Read Online Midnight Over Sanctaphrax by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell
Tags: Ages 10 and up
Ads: Link
bowling a couple of indignant latecomers off their feet as he dashed from the refectory
It was even darker outside than it had been inside and, away from the noise of the refectory, far more forbidding. Purple-edged black clouds twisted and swirled overhead like bubbling wood-tar. The wind was sulphurous. And even though he could not know how the sense-sifters were glowing orange, Cowlquape felt an unfamiliar tumult of emotions within him: anger, exultation, and a nerve-tingling fear as chaotic and swirling as the weather around him.
Chicker-chacker-cheeeesh. Crimson lightning darted this way and that across the sky, and the thunder which followed crashed all round the floating city, shaking it to its very core.
Head spinning, Cowlquape set off for the refuge of the Great Library He kept to the shadows as he hurried silently across the greasy tiles. Around a corner, he halted. He looked back and forth. The coast was clear. From the guard turret to his right to the landing-stage far away on his left, the place was deserted.
As he set off again the sky lit up for a second time, and Cowlquape caught a sign of movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun round and squinted into the dim light. There was the young sub-professor. He was standing atop the stone balustrade of the landing-stage, legs apart, head up, arms outstretched and palms raised. All round him, the lightning cracked and splintered.
‘Twig!’ Cowlquape bellowed. He didn't know whether it was his own inner confusion or simply the madness of the weather that made him call out the professor's name. Could he really be going to jump? ‘Stop! Stop!’
His urgent cries were drowned out by a second rumble of thunder. Twig tottered on the edge of the balustrade, flapping his arms.
‘ NO !’ Cowlquape yelled. He raced forwards, heart in his mouth, and seized the hem of Twig's waistcoat. ‘Ouch!’ he cried, as the hammelhorn fur turned instantly to sharp needles which pierced his skin. Droplets of blood welled up on his fingertips.
The lightning flashed again. The thunder rolled. And, as the wind grew stronger, a light sparkling rain began to shower down. All over Sanctaphrax, the mood changed to elation. Cheers echoed from the refectory. Cowlquape, gripped by a sudden feeling of intoxicating strength, grasped Twig's arm and pulled him off the balustrade. Twig fell to the ground.
‘Forgive me, Professor,’ Cowlquape whispered. ‘I thought you were going to jump.’
Twig stumbled to his feet. ‘You spoke?’ he said.
Cowlquape's jaw dropped. ‘You spoke!’ he said. ‘They said you were dumb …’
Twig frowned and touched his lips with his fingers. ‘I did,’ he whispered thoughtfully. He looked round, as if seeing for the first time where he was. ‘But… what am I doing here?’ he said. ‘And who are you?’
‘Cowlquape, Professor,’ came the reply. ‘Junior sub-acolyte, if it pleases you.’
‘Oh, it pleases me well enough,’ said Twig, amused by the young lad's formality. Then he frowned. ‘Did you say… Professor?’
‘I did,’ said Cowlquape, ‘although Sub-Professor would have been more accurate. You are the new Sub-Professor of Light - at least, if the rumours are to be believed.’
A look of bemusement passed over Twig's face. ‘This must be the Professor of Darkness's doing,’ he said.
‘He was the one who brought you to Sanctaphrax,’ said Cowlquape. ‘From the Stone Gardens, they say. He …’
‘The Stone Gardens,’ said Twig softly. ‘So I didn't imagine it.’ Looking lost and bewildered, he turned to Cowlquape. ‘And yet…’ He frowned with concentration. ‘Oh, why can't I remember … ?’ He scratched his head slowly. ‘It's as if I've been in a dream. I remember my crew, the voyage, entering the weather vortex and then … Nothing!’ He paused. ‘Until just now, when you obviously stopped me from throwing myself to my destruction.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you. What did you say your name
It was even darker outside than it had been inside and, away from the noise of the refectory, far more forbidding. Purple-edged black clouds twisted and swirled overhead like bubbling wood-tar. The wind was sulphurous. And even though he could not know how the sense-sifters were glowing orange, Cowlquape felt an unfamiliar tumult of emotions within him: anger, exultation, and a nerve-tingling fear as chaotic and swirling as the weather around him.
Chicker-chacker-cheeeesh. Crimson lightning darted this way and that across the sky, and the thunder which followed crashed all round the floating city, shaking it to its very core.
Head spinning, Cowlquape set off for the refuge of the Great Library He kept to the shadows as he hurried silently across the greasy tiles. Around a corner, he halted. He looked back and forth. The coast was clear. From the guard turret to his right to the landing-stage far away on his left, the place was deserted.
As he set off again the sky lit up for a second time, and Cowlquape caught a sign of movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun round and squinted into the dim light. There was the young sub-professor. He was standing atop the stone balustrade of the landing-stage, legs apart, head up, arms outstretched and palms raised. All round him, the lightning cracked and splintered.
‘Twig!’ Cowlquape bellowed. He didn't know whether it was his own inner confusion or simply the madness of the weather that made him call out the professor's name. Could he really be going to jump? ‘Stop! Stop!’
His urgent cries were drowned out by a second rumble of thunder. Twig tottered on the edge of the balustrade, flapping his arms.
‘ NO !’ Cowlquape yelled. He raced forwards, heart in his mouth, and seized the hem of Twig's waistcoat. ‘Ouch!’ he cried, as the hammelhorn fur turned instantly to sharp needles which pierced his skin. Droplets of blood welled up on his fingertips.
The lightning flashed again. The thunder rolled. And, as the wind grew stronger, a light sparkling rain began to shower down. All over Sanctaphrax, the mood changed to elation. Cheers echoed from the refectory. Cowlquape, gripped by a sudden feeling of intoxicating strength, grasped Twig's arm and pulled him off the balustrade. Twig fell to the ground.
‘Forgive me, Professor,’ Cowlquape whispered. ‘I thought you were going to jump.’
Twig stumbled to his feet. ‘You spoke?’ he said.
Cowlquape's jaw dropped. ‘You spoke!’ he said. ‘They said you were dumb …’
Twig frowned and touched his lips with his fingers. ‘I did,’ he whispered thoughtfully. He looked round, as if seeing for the first time where he was. ‘But… what am I doing here?’ he said. ‘And who are you?’
‘Cowlquape, Professor,’ came the reply. ‘Junior sub-acolyte, if it pleases you.’
‘Oh, it pleases me well enough,’ said Twig, amused by the young lad's formality. Then he frowned. ‘Did you say… Professor?’
‘I did,’ said Cowlquape, ‘although Sub-Professor would have been more accurate. You are the new Sub-Professor of Light - at least, if the rumours are to be believed.’
A look of bemusement passed over Twig's face. ‘This must be the Professor of Darkness's doing,’ he said.
‘He was the one who brought you to Sanctaphrax,’ said Cowlquape. ‘From the Stone Gardens, they say. He …’
‘The Stone Gardens,’ said Twig softly. ‘So I didn't imagine it.’ Looking lost and bewildered, he turned to Cowlquape. ‘And yet…’ He frowned with concentration. ‘Oh, why can't I remember … ?’ He scratched his head slowly. ‘It's as if I've been in a dream. I remember my crew, the voyage, entering the weather vortex and then … Nothing!’ He paused. ‘Until just now, when you obviously stopped me from throwing myself to my destruction.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you. What did you say your name
Similar Books
