Stormchaser by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell

would find him eventually. There would be trouble when he did!
    ‘It’ll all be fine, you’ll see,’ Spleethe's nasal wheedling continued. ‘When the time is right I myself shall reveal your presence to Cloud Wolf. I’ll talk him round. I’ll make him see sense. You just leave it all to me.’
    Twig nodded. Spleethe squeezed Twig's elbow with his hard bony fingers. ‘Come on, then, let's go,’ he said. ‘Before I change my mind.’

    All was not well on board the Stormchaser . The crew stood nervously by while their captain paced up and down the quarterdeck, purple with rage.
    The Professor of Light – freshly kitted out with a pirate longcoat and parawings – had informed the captain that the Great Storm could strike ‘at any minute’. That was several hours ago. Yet the sky ship had still not set sail.
    Cloud Wolf ceased his pacing, seized the side rail and bellowed into the night. ‘ SPLEETHE, YOU MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR A MANGY SKYCUR, WHERE ARE YOU ?’
    ‘At your service, cap’n,’ came a familiar voice.
    Cloud Wolf spun round to see the quartermaster emerging from the aft-hatch. He stared in disbelief. ‘Spleethe!’ he spluttered. ‘You’re here!’
    ‘I thought you called me,’ he said, innocently.
    ‘I’ve been calling you for three hours or more!’ Cloud Wolf raged. ‘Where have you been?’
    ‘With Mugbutt,’ Spleethe replied. ‘A wound to his foot has become infected. Septic and swollen it is. The poor creature was quite delirious.’
    The captain breathed in sharply. It seemed he had found his quartermaster only to lose his finest fighter. Mugbutt was fearless in any battle and had got them out of more scrapes than Cloud Wolf cared to remember.
    ‘How is Mugbutt now?’ he asked.
    ‘I’ve left him sleeping,’ said Spleethe. ‘Sky willing, he will be back to his old self when he wakes.’
    Cloud Wolf nodded. Setting sail for the treacherous Twilight Woods without Mugbutt was a risk. And yet, with the Great Storm imminent, it was a risk he had to take.
    He raised his head. ‘Gather round,’ he called. ‘I have something important to tell you all.’
    The sky pirates listened, open-mouthed, as Cloud Wolf outlined the plans. ‘Stormchasing,’ Tem Barkwater whispered reverently.
    ‘The Twilight Woods,’ Spiker shuddered.
    Cloud Wolf continued. ‘And our quest will be, as it ever was, to retrieve stormphrax for the treasury of Sanctaphrax.’
    ‘Stormphrax!’ Slyvo Spleethe – feigning surprise – exclaimed with the rest.
    ‘Yes, stormphrax,’ said Cloud Wolf. ‘That is why the Professor of Light is travelling with us. He understands its properties. He will ensure we travel safely with our precious cargo.’
    Spleethe frowned. So that was who the newcomer was. If only he’d known before.
    ‘Right then, you scurvy skycurs,’ Cloud Wolf announced. ‘To your posts. We set sail at once.’ While the sky pirates scurried this way and that, Cloud Wolf strode to the helm. ‘Release the tolley-ropes,’ he cried.
    ‘Aye-aye,’ Spiker called back. ‘Tolley-ropes, released.’
    ‘Unhook the grappling-irons!’
    ‘Grappling-irons, unhooked.’
    ‘And weigh anchor.’
    As the heavy anchor was winched up, the Stormchaser leapt from its moorings and up into the sky.

    ‘Come on, my lovely,’ Cloud Wolf whispered to his sky ship as it bucked and lurched, responding to the lightest touch of the weight and sail levers. ‘My, but you’re frisky once more. Just like you were when you were first built. Forgive me for all the times I used you as a common tugship. I had no choice. But now, my wonderful chaser of storms, your time has come.’
    As the dawn broke – and keeping both Tem Barkwater and Stope Boltjaw happy – the Stormchaser sailed majestically out of Undertown, unchecked. Wispy wings of pink and orange fanned out across the morning side of the sky. A moment later, the sun appeared above the horizon on the starboard side. It rose slowly, bright red and