‘I know why you’ve come to the Sumpwood Bridge Academy,’ he said gently. He stopped and faced the Professor, and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You want to go in search of your brother, Ifflix …’
The Professor nodded curtly, a painful lump in his throat, and his eyes glittered brightly behind his spectacles. He returned Cirrus Gladehawk’s penetrating gaze.
‘You captained the phraxship Archemax on my brother’s expedition to the Edge,’ he said, shrugging Cirrus’s hand from his shoulder, ‘and yet you returned without him, leaving Ifflix and his comrades back there!’ He gestured far off to the distant horizon. ‘At the Edge …’
Cirrus recoiled as though he’d been struck. He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped the beads of river spray from his brow.
‘You … you don’t understand,’ he said, his voice low and expressionless. ‘There were other factors at play. Things I couldn’t control …’
‘Yet you left him there,’ said the Professor coldly. ‘And now here you are, hiding out on the Sumpwood Bridge.’
‘As are you, Ambris,’ said Cirrus darkly.
‘That’s different!’ said the Professor, his eyes blazing with anger.
‘Not so different,’ replied Cirrus, ‘and if you’ll listen to what I have to say, you’ll understand.’
The Professor looked at him warily. ‘Very well,’ he said.
They continued walking along the path. Ahead of them lay the lake at the centre of Back Ridge, the stilthouse clusters of the webfoot goblins mirrored in its still surface.
‘As you know,’ Cirrus began, ‘the High Professor of Flight, Quove Lentis, had agreed to fund the expedition, and arranged for the Archemax to be released from the phraxfleet for the purpose. The dean of the School of Edge Cliff Studies, Cassix Lodestone, was delighted, as was his protégé, your brother, Ifflix.’
The Professor nodded, thinking back to his encounter with the disappointed former dean in the Long Gallery of the Lake Landing Academy.
‘He, together with three experienced colleagues, were intent on completing the greatest descent of all time, to dispel the myths and superstitions once and for all, and to discover what truly lies at the foot of the jutting Edge cliff.’
As they neared the great Hive lake, Cirrus and the Professor found that they were no longer the only ones on the path. Webfoot goblins of all ages were out and about, visiting each other’s stilthouses, or returning dripping wet from swimming in the lake. Just up ahead, their arms linked together, two large webfoot matrons promenaded, their crests glowing blue and green as they chatted, while attached to their aprons by lengths of string were clusters of tiny hatchlings, trilling delightedly.
‘I was as excited as everyone else. As captain of the Archemax, I’d just about had my fill of patrolling the skies over Great Glade, chasing rogue phraxvessels,’ Cirrus said as they continued walking, ‘or supervising the transportation of phraxcrystals from the mines of the Eastern Woods. As an experienced captain, I wanted a challenge, and that’s just what your brother’s expedition promised to give me.’
Cirrus Gladehawk and Ambris Hentadile made their way round the great sweeping curve of the lake, past a cluster of webfoot stilthouses with their woven sides, wateroak stilts and thatched roofs covered in meadow turf. Judging by the rowdy noise coming from them, the webfoots had brought home a welcome harvest of lake eels, and a communal feast was well under way. Then, at the far side of the lake, just beyond a spreading lullabee tree, where a caterbird cocoon dangled down from an upper branch like a discarded sock, the path divided into two.
The left fork continued round the Hive lake. The right fork led away from Back Ridge and up into the forest beyond.
‘It’s this way,’ said Cirrus, taking the right-hand fork.
‘What’s this way?’ said the Professor, surprised. ‘Where exactly are you taking me, Cirrus?’
‘All in good time,’ the captain replied. ‘All in good time.’
As they slowly climbed the hill behind the lake, the low sun pierced the dappled forest with shafts of golden sunlight. Above their heads, a flock of emerald green skullpeckers flickered across the sky, searching for somewhere to roost for the night.
‘The Archemax set sail at daybreak,’ Cirrus told him. ‘The weather was cold and crisp and clear, with a light westerly wind blowing – fine weather that, according to the skywatchers, was set to hold. We soared over the Deepwoods towards the rising sun, and as it rose above our heads and sank behind us, we carried on through the night, plotting our route instead by the East Star that shone brightly ahead.
‘Several days later, the golden glow of the Twilight Woods was before us.’ He shook his head. ‘What a strange, hypnotic place that is,’ he said, his voice suddenly low and hushed. ‘Even on board the Archemax, far, far above the tops of the trees, we were beguiled by its strange beauty. The sights we saw, Ambris! Great storms tumbling in from the Edge and disgorging their lightning down into the forest’s glowing depths … It was incredible, yet the risk of storm damage drove us on. Then,’ said Cirrus Gladehawk, ‘we came to the Mire.’
‘Now that,’ said the Professor, ‘is a sight I’d like to see. Not a tree in sight. Just a barren expanse of bleached mud and poisonous blowholes stretching away into the distance. It’s where the First Age of Flight came to an end, you know, with the scuttling of the sky pirate fleet at the Armada of the Dead …’ His eyes took on a faraway look.
‘Actually,’ said Cirrus, ‘the truth couldn’t be more different. These days it’s a vast plain of lush swaying bladegrass, home to great flocks of the strangest birds I’ve ever seen. The mighty Edgewater river now flows through it uninterrupted towards the Edge itself.’
‘Remarkable,’ said the Professor. ‘Quite remarkable.’
‘Finally,’ Cirrus continued, ‘we reached the outskirts of what we took to be the ruined city of Old Undertown. Moss-covered boulders, ruined arches and rubble – all overgrown with huge thornbushes and dense tangles of briars. Here and there, strange plants I’d never seen before seemed to have seeded themselves and were growing up through the surrounding vegetation. Black-stalked shrubs with huge flat leaves the size of decking platforms, and mounds of mottled moss and lichen, higher than a hammelhorn. A strange, eerie place …’
Cirrus shook his head at the memory. As he’d been speaking, he had continued to lead the Professor up through the forest behind Back Ridge. To their west, the sun had turned blood-red and slipped down to the horizon. All round them, the sounds of the night creatures were starting up, whooping and screeching as they emerged from their roosts and dens in search of food.
‘We reached the Stone Gardens a little while later – not overgrown like the ruined city, but just bare rock, the boulder stacks which once had studded its surface now eaten away and crumbled to dust. Colonies of roosting birds had made their nests in the barren landscape – though not the fabled white mire ravens,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Instead, these birds were similar to the ones in the grasslands of the Mire, long-legged and sharp-beaked, with piercing, screeching calls. By the vicious way they mobbed each other and fought over the scraps of what we imagined must be prey, we knew they were dangerous and decided to keep our distance.
‘At last we came to the jutting tip of the Edge cliff itself, with the almighty Edgewater river cascading over it into the abyss. It was one of the most spectacular sights of the voyage so far. I brought the Archemax down low to the cliff edge and moored her with grappling hooks. Ifflix and his colleagues were eager to set off, already clambering over the side, their phraxpacks strapped to their backs and ropes in their hands as I left the wheelhouse.
‘“This is it, Cirrus,” Ifflix called up to me as he followed the others descending the cliff face. “Wish me luck.” And I did, with all my heart.
‘They carried supplies enough for two weeks’ descent and two weeks’ climbing back, and I agreed to wait for them for six weeks, no matter what. The crew and I watched them go, d
own through the clouds and into the gloom far below, until they disappeared from view, and then …’
‘Then, what?’ asked the Professor, watching Cirrus intently.
‘We waited,’ he replied. ‘I took a small landing party into the ruined city, where we hacked our way through the undergrowth and located what we believed to be the remains of the magnificent Palace of Statues, now just a heap of shattered rubble. Amongst the shards, I found the head of one of the statues and we returned with it to the ship. I knew it would make a fine gift for the High Professor of Flight, who prides himself on being a descendant of scholars from the First Age …’
‘And then?’ said the Professor.
Cirrus sighed and shook his head. ‘Three months we waited, Ambris,’ he said, his voice low and grim. ‘Three whole months. That was how long we remained there, moored to the Edge cliff, waiting for your brother to reappear. And it wasn’t as though we did nothing. I led a party down the cliff face myself, in search of the expedition. We descended as far as our ropes and our limited skill allowed, but found nothing. I even took one of the Archemax’s phraxlighters down below the cliff, but was forced back by the treacherous gale-force winds. Finally, we were running out of provisions ourselves, so we decided to return to the Mire in search of game.’
The Professor turned and looked at the captain, his brow furrowed. He said nothing. High up behind Hive now, they had come to a clearing, bathed in shadows from the full moon, which had risen as the red sun sank.
‘We set off the following morning, but vowing to come back to the Edge to undertake a more thorough search just as soon as we’d replenished our stores.’ Cirrus Gladehawk’s lips pursed at the memory of it all. ‘That journey proved to be a nightmare,’ he said.
‘Almost immediately we ran into a huge storm that drove us out over the Mire. There, flying low to avoid the worst of the hurricane winds, we were struck by a jet of mud that exploded from a blowhole below us, hitting us broadside and damaging the hull weights. Before we knew it, we were over the Twilight Woods and out of control. As the storm condensed around us, a stray bolt of lightning hit the phraxchamber, cracking the outer casing and almost causing a catastrophic explosion. The storm released its energy and broke up, but by this time, the Archemax was barely skyworthy. So I made the only decision I could in the circumstances. I set a course for Great Glade and limped home for repairs …’
He shook his head grimly. The Professor turned to him, his eyes full of questions.
‘When we finally got there, several weeks later, I discovered that the Society of Descenders had been outlawed,’ Cirrus explained, ‘while all funding for the School of Edge Cliff Studies had been cut. What was more, although the pompous barkslug was delighted with the stone head I gave him, Quove Lentis then betrayed us all by taking back the Archemax and banning all future trips to the Edge …’
‘That’s typical of the academics of the Cloud Quarter,’ the Professor muttered. ‘It’s why I left the Academy. I only wish my brother had done the same.’
Cirrus shrugged. ‘He was a brave scholar, your brother,’ he said, ‘and I was determined not to abandon him. That night, I crept unnoticed into the phraxshipyard where the Archemax was being repaired and, singlehandedly, stole her right from under the noses of the phraxmarines. I knew that if I was ever to mount a rescue attempt, I had to find help, so I set steam for Hive.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I hadn’t reckoned on the upheavals taking place in this once great city. No sooner had I docked than the Archemax was seized by the guards of the Hemtuft Battleaxe Legion. Of course, they weren’t interested in the skyship at all, it was the crystals they were after. They smashed their way into the phraxchamber and removed the phraxcrystals …’
The pair of them had come to a clearing, high up at the top of the ridge behind Hive. The moon shining down, bright and white, illuminated the grassy earth and the surrounding circle of trees.
‘And the Archemax herself?’ asked the Professor. ‘What happened to her?’
‘See for yourself,’ said Cirrus Gladehawk, and pointed.
The Professor followed the line of Cirrus’s outstretched finger to a tall tree at the edge of the clearing. He looked up. And there, the varnished wood of her mighty hull glinting in the silvery moonlight, was the wreck of the once proud phraxship, the Archemax, skewered at the top of an ironwood pine.
• CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT •
Nate put down his spoon and stared forlornly at the remains of the watery gruel in the bowl in front of him. Eudoxia nudged him gently and, remembering his manners, he looked up at the two archivists at the other end of the sumpwood table.
‘That was excellent, Klug,’ he said.
‘Delicious,’ added Eudoxia.
The mottled goblin smiled sadly. ‘You’re very polite,’ he said, ‘but bluebean porridge is no meal for guests.’ He checked himself, his blushing face turning a deeper shade of red. ‘But times being what they are, it’s all we can afford.’
‘We’re very grateful for your hospitality,’ said Eudoxia.
‘It’s the least we could do,’ said Klug, ‘considering how badly some in Hive are treating Great Gladers.’
‘You shared what little you had,’ said Squall Razortooth. ‘And now it’s time for this old Great Glader to return the favour.’ He climbed to his feet, pulled a roll of gladers from his pocket and flicked through them with his thumb. ‘Do you think they’ll take these in Hive?’
Togtuft snorted. ‘Take them?’ he said. ‘But of course. Gladers are worth five times what hivegeld’s worth. But you must be careful, Captain Razortooth. If you intend to visit the markets here in Hive, stick to the ones in Low Town. East Ridge, near the bridge.’ He added, ‘And return immediately at the first sign of trouble.’
‘Slip’ll come too,’ said the scuttler, collecting his forage sack and oilskin cloak from the row of hooks by the front door.
‘Wuh-wuh-wurrah,’ said the banderbear, picking up his own cloak and pulling it on.
Squall grinned as he fastened the collar of his cloak and raised the hood. ‘It’s a peculiar language you speak, my friend,’ said the old sky pirate, opening the door for the banderbear, ‘but I think I’m beginning to pick it up.’
As the door closed behind the three of them, the cloister swayed and there was a loud clatter as something heavy fell to the floor. Klug and Togtuft exchanged glances.
‘One of the drawbacks of living in a sumpwood building,’ said the long-hair goblin as the pair of them got up from the table and went through to the other end of the long chamber.
Nate and Eudoxia got to their feet and followed them. The four of them stared down for a moment at the upturned cabinet which lay on the wooden floor, the collection of rocky shards it had contained strewn across the floorboards.
‘No harm done,’ said Klug, relieved. ‘We’ll just need to sort through them,’ he added, crouching down and righting the metal cabinet.
‘It’s my fault,’ said Togtuft. ‘I keep meaning to fix it to the wall, but somehow I never get round to it.’
He bent down beside his friend, and the pair of them began gathering up the small pieces of rock, quickly inspecting them one by one, before returning them to the small labelled compartments in the cabinet they had come from. Spotting a small stone, flat and glittering, at her feet, Eudoxia bent down and picked it up.
‘What are they all for?’ asked Nate, standing hands on hips and looking around at the small shards and slivers of rock strewn across the dusty floor.
‘To study, of course,’ said Togtuft, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘These are samples of rock taken from all over the Edgelands.’ He sat back on his heels and, reaching round, held up a small grey piece of stone. ‘This, for instance, is from the Edgeland pavement.’
Nate took it and held it to the light.
‘It doesn’t look much right now,’ the long-hair archivist conceded, ‘but in cold damp conditions it gives off curious wisps of vapour. For centuries, it was thought that the
Edgelands were home to wraiths and spirits. By studying this rock, we now believe that it is the rocks themselves, coupled with the feverish imaginations of those who ventured to so desolate a place, that gave rise to the superstitions.’
Klug pointed to a small orange-tinged shard of stone lying in the shadows of the workbench. ‘That one’s interesting too,’ he said. ‘Have a look.’
Eudoxia bent down and grasped the fragment of rock. When she tried to pick it up, though, her fingertips slipped uselessly from the edges. She tried again, and then a third time – but the stone seemed impossible to move, as if it had been stuck to the floor. She looked up to see the faces of the two Sumpwood Bridge academics creased up with amusement.
‘I recognize that,’ said Nate. ‘It’s compacted mud from the mine workings of the Eastern Woods.’
Klug laughed out loud. ‘Well spotted,’ he said. ‘It contains a minute speck of phraxcrystal. That’s what makes it so immensely heavy.’ He laughed. ‘To be honest, we were lucky it didn’t make a bigger dent in the floor when it fell.’
‘And what’s this?’ Eudoxia asked, holding out her hand to reveal a glittering sliver of polished rock in her palm.
‘This,’ said Klug, taking the rock and scrutinizing it closely for a moment before looking up and smiling, ‘is the most remarkable rock of them all. Follow me and I’ll show you.’
With the rock held carefully between his thumb and index finger, Klug crossed the chamber and went through a low door at the far end. Eudoxia and Nate followed, and found themselves in an untidy laboratory.
Jugs, filters and funnels, and an array of tools hung from the ceiling on hooks, while the windowless walls were lined with bulging cupboards and bowed shelves laden with leather-bound books, yellowing scrolls and stacks of thick parchment-filled folders. Standing against the wall to the left of the room was a long sumpwood table, its surface crammed with gleaming apparatus and intricately connected paraphernalia: balance scales, with racks of weights; miniature stoves, ice cabinets and centrifuges – and, at the very centre of all the clutter, a large black and brass light magnifier, its dials polished and lenses sparkling.
Edge Chronicles 10: The Immortals Page 28