by Paul Stewart
Orbix Xaxis turned towards them. ‘You think so?’ he sneered, and pushed his muzzled face into the youth's. ‘You have disappointed me, Xanth,’ he said, his voice hissing behind the muzzle. ‘Disappointed me more than you will ever know.’ He nodded towards Magda and tutted dismissively ‘It is a shame you have allowed your head to be turned by this librarian scum.’
Xanth lowered his head but said nothing.
‘Yet even now, you still have a sporting chance. For it is the sweet meat of the librarians that the rock demons crave… If you ditch the girl, you might still manage to escape.’ He chuckled. ‘What will you do, Xanth? Abandon her and save yourself? Or stay with her and be eaten?’
Still Xanth remained silent.
Orbix grunted with irritation. Tut them in the cage, he cried. ‘Let the ceremony begin.’
The pale girl and thin youth were bundled into the barred contraption which swayed precariously as the door was slammed shut and locked. The gnokgoblin's nostrils twitched.
Fresh meat, he thought. The rock demons will be happy.
The High Guardian raised his arms. ‘Hail, the Great Storm!’ he bellowed. ‘Lower the cage!’
Styx seized the winding-levers and started turning. After an initial jolt, the cage began to go down, travelling slowly, smoothly and in complete silence - for, at the High Guardian's instructions, Styx had plaited strips of cloth into the winding-chain to muffle the tell-tale clanking sound of the cage's long descent. The rock demons should not be alerted too soon.
‘Hail, the Great Storm¡ Hail, the Great Storm!’ the chanting voices of the High Guardian, the cage-master and the four Guardians rang out.
Styx shuddered. He knew he had to be careful. Not only must the cage descend in silence but he also had to calculate the exact moment to apply the brakes. Too soon and the prisoners would drop down through the air. Too late and the cage could crash against the side of the canyon. Either way, the rock demons would be alerted before the prisoners had a chance to make a run for it. And that, as Orbix Xaxis had stressed, his eyes blazing behind the dark glasses, must not happen.
‘Must get it right, Styx murmured anxiously. ‘Mustn't mess up.’
Leddix had whipped him so soundly the last time he'd made a mistake, he'd thought the flayed skin on his back would never heal. If he got this wrong …
‘Hail, the Great Storm¡ Hail, the Great Storm!’
‘Gently does it,’ Styx whispered to himself, trying not to be distracted by the Guardians’ chants as the cage below him began to swing in the rising wind. ‘Mind that rock there. That's the way … A little lower. Just a little bit more …’ He pulled the brake-lever and, as he looked down into the canyon below, sighed with relief. The cage had come to rest against a slab of rock, not fifty strides from the dark, jagged hole in the side of the canyon. ‘Perfect,’ he breathed.
Orbix, leaning over the balustrade, a telescope raised, monitoring the situation for himself, turned to the gnokgoblin. ‘Open the cage,’ he told him.
Styx reached up above his head, uncleated the plaited rope and tugged it hard. He heard a soft click below him and looked down to see the cage door swing open. Then as he continued to watch, scarcely daring to breathe, he saw the two figures emerge. They paused. They looked around, and for a moment Styx thought that they were about to split up …
‘Come, Demons of the Deep,’ Orbix Xaxis intoned. ‘Come, now …’
Apparently deciding to stick together after all, the two ant-like figures set off, leaving the cage behind them. They can't have noticed the hole in the rock, Styx noted, for they were heading away from it. He mopped his brow fretfully. It would be him who got the blame if anything went wrong …
The next moment, he noted something else; a tumbling of rocks; a wailing and screeching. Dark shapes were emerging from the depths of the canyon and slithering upwards towards the light.
The two figures must have noticed them too, for all at once, they were running. What was more, they had changed course. Abandoning their attempt to scale the side of the canyon, they were heading straight for the entrance to the tunnel.
‘Excellent, Orbix Xaxis purred, and Styx thought he could detect a smile behind the High Guardian's muzzle and dark-glasses. ‘Run, run, as fast as you can, he whispered.
‘Hail, the Great Storm!’ Orbix Xaxis cried out as, at the very same moment Xanth and Magda disappeared into the tunnel, a distant flash of lightning lit up the sky beyond the Edge. ‘Hail, Demons of the Deep. Rid the Sky of its polluters, one and all!’
At that moment, the first of the dark shapes reached the shadowy hole. It paused, and sniffed round suspiciously. Others arrived behind it; a dozen, twenty, fifty …
Styx looked down to see the rock demons pouring into the tunnel. Their screeching had taken on a high-pitched intensity which, for all the torrid heat of the night, made the gnokgoblin's spine tingle icy-cold. Despite himself, he couldn't help hoping that the young couple might escape. Librarian or no, nobody deserved such a terrible fate.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the High Guardian of Night himself, Orbix Xaxis. ‘Well done, Styx, he purred from behind the metal muzzle. ‘With your skilful cage-craft, you have sealed the librarians’ fate.’
•CHAPTER SIXTEEN •
THE STONE HEAD
Rook gripped his seat in anticipation. His old professor, Alquix Venvax, should have been sitting next to him, but his place was empty. Rook hadn't seen him since just before embarkation.
The barge gave a lurch to the right, then to the left. They were almost out of the sewers. Ahead, the other four barges of the Great Library fleet had already emerged from the sewer pipe into the strong current of the Edgewater River. Rook could just make out their crews rowing frantically against the current, bobbing and weaving in their desperate attempt to get up-river.
Although he had seen what had happened to the others, nothing could have prepared Rook for the sudden jolt as the choppy water struck the port side of the boat. It lurched violently, sending the cargo sliding to one side, the barge creaking and groaning in protest. Rook was soaked with water.
‘Cut the buoyant-lectern net!’ the barge-master cried out.
Several librarians jumped forwards, knives drawn. The net was cut and the lecterns were set bobbing about in the air above them. The vessel righted itself. Then, back in their positions, the librarians picked up their oars and brought the boat slowly round in the water until it was pointing upstream - all to the accompaniment of the barge-master's bellowed commands.
‘Pull¡ Pull¡ Pull!’ he shouted. Ten degrees to port … And pull¡ Pull!’
Slowly but surely, the barge began to make progress up the Edgewater River, following the rest of the fleet. It was hard work, though - for it wasn't only the currents the librarians had to contend with as they battled upstream, but also the strong headwind which tugged at the bobbing lecterns and threatened to drag the heavy barge back towards the endless falls at the Edge itself.
‘Pull¡ Pull¡ Pull!’ the barge-master commanded.
Rook breathed in deeply and looked around. The lights from the opposite bank glinted back at him. The fleet was keeping to the centre of the river where the water was deepest. No-one wanted to run aground. Far, far ahead, the lofty towers of the Mire Gates were just visible. Rook felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see the Most High Academe looming above him.
‘I see you have a spare seat, he said. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’
Rook shrugged. ‘It was Alquix's place, he said, ‘but I lost sight of him as we boarded.
Cowlquape shook his head sadly. ‘I feared as much, Rook, my lad, he said, sitting down beside him.
‘What?’ Rook asked.
‘He couldn't bring himself to leave his beloved library, said Cowlquape simply.
‘You mean he stayed behind, even though… Rook felt tears sting his eyes as he thought of his kindly old professor.
‘Yes, even though the eleventh hour approaches, said Cowlquape. �
�The goblins will already be entering the sewers. And the shrykes won't be far behind. Just thank Sky that we managed to get out in time.’
Rook nodded glumly and the pair of them stared up into the threatening sky. The dark clouds were writhing and squirming in the broken moonlight. ‘We will make it, won't we?’ he asked, turning to the Most High Academe.
Around them, the librarians groaned as they pulled on their oars to the barks of the barge-master.
Cowlquape continued gazing up at the sky. It was growing darker. ‘According to Vox's calculations - he showed them to me himself - the dark maelstrom will strike at the eleventh hour precisely’
Rook felt his stomach lurch uneasily, but it wasn't the motion of the barge that was unsettling him. There was something else nagging at the back of his brain. Something important that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
‘Finest cloudwatcher the College of Cloud ever produced,’ Cowlquape was saying. ‘Vox had it all. That's why I made him my deputy all those years ago. If Vox says the eleventh hour, then the eleventh hour it will be.’
‘PULL¡ PULL¡ PULL!’ The barge-master's cries grew ever more insistent.
‘The Tower of Night, the Mire Road, the Sanctaphrax Forest,’ Cowlquape's hand gestured across the Undertown skyline. ‘Say what you like about the fat wretch, but he's certainly left his mark, The old professor looked down at his seal of office and fiddled with it distractedly. His eyes clouded over. ‘Unlike some I could mention.’
Now it was Rook's turn to place a hand on the Most High Academe's shoulder. ‘Don't do yourself down, he said. ‘He left his mark on Undertown; you left your mark on people's hearts. I know which is more important.’ ‘Sky bless you, lad, said Cowlquape, looking up with a smile. ‘There were times in the dungeons of the Tower of Night when I doubted that.’
Rook shook his fist. ‘Tower of Night, pah¡ Mire Road, pah¡ ‘ He laughed, and Cowlquape joined in as Rook continued, ‘Sanctaphrax Forest, pah¡ Vox's baby - pah!’ Cowlquape stopped laughing. ‘Vox's baby?’ ‘Yes, laughed Rook. ‘His latest project - a great big sphere full of bloodoak acorns and phraxdust.’
‘Phraxdust, Cowlquape gasped, the colour draining from his face.
‘It's horrible stuff, Rook went on. ‘I had a bit of an accident with it down in Hestera Spikesap's kitchen. A couple of specks of dust, a drop of water and BANG!¡ The explosion was colossal.’
‘And he's packed a whole sphere full of the stuff, said Cowlquape weakly. ‘Sky above, suddenly it all makes sense. The fireballs, Rook¡ It must have been one of those that knocked you out of the sky. Vox has clearly been experimenting for quite some time.’ His voice dropped. ‘But I didn't think that even Vox Verlix was capable of such a thing. He's mad¡ Quite mad!’
‘I… I don't understand, said Rook unhappily as a wave of guilt washed over him. He'd had his own part to play in the feeding of the baby. But what exactly had he done?
‘Don't you see, Rook?’ said Cowlquape. ‘If this “baby” of Vox's, packed full of phraxdust and bloodoak acorns, is as explosive as you say …’
Rook nodded.
‘Then setting it off, Cowlquape continued, ‘could well trigger…’
‘The dark maelstrom, whispered Rook.
The lightning crackled as the clouds advanced. Far above in the sky, a white raven wheeled round and round.
‘So that ‘s how he could predict when it would strike, Cowlquape murmured. ‘Because he himself always intended to set it off. I've been such a fool, Rook, blinded by sky-charts and calculations …’
‘It's not your fault, said Rook. ‘It's mine for not recognizing how dangerous Vox's baby actually was, and warning you all.’
‘No, Rook, said Cowlquape, rising from his seat. ‘You couldn't be expected to know that. Few of us have ever been able to read Vox's dark mind, and those of us who have tried have failed miserably.’
Cowlquape collapsed, head in his hands, moaning softly. Rook leaped to his feet.
‘What is it, Most High Academe?’ he asked urgently. ‘What is it?’
Cowlquape looked up, his face as pale and haggard as Rook had ever seen it. ‘Vox insisted that the bander-bears carried him to the Mire Gates by ten hours,’ he said, ‘even though the maelstrom he predicted was due to strike at the eleventh. I thought nothing of it when I looked at those accursed charts and calculations, but now …’
‘Now we know that he has the power to cause the dark maelstrom himself, and that we - the librarians - have arranged for him to be carried to safety!’ Rook gasped.
‘Yes,’ said Cowlquape, gazing at the dark sky and fast flowing Edgewater. ‘There's nothing to stop him launching his baby, creating the dark maelstrom, and destroying us all right now!’
‘Oh, but there is,’ said Rook grimly. There was steel in his voice. ‘I'll stop it being launched - or die in the attempt.’
He jumped up from his seat and hurried to the side of the barge. He raised his arms.
‘I'll meet you at the Mire Gates!’ he called back. ‘Earth and Sky willing!’
‘No, Rook!’ cried Cowlquape. T can't ask you to do this.’
‘I must!’ Rook cried, and he dived into the swirling Edgewater River. Far above his head, the white raven let out a raucous shriek, turned in the air and soared off across Undertown.
‘Good luck, lad!’
Cowlquape's quavering voice floated across the choppy surface of the river as the library fleet continued battling up-river towards the safety of the Mire Gates. Rook gritted his teeth. He'd need all the luck he could get.
He struck out for the far shore, praying that he might avoid the treacherous oozefish this time. After a few minutes his boots sank into the slimy bottom of the riverbed. Steadying himself and leaning into the current, Rook waded towards the bank. He emerged, quivering with exhaustion - yet there was no time to rest.
With a last glance back at the distant fleet, he dragged himself to his feet and up the muddy slope. In the distance, he could see the jagged outline of the Palace of Statues.
The shoreside buildings came closer, their lamplit windows showing him the way as the sky darkened. Rook darted down one of the narrow alleys. The palace, he calculated, must be some way to his right. He took a sharp turning, then another, and raced across a deserted square. At the far corner, he went through a narrow arch onto a broad, stately thoroughfare - and cried out with joy.
Thank Sky!’
Looming up before him, the Palace of Statues was bathed in shadows and light. Pools of golden lampglow poured from every window, casting the statues on the balconies and the plinths on the walls outside in sharp relief. And from the top of the building a vast, circular beam shone up through the glass dome of the Leagues’ Chamber, like a great chimney of light against the swirling clouds above.
‘Just a little further…’ Rook panted. ‘Just a little bit more…’
At the palace at last, Rook dashed up the marble steps and hammered at the heavy oakwood doors with his fists. The thudding echoed loudly through the building inside, then faded away. There was no answer.
Rook groaned. Of course there was no answer, he realized. That was Speegspeel's job and, even as he stood there, locked outside, he knew that Speegspeel was high above in the Leagues’ Chamber, preparing to launch the baby.
Darting back down the steps, Rook scurried round the building, checking the palace walls with every step he took. It was only when he reached the back of the building, that he saw what he was looking for.
One of the statues at ground level had toppled to one side and was leaning against the sheer, windowless reaches of the lower wall. So long as it didn't slip, he should be able to climb up it and onto the balcony above its weathered head. From there, he judged, looking up, it shouldn't be too difficult to find a route right to the very top.
The statue jolted as Rook climbed onto it. It was slippery and unstable. Up over the statue's huge stone knees he went, across to its waist and, using a fold in the leaguesman's carved robes as
a foothold, pulled himself up onto the shoulders. From there he reached up again, grabbed the bars of the balcony balustrade above his head and hoiked himself up.
Below him, there was a loud crash as the massive statue keeled over and smashed on the paving beneath.
Rook wiped his brow and looked up. Through the thickening mist, he saw the statues. Hundreds of them. In alcoves, on ledges, lining jutting buttresses and clinging to the sides of the wall…
He jumped across to the statue to his right, climbed up over the stone body and onto a narrow ledge above it.
So far, so good.
He climbed up two more statues, arriving hot and sticky on a narrow flying buttress where he paused for breath. The mist had grown thicker still and swirled round in the rising wind, which whistled through the limbs of the statues and plucked at Rook's fingers as he continued to climb.
Up, up, he went. There were still four storeys to go till he reached the Leagues’ Chamber at the top of the palace. Simenon Xintax. Farquhar Armwright. Ellerex Earthclay. The plaques at their feet gave names to the statues he was climbing up: leaguesmen, all of them.
The stone knife and chisel clutched in his hands made Leandus Leadbelly - a former master of the Gutters and Gougers - particularly easy to climb. And yet, as Rook stood on top of his angular hat of high office, he was overwhelmed by a sense of sudden unease. The next moment, something happened.
The head moved.
Rook cried out, jumped up, and just managed to grab hold of the jutting leg of a pale yellow statue above his head. He heaved himself up onto the narrow ledge it was mounted upon, and looked back down, his heart hammering in his chest, as the leaguesman's head fell.
From behind, he felt something shoving him in the back. Something cold. Something hard … It was the pale yellow statue¡ What else could it be? And it was trying to push him off the ledge¡
Arms flailing wildly in the air, Rook scrambled to one side and seized the arm of the neighbouring statue. Behind him, the pale yellow statue toppled forward and hurtled to the ground. At the same moment, there was a sharp crack¡ and the arm Rook was clutching came away in his hands, pitching him off-balance again.