by Paul Stewart
Before the proceedings had got underway, Hax had ordered the cleaning of the glass. All traces of snow had been swept off and every smear and smudge wiped away. Now, as he looked up through the spotless dome, his eyes grew wide. And as he did so, every eye in the Lecture Dome followed his gaze.
‘Fellow sky-scholars, observe the cloud formations,’ Hax boomed, and the floating benches clustered round the Grand Lectern bobbed and swayed as the squires leaned back and stared at the dome. ‘Mark them well. Note the mist density, the swirl-factor and above all, the rate of billow …’
Quint stared at the ominous grey clouds that filled the sky above the dome and attempted to read the complicated mosaic of calibrations and symbols etched into the glass panes. Around him, the lecture hall was filled with whispers as the academics watched the skies and muttered their own calculations under their breath.
‘Three strides, eight, settling cursive …’
‘Mist sight, one tenth by slow drift …
‘Quantain, septrim, anodeflit …’
Hax's deep voice rang out. ‘The clouds are in the process of forming an anvil. There is no doubt. I have done the calculations. But that is not all.’ He nodded up at one of the visitors’ balconies. ‘Our friends from the School of Mist inform me that these clouds are laden with sourmist particles.’
A collective gasp rose up from the watching academics, mingled with cries of ‘Thank Sky!’ and ‘Open Sky be praised!’
‘That's right,’ Hax continued triumphantly. ‘The clouds now blowing in from Open Sky herald a Great Storm!’
The lecture hall broke into wild cheering, with squires and professors alike throwing their hats into the air and the academics-at-arms rattling their swords and beating their breast-plates. Up on the hall masters’ gantry, Quint could see that the three hall masters had been joined by a knight academic – none other than Screedius Tollinix, who was excitedly shaking Philius Embertine's hand.
Hax raised his blackthorn staff for silence. Quint returned his attention to the buoyant lectern and was startled to see a look of barely suppressed rage on the Hall Master of High Cloud's face.
‘Remember the Great Purge,’ he roared, staring around the gantries, ‘when the taint of earth-scholarship was banished from this great floating city of ours! And remember also the reason why we sky-scholars were driven to act! Our sacred rock was threatening to break free, just as it is today. And where did the earth-scholars look for salvation?’
He paused, his eyes blazing.
‘To the Deepwoods! Pah!’ Hax spat the words out, his face contorted with hate. ‘They wouldn't listen to us sky-scholars. We told them that only the sky could save us. And we were proved right! With sacred stormphrax born of the Great Storm brought to the treasury, Sanctaphrax was saved! You see, my dear sky-scholars …’
Hax dropped his voice, and stared down at the lectern, his sunken eyes glittering from beneath a furrowed brow.
‘I believe that the sky was testing us then, just as it is testing us now. With the Great Purge of earth-scholarship, we sky-scholars rose to that challenge. But now, as a Great Storm approaches, and with the Sanctaphrax rock once more in peril, we must have the courage to act decisively again!’
The gantries were now buzzing with whispers and mutters, and beside Quint, Phin nudged him in the ribs.
‘Hey, Quint,’ he whispered. ‘Look at Vilnix. He's hanging on Hax's every word.’
Quint looked down at the solitary squire on the floating bench just below. Vilnix's hands were gripping the arms of his seat with white-knuckled intensity and a twisted grimace contorted his features.
‘Who does he remind you of?’ Phin chuckled.
Quint looked from the squire to the hall master at the lectern, and back again. ‘Hax Vostillix,’ he murmured.
It was true. Vilnix had the same look of barely suppressed hatred and resentment on his face as Hax himself.
‘Except without the beard and fancy robes,’ giggled Phin.
‘Earth-scholarship lives on!’ Hax roared, his voice laden with venomous hatred. ‘The earth-scholars might not be out in the open where we can see them any longer, but they are still there; skulking in the corners, waiting at every opportunity to tempt sky-scholars from their sacred studies. Why, they have even infiltrated the Knights Academy itself!’
At that, cries of ‘No!’ and ‘It can't be true!’ filled the air.
‘It is true, my dear sky-scholars,’ Hax broke in. ‘Here in this great academy of ours, earth-scholars are infecting the minds of our young squires!’
Whistles and boos rang out now, along with shouts of anger from the crowded gantries. Hax smiled, clearly pleased with the effects his words were having on the academics.
‘So long as even one earth-scholar remains in our midst, then the taint of earth-scholarship remains upon us.’ Hax's eyes took on a steely glare. ‘The old Most High Academe failed to raze the Great Library to the ground, despite my pleas and petitions. To this day, that symbol of earth-studies’ folly remains standing. Filled, as it is, with the misguided endeavours of generations of earth-scholars from the past, it serves only to inspire the fools and traitors of the present to pursue their evil studies. And I tell you this,’ he added, pausing once again. ‘If we do not act now, as the sky tests us and our great floating city for a second time, then there will be no future for Sanctaphrax.’
Again the crowd - whipped up into a mixture of fury and indignation - reacted violently They bellowed and bawled and shook their fists, their faces contorted with rage. Vilnix, Quint noticed, seemed to shouting louder than anyone else. His eyes were narrowed and his face was white, while his whole body was racked with spasms of hatred.
Quint had to turn away. His father, Wind Jackal, had warned him about the power of crowds and the danger of rabble-rousers, and told him to steer clear of those who allowed themselves to lose control in this way. Besides, the old Most High Academe was Linius Pallitax, Maris's father. Quint could never betray the memory of someone he knew that, for all his faults, only ever meant to do good.
No, Linius hadn't destroyed the Great Library. And why? Because he had believed in the sanctity of knowledge, because he had understood how much their forebears might teach them and, yes, because he had believed that the way forward for Sanctaphrax was for earth- and sky-scholars to work together. And having known Bungus Septrill – the wise and valiant High Librarian of the Great Library, who had sacrificed his own life to save Maris and himself down in the stonecomb – Quint knew that Linius had been right.
Unfortunately, judging by the shouts of the academics all around, he seemed to be the only one – although looking up, he did notice that the three hall masters in their gantry were silent and grim-faced.
‘Look at the sky!’ Hax was declaiming, his staff raised and his robes flapping. ‘It is testing us! Are you ready to rise to the challenge, like those valiant sky-scholars who went before you?’
For a second time, all eyes looked upwards. Through the spotless glass, the late afternoon sky was already growing darker now that the sun had set. Unusually for a lecture at this time of day, however, the lamps had not been lit, so that when Hax pointed, the assembled academics could see that a new front of heavy dark clouds was rolling in from deepest Open Sky, beyond the Edge.
‘Yes!’ the academics roared in reply.
‘Then we must purge the Knights Academy of earth-scholarship, once and for all!’ Hax boomed.
‘Yes!’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Yes!’ the academics roared back.
Feeling increasingly uneasy, Quint shifted in his seat. The next moment, he realized he wasn't the only one to be doing so. The three hall masters were on their feet and turning to go, only to find their way blocked by gatekeepers in long white capes.
‘Stay where you are!’ Daxiel Xaxis shouted at the hall masters.
Hax permitted himself another wolfish grin of triumph. ‘Arboretum Sicklebough, Hall Master of Storm Cloud …’ he said, his voice low and menacing. ‘Do you d
eny your earth-scholar sympathies?’
‘Of course I do!’ snapped the tree goblin. ‘This is an outrage!’
‘Do you deny possession of these barkscrolls from the Great Library?’ Hax held up two well-thumbed barkscrolls with evident distaste.
‘They're just treatises on fromps,’ protested Sicklebough. ‘On their care and training. Harmless enough. Everybody knows my interest in fromp fighting …’
‘Harmless?’ roared Hax, slamming his fist down on the lectern. ‘Harmless? When it has led you into gambling debts you cannot hope to pay, and forced you to neglect your studies! See how the stain of earth-scholarship taints even the finest amongst us!’
Arboretum hung his head in shame. ‘I never meant it to go so far. I just had a run of bad luck. Thought if I read up on the little beasts …’
‘You are a disgrace to the Knights Academy!’ Hax roared, before turning his gaze on a grim-faced Fenviel Vendix. ‘Ah, yes, Fenviel Vendix,’ he said. ‘Hall Master of Grey Cloud …’
Fenviel returned Hax's gaze, his fist tightening round his riding crop.
‘Do you deny your earth-scholar sympathies?’
‘I do,’ barked the hall master.
‘Do you deny that you value the life of one of your prowlgrins – a beast of the earth – above that of a young squire of the Knights Academy?’
‘I deny it!’ barked Fenviel.
Hax motioned to Vilnix Pompolnius, who rose unsteadily from his floating bench, the look of triumph on his face mirroring that of the Hall Master of High Cloud.
‘You deny beating this young squire with that earth-scholar's whip of yours in full view of his comrades because a puny prowlgrin pup failed to thrive?’
Fenviel's face drained of colour, and the prowlgrin crop trembled in his fist.
‘See how earth-scholarship has fed a vicious temper, leading a hall master to violently attack a squire over a creature of the earth. A squire! The very future and hope of us all!’ Hax appealed to the academics, who called out, ‘Shame!’ ‘Shame!’
‘You, too, are a disgrace to the Knights Academy!’ Hax roared above their cries.
‘Enough of this!’ The voice of Philius Embertine, Hall Master of White Cloud, rang out surprisingly powerfully for the usually befuddled and dazed old knight. ‘I must protest!’
‘Ah, the great Philius Embertine, Hall Master of White Cloud, so we come to you.’ Hax's voice was suddenly soft and full of sorrow, and he shook his head, grimacing, as if in pain.
A deathly hush had fallen on the academics on every side of the lecture hall. Everybody knew that the old knight academic was the most famous living member of the academy, despite his absent-minded ways. After all, he had completed not one, but two stormchasing voyages, single-handedly ensuring the stability of the great rock for years to come – until the harsh, neverending winter had struck and changed everything.
Quint stared at him uneasily. Surely the old Hall Master of White Cloud was beyond reproach, he thought. Wasn't he?
‘Even you,’ Hax growled, ‘are not immune from the curse of earth-scholarship.’
‘What … what do you mean?’ Philius seemed uncertain and confused once more.
‘It is more in sorrow than in anger I have to report that a gross breach of the laws of Sanctaphrax has been committed,’ Hax went on. ‘The Most High Academes are as saddened as I am. Whether it was the extreme dangers and privations of his epic voyages, or the effects of the Twilight Woods, Philius Embertine's reason has clearly deserted him …’
‘Nonsense! He's as sane as I am!’ Screedius Tollinix cried out as he stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger. ‘This must be some misunderstanding …’
‘I wish it were,’ said Hax sadly. ‘Oh, how I wish it were. But before you jump to your mentor's defence, my brave young knight, perhaps you ought to listen to the facts. It seems that the Hall Master of White Cloud instructed his furnace masters, against their will, to bribe the treasury guard to steal stormphrax from the treasury. Perhaps it was the desire to have in his possession that which he'd suffered so much for; to see a sacred shard of stormphrax one last time before he died. Who knows? Perhaps he even intended to return it to the treasury.’ He shrugged and shook his head. ‘Who can tell what thoughts went through that poor addled head of his …’
‘But it's not like that at all!’ stormed Philius Embertine, staggering towards the gantry rail. ‘You don't understand …’
‘Oh, I understand perfectly clearly,’ replied Hax, his voice suddenly harsh and rasping. ‘This tells me everything I need to know!’
He held up a crisp new barkscroll for all to see.
‘Captain Sigbord's signed confession obtained just this morning, after a little persuasion by Daxiel Xaxis here,’ he said, with a flourish. Hax Vostillix was clearly enjoying himself. ‘And with the willing co-operation of your own furnace masters, Spedius Heepe and Clud Mudskut. Your private chambers were searched and a shard of stormphrax in a light-casket was discovered. This, I might add, was witnessed by the Most High Academes, who were as shocked as I was!’
‘If you'd just listen for a moment …’ wheezed Philius, falling to his knees, his face as grey as his ancient armour.
‘Also amongst your personal effects were barkscrolls from the Great Library, great piles of them – all written by earth-scholars. No wonder you finally lost your reason.’
‘You're a fool, Hax Vostillix,’ gasped the old knight academic. ‘A blind fool. Those scrolls hold … the answer … to …’
‘Silence!’ roared the Hall Master of High Cloud, and levelled his staff at the gantry. ‘You, Philius Embertine, are a disgrace to the Knights Academy! Gatekeepers! Take him away! Take them all away!’
The gatekeepers sprang forward, their swords drawn, only to be confronted by Screedius, his own sword unsheathed.
‘Screedius Tollinix, knight academic-in-waiting!’ Hax's voice boomed out from the buoyant lectern. ‘Before you defy my orders, I must remind you of one thing.’
Screedius turned to Hax, his eyes blazing. ‘And that is?’ he snarled.
‘A Great Storm is approaching, and Sanctaphrax has need of the talents of her finest knight academic. Think carefully before you make your next move.’
Screedius glared at the hall master, then down at the slumped figure of his friend, Philius Embertine. The old knight looked up and searched his young colleague's face as if reading his thoughts. Then, slowly, he nodded his head. Screedius turned, sheathed his sword, and stepped aside as the gatekeepers led the three hall masters away.
‘Fellow sky-scholars, the Purge has begun!’ announced Hax Vostillix. ‘Sanctaphrax shall be saved!’
On the floating bench, Quint looked down miserably as the lecture hall resounded to the cheers of the academics. Being a member of the Knights Academy didn't seem to feel quite so good any more.
•CHAPTER TWELVE•
THE WINDCUTTER
The mechanism of the great telescope screeched in protest as the Professor of Darkness attempted to adjust its focus.
‘It's no good, my friend,’ he called down from the glass-domed roof of the Loftus Observatory to his colleague, the Professor of Light, who was peering up at him from the foot of the ladder. ‘Frozen practically solid. It's all I can do to turn the blasted thing.’
He rapped a knuckle against the shaft of the great brass telescope and, getting up from the padded seat, began to climb back down the ladder.
‘I don't like it, old friend,’ his colleague began, the moment the Professor of Darkness had rejoined him. ‘The sourmist particles certainly denote the arrival of a Great Storm, but these cloud formations …’ He shook his head. ‘Too compact, far too little drift, and I for one am not at all convinced by the mist density …’
‘Neither am I, dear friend,’ the Professor of Darkness agreed. ‘Neither am I. Yet no such doubts seem to afflict our esteemed colleague, the Hall Master of High Cloud. Every school and academy seems to be hanging on his every word.’
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That,’ said the Professor of Light grimly, ‘is the power of rabble-rousing. He's got half the academics in Sanctaphrax looking in their sleeping closets for earth-scholars, and the other half convinced of the imminent arrival of this Great Storm of his …’
‘And in the meantime, he can do what he likes,’ added the Professor of Darkness with a heavy sigh. ‘I thought our dear friend Linius Pallitax, Sky rest his soul, had put an end to these absurd sky- and earth-scholarship divisions.’
‘Talking of which,’ broke in the Professor of Light, as the two Most High Academes made their way down the long spiralling staircase of the Loftus Observatory, the tallest tower in Sanctaphrax, ‘how are the hall masters?’ ‘Ex-hall masters, dear friend,’ replied the Professor of Darkness. He sucked in air noisily through his teeth. ‘Well, Fenviel Vendix has taken to hanging about at the treadmills on the West Landing. Can't bear being parted from his beloved prowlgrins, I imagine – but Hax has threatened to set his gatekeepers on him if he should ever show his face in the Hall of Grey Cloud again. Arboretum, poor chap, has fled to Undertown in complete disgrace. It seems his gambling debts were far bigger than anyone realized, and he owes money everywhere. Several of the viaduct schools turned particularly nasty over it, I understand.’
‘And Embertine?’
‘Ah, yes, poor Philius. It's really so very sad,’ said the Professor of Darkness. ‘He's taken to his bed, still protesting his innocence. They say he's fading fast and not even Hax is hard-hearted enough to throw him out. But it's a bad business,’ he muttered as they reached the bottom of the tower. ‘A bad business all round.’
‘And I'll tell you this,’ said the Professor of Light, as they stepped out into a blizzard of snowflakes, ‘Hax Vostillix might seem like the saviour of Sanctaphrax right now, but if he's wrong about this Great Storm, the academics will turn on him quicker than the Chorus of the Dead at a funeral.’