The Curse of the Gloamglozer (17 page)

Sigbord was a large flat-head goblin, long-limbed and powerful; his many scars and intricate tattoos testified to a long career as a guard. He raised his lamp and turned.

‘I have, sir,’ he said, and looked round furtively. ‘Two new developments. First,’ he whispered, ‘the mistsifters are up to something – and not just the apprentices. This one goes right up to the top. The Dean. The Sub-Dean. The Sub-Professor. One, two or possibly all three of them are involved.’

The Professor of Light shook his head. ‘Linius should have noticed…’

‘And would have,’ the Professor of Darkness broke in, ‘were he not so preoccupied. Poor fellow. He started out as Most High Academe so well – yet recently, he's been looking appalling…’

‘He never sleeps. He never eats,’ agreed the Professor of Light. ‘And though I hate to say it of so old and valued a companion, he has been neglecting the duties of high office…’

‘That's because he spends so much time down in the cages studying Low Sky,’ said the Professor of Darkness hotly. ‘I just don't understand it.’

‘Neither do I,’ said the Professor of Light. ‘But as his two closest friends, we must persuade him to face up to his responsibilities.’

‘Sirs, you must also warn him,’ said Sigbord, and sighed. ‘He will not listen to me.‘

‘Warn him?’ they said in unison.

‘That was my second piece of information,’ Sigbord said urgently. ‘Someone has been trying to bribe the cage-guards…’

At that moment, a grating sound came from the shadowy crevices of the tunnel, far to their right.
Sigbord drew his sword, cocked his head to one side and listened. He turned back to the professors.

‘We must be discreet,’ he hissed. ‘Even here in the treasury tunnel, there are those who would not hesitate to make capital from an ill-chosen remark.’

The Professor of Darkness frowned. ‘Are you suggesting that the treasury-guards are not now to be trusted?’ he whispered.

Sigbord's voice dropped further. ‘I'm afraid I am, sir. The Most High Academe's curious behaviour is affecting all of Sanctaphrax. Morale among the treasury-guards is lower than I have ever known it.’

They continued in silence, down the tunnel cut through the stonecomb and on to the heartrock at its centre. It was there – carved out of the solid rock – that the Treasury Chamber housed the sacred stormphrax. When it was first constructed, the tunnel had been completely straight, following the shortest route
between the surface and the centre of the great Sanctaphrax rock. As time passed, however, this first tunnel within the stonecomb had begun to curve, to bend. That was the problem with tunnelling through rock which was still growing. What was more, as the porous rock continued to expand and shift, so the tunnel itself had threatened to close up as the ceiling lowered or the walls closed in; tunnel maintenance became a never-ending task.

‘I swear this tunnel gets longer each year,’ complained the Professor of Darkness.

The Professor of Light nodded. ‘It's high time we had a new treasury tunnel built,’ he said. ‘Direct from the School of Light and Darkness.’ He looked round. ‘It would be difficult and costly, but well worth it.’

The shifting expanse of stonecomb was as porous as a ball of brittle-sponge. Filled with cracks and cavities which linked up to form a sprawling intricate warren of tunnels and holes, it hummed and hissed endlessly. Some of the tunnels were large enough for a person to proceed comfortably through the rock; others were too small even for the tiny spider-shrews – of which there were many – to squeeze into. It was a vast, confusing maze, everchanging, full of echoes and whispers, shadows and strange beings which glowed in the darkness. Some were ghostlike, some half-formed – and some predatory.

Ahead of them came the sound of muffled voices. At the same time, the stonecomb gave way to the hard, deep-red heartrock.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ said the Professor of Darkness as he continued down the long, straight passageway, running his fingers along the smooth solid rock. ‘The stonecomb always gives me the jitters.’ He chuckled. ‘I'm far too unfit to outrun a glister!’

The voices ahead of them grew louder and, as they neared the end, a great studded door opened to their right and yellow light fanned out over the floor. A heavily-built flat-head guard stepped out and blocked the passage.

‘Halt!’ he ordered. ‘Who comes this way?’

Sigbord stepped forward. ‘It is I, Mogworm,’ he said angrily. ‘Have you forgotten what day it is?’

‘No, sir … I …’ said Mogworm. His voice was gruff, and heavy with the rich, ponderous accent of the Deepwoods flat-heads. He looked at the professors and jutted his chin towards them. ‘Who are these two?’

Sigbord sighed and turned to the professors. ‘Excuse him,’ he said. ‘He's new to the guard.’ He turned back to the goblin. ‘Today is Treasury Day, Mogworm. The day of the year when the Next-Most High Academe ceremonially inspects the stormphrax.’

Mogworm looked down. ‘How was I supposed to know?’ he muttered.

‘Because,’ said Sigbord, ‘I reminded you only this morning. Now step aside and let us pass.’ Mogworm fell back, and as Sigbord strode past, he cuffed him around the head. ‘Imbecile!’ he growled, and turned to the professors. ‘Like I said, he's new to the guard. Fresh out of
the Deepwoods, in fact. Strong in the arm, but soft in the head, that's his trouble. But he'll learn.’

He turned and continued down the corridor, past a huge carved door, half open. The professors hurried after him, their gowns flapping. As they passed the door, they glanced in to see a long, rounded chamber carved out of the solid rock.

This was the guard-room, home to a company of hand-picked flat-head goblins who divided their guard-duty into three shifts. Some guards were snoring in bunk-beds cut into the walls of the chamber, some were at a table playing cards, while the others – of whom Mogworm was one – were on duty. Like Sigbord, all of them were fearsome specimens.

They reached the end of the corridor. Sigbord pulled a ring of keys from his belt, unlocked the door there and stood aside for the Professors of Light and Darkness to enter first.

‘It never fails to impress me,’ the Professor of Light whispered as he walked into the vast Treasury Chamber.

‘Absolutely awe-inspiring,’ the Professor of Darkness agreed.

Across the floor they went, their footsteps echoing round the great domed ceiling. Beneath their feet, carved into the rock itself, was an enormous circular design of
calibrated triangles, concentric rings and a fanned circle of lightning bolts. It was identical in design to the Quadrangle Mosaic. The two professors stepped forward to where a chest – ludicrously small for the room that contained it – stood in the very centre of the floor.

‘Douse your lamp,’ the Professor of Darkness instructed the flat-head goblin.

Sigbord lowered the wick until the flame guttered and died. The Treasury was plunged into absolute darkness. The Professor of Light leaned forwards and raised the lid of the chest. Instantly, the entire chamber was lit up with the dazzling glow of the stormphrax it held. The two professors silently counted the shards of precious storm-phrax. When they had finished, they bowed their heads.

‘
Light in the darkness
,’ the Professor of Light whispered, as the ritual decreed.

‘
Darkness in the light
,’ the Professor of Darkness murmured in response.

And with those words, the Treasury Day ceremony was complete.

The Professor of Darkness lowered the lid. Sigbord relit his lamp.

Outside in the tunnel, the door once again shut, the guard turned to the professors. ‘Takes my breath away, that stormphrax. Every year. It really does. Never seen anything so beautiful.’ He paused. ‘Though what I don't understand is, how can such a small amount of that stormphrax stuff weight down this whole great floating rock of ours?’

The Professor of Light smiled. ‘A thimbleful of stormphrax weighs more than a thousand ironwood trees…’

‘When in absolute darkness,’ added the Professor of Darkness.

‘Precisely,’ said the Professor of Light. ‘It is a wonder of sky science, Sigbord. Just as hot rock sinks and cold rock rises…’

‘And lufwood becomes buoyant when burned,’ added the Professor of Darkness.

‘But we must be ever-vigilant,’ the Professor of Light said thoughtfully. ‘Since the great floating rock is constantly growing, we shall need increasing amounts of stormphrax to hold it in place. The cloudwatchers yesterday confirmed that there has been a recent increase in sourmist particles coming in from the Edge.’

‘A Great Storm is on its way,’ said the Professor of Darkness.

‘Precisely,’ said the Professor of Light. ‘Garlinius Gernix is about to be sent from the Knights' Academy to the Twilight Woods in search of fresh stormphrax.’ He turned
to the goblin guard. ‘Beautiful stormphrax, Sigbord,’ he said. ‘The most precious substance in sky or earth, formed only in the Twilight Woods from the lightning bolts of a Great Storm…’

Sigbord scratched his head. ‘It's all beyond me, Professor. I leave such learned matters to you academics,’ he said. ‘I'm just a simple guard.’

‘
Pfff!
You are being too modest, Sigbord,’ said the Professor of Light. ‘You are our eyes and ears.’

‘Without you,’ said the Professor of Darkness, ‘we would know neither about the treacherous mistsifters, nor about the attempts to bribe the cage-guards.’

‘But forewarned is forearmed, as the saying goes,’ said the Professor of Light. ‘We will alert the Most High Academe at the earliest opportunity. He must be told of the great danger he is in.’

· CHAPTER NINE ·

THE STONECOMB

F
or the third time in as many nights, Quint's dreams were disturbed. It was at four hours when the soft
tap-tap-tap
on the door of his bed-chamber roused him from sleep. He rolled over and peered across the gloomy room.

‘Who is it?’ he mumbled sleepily.

The tapping grew louder, more insistent.

‘I said, who is it?’ Quint called back, louder.

‘Quint, are you in there?’ came an urgent voice.

‘Is that you, Professor?’ said Quint, sitting up. ‘Come in.’

‘Quint!’ the professor barked. ‘I must speak with you!’