Midnight Over Sanctaphrax by Paul Stewart & Chris Riddell

Author:Paul Stewart & Chris Riddell [Stewart, Paul & Riddell, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ages 10 and up
ISBN: 9780307522610
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2001-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

• CHAPTER THIRTEEN •

MUTINY

Twig stared out of the porthole as the Skyraider lurched and swayed onwards, tacking against the wind in the east-north-easterly direction the gruesome sign had pointed them in. A breeze got up. The moon sank low in the sky, sparkling on the forest canopy as the wind rippled its leafy surface. There was no sight of the slave market.

All round him, he could hear the sounds of the sky ship in flight. The whispering of the sails. The rhythmical tapping of the tolley-ropes. The creaking boards. The whistling rigging. The squeak and scurry of the rat-birds, deep down in the bowels of the ship. And something else … A deep, sonorous sound …

‘Listen,’ he said, turning away from the porthole.

Cowlquape looked up from his hammock. ‘What?’

‘That noise.’

‘What noise?’

Twig motioned Cowlquape to be silent. He crouched down on the floor and placed his ear against the dark varnished wood. His face clouded with sorrow. ‘That noise,’ he said.

Cowlquape rolled off the hammock and joined Twig on the floor. As his ear touched the wooden boards, the sounds became clearer. Groaning. Howling. Hopeless wailing.

‘The cargo?’ Cowlquape whispered.

‘The cargo,’ said Twig. ‘The mobgnomes, the flat-head goblins, the cloddertrogs … the sound of misery and despair - the sound of slavery. Thank Sky we are forewarned and know what the captain is planning …’

His words were shattered by a bare-knuckled rapping at the door.

‘Quick,’ said Twig. ‘Into your hammock. Pretend to be asleep.’

A moment later, Twig and Cowlquape were curled up in their hammocks, eyes shut and mouths open, snoring softly. The rapping at the door came a second time.

‘We're asleep, you idiots,’ Cowlquape muttered under his breath. ‘Just come in.’

‘Sshhh!’ Twig hissed.

The door-handle squeaked as it was slowly turned. The door creaked open. Twig rolled over with a grunt and continued snoring, though he sneaked a peek into the cabin from the corner of one eye.

Two heads peered round the cabin door. One was Teasel's. The other belonged to an individual Twig had not seen before: a burly cloddertrog. The pair of them were frozen to the spot, anxiously watching to see if Twig was about to wake up. He obliged them with a snoozy murmur, and settled back down.

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