For Linius Pallitax was not asleep, as Welma had claimed. He was sitting up in bed – rigid, taut, coiled, staring with abject horror at something he alone could see.
‘She's late,’ Quint murmured.
An hour after sunset, she'd said. The sun had disappeared down below the horizon at five after seven hours, yet the bell at the top of the Great Hall was about to chime nine. Quint looked for her anxiously up and down the West Landing.
‘Where are you, Maris?’ he muttered.
With the onset of darkness, the temperature had swiftly dropped and it was bitterly cold once more. Quint stamped his feet and swung his arms in an effort to keep warm. Back and forth he paced, back and forth…
Although he'd tried to avoid eye-contact, Quint knew that he was arousing the suspicions of one of the landing-guards – a hulking great flat-head with a deep, menacing scar that passed through his brow and down his left cheek. Finally, the guard came across to him.
‘You've been hanging about here for nearly two hours now,’ he said. He pressed his face into Quint's.‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘I … I'm an apprentice,’ Quint explained, his breath coming in little clouds. ‘The apprentice of the Most High Academe,’ he added, in the hope that the mention of such an eminent academic would encourage the guard to leave him in peace.
It did.
But Quint couldn't help but notice the look of interest which flashed across the guard's face as he'd turned to go. He chewed into his lower lip uneasily, knowing that he'd been a fool to say so much. In Sanctaphrax, it was unwise to volunteer any information. After all, what would the guard do with this piece of news? Who might he tell?
Quint looked round to see where the guard was heading – but the flat-head had already disappeared into the swathes of dark, wispy mist. The landing was busy with much coming and going, yet Quint was unable to see him anywhere. He did, however, spot one familiar face.
‘I remember you,’ he murmured. It was the character with the silver nose-piece whom he'd met on the Viaduct Steps. Quint was on the point of saying hello – and apologizing for his rapid departure – when something made him pause. There was something deeply suspicious about how often the man glanced furtively around him. Was he looking for someone? Or trying to avoid someone looking for him? Quint didn't wait around to find out. He raised his hood and took refuge between a couple of the local traders' wooden stalls.
The bell chimed nine hours. ‘That's it,’ said Quint to himself. ‘Something must have happened. I'm not waiting here a moment longer.’ And with his hood still raised, he turned and walked slapbang into someone wrapped up in a great cape hurrying from the opposite direction.
‘Sorry,’ said Quint, ‘I …’ He paused and looked at the heavy cape in front of him. It was familiar. ‘Professor?’ he said softly.
A sleeved arm was raised, the hood was opened and a pair of startled green eyes stared out. ‘Quint,’ came a muffled voice.
It was Maris.
‘You!’ Quint shouted. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I … I was …’ Maris began. The lantern she was holding trembled in her hand; her face crumpled. ‘Don't be angry with me.’
Quint frowned. It was unusual to see Maris looking so distressed. ‘I've been waiting here for ages,’ he said, more gently.
‘I'm sorry, Quint,’ said Maris quietly. ‘I went to see my father. I wanted to…’
Quint pulled her back into the shadows between the two stalls. What with the flat-head guard and the suspicious character with the silver nose-piece both hanging about, he and Maris would have to be careful.
‘How is your father?’ Quint whispered. ‘He was in such a bad way this morning.’
‘Sleeping,’ Maris replied. ‘I … I didn't want to disturb him.’
Quint nodded. The three-quarter moon glinted on the crystals of salt which streaked her cheek. She'd clearly been crying.
‘Come on, then,’ he said softly. ‘Let's go and see for ourselves what he has discovered.’ As Quint reached forwards to take her by the arm his hand closed round something cold and hard. ‘What‘s that?’ he hissed.
Maris lifted the voluminous folds of her father's cape to reveal a thick iron pikestaff with a vicious-looking hook that she had concealed there. Quint's eyebrows shot upwards with surprise.
‘Just in case,’ Maris said in a low voice. ‘After all, we both saw what the creature did to my father. For whatever reason.’
Quint said nothing. This was another side to Maris he hadn't seen before: fierce, determined, almost ruthless, but behind it, somewhere in those green eyes, fear. Quint couldn't help but admire her bravery. He gripped the handle of the knife at his side. ‘Just in case,’ he repeated.
Keeping to the shadows, Quint and Maris scurried back along the West Landing. A cold spiral-wind had got up, sending the wisps of mist dancing over the boards and chilling the night-air still further. Along the length of the landing, the oil-lamps swung from their hooks, the haloes around them brightening and dimming, the flames inside flickering, flaring, and sometimes blowing out.
The closer they got to the far end of the landing, the larger the thronging crowd about them. Shouts and cries echoed round the crisp night-air. ‘Mind your backs!’ and ‘Going down!’ and ‘Step right this way!’ as the basket-pullers ferried a constant stream of merchants, servants, guards and academics up and down between Sanctaphrax and Undertown. Not one among them seemed to notice the two youngsters picking their way between them and moving on towards the low-sky cage berths – yet the uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched persisted.
‘Stand back,’ said Quint. He uncleated the tolley-rope, brought the cage down and opened the door for Maris. As she clambered inside, the cage swung wildly.
Maris let out a small cry and clung on to the bars. ‘I don't like this,’ she said.
‘You'll soon get used to it,’ said Quint. ‘It always takes you earthlubbers time to get your sky-legs. Of course,’ he added cockily, ‘I've spent so many years sky-borne that I can keep my balance in the wildest of storms.’
‘Yes, well, while I am getting my so-called sky-legs, I may as well light the lamps.’ She glared at Quint. ‘Or would you rather?’
Quint smiled weakly. The palm of his hand, though healed now, throbbed painfully with the memory of the unpleasant incident in the balcony-chamber. ‘Sorry,’ he said. He paused. ‘I wasn't trying to be mean. It's just that I love the feeling of skysailing so much, it's hard to imagine being someone who doesn't. After all, if we weren't meant to fly, we'd never have been given flight-rocks!’
Maris shuddered miserably. ‘Let's just get this over with, shall we?’ she said.
‘Right,’ said Quint. He rubbed his ice-cold hands together vigorously to get the circulation going, and seized the bone-handled weight-levers. ‘Now, Maris,’ he said, ‘when I give the word I want you to release the winch-chain.’
‘D … do you mean this?’ she said, stammering with both fear and cold. She pointed to a flat, rusted lever at the centre of the coil of chain.
‘That's the one,’ said Quint. ‘Pull it down … Now.’
With a little grunt of exertion, Maris shifted the stiff lever downwards. The cage gave a lurch and, from above her head, there came a soft chinking sound as the chain unwound, link by link. She sat down. The slow descent had begun.
Maris hung up her lantern and prepared to light the cage-lamp. Quint adjusted the weight-levers. Like every other good sky-sailor, he did not look at what he was doing. Trust your fingers, not your eyes; that was the advice his grandfather had given his father, and Wind Jackal had given him.
It was good advice. Anyone could sail badly, but it was only when you had developed the ‘touch' that you could truly be said to have conquered the sky. Besides, if Quint had been looking at the weight-levers, he wouldn't have seen the two individuals emerging together from the shadows on to the landing stage. Looking up, Maris noticed them, too.
‘Ugh,’
she shuddered. ‘There's that creepy individual with the silver nose-piece. From the Viaduct Steps…’
‘I know,’ said Quint. ‘And the other one is a landing-guard. He spoke to me earlier.’ He paused. ‘They seem to know one another.’
As the cage dropped down lower, the pair of them disappeared from view.
‘The guard's name is Bagswill,’ said Maris. ‘I recognized his tattoos. And the scar. He used to serve in the Palace of Shadows,’ she added, ‘before Father had him dismissed…’
‘Dismissed?’ said Quint. ‘What for?’
‘The usual,’ Maris sighed. ‘Intrigue. Double-dealing. Lining his own pocket … Didn't you see him tucking some bag or pouch inside his jerkin just then. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if the two of them weren't up to something…‘
She fell still. The wind whistled through the bars of the cage as it continued downwards; the chain went chink chink chink.
‘Unless it was just a coincidence,’ said Quint at last, ‘the pair of them being together.‘
Maris shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I hope so. But then, if I know Sanctaphrax…’
CLUNK!
A loud, metallic noise vibrated down the chain and through the cage. Something was wrong.
Maris turned to Quint. ‘What was tha… ? Aargh!’ she screamed as the cage abruptly plummeted down through the air.
‘The chain!’ Quint cried out. ‘It's broken!’
Jangling like a traitor's bag of gold pieces, the chain slipped unimpeded through the winch-wheel. Faster and faster the cage fell. Maris pulled herself out of her seat and clutched at the bars. Quint gripped the weight-levers and trod down again and again on the brake-pedal.
The ice-cold wind howled up through the cage, freezing its two terrified passengers to the bone – and, at the same time, chilling the buoyant-rock to its core. Suddenly Quint's fingers detected a change of speed. He could feel it in the weight-levers.
‘We're slowing down!’ he exclaimed. ‘The cold wind's making the rock more buoyant.’ He looked round desperately. ‘But we haven't got more than a few seconds,’ he said, his hands leaping over the levers, raising and lowering them as quickly as his fingers would go. ‘Maris!’ he shouted. ‘Can you see an opening in the rock? Somewhere below us…’
Maris seized her lantern and shone it towards the pitted surface of the rock. ‘No …’ she said. ‘No, I … Yes!’
‘Where?’ shouted Quint.
‘To … to our left.’
‘To our left,’ Quint repeated, frantically realigning the weight-levers. ‘How many degrees?’
‘D … degrees?’ said Maris.
‘Imagine it's a clock,’ said Quint impatiently. ‘How many minutes before twelve?’
‘Five,’ said Maris. ‘A bit less perhaps…’
‘Between twenty-five and thirty degrees,’ Quint muttered grimly. He lowered the outer weights further. The cage continued to fall – but slower now and at a marked angle. The rock loomed closer. The entrance to the tunnel was coming up to meet them. He locked the weight-levers, scrambled over to the door and threw it open.
‘What are you doing?’ cried Maris.
‘We've got to get out of here while we still can,’ he said. ‘Come on, Maris. Get ready to jump.’
‘Jump?’ Maris gasped. The panic in her voice was unmistakable. ‘I … I can't…’
‘You must!’ said Quint.
The sky cage dropped lower. The hole in the rock came closer.
‘See that ledge,’ Quint said. ‘We're going to jump onto it.’
‘No, Quint,’ Maris groaned, ‘it's…’
But Quint was no longer listening. He seized her hand and dragged her towards the opening of the cage.
‘NO!’ cried Maris.
All at once the end of the cage's heavy chain, which had been falling so much faster than the cage itself, abruptly dropped below them – knocking the cage out of kilter and dislodging the buoyant-rock from its casing. Now they were in freefall.
‘Quint!’ Maris screamed, and grabbed hold of his arm desperately.
‘Jump!’ shouted Quint. ‘Now!’
The pair of them leapt from the plummeting cage. Maris screamed as she flew off into the void, Quint holding her tightly. The next moment, the two of them – still clinging on to one another for dear life – landed on the rocky ledge and collapsed together in a heap. The lantern in Maris's hand smashed against the stone, guttered and went out.
From behind them came a creak and a crack and the entire low-sky cage tumbled away below them. Moments later, there was a loud crash and a wail echoed up through the air. Then silence. Maris climbed up shakily and helped Quint to his feet.
‘We made it,’ Quint said.
Maris swallowed nervously as she looked down over the steep side of the great floating rock. The curve made it impossible to see the ground directly below them, so she couldn't see the remains of the sky cage – but she knew they were there: twisted, broken, smashed to smithereens, as their bodies would have been if they had not managed to escape.
‘You made it,’ she said softly. ‘You saved my life, Quint.’ Her face darkened. ‘The chain didn't just break. Someone cut it. It must have been that stranger and the guard. Quint, they tried to kill us!’
Quint shook his head. ‘It wasn't us they were trying to kill,’ he said. ‘It's your father they‘re after. And with that cape of his you're wearing, they probably think they got him.’
The pair of them peered up. Far, far above their heads – no larger than a couple of woodants – were two figures silhouetted against the lamplight of the West Landing, staring down from the balustrade.
‘There they are,’ said Quint bitterly. ‘Our would-be assassins.’
‘Then let's give them what they want,’ Maris said, removing the hooked pikestaff from her sleeve, pulling her father's great cape from her shoulders, rolling it into a ball and tossing it over the side. Quint's followed close behind. ‘For the time being, at least, they'll think they've succeeded.’ She turned back to Quint, a big grin playing round her lips – only to find him staring back at her, his face a picture of gloom. ‘Cheer up! They failed. We're still alive.’
Quint snorted. ‘In case you hadn't noticed,’ he said, ‘we're stuck on the side of a floating rock, hundreds of strides above the ground. We can't jump. We can't climb up or down. We haven't got parawings. What are we going to do? You tell me that.’
Maris stared at him levelly. ‘We're going to do what we came here to do,’ she said, her green eyes flashing fiercely.
· CHAPTER TWELVE ·
GLISTERS
Maris, please hold my lantern still,’ said Quint, trying hard to keep the irritation from his voice. He was checking the wall for the black chalk arrows and Maris wasn't making this task any easier. ‘I can't see properly.‘
‘Why don't you hold it, then?’ snapped Maris. Quint flinched. There was the old arrogance in her tone, the cold anger he'd heard in the Palace of Shadows, at the Fountain House … ‘Oh, but then I forgot,’ she added. ‘You have that little problem with fire, don't you?’
Quint turned away, and swallowed hard. He examined the wall more closely. Not only were they in danger of losing their way, but now they were beginning to squabble.
‘It's this way,’ he said at last, pointing down the tunnel. He picked up the hooked pikestaff Maris had brought with her and set off.
Things had been very different the first time Quint entered the stonecomb tunnel. On that occasion he'd followed the professor, unaware of where he was heading. Now he was the one leading the way, the one responsible for not getting both him and Maris lost in the endless labyrinth of shifting tunnels.
At first, they ' d tried to proceed with Maris at the front and Quint following. But it hadn't worked out. Maris, who could see clearly, was unsure what she was searching for, while Quint, who – since he'd put them there – knew exactly what the marks looked like, could barely see a thing. As the tunnel was too narrow f
or them to walk two abreast, they'd swapped places.
It worked far better with Quint leading and Maris following close behind, the lantern raised up above Quint's left shoulder – although having the hot, bright flame so close to his face coloured his thoughts with an intense unease. He bit his lip and peered into the strange, eerie gloom ahead. Reddish and faintly glowing, the air flickered with little flashes of light far in the distance.
‘Sorry,’ said Maris, close to his ear.
‘Me, too,’ said Quint. ‘We've got enough to worry about without falling out with each other.’
‘Being in the stonecomb, you mean?’ said Maris.
Quint nodded. ‘It's the most unpleasant place I've ever been,’ he said. ‘The endless maze of tunnels. The constant shifting of the rock …’ He shuddered. ‘We'd better keep moving.’
It wasn't only the stonecomb that concerned Quint, but also the creatures which the terrible place offered refuge to. Being pursued through the tunnels on his previous visit was still all too fresh in his memory. The pulsing crimson light. The flapping and snuffling and groaning – and the way whatever it was had cried out with such obvious relish when it tasted his blood.
He hesitated. They had come to a fork in the corridor and Quint needed to concentrate to make sure that they went the right way. As he scoured the walls carefully, an icy shiver ran the length of his spine. He was sure he was being watched.
‘Is that it?’ asked Maris, pointing to a small, ill-formed arrow on the wall at one of the entrances.
‘Yes,’ said Quint uncertainly. ‘Yes, it's this way. Come on.’
They continued down the left-hand tunnel in silence. All round them, the atmosphere changed as they penetrated deeper and deeper into the rock. The hissing grew softer, the humming grew louder, the temperature rose. Both Maris and Quint were soon wiping their brows and loosening their clothes, and their discomfort wasn't helped by the fact that the path they were following was climbing. Quint suddenly stopped. Maris bumped into him and the lantern swung wildly.