Freeglader: Third Book of Rook

by Paul Stewart

  Xanth's jaw dropped. ‘What did they do?’ he murmured.

  ‘They found themselves near a woodtroll village. They knew that woodtrolls feared and distrusted sky pirates – but a foundling might just stand a chance,’ said Tweezel. ‘So they left the young'un there and set off for Undertown.’ He shook his head. ‘Maris never spoke again.’

  ‘That's terrible,’ said Xanth.

  Tweezel nodded. ‘The guilt, Xanth; it was the guilt that almost killed them both. I came the moment I heard that they'd made it back to Undertown. And a sorry sight they were, too. They were both half-starved and Maris had come down with a fever. Nothing but a bag of bones, she was. I found them in lodgings above a tavern – the Bloodoak Tavern, run by an avaricious old bird-creature by the name of Mother Horsefeather. Quint, by this time, was calling himself by his sky pirate name – Captain Cloud Wolf…’

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Xanth.

  ‘The only thing I could do,’ said Tweezel. He placed his empty glass down gently on the tray. ‘I packed up my belongings and left Sanctaphrax at once. After all, since Linius Pallitax my master had died, there was precious little to keep me up there. Besides, I had known the young mistress since she was a baby. I nursed her back to health, though it was touch and go for a few weeks, I can tell you.’

  ‘And Cloud Wolf?’ said Xanth.

  ‘Cloud Wolf set sail in a sky pirate ship of his own,’ Tweezel explained, ‘with money lent to him by Mother Horsefeather. He hated leaving Maris, but he'd promised her that if they made it back, he'd return to the Deepwoods to find their child. I think he realized what a terrible thing they'd done. Of course, Mother Horsefeather was only interested in the lucrative cargoes of timber Cloud Wolf would bring back.’

  ‘Did he find the baby?’ said Xanth.

  Tweezel shook his head. ‘No,’ he said sadly. ‘Voyage after voyage he made, each time returning with a heavily-laden ship – but without the one thing he'd actually set out for. And all the time, I could see the guilt eating away at him. It got so bad that eventually he couldn't bear to see the look in Maris's eyes when he returned empty-handed. At last, he just stayed away from the tavern.’ Tweezel sighed heavily.

  ‘When Maris finally recovered from her fever,’ he went on, ‘she had changed. She, too, was racked with guilt, that much was plain to see in her face. And, like Cloud Wolf, she set out to do something about it. Each night, she would leave the tavern by the backstairs and roam Undertown, looking for young'un waifs and strays with no parents of their own, and bring them home with her.

  ‘The first one, I remember, was a young gnokgoblin whose parents had disappeared in the Mire. Then a pair of slaughterers. Then a young mobgnome lass who had had to run away from her violent uncle…

  ‘And yet, despite the good she was undoubtedly doing, Maris was never truly at peace. Her terrible loss weighed too heavily on her heart, and she yearned to go back to the Deepwoods.’

  ‘To search for her lost child?’ Xanth asked.

  ‘I thought that, at first,’ said Tweezel, ‘but I think there was more to it than that. I think she wanted to face up to her guilt, and ease it by trying to put right the terrible thing she'd done. If she couldn't find her own abandoned baby, then she would find and care for those abandoned by others. I think that's what she yearned to do.’

  ‘And did she?’ said Xanth, feeling the weight of his own guilt tugging at his heart.

  ‘Let me finish my story,’ said Tweezel, ‘and you can decide for yourself.’ The spindlebug took a long, slow breath that set the papery tissues of his lungs fluttering inside his chest. ‘It was a cold and stormy night when we all set off – Maris, myself, and our little family of Undertown orphans, on foot…’

  ‘On foot!’ said Xanth, amazed.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Tweezel. ‘We were in no hurry. And as we travelled, across the Mire, through the treacherous Twilight Woods – led blindfolded by a shryke-mate, Dekkel, his name – and into the Deepwoods themselves, we picked up waifs and strays every step of the way. Through woodtroll villages, slaughterer encampments and gabtroll clearings we wandered, attracting more and more young'uns wherever we went – orphans with no future, drawn to our growing band, because no one else would have them. And you should have seen Maris!’ Tweezel's antennae trilled at the memory. ‘She was radiant. Like a mother to them all!

  ‘Of course, it was dangerous,’ Tweezel continued, his eyes narrowing. ‘The Deepwoods is a treacherous place at the best of times, even for well-armed sky pirates – though I like to think that my own considerable knowledge of the place helped us survive. There were flesh-eating trees, bloodthirsty carnivores, slavers with wolf-packs and innumerable shryke patrols. Many was the time we had to take to the trees, or hide out in hollows, until the dangers had passed. And that's the way it would have continued if we hadn't found what we were looking for…’

  ‘And what were you looking for?’ asked Xanth, intrigued.

  ‘A home, Xanth,’ said Tweezel, a smile playing on his face. ‘A home.’

  ‘Where?

  ’ ‘Can't you guess, Master Xanth?’ The spindlebug trilled with pleasure. ‘I remember it as if it was only yesterday. We emerged from the dark depths of the forest into the most beautiful place any of us had ever seen.

  ‘There was a wide expanse of grassy slopes, strewn with flowers and fruit bushes, which led down to a crystal clear lake, one of three stretching out in a line. In the centre of one was a small island, the lullabee trees growing upon it filling the air with a soft, turquoise mist. To our left was a tall cliff, studded with caves and rising out of the forest like a vast, curved edifice; to our right, on the other side of the lakes, an ironwood stand, with trees so tall and straight, it seemed as if they were skewering the clear blue sky, high above our heads. The sun was shining. Birdsong filled the air, joined at once by the sound of laughter and singing as the young'uns gambolled down the grassy slopes to the water's edge.

  ‘And when I turned to my mistress, Maris, I could see by the look in her eyes that our long trek was over. We would wander no more.’

  Xanth gasped. ‘It's the Free Glades, isn't it?’ he exclaimed. ‘You'd found the Free Glades!’

  ‘Indeed we had,’ said Tweezel. ‘Indeed we had. That first night, we camped out beneath the stars. No creatures disturbed us; no tribes attacked. It was as if we were surrounded by an invisible mantle that kept us safe from danger.

  ‘The following morning, we began to explore the area. It was, for the main part, uninhabited, but we discovered first that there were oakelves living on the island of lullabee trees, and later that a colony of spindlebugs dwelt in caverns beneath the Ironwood Glades.’

  ‘Spindlebugs!’ said Xanth, and chuckled.

  ‘To our eternal good fortune,’ said Tweezel, nodding. ‘I was able to persuade them to take us in, and we stayed with them until we had constructed the first buildings which were to become New Undertown.’ He paused. There were tears in his great eyes. ‘And that's how it all began, Xanth. From such simple and humble beginnings…’

  Xanth could feel a lump forming in his own throat once more.

  ‘Soon others came, and stayed. Everyone who arrived at the Free Glades immediately felt at home. Slaughterers and woodtrolls established villages to the south, while cloddertrogs, inspired to give up their nomadic existence, started living in the eastern caves. Even passing goblins decided to stay, and settlements sprang up all along the eastern banks of the lakes…’

  ‘And Maris?’ asked Xanth. ‘What happened to her?’

  The spindlebug cocked his head to one side. ‘Ah, Maris,’ he said, and smiled. ‘She was the mother of the Free Glades and, I think, as she saw the young'uns grow and settle down and have families of their own, she found the peace she had searched so long for. And when, some years later, she died, she was as happy as I had ever seen her – even though she had never again set eyes upon her son…’

  ‘So the Free Glades made her well,’ said Xanth thoughtfull
y, speaking as much to himself as to the great spindlebug. He stared down bleakly at the half drunk glass of tea, cold now, before him. ‘She found peace,’ he murmured.

  ‘For many, the Free Glades have been a place of healing,’ Tweezel broke in. ‘To those who are lost or abandoned or mired in their own unfortunate pasts, it can be a place of sanctuary and rebirth.’ He paused. ‘Of course, the first step is to confront the guilt you carry, not hide from it…’

  Xanth flinched. ‘Is that what I've been doing?’ he said. ‘Hiding from my guilt?’ His face paled. ‘But if I face it, will I really be able to live with it? Or will it destroy me and?’ He fell silent, unable to put the terrible thoughts into words.

  Tweezel leaned forwards. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is what we'll find out at your Reckoning.’

  • CHAPTER FOURTEEN •

  THE NEW GREAT LIBRARY

  As they walked through the lush farmland that stretched before them, Rook glanced back over his shoulder. New Undertown, with its narrow cobbled streets, bustling squares and thronging lakeside, had almost disappeared from view. The mighty Lufwood Tower poked up above the gently undulating hills and the tall, irregular pinnacles of the gyle goblin colonies to the west glimmered in the morning sun – but the roofs of the Hive Huts were lost from view, and Lullabee Island to the east was no more than a distant memory.

  At the top of a low hill, criss-crossed by small fields and edged with copperleaf hedges, Rook stopped, threw back his head and let out a great, joyous shout.

  ‘Oh, Felix,’ he laughed. ‘I can't tell you how good it is to feel the sun on my back and the wind in my face, and to be surrounded by all this.’ He spread his arms wide.

  Felix laughed in turn. ‘You mean sour cabbage and glimmer-onion fields?’ he said.

  Several low-belly goblins looked up from the field next to them, where they were pulling large red turnips, and doffed their harvest-bonnets in greeting.

  ‘No,’ said Rook. ‘I mean … well, yes, all of it. The Free Glades, all around us. Isn't it wonderful!’

  ‘Well, it certainly beats Screetown, I'll give you that,’ said Felix. ‘Now, if you've quite finished disturbing the peace, let's get a move on, or we'll never get to Lake Landing!’

  They set off again down the hill. Ahead of them, the three banderbears – who had out-paced them – were waiting patiently for their two friends to catch up. They seemed distracted, Rook noticed, their small ears quivering and their noses twitching as they cast longing glances at the Deepwoods' treeline far in the distance.

  ‘Wuh-woolah, weeg wullaah!’ Rook called as he approached. Forgive me, friends, my feet are slow, but my heart is light!

  ‘Wella-goleema. Weg-wuh,’ Wumeru replied, turning from looking into the distance and falling into step. It's good you are recovered. ‘Wug-wurra-wuh. Wuh-leera,’ she yodelled softly in his ear. We will wait for you as long as you need us, friend.

  Ahead of them, to the east, the impenetrable wall of thorn-oaks that surrounded the mysterious Waif Glen stood out, dark blue and black against the bright cloud-flecked sky. They continued past fields of gladewheat and blue barley swaying in the breeze before, once more, coming to a halt. Before them, the lake shimmered in the morning sun, the huge silhouette of the Ironwood Glade on its far shore mirrored in its glassy surface.

  ‘It takes my breath away,’ said Rook. ‘It always did.’

  ‘It's spectacular,’ replied Felix, ‘I'll give you that.’

  To the east, the woodtroll villages in their clumps of lufwood trees were stirring. A long line of hammelhorn carts, laden with logs, was already snaking out from the timber yards in their midst and making for the near shore of the Great Lake and the tall tower on the large wooden jetty which jutted out into its waters.

  ‘Lake Landing,’ breathed Rook as he gazed down at the Librarian Knights' Academy, where he had learned about the secrets of sky-flight so long ago – or so it seemed to him. ‘It's hardly changed …’ he began. ‘But what's that?’

  Felix followed his friend's gaze and smiled. ‘I was wondering when you'd notice,’ he said. ‘That is my father's pride and joy. The new Great Library of the Free Glades – or rather, it will be when it's finished.’

  Rook stared at the massive construction, wondering how on earth he had failed to see it immediately. It was tall and round and had been built on the end of a wooden pier directly opposite Lake Landing. Although clearly, as Felix had pointed out, there was still work to be done, with scaffolding enclosing its upper reaches, the library was already an impressive building. What was more, it looked familiar.

  ‘But I've seen this somewhere before,’ said Rook.

  ‘Not another of your cocoon dreams, Rook,’ said Felix, with a smile.

  Rook shook his head. He'd told Felix about the strange dreams he'd had on Lullabee Island as they'd walked, but this wasn't one of them.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘This building is an exact copy of the Great Library of old Sanctaphrax! I remember seeing drawings of it on barkscrolls…’

  ‘Barkscrolls, eh?’ said Felix. ‘Once a librarian, always a librarian, eh?’ He nudged his friend. ‘Well, come on if you're coming. My father's waiting to see you.’

  As Rook and the banderbears followed Felix down the track leading to the Great Lake, the already massive building grew larger. The main circular wall stood some eighty strides or so tall. Above it, the roof soared up into the air like a vast pleated cone, with flying buttresses and jutting gantries sticking out from it on all sides, their horizontal platforms constructed as landing-decks for the skycraft which buzzed all round.

  At first sight, with the noise and the bustle, the whole area looked like one of utter chaos. But as Rook stared, he could see that there was an order to everything taking place, with everyone working together, all under the bellowed commands of the goblin foremen and librarian overseers.

  From the south-east, the long line of hammelhorn carts, driven by woodtrolls and laden with felled trees, came trundling down the dirt track from the timber yards to the lakeside, where they deposited their loads in huge piles. Cloddertrogs and flat-head goblins were stripping the branches and bark from them and sawing the logs into broad planks. Gnokgoblin tilers crawled over the great wooden roof, hammering lufwood and leadwood shingles into place in neat lines and intricate patterns. Slaughterers and mobgnomes with cranes were tying ropes round the bundles of prepared timber and winching them up to the top, where joiners and carpenters were constructing the gantries.

  ‘It's amazing,’ Rook gasped, as he strode closer. ‘There's so many of them, and they're working so quickly.’

  ‘Yes, when these Freegladers set about building something, they don't waste any time,’ said Felix, obviously impressed. ‘You should see my father, Rook. I've never seen the old barkworm happier! Talking of whom…’

  They were approaching the huge ironwood doors of the new library, and the din of hammering, sawing and shouted commands up above was almost deafening. The entrance was full of Undertowners, laughing and joking and congratulating one another.

  ‘You made it, Hodluff!’ exclaimed a gnokgoblin, clapping a cloddertrog on the back. ‘I lost sight of you at the lufwood mount. Are your young'uns safe?’

  ‘Yes, Sky be praised,’ said the cloddertrog. ‘We've all settled in a beautiful cave, and we've come to hand over our barkscrolls.’

  ‘Me, too!’ laughed the gnokgoblin joyfully.

  In the midst of the throng stood the portly figure of Fenbrus Lodd himself, the High Librarian, a huge smile on his heavily bearded face.

  ‘Friends, friends!’ he was booming. ‘Welcome to the new Great Library. Find a librarian and hand over your barkscrolls for cataloguing, and may Earth and Sky bless you all!’

  Rook approached him and gave a short, respectful bow. ‘Rook Barkwater, librarian knight,’ he said. ‘Reporting for duty.’

  ‘Ah, Rook, my boy,’ said Fenbrus, his eyes lighting up. ‘So it is, so it is – and looking so much better, I'm pleased to see.
’

  ‘Oh, I am better, sir,’ said Rook. ‘Fully recovered.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Fenbrus. ‘Then you can begin straight away. As you can see, we have a steady stream of barkscrolls returning to us, all needing to be catalogued…’

  ‘But,’ began Rook, ‘I was hoping to return to sky-flight, with the librarian knights…’

  Fenbrus frowned. ‘But I understood that you lost your skycraft in old Undertown,’ he said.

  Rook nodded, a lump coming to his throat as he remembered the Stormhornet lying smashed in the rubble of Screetown.

  ‘Then you'll have to speak to Oakley Gruffbark the woodmaster about carving a new one. He's busy carving a likeness of yours truly up above the main entrance as we speak … In the meantime, you can be of use here in the library.’ He beamed happily. ‘Isn't it magnificent?’

  Rook nodded.

  ‘Speaking of which, Rook,’ said Fenbrus Lodd. ‘I hope the barkscroll you were entrusted with is safe.’

  Rook reached inside his shirt, and pulled out the leather pouch into which he'd pushed the roll of parchment. He held it out.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Fenbrus, giving it a loving examination. ‘Customs and Practices Encountered in Deepwoods Villages. Perhaps you'd like to start by cataloguing it yourself,’ he said. ‘It'll give you a chance to appreciate what we've built here.’

  Rook nodded a little reluctantly. Library cataloguing was not what he'd had in mind when he left Undertown for the Free Glades – though he was, it was true, intrigued to see the building beyond the entrance he was standing in.

  As he entered the cavernous, vaulted chamber of the new Great Library, Rook's heart missed a beat. It was even more impressive from within than without. Tall tree-pillars stood in lines, hundreds in total and each one with a little plaque at its base. Rook looked up into the shadowy roof space, where the tree-pillars divided and sub-divided into branchlike sections, each one housing a different category. This was where the scrolls were stored, high up in the well-ventilated, pest-free upper reaches.