by Paul Stewart
‘Wuh-wuh, weeralah-loog-wuh,’ muttered Molleen, smiling bravely. Light as a feather, even for an old bag of bones like me.
Rook smiled back. They were so brave, all of them. The librarians were fortunate indeed to have the help of such noble creatures. He could only hope that Molleen would be able to carry the bower as easily when it bore the weight of that great, bloated mountain of flesh, Vox Verlix.
‘Wuh-wuh!’ he whispered, his hand brushing lightly against his chest and forehead. Fare you well. There were tears welling in his eyes.
Fare you well, Rook, came the banderbears’ reply as they set off along the tunnel. And soon may the moon shine down brightly on our next meeting.
Rook swallowed hard, but the painful lump in his throat remained. They would meet again, he told himself.
Wouldn't they?
Fenbrus took his arm and guided him from the bridge. ‘You have done well, Rook Barkwater, he said kindly. ‘Eat well, then take your place on a bench in one of the great vessels, next to your old professor, Alquix Venvax. He needs a steady shoulder to lean on. Go, and Earth and Sky blessings be upon us all in the Great Library fleet!’
• CHAPTER THIRTEEN •
THE CLODDERTROG GUARD
As Xanth Filatine climbed down the narrow ladder from the flimsy spike-ledge at the very top of the Tower of Night, the tooled-leather box slipped from his shoulder. It knocked against the side of the ladder with a loud clunk.
‘Gloamglozer blast you, Xanth muttered under his breath as he paused and lifted it back onto his shoulder.
The box was heavy. Inside it were spanners and steel-brushes and an oil-can with a long, slender spout, as well as numerous more delicate instruments - a spindly plumb-line spirit-level to ensure the vertical ascent of the spike; a ratchet-grip used for aligning the teeth of the many interlocking cogs; and most important of all, a calibrated barometric astrolabe made of brass, the readings from which Xanth had to record faithfully and pass on to his master. The High Guardian's instructions had been clear.
Nothing must go wrong.
With a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Xanth wiped a hand over his sweaty brow and continued down the ladder. He realized he was panting.
Xanth had been up at the crack of dawn that morning, and though it was still early, the air was already hot and humid. It sapped his strength, leaving his body weary and making it difficult to concentrate.
He glanced round as he descended, pausing for a moment to take in the best view - aside from a skycraft saddle - in all of the Edge. He saw Undertown swarming, not with Undertowners, but with battalions of goblins. Reports had reached the tower that a curfew had been called, and the goblins were marching through the deserted streets and congregating in a large square to the east of the city. Far off in the opposite direction, he could just make out the shrykes also amassing in huge numbers, the colourful battle-flocks seeming to glow in the hazy light. And beyond all of this, he could see the great stacks of cloud beginning to coalesce to form a vast wall of swirling darkness.
Reaching the bottom of the ladder, Xanth stepped down onto the lookout-platform and opened the toolbox. He searched its contents for a moment before removing a metal bar, pointed at one end and with the metal head of a gloamglozer decorating the other. He examined it briefly, turning it over in his hand, the same grim smile playing on his lips. Suddenly a gruff voice spoke, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end.
‘Who goes there?’ it demanded.
Xanth spun round - slipping the metal implement into his pocket as he did so - to find himself confronted by a hulking clod-dertrog guard, one hairy ham of a hand hovering near the handle of the great curved sword which hung at his belt The cloddertrog's small red eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.
Xanth glared back at him. ‘It's me, he retorted crossly. ‘Xanth Filatine. You challenged me on my way up, you great oaf!’
‘Password, grunted the cloddertrog, his face betraying not a hint of emotion.
Xanth sighed. ‘The rock demons screech’ he intoned in a bored voice.
The cloddertrog guard's gruff voice grunted back the response mechanically. ‘For soon they will be free’
‘Satisfied?’ said Xanth. ‘Made absolutely sure it's the same Xanth Filatine you challenged half an hour ago?’
The cloddertrog's small eyes stared back, hard and stony. He made no move to let Xanth pass. ‘Rules is rules, he grunted. ‘Even for a librarian-loving pet of the High Guardian …’
‘What did you say?’ thundered Xanth, his violet eyes blazing. ‘I have the authority of the High Guardian of Night!’
‘Rules is rules, muttered the guard, a slight quiver in his voice.
‘I could have you thrown into the foulest dungeon-ledge in the tower, you insolent wretch - and don't think I wouldn't, Xanth continued, his eyes boring into the cloddertrog's. ‘Go on, take a good look at this face and remember, the next time you show such insolence, you'll be seeing it from the other side of a dungeon peephole. Understand?’
The cloddertrog looked down at his heavy iron-shod boots, and moved to let Xanth pass.
‘Understand?’ the youth repeated.
‘Yes, said the guard in a low growl.
‘That's better, said Xanth, sweeping past, and disappearing from view down the winding staircase.
The cloddertrog stared after him. ‘Xanth Filatine, he growled, spitting out the youth's name. ‘I'll remember your face, don't you worry about that.’
The tower was swarming with black-cloaked Guardians. They were on the gantry-landings, keeping watch, and on the jutting weapon platforms, tending to the harpoon-turrets and swivel catapults, in constant readiness for any attack. It seemed to Xanth, as he made his way down the winding staircase from Midnight's Spike, that just like the goblins and the shrykes, the Guardians of Night, too, were massing. Why, the entire guard seemed to have been turned out today
‘Step aside!’ he barked time and again as he barged his way down the great tower. ‘Make way¡ I'm on important business for the High Guardian!’
Past the spy-turrets and guard-decks he went, and down past the great gantry with the sinister feeding-cage glinting at the far end. The bars of the cage seemed to tremble in the hot, shimmering air. He was indeed on important business, he thought bitterly, but not for the High Guardian, Sky curse him. Right now, his master was probably laughing to himself behind that evil metal muzzle as he anticipated the Purification Ceremony scheduled to take place at noon.
But it wouldn't - not if he, Xanth Filatine, could do something about it. Magda, his friend, would not end up as bait for the rock demons, he would see to that¡ But time, Xanth realized, his pulse quickening, was not on their side. The minutes were ticking by.
‘Move aside!’ he shouted, barging his way through a group of Guardians, standing on an open landing.
As he hurried down lower still, the tower broadened and the single stairway became one of many. The air grew heavier and more oppressive, laced now with the scent of newly sawn wood and the odour of unwashed bodies. He passed Orbix Xaxis's living quarters, studies and stores, guardrooms and interrogation chambers, coming at last to the point where the tower divided up into an outer and inner section. The rooms and chambers formed the outer shell to the tower, with gantries of various lengths and widths protruding from their windows, while an inner wall encased the cavernous central atrium which housed the terrible prison-ledges. Xanth was sandwiched between the two of them, on a high, rectangular landing dimly lit by cowled oil-lanterns. ‘Password, demanded a tall flathead goblin, stepping from the flickering shadows.
‘The rock demons screech’ said Xanth, catching his breath with difficulty. The air down here was stifling.
Tor soon they will be free’ the goblin intoned. ‘Pass, Guardian.’
Without so much as a backward glance, Xanth continued on his way. The further down he went into the shadowy depths, the hotter and more pungent the atmosphere became. Eerie sighs and m
oans penetrated the air from the other side of the wall.
Half walking, half running, Xanth entered the maze of narrow walkways and rickety flights of stairs zigzagging off in all directions around him. Each staircase led to a door set into the inner wall. Behind one of these doors was Magda Burlix - and Xanth knew i exactly which one. It was a cell he knew well, for it had once belonged to his old friend, Cowlquape. Now, however, it was set aside for the librarian victims of the evil Purification Ceremony.
Arriving at the bottom of a familiar sloping flight of stairs, Xanth ran headlong into two hefty flathead guards standing in front of a low, studded door. One of them stepped forward, a heavy club in his hand, while the other lowered the crossbow he was carrying and pointed it at Xanth,’s chest.
‘Halt, who goes there?’ said the first.
‘Xanth Filatine, carne the breathless reply. ‘On important business for the High Guardian.’
The guard frowned. ‘Password?’ he said.
Xanth tutted impatiently. ‘The rock demons screech’ he said.
‘For soon …’
‘Yes, yes, just get on with it, snapped Xanth with all the bluster he could manage. ‘Orbix Xaxis himself has sent me here. He wishes to interrogate the prisoner personally.’
The guards exchanged glances, and the one with the crossbow shook his head uncertainly. ‘Orbix Xaxis, you say, he said slowly. ‘We haven't been told anything
‘Are you challenging my authority?’ said Xanth, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. ‘If you are, I shall make sure that the High Guardian hears of your insubordination.’
The guards exchanged looks again. Xanth seized his chance, brushing the club and crossbow aside as he strode between them. Before him stood the door to the cell, the names of its former occupants carved into the thick, dark wood. Cowlquape Pentephraxis was at the top; below it others, librarian knights who had paid the ultimate price for their steadfast loyalty to the Great Library. Torvalt Limbus, Misha Blix, Estina Flembel… And there, at the bottom of the terrible list, the name he had been hoping to see.
Magda Burlix.
He slid the bolts across, top and bottom. Then, ignoring the troubled muttering of the guards behind him, he straightened up, grasped the handle firmly and pushed the door open. It struck the back wall with an echoing thud.
Xanth stood in the doorway, reeling giddily. He would never get used to the yawning chasm which opened up before him - nor the appalling stench of sewage and death. Prisoners, perched on nearby ledges, who had heard the door being opened, fell to their knees, clasped their hands together beseechingly and pleaded with this newcomer to set them free.
‘Have mercy, sweet master!’ they cried, their eyes staring imploringly.
‘Release me!’ cried a one-eyed lugtroll.
‘This is all a mistake¡ A terrible mistake!’ wailed a grizzled former professor, his spangled robes hanging in filthy tatters.
Xanth tore his gaze away from the hapless prisoners and looked down the narrow open-staircase to the jutting ledge. There, sitting motionless in the middle -her face turned away and her long plaits hanging down the back of her flight-suit - was Magda.
‘You stand when a Guardian enters!’ Xanth barked, as he descended the flight of stairs.
Magda looked round wearily.
‘Get up, scum!’ he ordered, in a hard cold voice. ‘And come with me. The High Guardian wishes to interrogate you further.’
Magda turned away but made no move to stand up. Xanth strode across the ledge and prodded her roughly with his boot.
‘I said, get up!’ he repeated. Magda didn't move. With a grunt of irritation, Xanth bent down, grabbed her by the arms and dragged her to her feet.
‘Aaagh-ow!’ Magda cried out, as Xanth twisted her arm round behind her back. ‘You're hurting me!’
‘Shut up, Sky curse you,’ Xanth hissed in her ear, ‘and do exactly as I say’
At the top of the stairs, he shoved her roughly through the doorway, past the guards, and bundled her on up the next flight of stairs. Only when he reached the top and the guards were out of sight did he relax the upward pressure on her arm. He leaned forwards.
‘Just keep walking,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Don't say a word.’
Outside the open cell door, the two guards turned to one another.
‘I don't like this one little bit,’ said one, his finger stroking the trigger of his crossbow. ‘What do you think old muzzle-face is up to?’
‘Dunno,’ said the other. He tapped the club down in his open palm; once, twice, three times, before thrusting it decisively into the sheath at his belt. ‘I don't know about you,’ he announced, ‘but High Guardian or no High Guardian, I'm going to find Leddix. After all, as cage-master, the librarian is his prisoner, strictly speaking.’
Meanwhile, in the dark walkways above, Xanth and Magda had come to an abrupt halt.
Tm not going another step!’ Magda said, turning on Xanth.
Xanth released her. ‘Magda, he said softly, ‘I'm trying to save your life.’
‘Save my life?’ said Magda, breathless with disbelief. ‘You struck me, remember? You called me librarian scum…’
‘I'm sorry,’ said Xanth brusquely. ‘But I had to. I was being watched. If they'd suspected anything, I'd have joined you in the ceremonial cage as rock demon bait. I still might, if we don't hurry, he added.
‘You almost broke my arm!’ Magda complained, rubbing her throbbing elbow.
‘Magda, please’ said Xanth. ‘When they realize you've escaped, they'll sound the tilderhorn alarm and then we'll be done for. We'll have the whole tower-guard after us. I'm telling you, we must get out of here as quickly as we possibly can.’
‘But why should I trust you, Xanth?’ Magda persisted obstinately, her green eyes flashing with anger. ‘You betrayed the librarians at Lake Landing. You serve the High Guardian of Night. You lie. You deceive.’ She shook her head. ‘Why should I believe anyone who wears the sign of the accursed gloamglozer emblazoned on his front?’
Xanth looked up, his violet eyes full of sorrow. It is true, he admitted. ‘I have done many bad things. Terrible, unforgivable things. Yet you - you, Magda - you awoke in me memories of a better life, and with them the dream of leaving this place - for ever. Come with me, Magda, and I shall make sure you get back to the librarians.’ His voice faltered. ‘It is time I made amends for the terrible crimes I have committed.’
Magda's mouth pursed as she searched the shaven-headed youth's face. ‘You'll get me back to the librarians?’ she asked. ‘Promise?’
Xanth smiled. ‘I give you my word,’ he said.
Magda held out her hand, and Xanth took it gratefully.
‘We'll take the baskets used by Guardian patrols heading into Undertown, he explained. ‘The Eastern baskets. They'll bring us down close to the Edge, not far from the Stone Gardens. I know a path that'll take us to Undertown without having to venture through Screetown
‘Come on then,’ said Magda, striding ahead. ‘What are we waiting for?’
‘Not that way, said Xanth, halting her in her tracks. ‘This way!’
With Xanth in front and Magda following close behind, the pair of them made their way through the labyrinth of staircases and walkways. Xanth never faltered for a moment - now taking a right-hand turning, now a corner to the left, now continuing straight on -without a second thought. Down here, close to the base of the tower, there seemed to be almost no Guardians at all - which wasn't surprising, Magda thought, as the air was so foul that breathing it was almost intolerable. Xanth turned sharply to his right and hurried down a long narrow corridor with light streaming in from the far end.
‘This is it, he said. The Eastern Gate, He stopped abruptly and grabbed Magda's arm. ‘I almost forgot, he whispered. ‘The baskets are guarded.’
Magda watched, bemused, as he reached up and pulled the black hooded gown over his head. Underneath it was a second gown, identical in every detail. Magda looked at the garment
with distaste as Xanth held it out to her.
‘It's for you, he said. He nodded toward the green flight-suit. ‘Make you a little less conspicuous.’
Magda pulled the heavy gown - still warm from Xanth's body-heat - over her head. She tugged at the cuffs and smoothed the material down, shuddering uneasily as her hand passed over the symbol of the screeching gloamglozer, now emblazoning her own chest.
‘Raise the hood, Xanth said, doing the same. ‘And when we're outside, let me do all the talking.’
Together, the two of them stepped out, wincing involuntarily at the daylight, so blindingly bright after the subdued lampglow within the tower. At the far end of the long, broad gantry were half a dozen baskets, each one suspended from overhead pulley-wheels mounted at the top of jutting struts, three on each side. A single guard - a wizened gnokgoblin - looked up as they marched towards him.
He was dressed in a black gown the same as their own - but several sizes too big for him. Pushing his sleeves halfway up his scrawny arms, he gripped his sword.
‘Password, he said.
‘The rock demons screech’ said Xanth.
‘For … for soon …’ The gnokgoblin frowned, a look of confusion flitting across his features. ‘Very good, he said, his voice quavering as if in fear of a reprimand. ‘Business in Under-town, Guardians?’
‘That's no concern of yours, said Xanth, striding past him, Magda at his heels.
The gnokgoblin moved aside, stumbling over the trailing hem of the gown as he did so. Xanth was already at the baskets. He climbed into furthermost one and helped Magda in after him.
Xanth took up a position on the raised winding-stool and unhitched the chain from the mooring-cleat. ‘Hold tight, he whispered to Magda. He let the links of the chain slide through his hands and slipped his feet into the winding-pedals.
The gnokgoblin watched them from the tower entrance. Once he had been fierce in battle, fighting alongside flatheads and hammerheads twice his size, and often taking the greatest trophy. These days, though, battles were no more than distant memories. His bones were old and his muscles shrivelled. Too weak to fight and too blind to operate the gantry weapons, he'd been appointed a basket-guard. It was one of the lowliest positions in the Tower of Night - yet it had its compensations. Leddix paid him well to keep his eyes and ears open.