Edge Chronicles 6: Vox Page 15

  He shoved the first guard hard in the chest. The guard lashed back. A scuffle broke out. Meanwhile, below them on the sleeping platforms, a second fight was in progress. With teeth bared and fists flying, three hefty tufted goblin guards were rolling about, crashing into the sleeping-pallets and sending the laden guard-racks tumbling - and all, apparently, over some dispute about mattress straw.

  Down on the first-storey platform, General Tytugg was well aware of the state of his troops. Tension was high; morale low. He knew that the problem was nothing to do with spits or shifts, or who had the biggest wad of clean straw, but rather the terrible airless heat -both inside and outside the Hive Towers - that was driving each and every one of his goblin guard to distraction. He himself was suffering, and he paced up and down the platform, his brow furrowed, his fists clenched. ‘Get out of my way!’ The angry voice cut through the general hubbub. It was coming from the entrance gates, where a group of guards were clustered round a new arrival.

  Out of my way!’ roared the goblin a second time and attempted to brush the crowd aside. ‘I have important information for General Tytugg…’

  ‘Clodwit?’ bellowed a voice from above them. Is that you?’

  The goblins turned as one, to see General Tytugg's furious face glaring down at them. ‘Ay, sire, Clodwit shouted back. ‘I bear news!’

  ‘Step aside!’ the general roared. ‘Let him through!’

  The goblins did as they were told and Clodwit hurried through the gap in the grumbling crowd, wiping the sweat from his brow as he went. The general, having climbed down the steep flight of stairs from the platform, was waiting for him at the bottom. Head lowered, Clodwit approached and greeted him as goblinlore required, with one fist raised and the other pressed to his heart.

  ‘Make your report,’ said General Tytugg. ‘And for your sake, I hope it's a good one, or you'll join that tilder over there on the roasting-spit.’

  Clodwit smiled and looked up. ‘Vox Verlix is dead, master.’

  ‘Dead, whispered General Tytugg, his eyes widening with pleasure. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Killed him with me own hands, said Clodwit proudly, patting the sheathed scythe at his belt. ‘Squealed like a great woodhog when I stuck the blade in, so he did … One, two, three, four…’ He jabbed at the air, demonstrating where the blade had struck.

  All round the cavernous Hive Towers, the news was spreading. Vox Verlix was dead.

  Clodwit's face clouded over. ‘Glitch was sliced in two outside the chamber, he said. ‘The place was booby-trapped, just like you said - but I sneaked in behind a slave and waited for my opportunity to strike!’

  ‘You've done well, Clodwit, said General Tytugg. ‘Very well, He clapped the goblin on the shoulders. ‘Vox Verlix called himself my master, he went on, ‘just because he had once paid me for my services.’ He hawked and spat, a great glistening ball that landed in the stinkwood fire with a hiss. ‘But who's the master now, eh?’ he said, and laughed unpleasantly. ‘With Vox Verlix in his grave, Tytugg is the Master of Undertown!’

  ‘And there's more, sire, said Clodwit in a low voice, as a rising swell of cheering began to echo round the great towers. Tytugg listened closely. ‘Before he died, Vox pleaded for his life. He said he could help the goblins defeat the librarians, master. He told me that there was a secret route into the sewers which leads directly to the Great Chamber; showed me where it was in exchange for his life.’

  ‘A secret route!’ Tytugg exclaimed, his eyes glinting. ‘Where is this secret route?’

  The goblin crouched down and began to draw in the dust of the hard mud floor. ‘Here's the underground library chamber and here's the central tunnel,’ he said, drawing first a circle, then bisecting it with a long, horizontal line. ‘And the main entrances are here, here and here,’ he continued, marking the ground with crosses to represent the Great Eastern and Western Entrances, and the broad pipes which emerged in the boom-docks. ‘But according to Vox, there is another entrance here,’ he said, stabbing at the ground just above the Great Eastern Entrance.

  Tytugg he looked at the spot thoughtfully. ‘There's a small sink-hole there,’ he said. ‘I thought it was blocked.’

  ‘That's what they wanted us to think,’ said Clodwit. ‘Vox learned of it from a librarian slave he employs in his kitchen.’

  ‘Cunning old woodfox,’ chuckled General Tytugg, his uneven brown teeth gleaming in the light from the brazier. ‘To think that it was there all the time.’

  All round the Hive Towers, the watching goblin guards were cheering Clodwit's success and the scatter of applause was turning to a loud, rhythmic clapping.

  General Tytugg frowned. ‘Secret or no, he said, ‘surely the librarians don't leave it unguarded.’

  ‘Not normally,’ said Clodwit, ‘but Vox reckoned they're about to have one of their ceremonies. The true Most High Academe is to make an important announcement. Two nights from now. At the eleventh hour.’

  ‘The eleventh hour,’ Tytugg repeated, furrows creasing his scarred brow.

  ‘Apart from a skeleton guard posted at the main entrances, Vox said that everyone will be down in the Great Library Chamber at that time,’ said Clodwit. ‘Trapped. Defenceless. They'll be like sitting ducks; just waiting to be picked off, he said.’ The goblin frowned as the false memories jostled for position inside his head. ‘He claimed he was going to tell his old friend and ally, General Tytugg, all about it - and let you take all the glory. He was on his knees, pleading for me to spare his life.’

  The general gave a derisory snort. ‘I'm sure he was,’ he said. ‘Did he say anything else?’

  A cruel smile stretched the goblin's thin lips. ‘No, master,’ he said, fingering his scythe. ‘Your name was the last thing he uttered.’

  General Tytugg threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Wonderful¡ Wonderful!’ he roared. ‘Vox Verlix is no more, and now I'm going to destroy the librarians as well. Once and for all¡ Even Mother Muleclaw and her scabby shryke-sisters haven't been able to penetrate the Great Library. Truly I shall become the greatest ruler of all the Edge. “General Tytugg” shall be the last words many shall utter.’

  Around the hall, the goblin guards were picking up on the latest snippets of information as the eavesdropped conversation between Clodwit and the general passed from one to the other. The thick, stifling air was becoming charged with excitement and expectation.

  ‘Death to librarian scum!’ someone shouted and a great cheer went up, so loud and so long it set the beams overhead rattling. The heavy hand-clapping grew louder and a chant started up, quiet at first, but growing louder with ever passing second as the goblins whipped themselves up into a frenzy of battle-rage.

  Ty-tugg¡ Ty-tugg¡ Ty-tugg¡ Ty-tugg…’

  ii

  The Great Storm Chamber Library

  Order¡ Order!’ bellowed Fenbrus Lodd, trying to make himself heard above the agitated babble of voices echoing round the tall ceiling of the underground library chamber. He raised his heavy blackwood gavel high in the air. ‘Order¡ ‘

  Despite the lateness of the hour, the Great Storm Chamber Library was packed - and in uproar. There were librarians everywhere; crowded together on the Blackwood Bridge, clinging precariously to the jutting gantries overhead, crammed into the floating buoyant lecterns and onto the bobbing rafts in the main water channel below. Every one of them was staring across at the old Lufwood Bridge where the council members were all assembled, standing before high-backed chairs laid out in a broad semi-circle. Every one of them was shouting.

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Heresy!’

  ‘Blasphemy!’

  The atmosphere had been charged ever since the Open Council Session had first been called. Now it was at fever-pitch. It had been strange to be summoned to the library so late; stranger still to be witnessing the High Librarians in open session. But strangest - and most disturbing of all - was what Cowlquape Pentephraxis, the true Most High Academe, had just proposed.

 
; ‘Leave the Great Library?’ shouted a middle-aged librarian, spluttering with rage. His side-whiskers flapped and the tasselled mortar-board jiggled about loosely on his long, pointed head.

  ‘Shame¡ Shame!’ bellowed another indignantly.

  Over my dead body!’ croaked an ancient research-librarian, the buoyant lectern he was wedged within dipping wildly as he brandished his bony fists at the row of High Council members before him.

  Bang¡ Bang¡ Bang¡ Bang¡

  Fenbrus Lodd's gavel hammered down like a volley of heavy hailstones. Unchecked, the librarians continued to berate their superiors who, for their part, remained in dignified silence.

  There was Alquix Venvax and the other senior professors, Varis Lodd, captain of the librarian knights, and the Professors of Light and Darkness, Ulbus Vespius and Tallus Penitax. In the middle of the curved line, standing before his especially high-backed chair, was Cowlquape Pentephraxis, true Most High Academe -and object of most of the assembled librarians’ outrage and indignation.

  He looked stooped, uncertain and oddly frail in the face of such obvious hostility. His brown robes trembled. Fenbrus Lodd, the High Librarian - standing apart from the others at the top of a tall, carved blackwood lectern -could feel the meeting was slipping out of his control. He slammed the heavy blackwood gavel down - Bang¡ Bang¡ Bang¡ - and bellowed furiously at the top of his voice.

  Order¡ Order¡ I will not have these disturbances!’

  The raucous hubbub dropped a notch.

  Bang¡ Bang¡ Bang¡

  ‘I shall clear this chamber if I do not have immediate silence, he warned, his eyes blazing. ‘Order¡ Order!’

  The din subsided further.

  ‘The true Most High Academe wanted you here -professors, sub-professors, librarians, apprentices and under-librarians - to bear witness to what we, the High Council, debate this night; for our final decision affects us all. Such rabble-rousing behaviour is unfitting.’

  The chamber became quieter still with only a low, intermittent murmuring breaking the silence. With a short nod of satisfaction, Fenbrus Lodd turned to Cowlquape.

  ‘My apologies, Most High Academe, he said. ‘Pray, proceed.’

  Cowlquape raised his head and faced the sea of hostile faces before him. He stepped forwards, scanning the crowd for the ancient research-librarian who had cried out.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Surlix, he said, his gaze fixing on the wizened individual in the buoyant lectern. ‘Over your dead body, you say, His soft voice was audible in every corner of the now silent chamber. ‘I tell you, Surlix; I tell you all… He glanced back at the row of librarian dignitaries. ‘If we do not leave the Great Library Chamber, then it will be over all our dead bodies - for I have it on good authority that a mighty storm is imminent.’

  ‘A storm? A storm?’ the librarians muttered among themselves.

  Bang¡ Bang¡ Bang¡

  ‘That is why it's been getting so hot, so humid, Cowlquape continued. ‘The storm is gathering. I have been shown the cloud charts. It will strike at midnight in two nights’ time. If we have not left the Great Library before the eleventh hour, we will all surely drown.’

  ‘What nonsense is this?’ shouted a red-haired librarian, unable to keep silent a moment longer. ‘We've weathered storms before!’

  ‘Yes, that's what the sluice-gates are for,’ one of the raft-hands shouted up from the flowing waters below.

  ‘I, for one, refuse to leave the sacred library!’ cried an angry voice. And a chant began somewhere to the left of the Blackwood Bridge, which soon spread. ‘Stay¡ Stay¡ Stay¡…

  Bang¡ Bang¡ Bang¡

  ‘This is no ordinary storm,’ Cowlquape shouted above the rising din. ‘It is a …’

  Bang¡ Bang¡ Bang¡

  ‘Silence!’ roared Fenbrus Lodd.

  Cowlquape breathed in sharply. ‘It is a dark maelstrom, he said.

  There was a gasp from all sides which rose up and echoed round the vaulted ceiling.

  ‘A … a dark maelstrom?’ said Fenbrus Lodd uneasily, looking round from his lectern. ‘Are you sure?’

  Cowlquape nodded earnestly. ‘Vox Verlix, the greatest cloudwatcher there has ever been, showed me his calculations. There can be no doubt about it - in two nights’ time, the maelstrom will strike.’

  ‘Vox Verlix!’ shouted an angry voice. ‘Why should we believe anything he says?’

  Cowlquape raised his hand. ‘Because he needs us. In exchange for taking him with us, he has worked out a plan to enable us to escape from the sewers and take this great library of ours to a new home in the Free Glades!’

  Alquix Venvax pushed his steel-rimmed glasses up nose with trembling fingers. His lower lip, too, was trembling. ‘But this is my home, he said in a soft, quavering voice. ‘I don't want to leave it.’

  A murmur of agreement spread out across the crowded chamber like ripples on a lake. Fenbrus Lodd glared round darkly, raised his gavel and was about to bring it down when Varis suddenly sprang forward.

  ‘The Free Glades is the most wonderful place in all the Edge!’ she exclaimed. ‘I know,’ she added, ‘for I have been there. It is a sparkling jewel in the Deepwoods; a beacon of light and hope for academics everywhere.’

  The librarians listened intently. Varis Lodd was renowned both for her academic rigour and for her selfless bravery. If she thought moving to the Free Glades was a good idea …

  ‘Just think of it, she was saying. ‘A new beginning in a place where learning is valued and academics are revered.’ She turned round to face Alquix. ‘You say that this place is your home. But look at it. Why should you have to remain down here in the sewers? In the sewers, for Sky's sake¡ Hiding away, too frightened to show your face above ground.’ Her voice softened. ‘When did you last feel the warm sun on your back, Alquix Venvax?’ she asked. Or rain in your face, or the wind in your beard? When did you last see the stars?’

  Alquix remained seated. ‘It is true, he murmured sadly. ‘I miss all these things.’

  ‘We are academics, Varis continued, turning her attention to the crowd, now hanging on her every word. ‘We have dedicated our lives to the pursuit of knowledge - knowledge of the Edgeworld. Yet we skulk down here, beneath the ground, in this dark, damp hole, cut off from the world we claim to hold so dear. Librarians, one and all, I second the Most High Academe's proposal. We should leave the sewers and build a new library in the Free Glades!’

  A loud cheer went up. This time, Fenbrus Lodd made no attempt to quieten the librarians down, either with threat or gavel. His daughter's impassioned speech had not only won over the librarians but it had also persuaded him of the wisdom of Cowlquape's proposal.

  He turned to Cowlquape, his voice thick with emotion. ‘If you think we can trust the usurper, Vox Verlix, then, Most High Academe, that is good enough for me and …’ - he looked around at his fellow council members - ‘for all of us.’

  Bang¡ Bang¡ Bang¡

  Fenbrus Lodd brought the great gathering back to order with his heavy gavel. There is much to do and two days is all we have, he said. Tanniers must be loaded. Crates and boxes must be filled. And everything must be packed up securely in waterproof tarpaulins and loaded onto the rafts and barges…

  Cowlquape looked at the High Librarian, grateful to him - and his daughter, Varis Lodd - for swaying the librarians in favour of his proposal. Now all he could do was hope, and pray to Earth and Sky that everything would go smoothly.

  ‘Two days’ time, at the eleventh hour, he murmured to himself. It seemed so terribly close.

  iii

  The Court of the Shryke Sisterhood

  As well as the tollgate towers, tally-huts and talon-shaped barriers - familiar landmarks, all - there was a new construction at the eastern end of the Great Mire Road. It stood tall and imposing, an immense ironwood pine, uprooted from the rich soil of the distant Deepwoods and transported whole to its current site. Here it had been erected, supported by myriad ropes and staves, its branches stripped, polish
ed and bedecked with the ornate perches beloved by the Shryke Sisterhood.

  The Roosting Tree towered above the Mire Road and, in its branches, the High Sisterhood were gathered, their screeching voices raised in increasingly raucous debate. Mother Muleclaw herself, resplendent on a suspended gilded throne, wound the plaited leash she was holding in and out of her talons as she listened closely.

  ‘The verminous goblin scum are swarming round the Hive Huts like crazed woodants!’ one of the shryke-sisters, a tall individual with gaudy plumage and gaudier gowns, was saying.

  ‘They're up to something, sisters¡ The hammerhead guard is said to be gathering at the Great Eastern sewer entrance, added a second sister, her tall purple crest quivering violently.

  ‘Indeed, commented a third. ‘Tytugg's definitely up to something. I can feel it in my tail feathers!’

  ‘Which is why I say we should attack now, sisters, and bathe our claws in goblin blood!’ said the purple-crested one adamantly, talking louder to be heard above the shrieks and battle-screeches of the battalions of shrykes performing their drill-manoeuvres below. ‘Attack, I say. Attack!’

  ‘And I say again that we must wait, Sister Talonscratch, interrupted an angular shryke perched opposite her. She shook her long, mottled face slowly. ‘Tytugg is clever. We must send out our spies; we must curb our impatience until we are certain of his plans, sisters.’

  ‘My dear cautious Sister Hookbill, said Sister Talonscratch, her voice soft and honeyed, ‘always pecking at the seeds on the ground rather than reaching for the fruits in the branches!’

  ‘Indeed, venerable sister, replied Sister Hookbill gently, her voice laced with the stirrings of impatience. ‘As I peck at the seeds on the ground, as you so delicately put it, I hear the whispers in the forest - while the fruit-seekers risk breaking their fine feathered necks on untested boughs.’

  Sister Talonscratch's eyes blazed. ‘You squawk of untested boughs, Sister Hookbill, she said sharply, her feathers ruffling menacingly, ‘when there is goblin blood to be tasted!7