The Curse of the Gloamglozer (38 page)

Linius sighed with relief. ‘But then it returned,’ Quint said. ‘Bigger and uglier than ever before.’ His voice grew louder. ‘And with a rage blazing so violently inside it that there was nothing I could do to prevent it attacking her a second time!’

‘No!’ Linius howled. ‘Tell me it can't be true.’

‘If only I could, Professor,’ said Quint. He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft, trembling. ‘She fell to the ground. The creature was on her in an instant. I was powerless to do a thing…’

‘And what of Bungus?’

‘Bungus?’ said Quint, and spat on the floor. ‘Don't talk to me about that … that barkslug!’

Linius trembled with fear. ‘Why?’

‘Because the cowardly creature took to his heels and ran,‘ said Quint. ‘That's why. I've never seen anyone move so fast.’

Legs shaking, Linius gripped the bed-post for support. There were tears in his eyes when he spoke. ‘Please, Quint. Tell me what happened to my daughter,’ he whispered, scarcely daring to hear what his apprentice had to say.

Quint lowered his head. ‘She never stood a chance,’ he said.

Linius gasped. ‘You mean…?’

‘Yet even in those final moments, she remembered you, Professor,’ said Quint softly.

‘She d … did?’ Linius said, his voice breaking with emotion.

‘
Oh, Father, if only you were here with me now!
Those were her words, Professor.’ And as Linius shivered with horror, Quint continued. ‘
But you never had any time for your only daughter
…’ He paused. ‘It was heartrending, Professor, believe me, tragic…’

‘Stop, Quint,’ Linius pleaded. He turned away and closed his eyes. ‘I've heard enough.‘

‘But she would have wanted you to know her final words,’ said Quint. He stepped forwards. His tongue glistened in the candlelight as it flicked out
into the air. ‘Even now, I can hear her voice …
He abandoned me! He is ashamed of me!
…’

Linius clamped his hands over his ears. ‘Enough!’ he moaned.

Quint continued. ‘
Father!
she screamed.
FATHER!
’

‘No more, I beg of you,’ Linius cried out. ‘For pity's sake…’

‘But there's more,’ Quint interrupted, his eyes blazing. ‘Her final words, as the life drained out of her.’

The professor froze. ‘F … final words?’ he said. ‘What did she say?’

Quint looked back, a smile playing over his lips. ‘Are you sure you want to know?’

‘Y … yes,’ said Linius uncertainly. ‘Tell me.’

Quint stepped forwards again. The smile vanished. ‘
Father, I curse you!
’ he roared.

Linius gasped, and staggered backwards across the floor, arms flailing as he struggled to keep his balance. ‘No,’ he whimpered. ‘No…’

He banged heavily into his bedside table. The candelabra toppled this way, that way, before keeling over and falling silently onto the bed. Two of the candles were extinguished at once. The third sputtered – but did not go out.

Linius buried his head in his hands. ‘It's all my fault,’ he sobbed. His body trembled. ‘My darling Maris!’

Behind him, a thin spiral of

dark smoke snaked its way up from his smouldering pillow.

‘I
curse you
!’ Quint screeched. ‘I
curse you
!’ And he threw back his head and cackled with evil, raucous laughter.

Linius's jaw dropped. He looked up. ‘Quint?’ he gasped. ‘You're not Quint at all. You're … you're …’

Before him, his apprentice's familiar features changed. His eyes turned yellow and sank back in their sockets, his back hunched, his neck disappeared beneath a thick growth of matted hair and from his brow two knobbly curving horns emerged.

‘Don't you recognize me, Professor?’ the creature said. ‘I am your creation! You weep over your
darling Maris
,’ it went on scornfully, ‘and yet you have no tears for me, but only hate instead …’ The gloamglozer raised a scaly hand. ‘
You
did this,’ it hissed menacingly. It touched a talon to its scarred and scabby face. ‘And this … Just as I discovered my true form, Linius, you scarred me for ever. You burned me, your own creation!’ it screeched. ‘Now it is
your
turn to burn!’

As the gloamglozer's voice echoed round the high ceiling of the chamber, there was a sudden crackle and
hiss and the smouldering pillow burst into flames. Linius spun round, to see pink and purple ribbons of fire spreading out rapidly in all directions: to the heavy blankets and quilted counterpane, to the velvet bed curtains – until the entire four-poster bed was ablaze and thick, choking smoke was filling the room.

‘Burn, Linius! Burn!’ the gloamglozer shouted, as it flew up into the air.

Linius seized a rug from the floor and tried desperately to beat out the fire. But his futile efforts served only to fan the flames, spreading them across the blistering floor and up the tapestries on the walls. The smoke filled his eyes, his mouth, his lungs.

‘C … can't breathe,’ he groaned. He fell to his knees.

‘You gave me life,‘ the gloamglozer shrieked. ‘Then you left me to die. Now it is my turn to return the compliment.‘ For a second time, the chamber echoed with the terrible cackling laughter. ‘Die, Linius, you pathetic failure!’ the gloamglozer roared. ‘DIE!’

Although exhausted after their long climb back through the stonecomb to Sanctaphrax, neither Maris nor Quint considered resting – not even for a moment. They emerged from the Great Library and hurried immediately towards the Palace of Shadows. Unlike the atmosphere in the stuffy underground tunnels, the night-air outside was cool and refreshing, and as they ran, they gulped down lungful after invigorating lungful.

Maris screwed up her nose. ‘What's that?’ she said.

‘What's
what
?’ Quint panted. ‘That smell,’ said Maris, slowing down.

Quint stopped beside her and sniffed the air. ‘Smoke,’ he said. ‘Something must be burning.’

‘Yes, look,’ said Maris, and pointed up ahead to where the mist in the sky was stained a deep yellow. ‘Something
is
burning. Something big.’

Maris was gripped by a sense of foreboding. From behind them came the sound of running footsteps. Three sub-acolytes with their gowns hitched up around their waists hurtled towards them.

‘What's happening?’ Maris shouted out.

‘Fire!’ one of them shouted back breathlessly. ‘The Palace of Shadows is on fire!’

Maris gasped. The palace? On fire?

‘Father!’ she wailed, and broke into a run. Rounding the corner of the Central Avenue, she saw broad flickering sheets of yellow flame before her, lapping at the night sky behind the College of Cloud. Quint caught up with her.

‘This can be no accident,’ he muttered grimly.

All round them, academics and apprentices, servants and guards were streaming towards the blazing building. Maris and Quint joined the growing throng. The closer they got, however, the slower the crowds became. By the time they reached the narrow alleys and arch-ways between the buildings which surrounded the ancient palace, everyone was all but at a standstill, and Maris and Quint had to barge their way through the gawping onlookers.

The small fountain-square below the marble staircase was full of countless Sanctaphrax citizens, standing shoulder to shoulder and staring open-mouthed at the terrible conflagration before them.

The heat was tremendous. It blasted fiercely like a foundry furnace, roaring, scorching, turning the upturned faces crimson and drenching them in glistening sweat.

None of those who stood there watching the blaze had ever seen the Palace of Shadows illuminated so brightly before. Centuries had passed since it had disappeared behind the newer, taller buildings which had cast it in perpetual shade. Tonight, for the first time since then, it had earned its former name: the Palace of Lights. Every feature of the magnificent building stood out in stark relief against the blazing incandescence – every ridged pillar and turned colonnade, every turret, every statue, every wrought-iron balcony and ornately carved lintel.

Sadly, it would also be the last time the palace would shine out like a great beacon. Even now the west wall and turret were beginning to crumble as the ancient
wooden beams inside were consumed by the roaring flames.

‘My home,’ Maris whispered hoarsely. ‘Welma … Digit …’ She looked up at her father's bed-chamber, where great jagged flames were pouring from the window. ‘Father,’ she murmured.

Rigid with terror, Quint heard nothing. All he was aware of were the anguished screams inside his head – the screams of his mother and brothers as they had fallen victim to the voracious flames all those years ago.

Maris turned to those standing closest to her. ‘Does anyone know what has happened to Linius Pallitax?’ she asked urgently. ‘Has anyone seen my father, the Most High Academe?’

Without taking their eyes off the fiery spectacle before them, several onlookers replied. ‘No,’ they said. ‘Neither hide nor hair.’ ‘Neither sight nor sound.’ No-one had the faintest idea where Linius Pallitax, the Most High Academe, could be.

‘What now?’ Maris wailed. ‘Oh, Quint, I…’

Just then, there was a piercing shriek behind them. It cut Maris short and roused Quint from his terrible reveries.

‘THERE HE IS!’

The pair of them looked round to see a gnokgoblin in basket-puller garb jumping up and down and pointing up towards the far corner of the High Parapet, just below the now blazing East Turret. As one, the crowd crooked their necks back as they followed the line of his outstretched arm.

And there, far above their heads, silhouetted against