The Winter Knights (39 page)

‘And what studies might they be?’ said the Professor of Light scornfully. ‘Hiding in the Gantry Tower? Or skulking in the wood-store of the Hall of Storm Cloud?’

The squire shot the professor a murderous look and turned imploringly to the Professor of Darkness.

‘I've told you all I know,’ he pleaded. ‘Can't I go now?’

‘Not just yet,’ rumbled the Professor of Darkness, placing a hand on the squire's shoulder and leading him out of the Lecture Dome. The professor smiled kindly. ‘There
is
just one other little matter you can help us with.’

Nothing unnerved Vilnix Pompolnius as a rule, and yet as he followed the Professors of Light and Darkness through Sanctaphrax to the School of Light and Darkness, the former knife-grinder felt decidedly ill at ease. He passed through the imposing doorway, with its heavy studded leadwood doors; he climbed the sweeping marble staircase; he passed along the ornately decorated corridors – his heart racing a little faster with each step he took.

Suddenly, he was standing before the twin doors – one black and one white – of the professors’ studies. The last time he'd been there was that early evening, all those months ago, when the Professor of Darkness had first confirmed that he was to sponsor him through the Knights Academy. How long ago that now seemed …

Then, of course, it hadn't just been him waiting to see the eminent professors. No, that snivelling son of a sky pirate, Quintinius Verginix, had also been present.

Vilnix felt a cold fury rising up and catching in his throat.

What had gone wrong with his plan? How had Quint and that stupid, spoilt girl not fallen to their deaths from the Loftus Observatory? It was a mystery. True, the two of them did seem to be keeping their mouths shut – but how long would that last? And meanwhile, Vilnix was getting weary of sleeping in the woodstore and hiding in the Gantry Tower. No, it couldn't go on. He'd have to fix them for good next time …

‘Come in, Vilnix,’ the Professor of Darkness said to him, as he pushed the black door open and entered the huge study on the other side.

It took a moment for Vilnix's eyes to grow accustomed to the light – or rather the lack of it – inside the great chamber. For, just as the Professor of Light's study was blindingly bright, ablaze with lanterns, lamps and blazing torches which were reflected back on themselves a thousand times in the mirrors which lined the walls, so the Professor of Darkness's study was the opposite. It was dark and sombre, with heavy blackout curtains at the windows and only the luminescent moonstone-chandelier throwing out any light.

Vilnix had never actually set foot in the study before, even when he'd returned the telescope over a year earlier. Now, he wasn't sure he was happy with this honour. Peering round uncertainly, his pupils slowly dilating, he was slowly able to take in his surroundings. He saw the shelves lining the walls, stacked with books. He saw cabinets filled with flasks and bottles, brass implements and glass instruments, and complicated multi-armed contraptions set with scales, dials, lenses and incandescent bulbs. And, over by a tall statue of an ancient scholar, a long padded sofa upon which Quint and Maris were sitting, their eyes fixed firmly on Vilnix.

‘You can't prove a thing!’ Vilnix blurted out, backing towards the door – only to find his way blocked by the Professor of Light. ‘I was just a messenger for those barkscrolls. A masked squire – with goggles and scarf – he gave them to me and told me to deliver them to her …’ he babbled, his voice rising to a guilty squeak. ‘How was
I
to know they were forged? Probably one of those snooty Sanctaphrax-born and bred friends of his playing a trick on both of us …’

He turned to the Professor of Darkness imploringly   —  aware, all the while, of Quint and Maris's eyes boring into him.

‘You've got to believe me! I'm innocent! That gantry on the Loftus Observatory is a death trap – could have collapsed at any moment. Frost damage … Yes, that's what it probably was. Frost damage.’

He ground to a halt, his cheeks blazing red and sweat running down his back.

The Professor of Darkness fixed him with an unblinking gaze, his face betraying no emotion. He shook his head.

‘Oh, Vilnix, Vilnix,’ he said softly.

Meanwhile the Professor of Light had crossed the room towards the window. ‘Come out, Gleet,’ he said.

There was the sound of shuffling from behind the heavy blackout curtain, which was abruptly pulled to one side to reveal a bony individual with a hooked nose and pale yellow eyes.

Vilnix stared at the forger from the viaduct School of Colour and Light Studies. ‘I've never seen this academic in my life!’ he protested desperately.

‘But he has seen
you
, my dear Vilnix,’ said the Professor of Darkness gently.

The painter smiled and nodded.

‘We can't prove that you intercepted the barkscroll correspondence between Maris and Quint here,’ said the Professor of Light, nodding towards the two of them sitting silently watching from the sofa. ‘We can't prove that you tricked Quint into giving you a sample of his handwriting, which you took to Ferule Gleet here, for the purposes of forging barkscrolls to Maris.’

Vilnix stared at the Professor of Light, his face contorted into a mask of leering hatred.

‘We can't prove that you used these forged barkscrolls to obtain gold coins from Maris. Nor that, when certain to be unmasked, you tampered with the gantry in order to send both Maris and Quint hurtling to their deaths, thus covering up your crimes …’

‘Then what
can
you prove?’ spat Vilnix, glancing wildly at the faces around the room.

‘You've been a great help, my dear Vilnix,’ continued the Professor of Light. ‘Without your involvement, which we can't prove, of course, Quint would never have discovered that Ferule Gleet also forged the document granting the leaguesman Heft Vespius and his wife, Dacia, guardianship of Maris – a crime for which Heft has been made to pay with all the gold he possesses by my treasury guard.’ The Professor of Light permitted himself a little smile.

‘Why should I care?’ snarled Vilnix, trying not to look at Quint or Maris.

‘Why, indeed?’ said the professor sarcastically. ‘Why, indeed? But you
will
care, I think, that Quint also discovered that Ferule Gleet had some other interesting information.’

The professor motioned for the painter to speak. Ferule looked at Vilnix with his pale yellow eyes.

‘I've seen you before, young master, indeed I have,’ he rasped. ‘Not wrapped up in scarf and snow-goggles and disguising your voice in my studio. Oh no. But bold as brass, on another occasion entirely, coming out of the viaduct School of Potions and Poisons just opposite, and glancing up at the stuffed vulpoon sign with an evil little sneer on your face as you pocketed a vial of woodwasp eggs.’

Vilnix's jaw dropped open, but no sound came out. For a moment, there was complete silence, before the Professor of Light spoke.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘we can't prove that those were the same woodwasp eggs that ended up in our poor, late Hall Master of High Cloud's stomach.’

A smile slowly crept across Vilnix's face. So that was it? That was the best they could do? He had got away with it after all. Of course, he always knew he would. He was just too clever; too clever for the lot of them.

‘Well, if you'll excuse me,’ he said, grinning, ‘I'll just be running along back to the Knights Academy.’

‘I'm afraid not,’ said the Professor of Darkness, taking Vilnix by the arm and escorting him towards the door. ‘You showed such great promise, Vilnix, when I first met you – and yet you have let me and yourself down. I'm afraid, as twin Most High Academes, we have no choice but to expel you from the academy.’

‘On what grounds?’ squeaked Vilnix, his voice shrill and high-pitched. ‘The Professor of Light says you can't prove a thing …’

‘You were identified coming out of the School of Potions and Poisons.’

‘So?’ protested Vilnix.

The professor leaned over the young squire and spoke softly and clearly, as if to a small child.

‘It is forbidden for any but the senior academics to set foot in that school, for obvious reasons. Everyone in Sanctaphrax knows that.’

‘Sanctaphrax born and bred, that is,’ the Professor of Light added lightly.

‘For a junior academic – a squire, no less – to do so is rank insubordination of the most serious kind.’

‘I … I …’ stammered Vilnix.

‘It's true, I'm afraid,’ said the Professor Darkness, opening the door for Vilnix. ‘Gather your things and leave the Knights Academy tonight. I've arranged a place in the College of Rain, in the Faculty of Raintasters – a lowly, menial existence after what you've been used to here, but better than knife-grinding. Goodbye, Vilnix. I'm so very sorry.’

The Professor of Darkness shook his head sadly as he propelled Vilnix through the door, and closed it behind him.

Outside, the youth straightened up, the expression of bewilderment and shock on his face turning to dark loathing.

‘Insubordination,’ he hissed. ‘I'll get even with you, Quintinius Verginix – and you, you two pathetic buffoons – if it's the last thing I do.’

Quint and Maris emerged from the School of Light and Darkness and gazed up at the evening sky.

‘The Professor of Darkness was right!’ Quint said, turning to Maris excitedly. ‘It
is
the
Galerider
!’

‘He's a sky-scholar,’ Maris laughed. ‘He doesn't miss much with that telescope of his. It's what's right under his nose, like scheming knife-grinders, that he can't spot.’

Above them, the sky pirate ship cast a huge shadow on the ground below, all but blotting out the last remnants of the day as it approached one of the great mooring-rings set into the upper walls of the school. Moments later, Wind Jackal appeared at the portside balustrade.

‘Quint, lad!’ he shouted down. A long rope-ladder descended, uncurling as it dropped, and dangled in front of them. ‘I got your message, I was on my way back to fetch you when the ratbird found me. Climb aboard, we haven't a moment to lose!’

‘But Father, what about the Knights Academy? My studies? And Maris?’ Quint called up in confusion as he gripped the coiling rope-ladder and set foot on the first rung.

‘I'll tell you everything when you get on board,’ said Wind Jackal.

‘Not without Maris,’ Quint persisted, as she grabbed him by the arm.

‘The daughter of my oldest friend?’ Wind Jackal called back. ‘I wouldn't dream of leaving her behind. Now hurry!’

They climbed the swaying rope-ladder and, almost the moment their feet touched the deck, the
Galerider
leaped into the air and sped off across the darkening sky. Beside him, Quint felt Maris grab his arm and tighten her grip.

‘I'm staying with you. I won't be left behind. Not this time,’ she said fiercely. ‘Not ever!’

EPILOGUE

F
ar out in the Mire, as the last rays of the setting sun fanned out across the bleached mud-flats, the broken body of a sky ship – a stormchaser – cast long, dark shadows back over the boggy ground. The vessel had clearly crash-landed, and badly. Its mast was broken, the hull smashed in on one side, while the flight-rock had broken in two. One half was still in the shattered cradle at the centre of the decks, the other some way off, half-buried in the sucking mud.