by Paul Stewart
‘No doubt about it, he's on his way out.’
‘We'll be looking to choose a new Most High Academe before the night's done, you mark my words.’
Maris rounded on the crowd, her eyes ablaze with anger. ‘We must rescue him!’ she cried out.
‘And how do you propose to do that, missy?’ came an insolent voice. ‘Even the goblin-guard couldn't save him now.’
Quint elbowed his way to the very front, turned and confronted the crowd. ‘Shame on you!’ he cried. ‘The professor is worth a thousand of any of you. You might be able to stand by and watch the Most High Academe of our great city die, but I can't!’
As he strode forwards, he felt someone seize him by the arm. ‘Quint,’ came a voice.
He turned. Maris was standing before him, her eyes welling up. ‘Oh, Quint,’ she said, ‘aren't you forgetting something?’
Quint paused. His indigo-dark eyes widened questioningly.
‘The fire, Quint,’ said Maris, the tears running down her cheeks. ‘You know as well as I do that flames terrify you. You wouldn't stand a chance. No, if none of these brave scholars will save their Most High Academe, then I must.’ She shot a contemptuous look over her shoulder at the gawping faces, and strode towards the palace entrance.
Quint's hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. ‘I'm a sky pirate's son,’ he said. ‘If there's one thing I can do, it is climb.’
‘But the flames, Quint!’ Maris insisted. ‘What about the flames?’
Quint swallowed hard. ‘Let me worry about that. Your father needs me.’
He turned quickly away and ran up the steps to the front entrance, two at a time.
‘And so do I,’ Maris whispered after him.
At the top of the staircase, instead of going through the door, Quint shinned up the fluted column to its right. Higher and higher he climbed. The crowd below began to murmur. There was an embossed cap at the top of the pillar, directly beneath one of the second-storey balconies. Gripping on to it with his legs, Quint reached up. The moment his outstretched hand made contact with the ornate railings above, he gripped them tightly, released his legs and pulled himself up.
‘Bravo!’ a voice cried out.
‘Now climb up to the balcony above you!’ someone advised.
‘Rubbish!’ shouted another. ‘It's too high. You want to use that drainpipe and head for the Central Turret.‘
But Quint had his own plans. Without hesitating even for a moment, he picked himself up off the floor of the balcony, skirted round the flames billowing from the broken window and climbed up onto the surrounding balustrade. The next moment, a cry of disbelief echoed round the square as the young apprentice performed a gravity-defying leap onto the neighbouring balcony.
Maris gasped in amazement and blinked away her tears. Even though he was so terrified of fire, Quint's life on board a sky pirate ship had indeed left him with unmatched agility and a fearless head for heights.
For a second time, he leapt across the gaping void below him to the next balcony. And again. And then one last time.
‘But what's he doing?’ the crowd was asking itself. ‘Why doesn't he simply go straight up?’
Their questions were answered a moment later when Quint reached the balcony closest to the corner of the building. Although it looked like all the others, it had one thing none of the others had. A flag-pole. Not that Quint was interested in the signal-banners which fluttered in the rising breeze, but rather in the rope which had raised them. Without his sky-pirate grappling-hook, he had to improvise. Hopefully, with a perfectly executed clamp-knot and a steady aim, he would be able to navigate the overhang at the top of the building.
Having removed the rope from the pulley wheels, wound it round in a coil and slung it over his shoulder, Quint was off again. He leapt up, grabbed and heaved himself on to the Low Parapet. Then, using a sunken lightning-rod for support, he climbed over the arch above the windows and from there, up to a broad plinth which jutted out from a shell-shaped alcove.
‘He's nearly there,’ said someone in the crowd excitedly.
‘The most difficult part is still to come,’ cautioned another.
‘What's he doing?’ asked a third, as Quint suddenly jerked forwards and tossed the end of the rope up into the air.
‘Isn't it obvious?’ came an impatient reply. ‘He's trying to lassoo one of the parapet urns. He's going to pull himself up.’
Maris could barely dare to look as the rope flicked up over the top of the parapet wall. Twice, three times, four times it flew over the wall, only to drop back down again the next moment.
Come on! she willed him on. You can do it!
Five times. Six times – and still the rope did not catch. Then, at the seventh attempt, the pear-shaped loop dropped down so smoothly over the sculpted roofpot that it seemed almost as if it had been teasing before. Quint tugged on the rope. The knot tightened.
The crowd held its breath. Maris mouthed a silent prayer. The next instant, everyone gasped in unison as Quint swung away from the plinth and dangled there, high up in the smoky air, his cape flapping in the gathering wind. No-one watching from below so much as blinked as, hand over hand, Quint inched himself slowly upwards.
Above him, they saw the professor flapping his arms more desperately than ever. The flames were getting closer. Valiant though he undoubtedly was, if the young apprentice wasn't quick, then both he and his master would surely perish.
Maris closed her eyes. She simply couldn't bear to watch any more. A moment later, however, a joyous cheer rang out, and she looked up again to see Quint pulling himself over the balustrade.
‘Thank Sky,’ she murmured gratefully. She strained to see through the smoke. ‘But where is my father?’
She scoured the whole of the High Parapet, but there was no sign of him now. He must have slipped back, away from the edge and out of view.
At that moment, there was a crack and a crash and, a large triangular section of burning wood and shattered masonry broke away from the top of the palace. As it tumbled down, a dazzling sheet of flame and a billowing plume of thick, black smoke exploded on to the parapet.
Maris stared up, unable for a few seconds to see anything at all. Then, as the smoke cleared, her pounding heart missed a beat. Quint, too, had disappeared.
‘It's all right, Professor,’ said Quint softly. ‘But we don't have much time. Just come over here and I'll tie the rope around your waist. We'll soon …’ He paused. ‘Professor?’ he said. ‘Professor, come back!’
Without saying a word, Linius had turned and was heading off behind the turret. Quint swallowed nervously. The heat from the flames was intense – it burned his face yet chilled him to the bones. Any anxiety he'd felt climbing up the front of the great palace was nothing compared to the terror which gripped him now.
Quint glanced down over the balustrade. Far beneath him, he could see Maris staring back up at him. He couldn't fail her. Not now.
‘Professor!’ he called out. ‘Wait!’
Just then, there was a violent explosion. Quint ducked down as fiery debris flew past him and the air filled with a thick, choking smoke. With his eyes streaming and his throat burnt raw, he staggered towards the side of the tower.
‘Professor!’ he rasped. ‘Professor, please wait.’
As the smoke cleared, Quint saw him. He was leaning, almost nonchalantly, against the tower wall.
‘Professor, you must listen to me,‘ said Quint, as he wiped away the stinging tears from his eyes. ‘We must get out of here at once.’
But Linius was unmoved by the urgency in his voice. ‘So soon?’ he said. ‘But you have only just arrived. Sit down and catch your breath at least, my lad.’
‘You don't understand – the building could collapse at any moment,’ Quint insisted.
The professor shook his head. ‘Come now, Quint,’ he said. ‘Take the weight off your feet and warm yourself this chilly night at the fire.’ He raised his hands and rubbed them theatrically by the f
lames. ‘Ah, but the flames … I sense fear, Quint. They fill you with horror, do they not?’
Quint shuddered and turned away. The professor's tongue flicked out and tasted the air greedily.
Poor Linius, Quint thought in despair. After everything he's been through, this fire must have finally pushed him over the edge. With his heart hammering in his chest, he turned back to console him. ‘You're not yourself, Professor. But it'll be all right. I promise…’
As their eyes met, however, he was so startled by the expression on the academic's face – a keen, almost hungry look – that it took his breath away. And as he gasped, he saw the professor's tongue lap at the air.
He noticed something else, too. Something which glinted brightly in the flickering light: the Great Seal of High Office of Sanctaphrax.
‘No,’ he breathed. ‘No, it can't be.’
Down in the small square in front of the blazing Palace of Shadows, the atmosphere had changed. Neither the Most High Academe nor his apprentice had been spotted for ages and, with the increasing amount of blazing debris tumbling down through the air, waiting for their return was becoming more and more perilous. What was more, as the wind got up, pieces of flaming material were being blown to the surrounding buildings and beyond.
Already, there were rumours coming in of minor blazes breaking out in both the School of Light and Darkness and the Raintasters' Tower, while a third fire had been reported on the roof of the Great Hall. Although none of the sky-scholars felt any great sadness about the Palace of Shadows burning to the ground, the thought that their own colleges and academies might be in danger soon sent panic buzzing round the crowd.
A group of apprentices and sub-acolyte raintasters sped off back to the College of Rain, faces white and gowns flapping. The Sub-Dean of the School of Light and Darkness ran back and forth like a headless woodcock. While at the back of the square, numerous apprentice cloudwatchers and assorted volunteers had formed a long line in front of the College of Cloud and were passing bucket after bucket of water up the stairs – twenty flights in all – to the roof, where a second contingent of helpers was pouring it down every time a stray spark from the blazing building opposite threatened to start a fire.
All round the square, the academics, servants and guards were abandoning the Palace of Shadows to its fate and the air resounded with their shouts as they streamed away.
‘We don't have time for that old place!’ ‘We must preserve our own buildings!’ ‘Let the palace burn to the ground. And good riddance!’
Maris alone stood still as the chaos continued all round her. She stared up at the High Parapet. ‘Please let them be all right,’ she whispered grimly. ‘Please let them be safe.’
But no matter how hard she peered into the smoky fire far above her head, she could find no sign of either her father or Quint. An icy fear gripped her.
‘Oh, Quint,’ she murmured. ‘What have you done? I…’
At that moment, there came the sound of sudden activity from the top of the palace stairs. Anxious voices. A bolt sliding. A key turning…
The door flew open and a small, rounded figure emerged from the entrance. She was wearing slippers and an apron – and had a small blue-furred creature perched on her shoulder.
‘Welma!’ Maris cried out, and dashed up the stairs towards her. ‘Digit!’
Welma and Maris fell into one another's arms and hugged each other tightly while the wood-lemkin – caught up in their excitement – chattered loudly and jumped about on their shoulders.
Behind her, Maris became aware of shouting. The line of bucket-bearers had seen something. She pulled away from her nurse and looked back into the doorway. And there was Tweezel the spindlebug, the great gangly old retainer of the Palace of Shadows, emerging backwards from the smoky hall so as not to knock the load he was carrying so carefully in his front legs. Outside, he turned slowly round.
‘It's him!’ someone shouted.
‘Old glass-legs has saved him!’
Maris could hardly believe her eyes. ‘Father!’ she cried out and ran towards him.
Linius turned his head. Maris flinched. His skin was blistered, his hair singed. His lifeless eyes stared unblinking into mid-air.
Maris turned to Tweezel. ‘Will he be all right?’ she asked.
‘I shall take him to his former chambers in the School of Mist,’ Tweezel said stiffly. ‘Welma will dress his wounds. We will put him to bed. And then all we can do is wait. But what about you, young mistress? Are you all right?’
‘Yes … no,’ said Maris. She frowned. ‘Where's Quint?’
The spindlebug's antennae trembled. ‘The Most High Academe's young apprentice?’ he said. ‘I'm sure I wouldn't know.’
‘But didn't you see him?’ she said. ‘He was up there on the roof with my father. He…’
‘I found your father in his bed-chamber, not on the roof,’ said the spindlebug. ‘Curled up in the corner, he was, while all around him the terrible fire raged…’
‘But you can't have,’ Maris murmured.
The spindlebug tilted its head and looked round at the Palace of Shadows. ‘Oh, that it should ever have come to this!’ he wailed and trilled with despair. ‘I blame myself. I should have been more vigilant. I should have taken more care.’ He hung his head. ‘Now it is all gone. Everything. Centuries of tradition and learning wiped out …’ He clicked his claws. ‘Just like that.’
But Maris had not heard him. If my father never left his bed-chamber, she was wondering, then who had she seen on the roof? Who had Quint risked his life to rescue?
Her face fell as the terrible truth suddenly struck her.
‘You,’ Quint groaned. ‘It was you all the time.’
Before his eyes, the professor transformed into a creature with loathsome mutilated skin and long, coiling ridged horns. It hovered in front of him.
‘Very astute, Master Quint,’ the gloamglozer hissed
scornfully, and raised the Great Seal with a scaly hand. ‘It was this that gave away my little secret, wasn't it? The Most High Academe's seal of office.’ It threw back its head and cackled with laughter. ‘It won't do him much good now.’
Quint glanced round him. There seemed to be no escape.
‘I see you are beginning to understand,’ said the gloamglozer, jangling the chain in Quint's face. ‘This little trinket is of no use to him, for Linius Pallitax is dead. Roasted to a crisp,’ it shrieked, and cackled all the louder. ‘You thought you were saving him, didn't you? But all the time, he was downstairs in his bed-chamber, the surrounding flames coming closer, growing higher, hotter…’
‘N … no.’ Quint trembled.
‘You failed!’ the gloamglozer roared. Its eyes flashed gleefully as it tasted the air with its quivering tongue and smacked its cracked lips. It moved closer to him and fear rose like a stone in Quint's throat.
‘Can you imagine how he must have suffered,’ the creature continued, and its eyes narrowed. ‘Ah, but I see you can imagine it exactly,’ it purred. ‘How his skin must have blistered and his hair caught fire? The terrible heat. The appalling stench of burning flesh. Oh, and the cries he must have let out as the flames consumed him – louder and louder…’
‘Stop it!’ Quint begged. ‘Haven't you done enough?’
The creature hesitated for a moment. Then it turned and fixed Quint with its yellow eyes. ‘Enough?’ it shrieked. ‘I haven't even started. Just you wait and see.’
Despite the blistering heat, Quint gave an involuntary shudder. The gloamglozer pressed its hideous face into his own.
‘I shall spread mayhem and chaos,’ it said. ‘I shall lure. I shall cheat. I shall lie. I shall tempt and deceive. And feed off the pain and despair I create.’ As icy shivers ran up and down Quint's spine, the creature trembled with pleasure and licked its lips. ‘And off the fear,’ it whispered.
Quint backed away nervously – only to be beaten forwards again by the terrible encroaching inferno.
‘That fool Liniu
s,’ the gloamglozer continued, ‘never had an inkling of what he was unleashing. He summoned me from the emptiness and then actually believed that he would be able to control what he had created, that I should be grateful to him, that I should obey him – vain and pitiful creature that he was!’
As it spoke, a massive flaming beam tumbled down from the blazing turret. It missed Quint by inches, struck the stone floor and exploded in a great shower of white and yellow sparks. He looked round him desperately. If he could just get back to the rope … But which way was it? With the flames high and the blinding smoke being driven this way and that by the rising wind, he was becoming disorientated.
‘He summoned me up, only to imprison me in that underground laboratory,’ the gloamglozer went on, ‘too frightened of his creation to realize what I could become, if only he would let me. But I fed on his fear and I liked the taste. And I grew, and I studied, and I schemed – and at last …’ It raised its arms in triumph and flapped its tattered robes. ‘Here I am!’ it roared.
Quint shuddered. If retreat was not possible, then he had no choice but to attack. His hand closed round the handle of his knife. The gloamglozer's nostrils quivered as it breathed in deeply.
‘It is even better outside than I ever dared imagine,’ it continued softly. ‘I sense such confusion all round me – such fear, such pain and distress. It strengthens me. It empowers me. I exalt in its boundless misery.’ It looked down at Quint. ‘And I owe it all to you! You were the one who released me from my prison. You unleashed me on to an unsuspecting world.’
‘And I shall also be the one to rid it of you!’ Quint bellowed.
In a blind rage, he lunged forwards and stabbed at the hovering creature again and again. But the gloamglozer merely sneered as it dodged the blade and darted back out of reach.
‘You can't destroy me!’
it roared above the sound of the howling wind, and cackled with bloodchilling laughter. ‘So long as the strong pick on the weak, so long as fear is valued above tenderness, so long as hatred, envy and mistrust divide the various creatures of the Edge, then I am indestructible!’