Edge Chronicles 7: Freeglader by Paul Stewart;Chris Riddell

Author:Paul Stewart;Chris Riddell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 038575082X
Publisher: David Fickling Books
Published: 2004-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

‘As the right-hand waif to Vox Verlix, the most brilliant mind in old Undertown, I had access to his private chambers. When I sent word to you that I was coming, I promised I'd bring something special with me.’

‘Indeed you did. But just how special?’ said Hemuel Spume, his eyes glinting.

‘This,’ said Amberfuce with a little chuckle, ‘is one of Vox Verlix's blueprints. Everyone knows the Sanctaphrax Forest, the Tower of Night, the Great Mire Road…’ He shrugged. ‘Yet they were but a few of his ideas. He worked on others, too. Many others.’ He removed a second blueprint and spread it out over the first; then a third … ‘Catapults, log-launchers, flaming slings … His mind was never still. And this …’ He took a fourth blueprint from the box and spread it out carefully on top of the others. ‘This is the finest of the lot.’

‘So I can see,’ said Hemuel, his eyes glinting wildly as he pawed over the detailed design. ‘Wonderful! Wonderful!’ he breathed.

‘I knew you'd be pleased,’ said Amberfuce.

‘I couldn't be more pleased,’ said Hemuel. ‘And now, in return, I have a little surprise for you.’

‘A surprise?’ said Amberfuce, coughing with excitement. ‘What … sort of … sur …’ The coughing grew worse. ‘Oh, Flambusia!’ he gasped. ‘I need Flambusia!’

From behind them, there came a muffled hammering on the door and the sound of Flambusia's outraged voice, demanding to be let in.

‘You don't need her, believe me,’ said Spume with a smile, as he led the frail ghostwaif over to the far side of the ante-chamber, and opened a second door.

Amberfuce looked through into the room on the other side. His eyes widened, his cheeks coloured – and his cough magically melted away. ‘Hemuel,’ he gasped. ‘Have I died and gone to the Eternal Glen?’

The Foundry Master chuckled as he ushered the waif inside the room, where a score of gabtroll apothecaresses immediately surrounded him, each one bearing kneading-rods, birchwood-twigs, rough flannels and spicy, aromatic massage-oils.

‘I'm putting my own personal attendants at your disposal. Enjoy!’

‘Amby?’ Flambusia wailed bleakly.

The ghostwaif was gently laid out on a raised table.

‘Amby?’

But Amberfuce didn't reply. Doused in oils and ointments, unguents and salves; rubbed, kneaded and stroked, a radiant smile spread across his face. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, then closed.

‘AMBY!’

‘Not now, Flambusia,’ he purred happily, as he submitted to the wonderfully rough, firm hands. ‘Not now.’

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