by Paul Stewart
Tug bowed, and Celestia could see that his face was wet with tears.
‘Yes,’ said the waif, in answer to Tug’s unspoken thoughts. ‘We shall protect and nurture the former slaves. Henceforth, they will be known as the New Nations, and they will be welcomed into our city.’
‘And Great Glade?’ asked Eudoxia.
The waifs’ ears twitched. ‘Now that descending has been curbed, you will have the support of the Waif Council of Riverrise in your dealings with that city,’ they assured her silently. ‘Riverrise and New Sanctaphrax will, from this day forth, have a special relationship that will benefit us all.’
With a soft grunt, Quove Lentis climbed off the couch. He plucked at his sleeves and gathered his robes about him fussily.
‘Captain Felicia has delivered on her promise and brought you to me, Quarter,’ he said, taking a long thin dagger from within his robes. ‘Now it is time to settle old scores.’ He turned to the tallow-hat. ‘The money barge is in the Mire grasslands waiting for your master,’ he said. ‘I trust Danton Clore appreciates it. But’ – he hesitated, amusement flickering on his lips – ‘unfortunately for you, your journey ends here. My phraxengineers will seize your ship and dismantle it to learn its secrets.’
Quove turned to his captain. ‘Adereth,’ he barked. ‘Kill this tallow-hat.’
Captain Felicia Adereth raised her long-barrelled phraxpistol – but not at the tallow-hat. Instead, she pointed it at Quove Lentis.
‘I’m sorry, your Eminence,’ she said, ‘but the days of my taking orders from you are over. Great Glade needs a new leader. Someone with vision. The phraxengineers might indeed learn something from dismantling the cloudcruiser, but the secrets that Nate Quarter holds are far more valuable. And what’s more, Quove’ – she smiled unpleasantly – ‘I, as new leader of Great Glade, shall discover what they are.’
She pulled the trigger – only for the pistol to click emptily. The smile froze on her lips.
With a sneering laugh, Quove Lentis flung his arm out. The dagger flew from his hand and embedded itself in the Freeglade Lancer captain’s chest.
Felicia Adereth stared down at the hilt of the knife, a look of disbelief on her face, then pitched backwards and landed heavily on the marble floor. Quove Lentis reached down and pulled the dagger from her body. He turned to Nate Quarter.
‘If I’ve learned anything as High Professor of Flight,’ he said, smiling as he opened his clenched fist and let a handful of phraxbullets drop onto the table, ‘it is not to trust anybody.’
He picked up the goblet of wine.
‘I have a company of lancers waiting outside this chamber,’ he told the tallow-hat as he took a sip of the wine. ‘They will take Nate Quarter to Lake Landing, where I will watch his execution. As for you, you may as well go. I wanted to test my captain’s loyalty, that’s all. You’re of no further use to me—’
‘But you are, to me,’ said the tallow-hat, unbuckling his helmet and dropping it on the floor. ‘You don’t know me,’ said Cade Quarter, ‘but I know you. You had my father murdered and forced me to flee for my life. But I’m back now, and you will answer for your crimes, Quove Lentis.’
Cade stopped. The High Professor’s face had turned a deep, dark shade of purple. His bloodshot eyes were bulging and, as he began to tremble and choke, his stubby fingers clawed at the fromp-fur collar at his throat.
‘The wine,’ Nate murmured as Quove Lentis fell back onto the couch, the heavy impact snapping its anchor chain.
As Nate and Cade watched, the sumpwood couch floated up into the cool air. It rose above the Palace of Phrax, where the wind took it, sending Quove Lentis’s lifeless body, now beyond the help of the waifs’ tincture, floating away from the city he had spent his entire life attempting to control.
Nate looked down at the upturned goblet. The poisoned sapwine was dripping down onto the marble floor beneath the table and mingling with Felicia Adereth’s blood.
· CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO ·
The skytavern, the Xanth Filatine, moved slowly across the sky above Great Glade. The huge vessel was tethered by long chains to sleek cloudcruisers, which were deftly guiding it into the waiting sky-cage.
All at once, there was a great grinding sound like the death cry of a Deepwoods creature, followed by a booming clunk as the snub-nosed prow met the bars of the cage and was held tight. As the skytavern came to rest, flakes of rust fell from the empty phraxchamber at its centre, while the lattice of timber at the bow, where the ornate upper decks had been stripped for salvage, stuck up like a scavenger-picked ribcage. Below, in the depths of the vessel, however, the hull was intact.
Standing in the shadows of an alleyway in the Ambristown District, Drax Adereth looked up at the obsolete vessel, his jaw clenching and unclenching. This skytavern had been his world for longer than he cared to remember. Throughout that time, he had served his master, Quove Lentis, loyally – luring unsuspecting academics who had displeased the High Professor of Flight down into his lair in the depths of the hull, and disposing of them.
Of course, he’d had the run of the tavern too, skimming off his share of the takings from the gaming tables and the pickpocket gangs. The skytavern owners had put up with it because they knew he was Quove Lentis’s servant. Anything for a quiet life …
But that was all before a certain young fourthling had crossed his path. Afterwards, everything had seemed to go wrong for Drax Adereth, which was particularly galling since, at the same time, his twin sister had prospered.
Drax removed his tinted spectacles and rubbed his pale eyes, so sensitive to the glare of daylight. They might have shared the same master, but there was no love lost between him and Felicia. He had no time for her airs and graces. Never had done, even when they were children back in the slums of Ambristown.
And now, here he was, back where he’d started.
Above him, those new cloudcruisers had released the ropes tethering them to the skytavern, and phraxcharges were being detonated. The tiny explosions were tearing the Xanth Filatine apart, bit by bit, causing the debris of timber, fittings, decking and phraxchamber-plates to fall into vast nets strung out below the cradle.
It reminded Drax of the time he’d watched, from one of the viewing baskets that used to be lowered from the skytavern for the city tourists, a pack of wig-wigs devour a hammelhorn. Drax sighed. Those days were over and done with now. He put his spectacles back on and slouched off down the alley as the explosions continued above.
Nowadays, the new skycarriers – sleek and efficient, and with no depths to hide in – were taking increasing numbers of passengers between the far-off settlements and the main cities of the Edgelands in comfort and safety. It made Drax Adereth sick to the stomach when he thought about it.
Everything, it seemed, had changed. Quove Lentis had been overthrown. Drax’s sister had been reported ‘killed in the line of duty’. And here, the last of the skytaverns – his skytavern – had been decommissioned, cleared out and was being broken up for scrap.
What really made Drax Adereth’s blood boil, though, were the stories doing the rounds in the inns and alehouses of Great Glade.
They were stories of descending, embroidered with descriptions of some miraculous new phrax technology which had heralded a new age of flight. And with all these stories, there was one name that kept cropping up. It was a name Drax Adereth recognized: a name that meant a lot to him personally …
Keeping to the shadows, Drax headed towards the Ledges District of the city, absentmindedly touching the curious necklace he kept hidden from view below the collar of his topcoat. In the old days, the skytavern days – the good old days – if you didn’t pay Drax Adereth his due, he would take your fingers, one by one.
Drax crossed a busy avenue and approached the new office of the Great Glade Line, an open-fronted building of ironwood timber and fluted pillars. A row of gaudily feathered shrykes were sitting behind glazed windows etched with destinations. Goblins, trogs and trolls, mobgnomes and
fourthlings, were standing in lines in front of each window, waiting patiently to purchase tickets.
Outside, at the high platforms, the skycarriers were landing and taking off, the now familiar whine of their phraxengines powering up filling the air. Drax pulled up the collar of his topcoat and waited in the queue until his turn came.
‘Where to?’ clacked the yellow-and-blue-plumed bird-creature behind the glass.
Despite himself, Drax Adereth felt himself smiling. Cade Quarter. That was the name on the lips of every bleary-eyed goblin drunk, every slouching fourthling sapwine drinker, every cloddertrog ale-trough guzzler. Cade Quarter – who had not only slipped through Drax’s clutches, but had subsequently caused his world to come crashing down around him.
Cade Quarter.
Drax Adereth had never abandoned his search for him. After that goblin stone-master in Gorgetown had given him the information, he’d headed to New Sanctaphrax. And Earth and Sky, that hadn’t been easy, what with the blockade and all. He’d arrived to find that the slippery little eel had gone descending. Was that it? he’d wondered at the time. But then, some weeks later, he’d glimpsed Cade in a makeshift prison down in Undergarden – though the six-strong guard had proved impenetrable …
Drax still hadn’t given up, though. He’d kept his ear to the ground, and finally his patient determination had paid off. Word was that the High Academe’s nephew was leaving the floating city – though not to return to the city of his childhood. No, apparently he was going into the Deepwoods, the rumours maintained, though Sky alone knew where …
But Drax Adereth knew.
As for himself, Drax intended to travel to the wilderness of the Edgeland pavement. He would try his hand at sky piracy with the tallow-hats, or what remained of them; build up a crew of his own, perhaps. Start all over again …
But before any of that, there was something Drax Adereth had to do.
‘Where to?’ the shryke demanded a second time, drumming her talons on the counter in front of her impatiently.
Drax Adereth smiled. ‘Farrow Lake,’ he said.
· CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE ·
Leaving New Sanctaphrax was hard. Cade had grown to think of the magnificent floating city as his second home and, in the time that had passed since he and the other Descenders returned from the depths, he often thought that he might stay for ever.
He loved to stroll down the mosaic-tiled great avenue, sifting through the wares on the stalls that would spring up on market days; spending time with his friends in one of the many taverns and listening in on the blue-robed academics gossiping on the Viaduct Steps. And he never tired of the music of the city – the sounds of wind chimes, mist horns and rain cascades that filled the streets with their soft yet eerie laments. Evenings on the West Landing, watching the cloudcruisers weave lattices of steam over the skies above Undergarden. Nights out beneath the stars in the Stone Gardens, walking hand in hand with Celestia …
Yes, New Sanctaphrax was his second home. But Cade was restless. He could feel his first home calling to him. Farrow Lake. And now that Quove Lentis was dead, there was no reason for him not to return to it.
‘I feel it too,’ Celestia told him a few weeks after her return from Riverrise. ‘The Five Falls and the Western Woods … I dream of them almost every night.’
Cade nodded thoughtfully. ‘When we left Farrow Lake, I feared I might never see it again. I’ll tell you what, though,’ he added with a shake of his head, ‘I think Tug misses the place more than either of us. Just the other day, I found him in the Great Library, reading a barkscroll all about prowlgrins. He said he was afraid that Rumblix might have forgotten him.’
Celestia reached out and took his hand. ‘It’s time to go home, Cade,’ she said.
And so, the following morning, they prepared to leave New Sanctaphrax, quietly and without fuss.
Following the poisoning of Quove Lentis, the tyrannical Academy of Flight had been disbanded. Scholars now moved freely between the two cities, working together to develop phrax technology still further in this new Fourth Age. As for the Great Glade Council, it had been completely restructured. Its members were all now elected and met daily in the old Palace of Phrax which, following a unanimous vote, had been renamed the House of the Districts. And in addition to New Sanctaphrax, Great Glade had also forged new links with Riverrise and Hive.
The many changes gladdened Cade’s heart, and he wished so much that his father could have lived to see them. As for himself, though, the memories were still too raw. Great Glade could never be his home.
On that morning of their departure, Cade, Celestia and Tug stood on the West Landing as Eudoxia and Nate embraced the three of them in turn, and Eudoxia gave each of them a storm-grey travel cape with a chequerboard collar.
‘As you wear them, think of us,’ Eudoxia said, her voice solemn and eyes bright with tears.
‘And travel back to us often,’ Nate added. ‘For this is the Fourth Age of Flight, after all.’ He smiled, and despite the sorrow of their parting, Cade thought he had never seen his uncle look happier.
Just then, there came the sound of footsteps, and the five of them turned to see Seftis Bule running towards them over the wooden boards.
‘So glad we caught you!’ he exclaimed breathlessly. ‘We couldn’t let you leave without wishing you well.’
Behind the wiry goblin armourer were Theegum the banderbear, Demora Duste and, held in her arms, Sentafuce the waif. And soon there were more tears and embraces as they made their farewells.
‘Wuh-wuh wurra,’ Theegum told Cade, her long arms moving gracefully as she spoke. I shall think of you in those distant woods and remember both the good times we shared and the dangers we faced together.
‘I shall think of you too, Theegum, old friend,’ Cade told her.
Celestia looked up at the sky. ‘And I shall also think of you, Grent and Fenda. Absent friends. Your souls belong to the clouds now,’ she said softly. ‘Mine to the forests.’
‘Earth and Sky united,’ said Nate, his blue eyes gleaming. ‘As it always was and always will be.’ He took Cade and Celestia by the hand. ‘We learned that on our descent, didn’t we? It’s something I shall never forget.’
‘And nor shall we,’ Cade and Celestia answered together.
‘The Descenders are parting,’ Sentafuce’s words sounded in all their heads. ‘But we will reunite each year at our refectory table in the Knights Academy. I want your promises on that.’
And, ‘By Earth and Sky’, they had all sworn on it.
Finally, it was time for Cade, Celestia and Tug to leave the floating city – before one, or all of them, changed their minds. They climbed into the flight pit of a gleaming cloudcruiser and took their places. Cade released a ratbird with a message to Gart Ironside, informing him of their imminent arrival, then Celestia powered up the phraxchamber and, without any further delay, they set steam for the Deepwoods, the refurbished craft flying as fast and smoothly as only a skyvessel of the Fourth Age of Flight could.
By the time dawn rose on the following day, they had reached Hive. Celestia eased off on the power, and the cloudcruiser dropped down out of the high sky to fly slowly over the thronging streets of the city.
‘To think,’ said Cade, ‘when Gart, Thorne and I made the voyage here all that time ago, it took us weeks, yet now—Look!’ he cried. ‘The Hive Towers! And the Sumpwood Bridge Academy!’ He called out landmark after landmark to the others excitedly. ‘And there!’ he announced, pointing towards a jutting structure at the head of the gorge where the river cascaded down. ‘That’s the gantry at the top of the high-jumping course! Sky above, I’ll never forget how Rumblix jumped that day!’
Beside him in the flight pit, Tug’s face creased into a smile. ‘Rumblix!’ he exclaimed. ‘Rumblix will be so pleased to see us all again!’
Celestia smiled back at him. ‘He will, Tug. Now, Cade,’ she said, turning to him, ‘if you can show me the docking gantries, I’ll bring us in to land.’<
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Tillman Spoke, owner of the finest prowlgrin stables in all of Hive, was delighted to see them. He and Cade had first met years earlier on board the Xanth Filatine – and Rumblix himself had hatched from a consignment of pedigree-grey prowlgrin eggs that Tillman Spoke was transporting.
‘It’s been a long time, young Cade,’ he said warmly. ‘The High Council has been buzzing with news of your exploits. And here you are with two of your fellow Descenders!’
The grey-haired fourthling shook Tug and Celestia by the hand, then took them all through the roost-house, past perches full of thoroughbred prowlgrins. Time and again, Tug stopped to pet one of the pedigree greys, and smile as they nuzzled up to him, purring loudly.
‘Just like Rumblix,’ he murmured softly.
‘Of course,’ Tillman Spoke was saying, ‘when you sent word that you were coming, Cade, I kept it quiet. Otherwise the stables would have been overrun with well-wishers.’
They crossed a square, and Cade’s gaze fell on a wooden contraption with horizontal wheels and a water spout at its centre. His stomach churned. It was where he and Rumblix had spent so many long hours practising for the high-jumping contest.
‘Ever since the changes that have taken place in Great Glade, Hive has been enjoying a boost in trade.’ Tillman’s words broke into Cade’s thoughts. ‘And as for those new-fangled skyships,’ he said, ‘or cloudcruisers, I believe they’re called; well, we’ve never seen anything like them! And they say that New Sanctaphrax and Great Glade are building upgraded skytaverns as well. Can this be true?’
Cade smiled, amused by his old friend’s obvious enthusiasm. ‘It can and it is,’ he told him.
They’d reached Tillman Spoke’s quarters, a lufwood cabin at the top of a rickety staircase. A bevy of cheepwits chattering on the wood-shingled roof took flight as they approached.
‘But we call them skycarriers,’ Cade explained. ‘The bad old days of the skytavern gangs are over.’