Edge Chronicles 6: Vox Read online

  Keeping to the wall, Rook continued round the chamber. And as he picked his way through the chaos, he began to look more closely at the rows of charts, blueprints and diagrams - sepia ink on tilderhide and thick parchment - which hung from taut wire racks and covered every flat surface. He recognized a detailed plan for the Great Mire Road, annotated with lengths and weights and detailed descriptions of how to sink the great pylons into the soft, shifting mud of the Mire. There were several cross-sections of the Tower of Night, each one subtly different from the one before - and a model of the design that had finally been chosen. And as he went further, he passed a table covered with set-squares and slide-rules, and piles of calculations detailing what was arguably Vox's most ambitious project: the Sanctaphrax Forest.

  Next to a long workbench was an easel with a single yellowed piece of scroll pinned to a drawing-board. On it was a complicated design for something large and round with intricate internal chambers, covered with minute annotations. Rook recognized it at once.

  The baby.’ he breathed.

  His fingers traced the round form beneath which, underscored with an angry red line, were the words, blast them all to open sky¡

  So it was true what they said. Vox Verlix, the greatest engineer and architect there had ever been, was a bitter, broken creature. Rook looked around at the clutter. Vox had been betrayed by everyone he'd had dealings with: Mother Muleclaw, the shryke roost-mother who had seized the Great Mire Road when it was completed; Orbix Xaxis, who had ousted Vox from the Tower of Night and forced him to seek refuge in old Undertown; and finally General Tytugg, the goblin-leader Vox had himself hired to enslave Undertowners and force them to work on the Sanctaphrax Forest, but who instead had taken over Undertown and made Vox a virtual prisoner here in the Palace of Statues. The goblin assassin lying in the hallway was just the latest of many, Rook guessed, sent by the brutal general who made no secret of his contempt for his former master.

  Ahead of him, Rook saw an ornate gilt frame fixed to the wall. He moved closer, expecting to see a painting of one of the former occupants of the chamber - perhaps even a likeness of Vox Verlix himself. Instead he found himself looking at a small, blackwood door. It was the entrance to the pulley-lift. He looked round. There was the satin pillow with the embroidered tilder; there, the thick fur rugs, and there, the round white marble table. Behind them, bathed in shadows, was what seemed to be a huge upholstered chair, a heavy throw in blues and purples draped over it and a long rope with a brass ring at its end, hanging down beside.

  Rook looked more closely at the chair. It was moving up and down to the unmistakable sound of a soft rasping snore which grew louder and louder until, with a sudden sharp snort, it woke the sleeper up. Rook took a step backwards into the shadowy clutter. Just then the tasselled throw was tossed aside, and what Rook had taken to be a chair clambered to its feet.

  ‘Vox Verlix.’ Rook murmured, transfixed.

  Vox looked round, bleary-eyed. He scratched his head, jiggled a fat finger in his ear and belched twice. That's better,’ he muttered.

  Rook remembered seeing a picture of Vox Verlix as a cloudwatcher apprentice; young, lean and with a glint of naked ambition in his steely gaze. The bloated drunkard he had become was unrecognizable. Rook watched him with a mixture of pity and disgust as he heaved his great weight across the floor.

  He stopped at the table and looked up. Rook followed his gaze to a funnel-shaped contraption with mirrors, chains and levers suspended above him. With a loud grunt of effort, Vox reached up and pulled hard on one of the brass chains. A mirror tilted, and a broad beam of light fell upon the great marble table-top below.

  Rook peered out from behind a rack of barkscrolls. Vox was looking down at the illuminated table, his face bathed in light. Rook eased himself forwards, craning his neck for a better view.

  Vox reached above his head again, pushing a lever up and lowering a second chain. The image on the table-top shifted - and Rook stifled a gasp as he realized what he was looking at. It was Undertown and its environs. Somehow, Vox Verlix had designed a contraption to bring the view outside into this vast windowless chamber and, as he raised and lowered the sequence of chains and levers one after the other, the image on the vast circular table-top came sharply into focus.

  ‘I can see you all…’ Vox murmured gleefully. His sweat-drenched face was animated, the small beady eyes glinting coldly. ‘There is nowhere to hide, for Vox's Eye sees everything¡ Everything¡ The end is coming, you puny woodants,’ he cried. ‘The end is coming - and only I can see it!’

  Rook felt his pulse quicken. Then, curiosity winning over caution, he stepped up onto a padded footstool for a better look at the image on the marble table. There was the Undertown skyline; the Tower of Night; the Mire Road -and, arching above it all, a heavy, cloud-laden sky …

  The stool wobbled. Rook lost his balance and lurched to one side, knocking into a tall vase which toppled and crashed to the floor.

  Vox looked up, the expression on his face a mixture of fear and rage. ‘Who's there?’ he demanded fiercely.

  Rook was about to step forward and introduce himself as Hestera's new assistant - as well as inventing some errand that would explain his presence, when …

  ‘Say your prayers, Vox Verlix,’ came a low, gruff voice.

  Rook froze. The voice came from the shadows near the door.

  Vox turned towards the voice. ‘Show yourself,’ he said, his own voice tinged with unease.

  ‘As you wish, Vox Verlix - Most High Academe.’ came the voice, spitting out the name and title with contempt. And as Rook watched, a goblin appeared from the shadows. Tall and heftily built, he was dressed - and armed - like the goblin guard Rook had seen in the corridor. He brandished a vicious-looking curved scythe with glinting jags, an evil grin playing round his scarred lips and blackened teeth. ‘I come with a message from General Tytugg …’

  ‘How … How dare you!’ Vox blustered, his double chins wobbling indignantly. ‘Get down on your knees when you address the Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax and all Undertown!’

  The goblin's grin widened. ‘They said you were fat,’ he said, and made a show of running a callused thumb slowly along the curve of the glinting blade. ‘I'm going to enjoy hearing you squeal,’ he snarled.

  ‘General Tytugg shall hear of your insolence.’ said Vox imperiously. ‘And you shall both regret it!’

  Rook shook his head. Vox was in mortal danger and, for all his bluster, there was the unmistakable glint of panic in his deep-set eyes. Rook realized that it was up to him to do something. Slipping back into the shadows, he seized the first object he could find. It felt reassuringly heavy.

  ‘Most High Academe.’ the goblin laughed. ‘Why, you nasty great big fat useless blubbery parasitic lardbucket!’ He lunged at Vox with the scythe.

  ‘Please!’ Vox gasped. Til give you anything.’ A spasm of desperation flashed across his face. ‘Anything at all!’ He stumbled backwards, arms raised defensively. ‘No, no, no …’ he cried.

  The goblin raised his scythe high in the air, slicing through the dancing particles of dust. The blade glinted. Vox froze.

  ‘Now squeal for General Tytugg • • •’

  ‘Aaaiiieeeeee¡ Aaaiiieeeeee¡ ‘

  Vox cried out with terror, screeching and squealing like a stuck woodhog. ‘AaainEEEEEEEH’

  Rook leapt from the shadows, the heavy lump of wood held above his head with both hands. The goblin's sword flashed. Vox toppled backwards. With a grunt of effort, Rook swung the wood through the air and brought it down on the back of the goblin's head with colossal force.

  The heavy wooden object struck with a splintering crack. The goblin stiffened but remained standing. Rook swallowed hard. Goblins had skulls as hard as iron-wood. He struck him again - a savage blow to the side of his head …

  The goblin tottered where he stood, staggering slowly round in a circle. His eyes swam in their sockets, then shot abruptly upwards, leaving only the bloodshot whit
es showing. With a low groan the goblin fell backwards, stiff as a board, and crashed noisily to the floor.

  Rook poked the body with his foot. The goblin was not dead - but he'd have a headache to remember when he finally woke.

  ‘It's all right.’ said Rook to the huge figure cowering before him. ‘You're safe now.’

  Vox lowered his arm and looked up. ‘You … you saved my life.’ he said. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Rook Barkwater.’ said Rook. ‘Assistant to Hestera Spikesap.’

  ‘Hestera's slave.’ he sniffed. Grunting and groaning with effort, he rolled over onto his front and eased himself up into a standing position. ‘I am grateful to you.’ he said wheezily and extended a podgy hand. His eyes narrowed. ‘What are you doing outside the hatch?’

  ‘I … errm … Hestera … that is, Speegspeel…’ Rook was floundering.

  Just then there was a polite, distinctive knock at the door; three light taps, followed by a gap, and then three more. ‘About time!’ muttered Vox. ‘Enter, Speegspeel!’ he called out.

  Rook watched the ancient butler do a double-take as he emerged from the shadows at the back of the room. His gaze jumped from face to face of the occupants of the room.

  ‘Master.’ he said. ‘Number eleven. And …’ He grimaced. ‘There he is!’ he gasped. ‘Old Speegspeel knew there'd be two of them. Always hunt in pairs, goblins, so they do - when they've got murder in mind. Saw the other one outside in the corridor - knew there'd be a second one somewhere hereabouts.’

  The slave-lad here laid him out,’ said Vox, adding sharply, ‘It's just as well someone around here has their wits about them.’ He nodded towards the piece of wood still clutched in Rook's hands and chuckled; a sound like water gurgling down a drain. ‘Fortunate indeed that I designed it to be strong.’

  Rook looked down and was surprised to find himself holding a finely crafted scale-model of a tower. ‘The Tower of Night,’ he said softly.

  ‘Ay, the Tower of Night,’ said Vox. ‘Built to withstand both hurricanes and cannon-balls …’

  ‘And the most terrible place ever built upon a Sanctaphrax rock,’ came a soft, cracked voice from over by the door.

  Vox's eyes narrowed. ‘I know that voice …’ he whispered.

  ‘Ah yes, Speegspeel was forgetting, master; what with all the palaver over goblin assassins, ‘n all. Your visitor has arrived.’

  As he spoke, a wiry individual stepped forwards from behind Speegspeel. Rook gasped.

  The visitor was well-kempt, with trim hair and beard, polished cheeks and fine clothes; for all the world the successful merchant or money-lender. Yet the eyes told a different story; they, and the deep lines that etched his face. This was someone who had known great pain and terrible suffering; someone who had stared down into the yawning chasms of black despair. His gaze bored into Vox's eyes.

  Vox looked back at him, puzzlement flickering round his eyebrows. ‘You are the emissary from the librarians?’ he began.

  ‘You have changed since last we met.’ the visitor said. He nodded towards the medallion of high office around Vox Verlix's neck. ‘It was the night you stole that little trinket.’

  Vox's mouth fell open; the colour drained from his cheeks. ‘Cowlquape Pentephraxis.’ he gasped in disbelief. His head shook slowly from side to side. ‘No … No, it can't be!’

  But it was, as Rook was only too aware. What could the true Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax be doing here in the Palace of Statues holding court with Vox Verlix?

  ‘But you're … you're …’ Vox paused.

  ‘Dead?’ suggested Cowlquape. ‘As you can see, Vox, I'm very much alive. When you betrayed me to the Guardians of Night I expect you thought they'd kill me. But no, they kept me alive - if you can call being locked up on a stinking cell-ledge in the depths of the Tower of Night, living. I suppose they enjoyed knowing that while I lived, you could never be the true Most High Academe, despite your claims … But enough of this. I am, as we both know, here on behalf of the librarians to discuss important matters; pressing matters …’ He stopped mid-sentence and stared at Rook, who was standing beside Vox - actually seeing him for the first time. His eyebrows arched with surprise. ‘Rook.’ he said. ‘It can't be. But it is¡ Rook, my boy, what are you doing here?’

  Rook grimaced sheepishly. ‘It's a long story,’ he said.

  ‘You know this slave?’ said Vox.

  ‘Slave?’ said Cowlquape. ‘Rook Barkwater is no slave. He is a librarian knight; the most valiant of his generation - and the person who rescued me from the Tower of Night. It seems we both owe him our lives, Vox.’

  Vox sighed. ‘I thought he handled himself rather well for a mere kitchen assistant.’ His narrowing eyes glinted. ‘But Hestera bought him at the slave auction, which makes him my property …’

  Cowlquape breathed in sharply. ‘Times have changed, Vox,’ he said, his voice level and firm. ‘The tables are turning…’ He looked down meaningfully at the unconscious goblin guard.

  ‘Yes, yes, all right,’ Vox blustered. ‘Consider yourself restored to freedom by the Most High…’ He caught Cowlquape's steely gaze and coughed awkwardly. ‘Er … yes … well… Let's just say, you're free.’ He turned to Speegspeel. ‘Refreshments for our guests,’ he said gruffly. ‘Both our guests.’

  Rook's heart soared. He felt a wave of relief, as if a great weight had fallen from his shoulders. Free once more; he was free¡ Speegspeel nodded, neither his face nor his voice registering any emotion. ‘Yes, master,’ he said.

  ‘And Speegspeel,’ Vox added. ‘Send Amberfuce up. I have a little job for him.’

  ‘Yes, master.’ Speegspeel repeated. He turned and started away.

  ‘Oh, and one last thing.’ Vox called after him. ‘You'd better tell Hestera to visit the slave auction right away. We need another slave to help with the baby. Straight away, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, master.’ said the old butler, shuffling off. ‘Speegspeel understands.’

  As the door clicked shut, Vox turned to Cowlquape. ‘And now, old friend, we must let bygones be bygones, don't you agree?’ he said. ‘Come and look into Vox's Eye.’

  • CHAPTER NINE •

  THE TWO KOST HIQH ACADEMES

  Cowlquape's sunken green eyes flashed with naked delight.

  ‘Rook, my dear lad, I can't tell you how good it is to see you alive and well.’ he said, clapping him warmly on the back. Vox was over by the marble table, muttering to himself and swaying back and forth as he surveyed the sky.

  ‘We heard you'd come down in Screetown.’ Cowlquape continued. ‘Naturally we feared the worst.’ He smiled sympathetically. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘My head's still spinning - I can't quite take it all in.’ said Rook. ‘Oh, Most High Academe, sir, I … I was beginning to think I'd never see another librarian ever again.’

  Cowlquape reached forward and touched Rook on the arm reassuringly. ‘Easy now, lad. You've clearly been through a lot. But I'm here now and it's all going to be fine, believe me.’

  Rook nodded and sniffed and collected himself. ‘I did come down in Screetown,’ he said at last. ‘Something struck the Stormhornet when I was on dawn-patrol -something loud and fiery …’ His voice drifted away.

  ‘And then?’ said Cowlquape. ‘How did you end up here?’

  Rook shook his head slowly, suddenly lost to a series of fleeting images which flashed before his eyes: the rubble ghoul, the oozefish and woodwolves; the Sunken Palace and the misery hole; the tumbril ride to the auction-square … ‘It's a long story,’ he said at last, and smiled apologetically.

  ‘And there'll be time enough to tell it back in the library, Rook, my lad,’ said Cowlquape, nodding. ‘But right now, I must attend to our fat friend over there. He sent a strange missive to the Great Library, requesting an urgent meeting with an emissary who could speak on behalf of the librarians. It was passed to one of our agents in Undertown by someone from the palace and our experts verified it as genuine.’ His voice
dropped. ‘We had a hastily convened council-meeting, and it was agreed that I - as the true Most High Academe - should represent the librarians. Besides.’ he added, ‘I was intrigued to see what had become of my former colleague. It is many years since our paths last crossed …’

  Just then, from the far end of the dark, cluttered chamber, Vox looked up from the Eye. Time is short.’ He said peevishly. ‘I thought I'd made that much clear in my message.’

  ‘Oh, you did, Vox.’ Said Cowlquape, crossing the room and approaching the huge figure. ‘You certainly did. What you didn't make clear was why.’ Rook watched with fascination as the two academics stood facing each other. One was morbidly obese, the other painfully thin. One was dressed in flamboyant, though stained, robes of embroidered satin and tasselled silk; the other wore a simple brown gown made of some rough, homespun cloth. Like chalk and cheese, they couldn't have been less similar. Even the medallions which hung around their necks were different, for whereas Vox's was dull and worn, Cowlquape's one was highly polished and glinted as brightly as his amused eyes. Vox's gaze seemed fixated on it.

  Cowlquape smiled. ‘I see you've noticed the seal of Old Sanctaphrax,’ he said. The librarians kindly replaced the one you stole.’

  Vox glowered. Rook could feel the tension between them.

  Oh, Vox, Vox, what went wrong?’ Cowlquape continued calmly. ‘With your skills and my vision, we could, have rebuilt Sanctaphrax. Together in partnership …’

  ‘Partnership!’ Vox blustered. ‘You just wanted the glory while I did all the hard work. What was it you were always saying? Ah, yes,’ he said, his voice taking on a mocking sing-song quality. ‘Everyone's equal and we're all the same; earth-scholars and sky-scholars; professors, apprentices and even Undertowners.’ He wagged a flabby finger at Cowlquape. ‘A recipe for disaster. It would never have worked.’