by Paul Stewart
And Cade had taken comfort from that. If there was any scent of danger, he could rely on the pup to alert him to it.
Just then, from the dark waters of the lake, there came a splash. A little way off, beyond the rock jetty, the lake churned and the water sparkled with a bright blue-green phosphorescence. It swirled and rippled in a dazzling underwater light display. Moments later, a monstrous creature broke the surface, a fish clutched in its snag-gletoothed jaws. With powerful beats of its huge fins, the creature leaped high in the air, a luminescent shower of water pouring down behind it like the tail of a shooting star before it crashed back into the lake’s boiling, glowing waters.
The sudden disturbance woke Rumblix who, frightened, leaped up into Cade’s arms. Cade hugged the small creature, his gaze still fixed on the lake as the water became calm once more and the astonishing display of lights faded. He tickled the pup behind his ears.
‘Easy, boy,’ he said. ‘Whatever that is, it can’t get at us here.’
Rumblix nestled into the crook of his arm. Above the pair of them, the makeshift canopy fluttered as a wind got up and moonlit clouds billowed up into the night sky. Cade stared at the clouds as they scudded past.
That one, he thought, looks like a hammelhorn, horns and all. And that one could pass as a banderbear, dancing, one leg raised. And that . . .
‘A prowlgrin,’ he said drowsily, smiling as he stroked Rumblix at his side. ‘It looks just like a prowlgrin, doesn’t it, boy?’
The pup didn’t stir. His breathing was coming slow and even. Reassured, Cade closed his eyes and moments later fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
It was light when he woke. Dawn was breaking over the distant ridges behind him. He sat up, rubbed his eyes.
Before him, Cade saw plump birds waddling about on the shoreline, their webbed feet slapping the wet mud as they dibbed for shrimps and worms with their toothed beaks. He gazed out across the placid waters of the Farrow Lake and considered setting up a fishing line, then shuddered as he recalled the creature he’d seen the night before.
‘Nibblick soup for breakfast,’ he told himself, getting to his feet and scanning the meadowlands. ‘With a few glade onions. Some lake-lettuce perhaps . . .’
He picked up the phraxmusket and whistled tunelessly as he eyed the plump birds on the lakeshore.
Cade stopped and frowned. The whistling was continuing, mimicking his own, and coming from the tree-line behind him.
‘Hello?’ he called.
‘Hello?’ a voice called back.
Rumblix had got to his feet, his eyes wide and his nostrils quivering. The whistling had started up again. The same badly executed melody that Cade had been whistling moments before.
‘Hello?’ he called again. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Hello?’ came the reply. ‘Who’s there?’
The voice was mocking him, repeating his own words back to him. A sweat broke out across Cade’s brow. He skirted round the campfire and made his way across the meadow, phraxmusket raised and finger on the trigger.
He moved cautiously, with Rumblix at his heels, looking up at him from time to time for reassurance. Cade approached the treeline, not daring to venture into the forest in case of ambush.
Suddenly the whistling began again in the trees to his left. Cade peered into the shadows, but there was no one to be seen. The sound began to recede as the whistler moved away. Head down, phraxmusket raised, Cade crept along the edge of the forest. Rumblix followed close behind. The whistling continued, always keeping a dozen or so strides ahead of him.
As he went further, the meadowlands receded and the trees grew closer and closer to the lakeside. The Five Falls disappeared from view behind the trees even as their roaring grew louder, and Cade could no longer hear the whistling.
He paused, then cut down through the forest and emerged into a clearing at the edge of the lake. There was patchy grass beneath his feet, which gave way to sand closer to the water; two rounded boulders stood at the shoreline, half in and half out of the water.
Cade was just about to turn round and go back to his camp when one of the boulders moved . . .
Cade stumbled backwards with surprise, his mouth open as he stared. What he’d mistaken for a boulder was in fact the rounded back of a cloaked figure, which now rose and turned round. The figure reached up and lowered the hood that covered his head, and Cade found himself staring into the face of a grey goblin.
He had a broad round skull, a flattened nose, small ears pressed in close to the sides, a square jaw. His eyes, set deep in his craggy features, were crystal blue and twinkled with amusement as he held up his arm.
‘Tak-tak! Tak-tak!’
A small striped creature came bounding out of the trees and jumped up onto the goblin’s arm.
‘There you are,’ he said.
‘There you are,’ the creature repeated, the voice a perfect imitation of the grey goblin’s.
Cade stared at the creature. It was some kind of lemkin by the look of it, but larger and with longer limbs than those kept as pets in Great Glade – as well as different-coloured fur: black and yellow rings, from the tip of its tail to the tops of its quivering ears, rather than the usual deep blue. Its pointed snout quivered and its jaws opened.
The grey goblin’s eyes were fixed on the phraxmusket in Cade’s hands as he flicked back his cloak to reveal a pair of phraxpistols in his belt. Cade lowered the musket. At his feet, Rumblix’s nostrils flared as he sniffed at the hem of the grey goblin’s cloak. The lemkin began whistling again.
‘Tak-Tak here seems to have heard you whistling,’ said the grey goblin, his eyes twinkling. ‘Tak-tak’s the noise he makes when he isn’t mimicking someone else,’ he added. He looked down at Rumblix. ‘Fine creature you’ve got there,’ the goblin observed. ‘Pedigree grey, if I’m not mistaken.’
Cade nodded. ‘We’ve made a camp by the meadowlands west of here,’ he said. ‘We didn’t realize there was anyone else out here.’
‘There ain’t generally,’ said the grey goblin, turning away and stooping over the other boulder.
Reaching out, he flipped it over and Cade saw that it too was not what it had first appeared to be. It was a small boat: a coracle made of leather stretched over a frame of bent willoak. The leather was shiny and smelled of the pine resin it had been painted with to make it waterproof. At the centre of the vessel was a wooden seat, grooved and worn from long use.
‘Just Tak-Tak and me on the northern shore. And we generally keep ourselves to ourselves.’ The goblin stood up and held out a hand. ‘Thorne Lammergyre, fisher goblin.’
Cade shook the goblin’s hand. ‘Cade Quarter . . . trapper,’ he said, hoping the title sound convincing.
The grey goblin raised his eyebrows. ‘Trapper, eh?’ he said quizzically, looking Cade’s city clothes over. ‘Had any luck?’
Cade shook his head and his stomach rumbled noisily. On Thorne Lammergyre’s arm, Tak-Tak the lemkin mimicked the noise perfectly, and despite his embarrassment, Cade couldn’t help laughing. The grey goblin laughed too, and then reached into his cloak and drew out two fat glistening lakefish.
‘Here, take these,’ he said, his blue eyes twinkling, ‘to tide you over while you set up your traps.’
This grizzled grey goblin clearly had his doubts about Cade’s ability to survive out here. Cade’s face coloured.
‘I . . . I fixed up a shelter,’ he said defensively. ‘Temporary, like. But I’m going to build something permanent,’ he added. ‘A cabin. With a jetty, and a storeroom, and—’
‘You know about building?’ Thorne interrupted.
Cade shrugged. ‘A little,’ he said. ‘Enough, I reckon,’ he added uncertainly.
Thorne Lammergyre looked at him long and hard, but made no comment. ‘I’ll come visit,’ he told Cade. ‘See how you’re getting on.’ He frowned. ‘If you’d like me to, that is.’
Cade knew he’d be a fool to turn down this offer – but he didn’t want to appear nee
dy. ‘Drop by any time,’ he said casually, and stuck out his hand.
‘I shall,’ said Thorne, shaking it firmly.
He turned back to his coracle and started pushing it into the water. Cade watched as the grey goblin jumped lightly into the little boat and pulled a broad copperwood paddle from beneath his big cloak. With quick, powerful strokes, he set off across the dark waters in the direction of the Five Falls. Cade shivered and tried not to think about what lurked beneath the surface.
Stowing the lakefish in his jacket, Cade waved to the fisher goblin. ‘Goodbye. And thank you!’ he called.
‘Goodbye,’ the lemkin’s voice echoed back, mimicking Cade. ‘And thank you!’
The water plashed softly on the sand at Cade’s side as he made his way back along the edge of the lake. Fluffy white clouds drifted slowly across the sky.
Cade didn’t realize that anything was wrong with his campsite at first. It was only when Rumblix dashed ahead, screeching at the top of his lungs, that Cade saw the chaos.
The awning he’d constructed had been torn down and tossed aside; the sharpened branches snapped in two. His fishing rod had been broken. Even the rocks he’d set to surround the small fire had been kicked or thrown away. His backpack had been upended and the contents strewn across the grass . . .
He spotted the spyglass, the brass gleaming in the sun. Next to it was the vial of perfume. Cade picked them up, thankful that neither had smashed.
But where were the scrolls?
He looked around him desperately. He felt sick and his scalp itched. He wanted to cry. It was barely two weeks since his father had entrusted him with those documents that had meant so much to him. And now he, Cade, had lost them.
But then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Down by the stone jetty. Something white . . .
Turning on his heel, Cade ran headlong down to the lakeside. It was the scrolls. All four of them, still rolled up together.
The lake was lapping at one end and the parchment had gone a bit soggy. But that would dry. He had found them. That was the important thing.
Cade picked up the scrolls and turned round. Rumblix had leaped up onto the top of the ridge and was standing staring back across the meadowlands at the treeline, his nostrils quivering. Cade followed the pup’s gaze and his eyes fell on the lufwood sapling where the day before he’d set the snare.
Cade trembled. Whatever he’d almost caught over there at the forest’s edge must have returned. And judging by the state of his camp, it was angry.
· CHAPTER TWENTY ·
CADE PROPPED HIMSELF up on his elbows and looked slowly around. Above him, the sky was clear and bright and tinged pinky-blue by the early-morning glow. Behind, the sun was coming up over the ridge, tipping the treetops with gold. To his left, the distant falls frothed white against the red rock behind as they tumbled down from the dark mouths of the caverns to the lake, their sound a distant, lulling roar. A light breeze was stirring the waters of the lake, and its surface was stippled and glistening.
A broad-backed purple beetle walked sedately past his outstretched boots, and Cade realized he was smiling. The Farrow Ridges were simply magnificent . . .
A series of low rumbling bellows from somewhere to his right caught his attention. He looked round. The noise was coming from the eastern shore of the lake. There, clustered at the water’s edge, was a mighty herd of hammelhorns, their huge, shaggy heads down, and long curling horns dipping as they drank.
As Cade watched, some broke off and began scraping the sweetkelp from the rocks and stones with their front hoofs, while others began to graze on clumps of succulent lake reeds. One of the largest hammelhorns turned its head and surveyed Cade impassively.
It was a bull, its long golden-brown hair gleaming in the dawn light and its massive horns glinting with menace.
Cade reached for his phraxmusket, raised it to his eye and took aim. In the distance, the bull stood staring back at him. Cade’s finger tightened on the trigger. But then he relaxed his grip.
The hammelhorn was certainly a magnificent specimen, and with enough meat on its bones to feed Cade and Rumblix for several months. But that was the trouble. Without a smoke shed or meat cellar, he couldn’t deal with an animal of such a size, and Cade couldn’t bear to watch the carcass of such a noble beast rot by the lakeshore.
Besides, he thought, it could attract unwanted fearsome scavengers . . .
He lowered the phraxmusket, then climbed to his feet. Alerted by the movement, the hammelhorns turned to him as one, their dark eyes filled with mistrust. The bull lowered its head and pawed the ground, and Cade’s heart pounded as, for a moment, he feared it was going to charge. The next moment it shook its shaggy head, turned away and trotted back into the forest, with the rest of the herd turning to follow it.
Rumblix opened his eyes, and his nostrils quivered as he sniffed the air. His gaze fell upon the last of the departing hammelhorns, and he looked up at Cade questioningly.
‘Fish for breakfast,’ Cade said. ‘I know, I know, we had fish for supper,’ he added, tickling the pup on the side of the head. ‘But if we want to vary our diet, then I’d better get building.’
Cade boiled up some nibblick and glimmer-onion broth and, when it was bubbling, added the second of the plump lakefish that Thorne Lammergyre the fisher goblin had given him the day before.
Rumblix sniffed at the pot, then turned away and bounded out into the meadow behind the camp. The prowlgrin pup returned a while later with the carcass of a dead weezit clamped in his wide mouth. The smell of decaying meat was foul, but Rumblix seemed to find it intoxicating: prowlgrins love carrion, the older the better, and the prowlgrin pup was no exception.
‘Ugh!’ Cade groaned.
Ignoring him, Rumblix purred loudly, then began to crunch on the weezit’s bones. Leaving him to it, Cade helped himself to the fish stew. It was delicious.
After breakfast, Cade unpacked his rucksack and laid out the items that Gart Ironside had given him. There was a pack of nails of various sizes, wrapped up in a length of greased leather; a set of hacksaw blades, and a whetstone for sharpening them. Attached to the outside of the backpack were tools, which Cade untied. He ran his thumb along the edge of the axe, examined the hacksaw, the short-handled spade, then picked up the hammer and bounced it up and down in his hand.
‘Know your tools.’ The words of his old woodwork teacher back at the Academy School in the Cloud Quarter echoed inside Cade’s head.
Barkus Lumbergrove. He was an old woodtroll, as wide as he was tall, with a plaited beard and tufted knots in his grey hair. In the dusty old workshop, Cade and his schoolfriends had dozed at their floating sumpwood desks while Barkus Lumbergrove lectured them in that lilting voice of his, as soft and crackling as a lufwood stove.
‘Choose your wood wisely, young scholars,’ the woodtroll had intoned. ‘Ironwood for strength. Copperwood for beauty. Sumpwood to float. And lullabee for the grain . . . A thousand different woods, each with a tale to tell, a gift to give . . .’
But Cade had nodded off, lost in dreams of thousandsticks tournaments and phraxship races. Now, standing here in the Farrow Ridges, he wished he’d paid more attention to Barkus Lumbergrove and his lectures in woodlore.
Picking up the axe, Cade made his way across the meadowlands towards the treeline, with Rumblix gambolling along behind him, his tongue lolling. All he needed was enough timber to build a small cabin – two or three trees at the most, which he could split down and turn into rough-hewn timbers. Something light and easy to work. Sweet-maple, perhaps. Or gnarlwood. Then he could use the branches to make a latticework roof, topped with slabs of turf from the meadow . . .
Reaching the edge of the forest, Cade paused. Despite the bright sunshine, the woods were dark and forbidding, and Cade couldn’t help thinking of the creature that had wrecked his campsite the previous day. He inspected the trees closest to him. One had a mottled orange trunk and broad, three-pronged leaves. Another was dark and
gnarled, with twisted branches covered in small thorns. A third was tall and sturdy-looking, dark sap staining its bark a deep glistening brown. Cade didn’t recognize any of them.
Looking around, he chose a couple of tall slender-trunked trees with feathery, purplish leaves and smooth bark. They looked like some kind of gladebirch, but Cade wasn’t sure. They stood a couple of strides into the forest, but not too far into the forbidding gloom . . .
‘Stand back, boy. But keep your eyes and nostrils open . . .’ Cade said to Rumblix, then raised his axe and swung it at the first tree.
A sweet aromatic smell, like spices browning in a skillet, filled the air as the axe sliced a wedge-shaped divot out of the tree. With two more strokes, the tree fell with a pleasing creak and landed with a gentle thump on the forest floor. Delighted, Cade promptly felled the second tree in two strokes.
He took hold of the first trunk and was relieved to find that it was much lighter than it looked. He dragged it back to the lakeside, with Rumblix jumping on and off the trunk as though it was all a game.
Cade turned back and fetched the second tree, grateful that he hadn’t had to stay in the forest for very long. Perhaps whatever had wrecked his camp had moved on. He hoped so, for he didn’t like this feeling of unease he experienced whenever he approached the treeline.
He frowned. If he was to make this beautiful place his home, he knew he’d have to master his fear of the forest.
Once Cade had stripped the branches with the hacksaw, he split the trunks lengthways in two, and then in two again. He repeated this process several more times. It was tiring work, but the wood was soft and split easily – and as it did so, the pungent aromatic smell filled the air.
By the time the sun had reached its highest point over the glistening waters of the Farrow Lake, Cade had turned the two sweet-smelling trees into enough split logs for three walls. The fourth side, he decided, would be open on the lake side, and curtained with the tarpaulin. At least for now.