunnel. The scurrying quickened and the air echoed with slobbery snuffling and leathery flapping. The creature – whatever it was – was giving chase.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Quint stumbled, fell and gashed his right knee on a jagged rock where he landed. Thankfully, the lamp did not go out. The noises got closer still. The light behind him intensified.

Heart in his mouth, Quint scrambled to his feet and, despite the searing pain in his knee, dashed off once more.

‘Faster,’ he urged himself, as he squeezed through a long, narrow stretch of tunnel and hobbled on. ‘Faster!’

Behind him, the creature had paused. Quint heard sniffing, followed by loud slurping. He shuddered with disgust. It had found the place where he cut his knee.

‘
Whiii-whiii-whiiiiii!
’

The excited high-pitched squeal resounded down the tunnel, filling Quint with absolute terror. Not only had the creature tasted his blood, but it had also liked it!

Quint tore his scarf from his neck and, wincing with pain, tied it tightly round his knee to staunch the blood. He had to stop the trail of tell-tale red drops that he was leaving behind him, leading the creature on.

Straightening up again, he limped off as fast as he could. His blood thudded in his temples. His heart hammered in his chest. All around him, above the sound of the humming rock, came the hissing of the wind once more. It was only now that it had returned that Quint realized it had been absent before. Something else was different too. The atmosphere was freshening, cooling. It could mean only one thing: he must be nearing the outer surface of the great rock.

‘Sky protect me,’ Quint murmured. ‘May I be heading towards the entrance I came in through and not some dead-end.’

A moment later, he saw it.

At first, his brain refused to accept what his eyes were telling him. He leant forwards and fingered the scrap of tattered material clinging to the jagged piece of rock. There was no doubt. This was where the professor had
snagged his robes. He
was
following the right path. It was the first piece of good news Quint had had since entering the terrible dark, claustrophobic system of tunnels. What was more, behind him the throbbing red light and the disgusting slurping noises both seemed to be fading away. Had he given the creature the slip?

The next moment he saw the light glowing ahead of him – and froze. Of course he hadn't! How could he even have considered it? Somehow, the fearsome creature had managed to get ahead of him. Staring fearfully at the light, he stepped slowly backwards. Noises behind him stopped him in his tracks. Flapping, snuffling, groaning… He spun round to see a second light, brighter than before. There must be two of them!

‘Trapped,’ Quint breathed. His palms were clammy; his scalp prickled.

Should he go forwards? Should he go back? The flapping grew louder. He
had
to go forwards.

Brow furrowed, Quint drew his knife, raised his lamp and continued. He remembered the lessons his father, Wind Jackal, had given him in self-defence. In such a situation, attack was the best, if not the
only,
means of defence. At the first sign of movement, he would lunge and stab.

Quint approached a narrow bend in the tunnel. He hesitated and listened before going any further. Behind him, the snuffling was getting louder again. The creature was so close. With his heart pounding and his muscles tensed, Quint edged forwards. The light seemed brighter than ever. He took a deep breath, turned the corner and…

‘Thank Sky!’ he murmured.

The light was neither crimson nor pulsing. It was the intense pinky-blue brightness of the new morning. Almost sobbing with relief and delight, Quint limped those last few strides towards the shining circle and stepped out onto the ledge. At last, he was free of the terrifying stonecomb.

Perched on top of the cage was the white raven. As Quint leaned across to open the cage door, it let out a raucous screech, hopped closer and jabbed at him with its vicious beak. Quint was gripped by a blinding rage.

‘Do you think I'm afraid of
you
– after I've been chased by … by bloodthirsty monsters?’ he roared. He swung a fist at the bird, which screeched again, its yellow eyes gleaming. ‘Do you?’ he shouted, swinging at the bird a second time. ‘Well,
do
you?’

With a noisy clapping of its wings, the great bird launched itself into the air and soared off, squawking with indignation as it went. Quint opened the cage door and was about to step back inside when he heard a noise coming from the tunnel.

He looked round, and gasped. ‘Professor!’ he cried.
‘But what … what's happened to you
now
?’

As he helped the professor into the sky cage, Quint's gaze fell on the gold medallion of high office which hung round the Most High Academe's neck. The bright sunlight glinted on it, throwing the famous design of lightning bolts into sharp relief. A thoughtful look played over his face.

‘Quint …’ the stricken professor groaned.

The apprentice dragged himself from his reveries. ‘Sorry, Professor,’ he said. ‘Hold tight, now. We'll have you back in no time.’

· CHAPTER TEN ·

PLOTTING AND
PLANNING

‘H
e
what
?’ Maris cried.

Quint looked round him anxiously. A couple of apprentice windtouchers approaching the wind-tower had paused and were staring back. Quint took Maris by the hand and led her round behind the tower. ‘Keep your voice down,’ he hissed. ‘The last thing we want to do is draw attention to ourselves now.’

‘I'm sorry,’ said Maris. She sounded a little guilty. ‘But … I can't believe…’

‘I'm just telling you what I saw and heard,’ said Quint. ‘He's got a creature locked up down there.’

Maris shook her head. ‘What
sort
of creature?’ she asked. ‘A pet, like Digit? Or a guard-animal? Or…’

‘It spoke,’ Quint broke in.

Maris gasped. ‘Spoke?’ she whispered. ‘Just repeated words? Like a loribus or a mimic-bird, maybe?’

Quint shook his head. ‘It pleaded,’ he said. ‘It
reasoned
.’

‘An intelligent creature, then,‘ Maris sighed. ‘Some kind of minor goblin or troll perhaps … And certainly a vicious one, judging by Father's wounds. I'm frightened, Quint. He was nearly killed.’

‘I know,’ said Quint, as he pictured Linius Pallitax emerging from the tunnel. He had been limping badly, blood all down his robes. Then, as he had raised his head, Quint had cried out as he saw the professor's ear, hanging on by a thread as though something had tried to slice it off completely. For a creature that had sounded so abject, so pitiful, so weak, it had certainly put up a ferocious fight.