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

tables, and all heads turned. It was Lud Squeamix and he was almost choking on his stew. ‘Who'd have thought it?’ he spluttered.
    A flagon was dropped in surprise.
    ‘Upon my word,’ someone else exclaimed, ‘it is him.’
    Every eye looked towards the highest long table. There, where the most prominent academics were eating, the Professor of Darkness was to be seen ushering the mysterious, wild-eyed individual to an empty seat.
    The apprentices forgot all about the junior sub-acolyte in their midst.
    ‘I can't believe that's Twig,’ Cowlquape heard one of them say. ‘I mean, look at him!’
    ‘Like a crazy one,’ another agreed.

    ‘And he's meant to be the new Sub-Professor of Light!’ said a third. ‘I wouldn't fancy being his apprentice.’
    ‘Yeah,’ laughed the first apprentice raintaster. ‘Definitely a couple of raindrops short of a shower.’ And they all burst out laughing.
    All, that is, except for Cowlquape. While the apprentices were too empty-headed to see anything beyond his outward appearance, Cowlquape looked again. There was something about the young sub-professor - a fierce intelligence ablaze in those bright, staring eyes. Perhaps Twig hadn't lost his mind at all, Cowlquape thought with a sudden jolt. Perhaps he had simply turned his gaze inwards.
    Beneath the stew-pipe at last, he pulled the lever, taking care that none of the steaming tilder stew missed his bowl. He grabbed a hunk of oak-bread from the basket beneath the pipes, soggy from stew others had let fall, and pushed his way towards the mass of low stools that sprouted like mushrooms beneath the galleries. Looking up, he could see Twig clearly.
    The newly appointed sub-professor was staring into mid-air, oblivious to his surroundings. Occasionally, prompted by the nudging elbow of the Professor of Darkness, he would start picking at his food like a bird. But only for a brief moment - and never long enough actually to eat anything.
    As Cowlquape continued to watch the twitchy young individual - only a few years older than himself - he asked himself what horrors Twig must have endured when the Edgedancer received the full brunt of the mind storm. After all, if a passing rain cloud could lead to the cloddertrogs attacking each other, then what must it have done to the sky pirate captain who had seen his ship destroyed?
    Just then, a blanket of blackest cloud swept in across the sky and plunged the refectory into darkness. The Professor of Darkness - for whom the sudden gloom was of particular interest - pulled a light-meter from the folds of his gown. Concentrating intently, he failed to notice his young sub-professor get up from his seat and make his way down the wooden steps.
    ‘Curious,’ muttered Cowlquape.
    A heavy hand landed on his shoulder almost knocking him off his stool. ‘Well, well, well,’ came a familiar mocking voice. ‘If it isn't our favourite little Undertowner!’
    ‘Vox!’ gasped Cowlquape, looking up into the arrogant face of the tall cloudwatcher apprentice.
    ‘I hear somebody hasn't been paying his fees,’ he said. ‘Tut, tut. That won't do at all.’
    Cowlquape trembled. ‘Please!’ he begged. It's just that my father, he …’
    ‘Save it for the Professor of Cloudwatching, bark-worm!’ Vox's voice was hard, his grip vice-like on Cowlquape's shoulder.
    Outside, a dismal angry drizzle began to fall. Rage at the unfairness of it all flared in Cowlquape's eyes. It wasn't his fault that his father had been killed!
    ‘Professor of Cloudwatching?’ he said. ‘Professor of Cloudwatching?’ His voice rose to a shout. Vox stared in amazement. ‘You can give this to your Professor of Cloudwatching in place of payment!’ And with that Cowlquape hurled the bowl of steaming stew into the tall apprentice's face.
    ‘Aaaarghl’ Vox shrieked, falling into a gaggle of mistsifters and sending bowls and stew flying everywhere.
    Cowlquape took to his heels, ducking and dodging as he made for the door, and