Read Online Midnight Over Sanctaphrax by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell - Free Book Online

registering deepest indigo on the sense-sifters both up in the Loftus Tower and in the garret of the Department of Psycho-Climatic Studies -had prompted an outpouring of communal grief across the region. A thick and oily mist had rendered the residents of some northern districts of Undertown temporarily deaf and dumb. While, the previous night, a

    heavy downpour led to outbreaks of terrible violence amongst the cloddertrogs in the boom-docks.
    The abrupt change in the character of the weather was bringing the hitherto insignificant Department of Psycho-Climatic Studies into the limelight. Its dean, a rotund pen-pusher by the name of Lud Squeamix, now sat self-importantly at the highest of the long tables, slurping stew up through his teeth, pausing only to belch loudly.
    ‘I'm thinking of going for a place in the Department,’ a third apprentice was saying. ‘That's where the action is these days.’ He looked round furtively. ‘I hear that the windtouchers and cloudwatchers are forming an alliance.’
    ‘Pfff! Fat lot of good it'll do them,’ snorted his companion. ‘Has-beens, the lot of them.’
    All around the refectory the feverish conversations were the same. Plots and counterplots had become rife. And as if this wasn't enough, there were other rumours going round that even the most level-headed of academics could not ignore.
    Up in the College of Rain gallery, a senior apprentice turned to his neighbour. ‘And I've heard he's up to something,’ he said. ‘Something suspicious!’
    Cowlquape's ears pricked up.
    ‘Something suspicious?’ said his companion. ‘What, the Most High Academe?’
    ‘That's the one,’ the first senior apprentice replied. “Cording to my sources in the School of Light and Darkness, he's got someone locked up in there. Theysay he was found in the Stone Gardens, and I can well believe it. He looks like a vagrant, and never speaks - though he can freeze your blood with one icy stare.’
    ‘Absolute madman, by the sound of him,’ an apprentice cloudwatcher in an upper gallery called down. ‘He howls!’
    ‘Howls?’ said the apprentice raintasters as one.
    ‘Like a wood wolf,’ the cloudwatcher continued. ‘Every night. ‘Course, you wouldn't hear it from your faculty, but it echoes all round the College of Cloud. Spooky, it is.’
    Cowlquape frowned. He, too, had heard the curious night-time howling from his hiding place in the library, but hadn't made the connection between that and the staring-eyed character he had encountered with the Professor of Darkness that blustery morning.
    As he inched his way forwards to the stew-pipes, his thoughts stayed with the stranger.
    Gossip had it that the mysterious individual was none other than Twig, the young sky pirate captain who had returned to a hero's welcome in Sanctaphrax only weeks earlier. It was said that he had done what no-one had ever done before - set out into open sky, untethered. Something must have happened to him out there, the stories maintained. Something unearthly, inexplicable; something that had left him both dumb and distracted. It was curious then that, according to the rumours, the Most High Academe had conferred upon him the title of Sub-Professor of Light.
    The crowd shuffled towards the pipes. BehindCowlquape, two sub-apprentice windtouchers were bemoaning their lot.
    ‘Windgrading, windgrading and more windgrading,’ one of them complained. ‘And the professor's such a tyrant!’
    ‘The worst type,’ came the reply.
    Cowlquape sighed. At least your futures are secure, he thought bitterly. Unlike my own. He shuddered, and the brass platter slipped from his grip and clattered to the stone floor.
    The raintasters and cloudwatchers around him looked at the thin, tousle-haired boy with amusement.
    ‘Then again, at least we're not sub-acolytes,’ one of the windtouchers commented sniffily
    ‘Undertowner!’ said the other scornfully.
    ‘Sky above!’ a voice bellowed from the highest of the long