by Paul Stewart
‘I’m happy all of you are with me,’ said Cade. ‘Tug, Gart. And you, Celestia,’ he said – unaware that, as he’d walked back from Thorne Lammergyre’s hive tower the previous morning, his aunt Eudoxia had been out ensuring that the most important individuals in his life were travelling with him. ‘I’m just sorry I had to leave Rumblix behind.’
‘A skyship is no place for a prowlgrin,’ said Celestia with feeling. ‘Besides, Thorne will take good care of him until we return.’
‘That’s just it, Celestia,’ said Cade sadly. ‘I’m not sure I ever will return. Not with Quove Lentis’s assassins after me. Eudoxia believes New Sanctaphrax is the safest place for me, even with the blockade.’
‘Ah, the blockade,’ said Gart, glancing over his shoulder at them. ‘I don’t suppose that fine lady passenger of ours can tell me how we’re going to outrun the phraxvessels of the Great Glade fleet.’ He shook his head. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, the Hoverworm’s a fine little vessel, but she’s no match for a thirty-gun phraxfrigate.’
‘As a matter of fact, I can tell you, Captain Ironside,’ came a familiar soft, lilting voice.
Cade turned in his stirrup chair to see that his aunt had entered the cabin. He was surprised. Eudoxia’s quarters were below deck at the stern, and ever since they’d set steam that morning, she’d kept to them. But now, with the light failing, she had emerged from her cabin and was standing beside Tug, her grey cape pulled tight about her shoulders and dripping from the driving rain outside.
Holding onto one of the mooring rings, she stooped slightly below the low cabin ceiling and accepted Tug’s offer of a steadying hand.
‘Thank you, Tug,’ she said.
Cade noticed the respect this grand lady of New Sanctaphrax showed his friend, and the effect this had on Tug himself. His misshapen face seemed to soften in her presence, the deep-set eyes looking down bashfully at his feet and that lopsided smile widening.
What was it about Eudoxia Prade that she had such an effect on those around her? Cade wondered.
Even Thorne Lammergyre had been entranced by this visitor from New Sanctaphrax. Eudoxia had gone to see him last of all, and though the grey goblin’s heart was close to breaking as she outlined her plans, Thorne had agreed to stay behind.
The Farrow Lake settlement needed a leader, Eudoxia had persuaded him, and there was no one more suited to the task.
That morning, Thorne had ridden Rumblix to Gart’s sky-platform to see them all off. Taking Cade aside, he’d pressed a bundle of papers wrapped in oilskin into his hands.
‘They’re your father’s working drawings for the phraxengine, together with some notes of my own,’ he’d whispered.
Cade had looked down at the little bundle. Thorne had already worked on his father’s blueprints and, turning theory into practice, produced a scale model of a new type of phraxengine. Cade remembered the time when, back in the hive tower, Thorne had demonstrated how the little humming machine worked.
Around a central phraxchamber, four smaller spheres circled at different speeds, hovering just above its surface. And it was these whirring spheres – glowing white, then gold, then red – that had the potential to increase the power of a single phrax crystal a hundredfold, maybe a thousandfold; enough to provide a day’s energy for an entire city.
‘I’ve included my workings for that first barkscroll,’ Thorne had explained softly and urgently, ‘plus my calculations to date on the second and third. It’s fascinating stuff.’ He glanced round over his shoulder. ‘Give them to that uncle of yours, lad. They might well be of some use to him with his descending …’
Thorne had looked across at Eudoxia, who was settling herself in her cabin.
‘No need to bother your aunt with them, though,’ he added. ‘From what she’s been telling me, she’s not as keen on descending as he is.’
Cade had borrowed a needle and thread from Celestia and spent the morning of that first day of their voyage sitting on the aft deck, stitching the papers into the lining of his jacket. When she’d asked, Cade had told Celestia he was just padding it to keep out the cold.
‘And the rain, I hope,’ she’d said with a laugh as dark clouds had rolled in, blotting out the sun and chilling the air.
That had been at noon. Now, here they all were, the small crew of the Hoverworm, sheltering in the wheelhouse from the swirling winds and torrential rain, as night closed in around them. Eudoxia, maintaining her grip on the mooring ring, turned to Gart, who was still fretting about the Great Glade fleet.
‘I would never ask you to risk your vessel by trying to break the Great Glade blockade, Captain,’ she reassured him gently. ‘You’ve been more than generous even agreeing to embark on this voyage.’
Gart cleared his throat. ‘Anything for young Cade, he knows that,’ he said gruffly – though when he turned back to the controls, Cade saw he was blushing and that there was a smile on his face.
‘No,’ Eudoxia went on, seemingly unaware of the effect she was having on the captain, ‘what I need is for you to get us safely to Gorgetown in the Northern Reaches. I’ve arranged for us to be met there by some Friends of New Sanctaphrax,’ she added.
The skyvessel shuddered as another crosswind threw it off-course.
‘We should outrun this squall by dawn,’ Gart announced. ‘Then we’ll moor up and I’ll plot a new route.’
Eudoxia smiled as she carefully made her way across the small cabin to stand beside Gart at the wheel. She placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly to him; he listened intently. Whether Eudoxia was questioning the old skyfarer’s abilities or offering advice, Cade couldn’t tell, but she clearly wanted to spare his feelings either way.
‘Zelphyius Dax?’ Gart muttered at last. ‘The Midwood Decks? Well, it’s an interesting idea …’
Eudoxia patted him on the shoulder. Then, gathering her grey cape around her and pulling up the hood, she stepped out of the cabin.
‘So, what did she say?’ asked Cade after the cabin door closed. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘All in good time,’ said Gart, with an enigmatic smile that reminded Cade of Eudoxia’s. ‘Got a bit of thinking to do,’ he added, patting the wheel, ‘haven’t we, old girl? Sail and steam, eh? The high sky …’ He shrugged. ‘Stranger things have been known, I suppose.’
Gart Ironside, Cade realized, was no longer talking to him.
· CHAPTER SIX ·
The fierce storm that raged throughout that first night of their voyage cleared, just as Gart Ironside had predicted it would. The second day broke, warm and breezy, with a cloudless sky.
The Hoverworm made steady progress across the immensity of the Deepwoods. Days of full steam, with the phraxchamber humming as the treetops sped past below them in a blur, were interspersed with nights moored to lonely ironwood pines high above the forest canopy, listening to the booming calls of the night creatures.
Time was of the essence, and they travelled quickly and efficiently. Whenever Eudoxia felt that they were wasting time, or taking too long to pack up or refill their water containers, she would be there, insisting that everyone hurry it along.
‘We must press on,’ she would say. It was to become a familiar refrain.
Ten days they voyaged like this, under constant pressure to reach their destination as soon as possible. Routine was everything, and soon the crew of the Hoverworm became accustomed to life on board the tiny vessel; working as a team to ensure the flight continued with no unwelcome hitches.
Gart stood at the controls, the wheelhouse his constant home. Even when they moored up, he preferred to sleep in one of the stirrup chairs at the wheel rather than take one of the comfortable hammocks below the foredeck.
Celestia and Cade cooked in the tiny galley – no more than a hanging-stove and a battened-down chest full of pots, pans and utensils – on the foredeck itself. Celestia took meals to Gart as they steamed on, while Cade delivered covered trays to Eudoxia in her cabin below the aft deck. There, the two o
f them would share snowbird stew, or skewers of roast logbait, or other food that he or Tug had managed to forage in flight. And while they ate, they talked.
Cade looked forward to these conversations, enthralled by the unfolding story of his aunt Eudoxia’s fascinating life. And no matter how much she recounted, he was always left wanting to hear more.
She told Cade about her early childhood in Great Glade – of her thoroughbred chestnut prowlgrin, Antix; of the little rowing boat she’d sometimes taken out on the lake when the moon was full. And – her gaze unable to meet Cade’s, and voice tinged with guilt – of the wealth and privilege she had taken for granted. She moved on to speak of Nate, and how, on their travels together, they had both discovered that there were many in the Edge far less fortunate than themselves.
‘In New Sanctaphrax,’ Eudoxia explained, ‘we tried to do something about that – to provide a safe haven for the weak, the poor, the dispossessed … Which is why, with the floating city under threat,’ she added, ‘we must get back as quickly as we can …’
‘Then why are we heading for the Midwood Decks?’ Cade interrupted. ‘Surely the Northern Reaches are in the opposite direction.’ He frowned. ‘And anyway, who is Zelphyius Dax?’
Eudoxia put down her plate, and when Cade looked into her eyes, it was as if, instead of his aunt, he was seeing the girl she had once been.
‘Zelphyius Dax is one of the wisest individuals I know,’ she told him excitedly. ‘And a loyal Friend of New Sanctaphrax. We’re going to the Midwood Decks because that’s where we’ll find him. I believe Zelphyius can help us reach the Northern Reaches in days rather than weeks. I’ve spoken to Captain Ironside about it, and he has agreed.’
‘So we’re changing vessels?’ Cade asked. ‘Leaving Gart and the Hoverworm?’
‘Not exactly,’ Eudoxia replied.
Then she told him, simply and quietly, of her plan.
‘And Tug is going to be a great help,’ she added. ‘Aren’t you, Tug?’
Cade looked up, and was surprised to see his friend peering down at them from the aft-deck hatch.
Tug was too big to fit into Eudoxia’s tiny quarters, and when away from the wheelhouse he generally kept himself busy on deck, lowering and raising the logs used as bait, and collecting the air-borne creatures that would attach themselves to them. Strange, white, translucent creatures they were, with tentacles and scales, but delicious to eat. And like almost everything else he attempted, Tug had proved to be a fast learner. He soon perfected the art of logbaiting and was now an accomplished cloud angler.
Quick and talented as he was, however, there was one thing Tug could never master, no matter how hard he tried. Singing. Each night, after supper on the foredeck, when the Hoverworm was moored safely for the night, Celestia would play the snailskin bagpipes the webfoot goblins had given her, and they would all come together in song.
These were the only times on their long trip when Eudoxia seemed to relax. And since they were moored up anyway, unable to fly during the hours of darkness, she allowed the others to enjoy themselves too, without constantly trying to urge them on.
Gart favoured skytavern shanties, although he blushed crimson whenever Eudoxia gasped with mock shock at the bawdy lyrics. Celestia would sing the strange, sibilant songs the webfoots had taught her, making Cade homesick for the beautiful Farrow Lake he’d left behind. For his part, Cade contributed with the ballads he’d grown up with in Great Glade, which spoke of stirring deeds from the First and Second Ages of Flight – songs like The Spring of Life and The Charge of the Freeglade Lancers and, his own favourite, Twig and the Banderbear.
This was Tug’s favourite too, and whenever Cade started singing it, Tug would sway his great head from side to side before drowning out the chorus with his tuneless, rumbling drone.
‘They travelled through glades and forests afar,
They yodelled to distant kin.
The tale of Twig and the Banderbear,
Is the ballad of which we sing …’
After a few verses, everyone would be helpless with laughter. Everyone, that is, apart from Tug himself, who would smile his lopsided smile and shrug his massive shoulders, and groan on to the very end of the song.
And then, beneath the silver moon, Eudoxia would finally join in. Settling herself at Tug’s feet, her eyes half closed, she sang the extraordinary songs of Sanctaphrax: the city of the singing spires.
The songs were wordless, a series of breathy sighs and whistling sounds that corresponded to the different air currents passing through the towers and arches of the ancient academies. To Cade, these gentle songs seemed as mysterious as they were beautiful, and increased his longing to see and hear the fabled floating city for himself.
An hour after they had set steam on the morning of the twelfth day of their voyage – three days ahead of schedule, Eudoxia noted happily – the city of the Midwood Decks abruptly came into view through the rain-swept trees.
Cade shut the lid of the galley chest and closed the vents of the stove, extinguishing the flame, then hurried to the prow. Behind him, Gart stared out of the wheelhouse window, his lips moving as he talked to his vessel.
‘Steady now, old girl. That’s the way …’
Celestia climbed up from the foredeck cabin and joined Cade. Tug dropped the logbaits he’d been checking and lumbered after her, his eyes wide with excitement.
Moments later, Eudoxia, in her grey cape, appeared behind him, a smile on her face. She looked down at the sprawl of buildings in the distance, and nodded.
‘The Midwood Decks,’ she said, her voice giving nothing away.
As they got nearer, Cade could see that the city was a collection of huge wooden platforms – like the decks of mighty skytaverns – with tall timber-framed constructions clustered around them. The platforms were set at different heights, some low to the marshy ground, others high up, connected by walkways and thoroughfares strung from one to another.
The whole city, Cade thought, seemed to be swaying, the platforms tilting and rotating slowly in different directions. And, on closer inspection, he saw why. Everything was built of buoyant wood – the lightest, most buoyant wood in the Deepwoods.
Sumpwood.
The platforms and the buildings surrounding them were hovering, tethered to the ground by chains and tolley ropes of various designs. Fringing the decks were gantries and jetties, where skyvessels were constantly taking off and landing, like swarms of woodbees pollinating Deepwoods flowers. And in among this endless hustle and bustle were the inhabitants of the Midwood Decks; thronging crowds gathered on the open expanses of the platforms themselves, where carts and market stalls and long trestle tables displayed food and goods of all sorts.
Cade whistled, impressed. ‘There must be fifty decks down there,’ he said.
‘Fifty-five, to be precise,’ said Eudoxia. ‘The Midwood Marshes have been almost completely covered.’
‘It’s where you and Uncle Nate fought in that battle, isn’t it?’ said Cade.
‘The Battle of the Midwood Marshes,’ said Eudoxia, nodding, and without thinking she raised a hand and stroked the small scar behind her ear. ‘Though it seems a lifetime ago to me now.’ She hesitated, then smiled. ‘It’ll be so good to see Zelphyius again.’
‘Which deck does he live on?’ Celestia asked. She had borrowed Cade’s spyglass and was scanning the city below.
Cade saw Eudoxia’s gaze fall on the monogrammed NQ on the side of the spyglass, and the frown that plucked at her brow. Then she looked away.
‘Zelphyius doesn’t live on the decks,’ she told Celestia. ‘But further out, in the sumpwood stands.’ She pointed. ‘Over there.’
The Hoverworm skirted round the bustling city, Gart taking care not to fly too close to the other skyships going about their business. Cade would have loved to land and spend the next few days wandering from deck to deck of this amazing city. But apparently it wasn’t possible. Eudoxia had warned him that the Midwood Decks were allied to
Great Glade these days, and that the influence of Quove Lentis and the School of Flight was strong here.
Besides, he knew she would want to ‘press on’.
As the rain stopped and the midday sun burned off the mist, the skies began to clear. Gripping the safety rail on the starboard side of the little phraxship, Cade looked down at the forest of towering sumpwood trees. He’d seen nothing like them before.
The treetops were broad-branched, with thick clusters of blue sumpneedles pointing skywards. The trunks were squat and bulbous, resembling phraxchambers. But most remarkable of all were the roots. Huge, serpentine and exposed, they were almost three times the height and width of the rest of the tree. Sprawling down from the base of the trunks in great tangled clusters, they buried themselves deep in the swampy, waterlogged mud of the forest floor.
Gart steered the Hoverworm in and out of the archways and bridges of the convoluted root system as they went deeper into the sumpwood forest. The light here was dappled; the air damp and heavy with the slightly acrid odour of wet moss.
Eudoxia had joined Gart in the wheelhouse and was carefully guiding him through this root maze. As they passed, tusked quarms – suspended from the tree roots by their long arms as they warmed themselves in the rare sunshine – stared back at them through manes of purplish hair. Tiny curve-beaked birds fluttered over the skyvessel, sipping at the trail of steam it left in its wake. Then, up ahead, Cade saw a cluster of log cabins attached to the sumpwood trees.
‘Woodtrolls!’ he said, recognizing the distinctive architecture.
The Hoverworm slowed down, then came to a standstill, hovering in the air next to the settlement. Woodtrolls carrying the tools of their trade – two-handed axes, curved saws and wood callipers – and pulling floating pallets of sumpwood logs, emerged from the surrounding forest and looked up.
Then an elderly fourthling in a worn topcoat appeared in the doorway of one of the upper cabins and stepped out onto the jutting gantry. He stared for a moment at the small vessel, then motioned to them – and Gart threw him the Hoverworm’s tolley rope, which he secured to a jutting mooring peg.