by Paul Stewart
‘Keep your voice down,’ said Twig, looking round nervously at the doorway. ‘Flabsweat will hear you.’
The caterbird fell still. It closed its eyes. For a moment, Twig thought that it was going to remain stubbornly silent. He was on the point of relenting, when the eater-bird’s beak moved.
‘It all started a long time ago,’ it began. ‘Twenty years, to be precise. When your father was little older than you are now.’
‘But that was before you were even born,’ said Twig.
‘Caterbirds share dreams, you know that,’ it replied. ‘What one knows, we all know. And if you’re going to interrupt the whole time …’
‘I’m not,’ said Twig. ‘Sorry I won’t do it again.’
The caterbird humphed irritably. ‘Just see that you don’t.’
•C H A P T E R T W O•
THE CATERBIRD’S TALE
‘Picture the scene,’ the caterbird said. ‘A cold, blustery, yet clear evening. The moon rises over Sanctaphrax, its towers and spires silhouetted against the purple sky. A lone figure emerges from the bottom of a particularly ill-favoured tower and scurries across the cobbled courtyard. It is an apprentice raintaster. His name, Vilnix Pompolnius.’
‘What, the Vilnix Pompolnius?’ Twig blurted out. ‘Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax?’ Although he had never seen the lofty academic, his reputation went before him.
‘The very same,’ said the caterbird. ‘Many of those who attain greatness have the humblest of origins in fact he used to be a knife-grinder in Undertown. But Vilnix Pompolnius was always ruthlessly ambitious, and never more so than on that night. As he hurried on, head down into the wind, towards the glittering spires of the School of Light and Darkness, he was plotting and scheming.’
Twig shuddered, and the fur of his hammelhornskin waistcoat bristled ominously.
‘For you see,’ the caterbird explained, ’Vilnix had the ear and an indulgent ear, what’s more of one of the most powerful Sanctaphrax scholars at that time. The Professor of Darkness. It was he who had sponsored Vilnix through the Knights’ Academy. And when Vilnix was later dismissed for insubordination, it was he who had secured his place in the Faculty of Raintasters rather than see him cast out of Sanctaphrax completely’
The caterbird took a breath, and continued. ’Once inside the opulence of the professor’s study, Vilnix held up a glass beaker of liquid dramatically. “The rain coming in from over the Edge is becoming more acidic,” he said. “This is due to an increase in the number of sourmist particles in the raindrops. It was thought you might be interested,” he added slyly.
The Professor of Darkness was interested. Very interested. The presence of sourmist particles could presage the arrival of a Great Storm. “I must consult with the windtouchers and cloudwatchers,” he said, “to determine whether they have also identified signs of an approaching Great Storm. Good work, my boy.”
’Vilnix’s eyes gleamed; his heart missed a beat. Things were going better than he had hoped. Taking care not to arouse his suspicions, he drew the old professor on. “A Great Storm?” he said, innocently. “Does this mean that a Knight Academic will be sent in search of more stormphrax?”
‘The professor confirmed that it did. He tapped the papers in front of him. “And not before time, either, if these figures are correct,” he said. “The great rock which Sanctaphrax stands upon is still growing larger and larger, more and more buoyant…” His voice trailed away. He shook his head in despair.
‘Vilnix watched him out of the corner of his eye. “And you need more stormphrax in the treasury to weigh it down to … to …”
‘The professor nodded vigorously. “To preserve the equilibrium,” he said, and sighed. “It is so long since a Knight Academic returned with fresh supplies of stormphrax.”
‘A smile played over Vilnix’s curled lips. “And which knight is to be sent on this occasion?” he asked.
‘The professor snorted. “The Professor of Light’s protégé. Quintinius …” He frowned. “Quintinius … oh, what’s his name?”
‘Vilnix winced. “Quintinius Verginix,” he said.’
‘My father!’ Twig exclaimed, unable to keep quiet a moment longer. ‘I didn’t realize he knew the Most High Academe. Nor that he was ever in the Knights’ Academy …’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘But then there’s much I don’t know about his life before he became a sky pirate,’ he added.
‘If you’d just hold your tongue for a moment,’ the caterbird said impatiently, ‘then perhaps …’ It was cut short by the sound of frantic yelping which came from inside the shop.
The next moment, Flabsweat appeared at the doorway, white as a sheet and babbling on about how a vulpoon a straggly bird of prey with a viciously serrated beak and razor-sharp talons had just slipped its tether and laid into a hapless lapmuffler.
‘Is it all right?’ asked Twig.
‘All right?’ Flabsweat wheezed. ‘The lapmuffler? No it’s not all right. Guts everywhere, there are. And you can get good money for a lapmuffler. I’ll have to fetch the animal-quack,’ he muttered. ‘Get it stitched up again.’ He looked at Twig, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Are you trustworthy?’ he asked.
Twig nodded.
‘Hmm,’ Flabsweat mumbled. ‘Well, since you’re still here, would you mind watching the shop while I’m gone? There could be something in it for you.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Twig, trying not to sound too eager.
The moment Flabsweat was out of earshot, the eater-bird immediately asked once more to be set free. But Twig was adamant. ‘All in good time’ he said. ‘After all, there’s nothing worse than a tale which ends half way through its telling.’
The caterbird grumbled under its breath. ‘Where was I, then? Ah, yes. Vilnix and your father … The pair of them entered the Knights’ Academy on the very same morning and yet, from that first day, Quintinius Verginix outshone all the other young hopefuls Vilnix included. In swordplay, archery and unarmed combat, he was unmatched; in the sailing of the stormchasers the sky ships especially designed to chase the Great Storms he was peerless.’
Twig beamed proudly, and imagined himself chasing a Great Storm. Pitching and rolling as the ship locked on to the whirling wind and then breaking through to the stillness within …
‘Pay attention!’ hissed the caterbird.
Twig looked up guiltily. ‘I am!’ he protested.
‘Humph!’ said the caterbird dubiously, its neck feathers ruffling. ‘As I was saying, the professor explained to Vilnix that, if the Great Storm was confirmed, then as tradition demanded Quintinius Verginix would be knighted and despatched to the Twilight Woods. Sky willing, he would return with stormphrax.
‘Vilnix smiled that smile of his. Inscrutable, reptilian. Now, at last, the time had come to touch upon the subject he had wanted to enquire about all along. “This … stormphrax,” he said, in as off-hand a manner as he could manage. “When I was in the Knights’ Academy, it was often talked about as the most wonderful substance that ever existed. We were told that the shards of stormphrax are in fact pure lightning,” he continued, his voice oily, treacherous. “Can this possibly be true?”
‘The Professor of Darkness nodded solemnly, and when he spoke again it was as though he was reciting from an ancient text. “That which is called stormphrax,” he proclaimed, “is created in the eye of a Great Storm a mighty maelstrom which is formed far beyond the Edge once every several years, which blows in on parched and sulphurous winds, which howls and sparks as it crosses the sky towards the Twilight Woods. There, the Great Storm breaks. It delivers a single mighty lightning bolt that scorches through the heavy twilight air and plunges into the soft earth beneath. In that instant it turns to solid stormphrax, gleaming in the half-light. Honoured is he who should witness such a sight.” ’Vilnix’s eyes gleamed greedily. Pure lightning! he thought. What power must each piece of stormphrax contain. He looked up. “And … errm … what does it look like exactly?” ’The professor’s expres
sion became dreamy. “Of unsurpassed beauty,” he said. “A crystal that fizzes, that glows, that sparks …”
‘“And yet it is heavy,” said Vilnix. “Or so I learned. But how heavy?”
‘“In the twilight of its creation it is no heavier than sand. Yet in the absolute darkness of the treasury at the centre of Sanctaphrax, a thimbleful weighs more than a thousand ironwood trees,” the professor told him. “It provides the counter-balance to the buoyancy of the rock itself. Without it, the floating city would break its moorings and fly off into open sky …”
‘Vilnix scratched his head theatrically. “What I don’t understand is this,” he said. “If the crystals and shards are so heavy, then how is the stormphrax brought through the darkness of the tunnels to the treasury in the first place?”
‘The Professor of Darkness surveyed the youth gravely. Perhaps,’ said the caterbird, interrupting his own story, ‘just for a moment, he doubted the motives of the young apprentice. I’m not sure. Nor can I say what finally decided him to entrust Vilnix with the information. But entrust him, he did. It was a decision which was to change the course of history in Sanctaphrax. “It is transported in a light-box,” he explained, “with the light it emits calibrated to approximate twilight itself.”
‘Vilnix turned away in order to hide his glee. If a light-box could be used to get the stormphrax in, then surely, he reasoned, it could also be used to get some out. “Perhaps I could see some for myself?” he suggested tentatively.
‘“Absolutely not!” the Professor of Darkness barked and Vilnix knew he had gone too far. “None may set eyes upon stormphrax,” the professor said. “None save the Knights Academic and the guardian of the treasury who happens to be myself. It is blasphemy for unworthy eyes to feast upon the purity of stormphrax,” he ranted. “An action, Vilnix, punishable by death.”’
The caterbird paused dramatically. ‘At that moment, the wind abruptly changed. The floating rock of Sanctaphrax drifted to the west and jerked violently as all the chains went taut.
‘“I understand,” said Vilnix humbly.
‘“Ah Vilnix,” the professor continued more gently. “I wonder if you truly do understand. There are many out there who covet stormphrax for themselves. Unscrupulous windtouchers and traitorous cloudwatchers who would not think twice at observing … at touching …” A violent shudder passed through his body. “At experimenting on stormphrax if they thought it would serve their own ends.”’
The caterbird fell silent for a moment before continuing with his tale. ‘Early the following morning,’ it said, ‘the treasury guard would have seen a gangly figure creep furtively along the corridor from the treasury had he not been dozing at his post. There was a light-box clutched in the intruder‧s bony hands. Inside the box were several fragments of stormphrax.’
Twig gasped. Vilnix had stolen some.
‘Vilnix scurried back to the Apprentices’ Laboratory at the top of the Raintasters‘ Tower,’ the caterbird continued. ‘Triumphantly he placed the box down in front of an eagerly waiting group of young raintasters and, with a flourish, opened the lid. The crystals of stormphrax sparkled and flashed like nothing they had seen before. “Pure lightning,” said Vilnix. “If we can unleash and harness its energy then we’ll become the most powerful academics Sanctaphrax has ever known.”
‘Hour after hour the raintasters worked, yet no matter what they tried be it dissolving, freezing, melting or mixing the crystals with other substances none discovered how to unlock the power of the stormphrax.
‘Outside the window, the sun went down. The light turned a golden orange.
‘Suddenly overcome with frustration, Vilnix raised the pestle and brought it down hard, crushing the fragment in his fury. A moment later, he was overcome with remorse. He had destroyed the priceless stormphrax.’
The caterbird’s eye narrowed. Or so he thought at first. When he looked more carefully, though, Vilnix saw the result of his action. The crystals had turned to a sepia powder which moved in the bottom of the bowl like quicksilver. “I don’t know what it is,” Vilnix told the others, “but let’s make some more.”
‘A second shard was taken. It was placed in a second mortar. A second pestle was raised. Outside, the light faded. Then, with the exception of Vilnix himself, who was busy pouring his own liquid dust into a jar, all the apprentices gathered round. The pestle was brought down and BOOM!’
Twig started back in surprise.
‘The power of the lightning had been unleashed all right,’ the caterbird snorted. ‘But with the direst of consequences. The explosion ripped through the tower, reducing half of it to smouldering rubble; it rocked Sanctaphrax to its core and jarred the ancient Anchor Chain to the very edge of breaking. The apprentices were all killed in the blast. All, that is, save one.’
‘Vilnix Pompolnius,’ Twig whispered.
‘Precisely’, said the caterbird. There he lay, on the floor, barely alive but still clutching the jar to his chest. The scent of almonds hung in the air. Dazed and confused, Vilnix stared down at the stormphrax dust. What had gone wrong this second time? he wondered. What had happened?
‘As he pulled himself up on his elbows, a drop of blood fell from a gash in his cheek and into the jar. The instant it made contact with the dust, the thick, red blood turned to crystal-clear water …’
The expression on the caterbird’s face grew deadly serious. ‘Crisis now hung over lofty Sanctaphrax,’ it said solemnly. ’Thanks to the arrogant young raintaster’s folly, the ancient chain was now perilously close to breaking point. Worse still, the theft of the stormphrax had left the treasury depleted. With the buoyancy of the rock increasing every day, and less to weight it down, the upward pressure on the rock became intolerable.
‘There was just one glimmer of hope: the windtouchers and cloudwatchers had confirmed that a Great Storm was indeed approaching. Accordingly, an Inauguration Ceremony was hurriedly arranged. Quintinius Verginix was to be knighted and would set off to chase the Great Storm to the Twilight Woods in search of stormphrax.
‘Meanwhile,’ the caterbird continued, ’Vilnix lay in his sick bed, his mind working furiously. He might have failed to harness the power of the lightning, but he realized that the stormphrax dust he’d created was itself miraculous a single grain dropped into the foulest water instantly purified it. What would the inhabitants of filthy, fetid Undertown not give for his wonderful dust? “Anything,” he whispered greedily. “Anything at all!”
‘Without waiting to be discharged, he left his hospital ward and returned to the dilapidated tower of the rain-tasters or rather raintaster, since he was the only one left. There, he busied himself. Everything had to be ready for the great day.
‘Finally that day arrived. The sun rose, and shafts of light streamed in through the eastern arch of the Great Hall where the Sanctaphrax council was already assembled.
‘The Professors of Light and Darkness in white and black robes respectively sat at the front of the hall behind a table, upon which were a sword and a chalice. Before them, seated in rows, were the academics of Sanctaphrax. Every discipline was represented: the College of Cloud, the Academy of Wind, the Institute of Ice and Snow; the airsifters, the mistgraders, the fog-probers … And, on crutches, the single remaining member of the Faculty of Raintasters.
‘A tall, powerfully built young knight crossed the floor and knelt down in front of the Professor of Light. “By the powers invested in me oh, thirst for knowledge, oh, sharpness of wit,” the professor announced, raising first the chalice and then the sword, “I offer up for your approval Quintinius Verginix of the Knights’ Academy.”
‘The professor looked down at the kneeling figure. “Do you, Quintinius Verginix, swear by all that is wise, that you will serve the Order of Knights Academic with heart and mind, forswearing all loyalties other than to Sanctaphrax.”
‘Quintinius trembled. “I do,” he said.’
Twig’s heart swelled with pride. My father! he thought.
> ‘ “And do you swear also that you will dedicate your life to the finding of stormphrax? That you will chase the Great Storms? That…” The professor breathed in, slowly, deeply. “That you will not return until and unless you have completed your sacred quest?” ’
The caterbird turned and fixed Twig with its unblinking gaze. ‘His father your grandfather Wind Jackal, was a sky pirate captain. How furious Quintinius had been with him when the old fellow had offered him up for service at the Knights’ Academy, for he had wanted to follow in his footsteps. Yet now … Now! Words could not describe how honoured he felt at receiving the highest accolade that Sanctaphrax could bestow. “Quintinius,” he heard the professor gently say, “do you swear?”
‘Quintinius Verginix raised his head. “I do!” he said.
‘The Professor of Light then leaned forwards and handed the chalice to Quintinius. “Drink!” he said. Quintinius raised the chalice to his lips. The Professor of Light took up the sword, held it high above his head, and waited for Quintinius to drain the chalice. And waited and waited … But Quintinius remained motionless, unable to drink the thick, foul-smelling liquid.
‘All at once, there was a flurry of movement in the rows of benches. It was Vilnix, leaping up noisily onto his crutches and making his way to the front of the hall.
‘The Professor of Darkness sat forwards uneasily in his throne. What was the young fool doing now? he wondered. He watched Vilnix raise one of his crutches and tap the chalice lightly. “The good waters of the Edgewater River are no longer what they used to be,” he chuckled, then turned to address the hall. “So, isn’t it time we stopped fooling ourselves? All this nonsense about Knights Academic. About ‘stormchasing’. About ‘sacred stormphrax’.” He sneered unpleasantly. “When did a Knight Academic last return? Tell me that? What has happened to all those others?”