The Last of the Sky Pirates (22 page)

‘This one’s not like the others,’ Rook assured them. ‘He’s kind, thoughtful—’

‘Yeah, yeah, and I’m a tilder sausage,’ came a loud voice, and they all laughed.

‘You certainly fly like a tilder sausage,’ said someone else. The laughter got louder.

Knuckle turned to Rook. ‘Come,’ he said, taking Rook by the arm. ‘We’ll get a better view from the west gantry. Perhaps we can spot your friends from there.’

*

Rook gasped as he peered down from the west gantry of the tower. On the ground, far below him, the herds of tilder and hammelhorn looked like woodants in the failing light. He clutched the balustrade nervously. ‘It’s so high.’ He trembled.

‘Wouldn’t be much use for looking out of if it weren’t,’ said Knuckle.

‘I know,’ said Rook queasily. ‘But does it have to sway like that?’

‘The wind’s getting up,’ said Knuckle, and he scanned the sky thoughtfully. ‘Looks like a sky-storm’s brewing.’

Rook frowned. He turned to Knuckle. ‘A sky-storm?’ he said. ‘With thunder and ball-lightning?’ Knuckle chuckled. ‘Yeah, and hailstones the size of your fist if you’re lucky’ ‘The size of your fist,’ Rook said softly. The slaughterer looked at him quizzically. ‘Are you telling me you’ve never seen a sky-storm before?’

Rook shook his head. ‘Not that I remember,’ he said wistfully. ‘I grew up in an underground world of pipes and chambers – dripping, enclosed, illuminated with artificial light …’ He turned, tilted his head back and was bathed in the golden shafts of warm sunlight. ‘Not like this. And as for the weather,’ he said, turning back to Knuckle, ‘everything I know, I learned from barkscrolls and treatises.’

‘So you’ve never smelt the whiff of toasted almonds in the air when lightning strikes? Nor heard the earth tremble as the thunder explodes? Nor felt the soft, icy kiss of a snowflake landing on your nose …?’ He paused, suddenly noticing the blush spreading over Rook’s cheeks. ‘But I envy you, Rook Barkwater. It must be wonderful to have the chance to experience all these things for the first time – and be old enough to really appreciate them.’

Rook smiled. He hadn’t thought of it like that.

‘Now, let’s see if we can spot these friends of yours,’ Knuckle went on. ‘They’ll be making their way on foot if the logworm got your prowlgrins.’

‘I hope so,’ said Rook, following the slaughterer’s gaze out across the silvery plains, over the heads of the grazing hammelhorns.

‘That’s where you came from,’ he said. ‘The Eastern Roost. If you look carefully, you can just see the top of the Roost Spike.’

Rook nodded. The sun was deep orange now and low in the sky, casting the trees in darkness. The spike stood out like a needle point and, as he watched, a light came on at its top. Knuckle’s arm swung further round.

‘Over there are the Goblin Nations,’ he said. ‘And there, due south, is the Foundry Glade. See how the sky is darker in that whole area? That’s the filthy smoke constantly belching out from their factory chimneys.’

Rook could see the heavy black clouds, tinged with red, far in the distance. ‘It looks like a terrible place,’ he observed.

‘Take my advice, friend,’ said Knuckle earnestly. ‘The Foundry Glade is no place for the likes of us. Ten times worse than Undertown, so they say – a place of fiery furnaces and slaves—’

‘Slaves?’ said Rook, shocked.

‘And worse,’ said Knuckle darkly. ‘Not at all like the
Free
Glades.’ The slaughterer smiled. ‘Now the Free Glades are a sight to see, believe me!’

‘Which way
are
the Free Glades?’ said Rook.

Knuckle turned him round, till Rook was standing with his back to the sinking sun. ‘Over there,’ he said. ‘Just beyond that ridge of ironwood trees; the most beautiful place in all the Edgelands.’

‘So close?’ said Rook, trembling with excitement. As he peered into the darkness, he was filled with a mixture of happiness and sadness. Overjoyed to discover that he had almost reached his destination, he had momentarily forgotten that his companions were not with him …

‘Rook!’ The voice echoed up on the swirling wind from the other side of the tower.
‘Rook!’

‘Magda?’ said Rook, hurrying to see. He clutched the rough wooden balustrade and looked down. A group of ant-like slaughterers were staring up. When Rook’s head appeared they all started waving and pointing and shouting at once. ‘Come down!’ ‘Come here!’ ‘Your friends …’ And three individuals from the crowd were pushed forwards.

Rook cried out with joy. ‘Magda!’ he shouted. ‘Stob! Hekkle!’ And he turned on his heels, clambered down the ladders leading on to the walkways, and finally hurried down a creaking zigzag staircase.

‘Rook!’ Magda cried as he emerged at the bottom, and she rushed forwards to hug him, before bursting into tears. ‘We … we thought we’d lost you for certain,’ she sobbed. ‘Then we saw that slaughterer swooping down …’

‘And I thought I spotted you clinging on, brave master,’ said Hekkle.

‘You did,’ Rook beamed and turned to Knuckle, who had followed him down. ‘Knuckle, here, saved my life.’

Hekkle turned to him. ‘You are a true friend of earth-and sky-studies,’ he said.

Knuckle nodded uncertainly. Talking to a shryke clearly felt strange to him. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘I just did what anyone else would have done.’

Magda broke away from Rook, and wrapped her arms tightly round the startled slaughterer. ‘You’re too modest, Knuckle!’ she said. ‘Thank you and thank you
and thank you again,’ she said, planting three kisses on his forehead.

The other slaughterers roared approvingly. Knuckle blushed, his normally red skin turning a deep shade of purple.

Hekkle’s voice rose above the hubbub. ‘It is time we left,’ he said. Ignoring the protests and politely declining the offers of refreshment and a bed for the night, he raised his hands and appealed for quiet. ‘Tonight,’ he began. The slaughterers fell still. ‘Tonight we will sup, dine and sleep in the Free Glades.’

A cheer went up. And as Hekkle led his small party away, the slaughterers waved and cried out. ‘Good luck!’ they shouted. And, ‘Earth and Sky be with you!’ And, ‘Don’t forget us!’

Rook turned. ‘Never!’ he shouted back. ‘I’ll never forget you! Farewell, Knuckle! Farewell!’

The sun had set by now, and the colours on the horizon behind them had become muted and shrunk away to a thin, pale ribbon of light. Above their heads the stars were coming out and, as they climbed the steep ridge of ironwood trees, the first of the night creatures were already calling to one another in the darkness.

‘The Free Glades,’ Rook breathed. ‘So close.’

‘Not long now,’ said Hekkle.

Though on a gentle incline, the ridge seemed to continue
for ever. Each time they reached what they thought was the top, the slope continued upwards. The moon rose and shone down brightly. Rook wiped his glistening forehead. ‘It’s further than I thought,’ he said. ‘Knuckle made it sound so—’

‘Sshhh!’
Hekkle stopped and cocked his head to one side. ‘Can you hear that?’ he whispered.

Rook listened. ‘Oh, no,’ he groaned as, from his right, he heard the unmistakable – and terrifyingly familiar – sound of hissing. ‘It can’t be.’

‘A logworm,’ Magda gasped.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Hekkle whispered nervously. ‘The woods all round the pastures are infested with the brutes. The pickings are just too good.’

‘What shall we do, Hekkle?’ whispered Stob.

Rook noticed that his apprentice companion’s voice had lost its usual arrogant tone.

‘Find a tree,’ whispered Hekkle, ‘and climb as swiftly and silently as you can. Go, now!’

They did as they were told. Quickly, noiselessly, they scaled an ironwood tree and crouched in its huge branches, like ratbirds, beneath their cloaks of nightspider-silk. The hissing grew louder as the logworm approached, and a flurry of leaves rose up in the air. The next moment its great slavering snout poked out from between the trees; its eyes and teeth glinted in the moonlight.

They held their breath and remained as still as their pounding hearts and trembling bodies would allow. Rook willed the creature to go.

Please, please, please …

All at once it grew darker as a cloud fell across the moon. Rook glanced down. Something was flapping past.

‘Snickets!’ he gasped.

‘So that’s what they’re called,’ he heard Stob mutter beside him.

The logworm hissed louder, and turned in their direction. Rook shrank back. Below them, the whirring swarm of snickets was spiralling up through the darkness like a great arrow-head. As it approached, the moon burst forth again and shone down brightly on the countless silver-black beating wings. The snickets were heading straight for them.

Rook groaned. If the logworm didn’t get them, the snickets would. And when they were so close to their journey’s end …

All at once and with no warning, the logworm swerved round to face the swarm. Rook gasped as the logworm convulsed. The snickets were being sucked up into the vast, dark tunnel of the logworm.

It writhed and wriggled, sucking in more and more of the little creatures, its high-pitched hiss sounding like a great kettle letting off steam. As the last of the swarm disappeared inside the logworm, Rook turned to Hekkle.

‘It’s destroyed them all,’ he said.

‘On the contrary, brave master,’ said Hekkle. ‘Things in the Deepwoods are seldom what they seem.’

‘But—’ Rook began.

Just then the logworm let out a deafening cry of pain. The sound echoed round the trees, making the leaves tremble, and Rook felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. As he watched, transfixed, the entire log-worm seemed to disappear before his eyes. The snickets were consuming it from within, each and every scrap! For a moment the vast swarm resembled the great hovering log it had just devoured. Then, as if at some unseen signal, the snickets twisted round in the air – no longer together, but singly and in pairs – and fluttered off in all directions.

Legs shaking, Rook climbed down from the ironwood tree. ‘I … I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Why did the swarm disperse like that?’

Hekkle clambered down and stood beside Rook. ‘Their feeding frenzy is over,’ he said. ‘They will only swarm again when their hunger once more drives them to it.’ He laughed humourlessly ‘Now it is the turn of other creatures to feed,’ he said. ‘Many of their number will be picked off by predators.’