Felix appeared at Rook's shoulder, his pale face stained purple by the lufwood light of the brazier he was carrying. ‘We can rest later,’ he said tersely. ‘Time is running out.’ He shook his head. ‘I only hope they'll have the sense to get off the Mire Road before the storm catches them.’
There were purple braziers all around them now as the sky pirates of the Armada breasted the ridge and gazed down at the white plains below. Far ahead, the Great Mire Road loomed out of the boiling cloudbank and wound its way across the wilderness on spindly legs like a half-swallowed thousandfoot.
‘Allowing for heavy carts and young'uns,’ said Deadbolt Vulpoon, scanning the horizon, ‘these Undertowners of yours should be approaching the Twilight Woods tally-huts, give or take a span or two. That's half a day's hard mud-marching from here. Judging by the speed of that storm we should reach them just before it does!’
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ said Felix, clapping Deadbolt on the back and smiling for what, to Rook, seemed the first time in days. ‘I'll take a mud-march over a stroll in Screetown any time.’
Deadbolt's eyes twinkled. ‘We'll see, my lad,’ he chuckled, ‘we'll see.’ He turned to the sky pirates. ‘Armada, advance!’ he bellowed, his voice booming across the tops of the dunes. ‘And look lively about it!’
Each crew raised its brazier-cage in assent, and the great mass of sky pirates slipped and slithered down the far side of the dunes and strode out across the sucking mud towards the imperilled Mire Road.
Rook would never forget that march across the vast Mire plain. Each crew tramped on in single file, following
the brazier-carrier at its head, chanting in unison, a dirge-like marching song.
‘One 'n two 'n three 'n four; mud in the eye to old Muleclaw!’
The slap of mud-shoes on mire mud beat out the rhythm.
‘Five 'n six 'n seven 'n eight; chase her back to the Mire Gate!’
Before long, Rook found himself joining in, his eyes fixed on Deadbolt's brazier-cage in front of him. Soon his breathing was harsh and heavy, and sweat was running down his face. But the steady beat of the mud-shoes and unwavering rhythmic chant drove him on.
He was dimly aware of the cawing of white ravens swirling in angry flocks overhead, and occasionally the shuddering thud of a nearby blow-hole exploding, sending a tall, glistening column high into the air and spattering the entire party in hot, clinging mud. After the third such shower, Rook, like the sky pirates in front of him, didn't even flinch, but trudged mechanically on. The mud clung to his boots, weighing them down and making every step he took more difficult than the one before. Up ahead, he heard Deadbolt's booming commands.
‘Bear west, you mudlubbers! Close up the line, Windjammer! Hold steady, Fogscythe!’
As he closed his eyes and willed himself on, Rook began to imagine that he was part of a real armada, up there in the wide open sky, high above the cloying mire mud, and that Deadbolt Vulpoon was back on the quarterdeck of his sky ship, marshalling his sky pirate fleet.
It wasn't long though before this daydream was drowned out by the sound of his own rasping breath and the blood hammering in his temples. His legs felt like hull weights, his head seemed lighter than air and, as he stared ahead, Deadbolt's brazier light swam before his eyes as if under water. On and on they marched, the pace never flagging.
‘One 'n two 'n three 'n four; Tytugg's goblins at the door…’
Rook stumbled and felt the rope secured round his middle jerk him upright.
‘Five 'n six 'n seven 'n eight; leave that hammerhead to his fate…’
Rook stumbled again, this time falling to the ground and sprawling in the soft mud.
‘Halt!' came Deadbolt's command. ‘Loose the ropes!’
Rook felt hands untying the rope. He tried to get to his feet. How long had they been marching? Hours? Days?
‘I'm … sorry …’ he gasped. ‘I … can't…’
‘Sorry, lad?’ Deadbolt's voice boomed at his ear. ‘There's no need to be sorry. Look.’ Rook raised his head and wiped the caked mud from his eyes.
There, in front of them, towering above the mire mists, was the Great Mire Road, beyond it the jagged treeline of the Twilight Woods. Gathered at the balustrades above the sky pirates, the Mire Road teemed with a vast multitude of Undertowners, cheering and brandishing flaming torches.
It was getting dark – and not only because night was approaching, Rook realized with a jolt. The vast billowing form of the dark maelstrom was on the far horizon to the east, and looming ever closer.
The Undertowners must have noticed it too, for as Rook gazed back, too exhausted to move, he saw them climbing over the balustrades and clambering down the ironwood-pine struts of the Mire Road onto the mud below. All around, the bustle of feverish activity became more desperate, and the air grew thick with urgent cries and screeched demands. He scanned the balustrades for any sign of his friends, the banderbears, but it was impossible to pick them out in the milling throng.
The librarians were busy manhandling great crates, stuffed with barkscrolls and treatises, off the precarious walkway and down onto the mud below. The Undertowners, too, were hurriedly evacuating the Mire Road, with those still up on the wooden structure lowering bundles of belongings and livestock and cradles bearing mewling young'uns carefully down into the upstretched arms of those far below. And all the while, the Ghosts of Screetown – distinctive in their white muglumpskins and bone-armour – hurried between them all, marshalling, corralling, shouting commands and offering help wherever it was needed.
Groups of lugtrolls and woodtrolls were working together on makeshift shelters and tents. A band of clod-dertrogs were securing their bundles of belongings to long stakes, driven into the mire mud, whilst beside them, librarian knights expertly tethered their bobbing skycraft to heavy mooring-poles. Directly ahead, a large family of gnokgoblins was helping one another down from the road, their meagre possessions strapped to their backs.
Rook felt a hand under his arm lifting him to his feet, and found himself looking into Felix's smiling face.
‘Not bad mud-marching for a librarian!’ he laughed, though from the way he looked – mud-spattered and red-faced – Felix was just as exhausted as Rook himself. ‘Looks like we got here just in time,’ he added, pointing to the storm that was coming closer with each passing minute. ‘But if they don't get down off the road in double-quick time, we might as well not have bothered.’
‘So those are your Ghosts of Screetown,’ said Deadbolt, standing hands on hips and whistling through his teeth. ‘Mighty fine bunch, and that's the truth. Handy with those ropes as well.’
‘They could do with some help,’ said Felix, turning to the sky pirate captain, ‘if your crews are up for it after our little stroll.’
‘By Sky, you're an impudent young pup!’ laughed Deadbolt, and flourished his brazier-cage. ‘Armada!’ he barked. ‘To the Mire Road! Let's get this rabble out into the Mire and hunkered down. There's a storm abrewing, or hadn't you mudlubbers noticed?’
The sky pirates instantly sprang forwards and began clambering up the struts of the Mire Road, slinging ropes and grappling-hooks up to those above, and attaching pulleys and slings to their tether-ropes. Soon, a steady flow of Undertowners was descending safely to the mud, and a vast encampment began to form all round Rook.
‘Get clear of the road!’ came Felix's clear voice. ‘You don't want to be under it when the storm strikes!’
‘Secure those prowlgrins!’ Deadbolt's voice thundered. ‘And overturn those carts for shelter!’
Even as he spoke, a heavy gust of wind snatched his words and carried them off. Rook looked about him. He must find the librarians and make his report. Unlike Felix, he was a librarian knight, and under orders from the Most High Academe, Cowlquape Pentephraxis.
As he started to make his way through the bustling throng of Undertowners, pitching tents and overturning carts, and even digging shallow holes in the mire mud, Rook felt a wave of e
xhaustion break over him. He was about to join a cloddertrog family under a hammelhorn cart when a familiar voice called out.
‘Master Rook. I trust you have done the library a good service.’ Fenbrus Lodd strode towards him, his bushy beard bristling in the growing wind. ‘The sky pirates have agreed to guide our Great Library across this desolate wasteland?’
Rook nodded. ‘Yes, High Librarian,’ he replied.
‘Captain Vulpoon …’
‘And that son of mine, why is he not with you?’ interrupted Fenbrus, irritatedly.
‘He's …’ began Rook.
‘I'm here, Father,’ said Felix appearing, flanked by two of his ghosts.
‘So you are,’ said Fenbrus haughtily. ‘So you are. Now, Felix, I want you and those ghosts of yours to secure the Great Library over there.’ He pointed with his staff to a large throng of librarians who were hauling several huge carts, complete with protesting hammelhorns, into a rough circle. ‘There are still a number of library carts on the road and time is running short. We must not lose them.’
Felix smiled grimly. ‘There are still Undertowners up on the road, father,’ he said. ‘My ghosts are helping them first…’
‘But the Great Library!’ blustered Fenbrus, growing red in the face.‘I must insist that you…’
‘I don't take orders from you!’ thundered Felix, sounding to Rook's ears not unlike his father.
A crowd was gathering round, listening in to the heated words between the father and son.
‘The library carts must be secured,’ said Fenbrus Lodd stubbornly, his eyes blazing. ‘Not a single scroll must be lost.’
‘Nor must a single Undertowner perish!’ countered Felix hotly.
‘Now, now,’ came a quavering yet authoritative voice, and Cowlquape himself stepped between them. ‘If we all work together, we shall be able to ensure the safety of both the library and the Undertowners,’ he said.
From behind him, there came a loud snort and everyone turned to see Deadbolt Vulpoon standing there, his hands on his hips and a scornful look on his face.
‘That's the last of the Undertowners off the road,’ he said grimly, ‘but how you expect any of this rabble to make it across the Mire with you lot bickering like this is beyond me.’
‘We were rather hoping,’ said Cowlquape, approaching the sky pirate and bowing his head in greeting, ‘that you might be able to help us, Captain … err…’
‘Vulpoon,’ said Deadbolt. ‘Captain Vulpoon.’
A trace of a smile flickered across Cowlquape's face. ‘Ah, yes. Captain Vulpoon. I met your father once a very long time ago – and in circumstances quite as perilous as these, if my memory serves me right.’
‘You must tell me about it sometime,’ said Deadbolt, returning his smile. ‘But right now, you all need to get everything and everyone secured if this here storm is to be weathered.’ He nodded towards the huge flat-topped cloud formation boiling up overhead. ‘After that' – he was shouting now, to be heard above the roaring wind – ‘we can talk about getting across the Mire.’ He smiled darkly. ‘That is if there's any of us left to get across.’
Felix stepped forward. ‘You heard the captain!’ he roared. ‘Jump to it!’
The crowd dispersed, battening everything down and hurriedly disappearing into holes and tents, and under the upturned carts.
‘Secure those hammelhorns!’ Deadbolt bellowed, striding off towards a group of slaughterers. ‘We'll have need of them soon enough!’
Fenbrus rushed after him. ‘The library carts, Captain. Don't forget the library carts!’
As the High Librarian's voice was swallowed up by the rising howl of the wind, Cowlquape turned back to Felix and Rook. ‘You've done very well,’ he said. ‘Both of you. I was unsure whether you'd be successful. After all, I've come across enough sky pirates in my time to know how stubborn and wilful they can be…’
‘Sounds like someone I know,’ said Felix with a sigh.
Cowlquape nodded understandingly. ‘You must try and understand your father,’ he said. ‘His dream is to recreate the Great Library in the Free Glades…’
‘I know that,’ said Felix, and again Rook heard the mixture of emotions in his voice. ‘Him and his accursed barkscrolls! And what are they anyway? Bits of paper and parchment. It is the Undertowners – the Freegladers– who are important.’
‘Of course, Felix,’ said Rook, the wind almost drowning out his voice. ‘But we are librarians. The barkscrolls are like living things to us.’
Felix didn't seem to hear him. ‘I must see to the ghosts,’ he said, turning on his heels and striding away.
Rook shrugged sheepishly at Cowlquape, and was about to run after Felix when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, to see two of his best friends, Xanth and Magda, standing there, huge grins spread across their faces.
‘It is you, Rook!’ Magda exclaimed. ‘We hardly recognized you under all that mud!’
Rook smiled back. ‘Am I glad to see you two!’ he said.
The heavy rain started as darkness fell, whipped into lashing sheets by the driving wind. Huge hailstones followed, and heart-stopping crashes of thunder. The Mire Road writhed, creaking and groaning like a dying monster as its timbers gave way, one by one. From inside their makeshift shelter, Rook huddled between Xanth and Magda.
‘Do you think it's ever going to stop?’ he said miserably.
Magda sighed. ‘I wonder if the weather's ever going to be the same again.’
The shelter had been fashioned from an upturned cart and heavy bales of straw, covered with a tarpaulin staked down in place. So far it had kept the worst of the storm out, but at any moment Rook expected the terrible wind to rip the cart from over their heads and scatter the bales.
‘So you're to fly with the Professor of Light,’ said Rook, trying to keep his mind on something else. The librarian knights were masters of flying their delicate, wooden skycraft, made of buoyant sumpwood and powered by huge spidersilk sails. Since stone-sickness had put paid to the great sky ships, these tiny craft were the sole means of flight in the Edge.
‘Yes,’ said Magda, managing to smile. A crack of thunder broke overhead. The ground trembled. ‘The plan is for Varis Lodd and her flight to head directly to the Free Glades to summon help, while the Professor of Darkness leads a flight high over the Twilight Woods section of the Mire Road in case shrykes are massing there to attack.’
‘And you?’
Magda tried to sound brave. ‘The Professor of Light is to lead us to the Eastern Roost to check on the shrykes there,’ she said. ‘There are rumours of a Hatching.’
Rook shivered. The words ‘Eastern Roost' brought back such terrible memories. ‘Aren't you afraid of going back to … that place?’ he asked.
‘We've got no choice,’ said Magda simply. ‘But at least this time I'll have Woodmoth with me – and the Professor of Light. He's one of the best librarian knights we have.’
‘I wish I had Stormhornet,’ said Rook with a sigh, remembering his lost skycraft, wrecked in a crash in Screetown. ‘Then I could go with you, instead of having to stay with the footsloggers.’
‘If it's good enough for Felix Lodd, it's good enough for you and that's a fact,’ said Magda, trying to make light of it, but Rook could tell she, too, was upset by the fact that they wouldn't be flying together.
‘I'm not even welcome amongst the footsloggers,’ said Xanth darkly.
‘What do you mean?’ said Rook.
‘I'm a traitor, Rook,’ said Xanth, ‘or had you forgotten? I served the Guardians of Night. I plotted and spied. Because of me, brave librarian knights were murdered. Because of me, you almost perished in the Foundry Glades.’
‘All that's behind us now. The Guardians of Night are no more,’ said Rook, ‘destroyed by the dark maelstrom back in Undertown. And besides, you've changed, Xanth. I know. And I'll tell anyone else who wants to know as much.’
‘And so will I,’ said Magda. ‘You rescued me from the Guardians, Xant
h. I'll never forget that.’ She tried to smile encouragingly.
Far above their heads, the storm seemed to be reaching a new intensity.
‘You don't see the look in the librarians' eyes,’ said Xanth bitterly. ‘The look of distrust, the look of hatred. They look at me and see a traitor and a spy.’
Magda put an arm round Xanth. ‘But inside, Xanth, your friends can see plainly …’ she said softly, ‘you have a good heart.’
Outside, a huge thunderclap broke and the little cart shook until its wheels rattled.
• CHAPTER THREE •
MUD-MARCH
Shortly before dawn, with feathers of light dancing on the horizon, the wind died down, the torrential rain eased off at last and an eerie silence descended over the mudflats of the Mire. Rook rubbed his eyes and looked round blearily, as disturbed by the unearthly stillness as he had been by the tumultuous storm that had raged through the night.
He rolled over and, leaving Xanth and Magda to sleep on, crawled to the edge of the shelter and attempted to push the tarpaulin back. But it was stuck fast, held in place by something pressing against it from outside. Grunting with effort, Rook pushed hard. There was a soft flummp! and the tarpaulin abruptly flapped free. Rook poked his head out of the gap he had created.
‘Earth and Sky,’ he murmured.
The vast encampment, with its upturned carts, battened-down tents and hastily constructed shelters, was now just a series of gently undulating mud-dunes stretching off into the distance as far as the eye could see. Here and there, one of these dunes would erupt into life as its occupants dug their way out – just as Rook had – only to pause and look around with the same bemused expression on their faces.
‘Rook?’ Magda's sleepy voice called out. ‘Is it over? Has the storm passed?’
‘Come and see for yourself,’ Rook called over his shoulder. ‘It's incredible.’
Magda's head appeared next to his own, followed by Xanth's. They peered out across the bleached plains, shocked and bewildered.