The Curse of the Gloamglozer by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell Page A

as he slipped the knots of the tolley-rope. ‘ We can do it,’ he added, as he used the rope to lash the professor into his seat – just in case. Linius Pallitax neither struggled nor spoke. ‘That's it,’ said Quint. ‘Now, if I can just untie us and at the same time …’
    All at once, the low-sky cage gave a violent lurch as it tried to soar upwards. The professor clung on tightly. Quint spun round and lowered the entire fore-set of levers with a sweep of his arm. It was a brutal way to treat the delicate balancing mechanism – but it worked. Instead of rising, the cage fell sharply as it swung back away from the rock face. A flurry of snow and a clatter of ice tumbled down around them.
    Quint wanted to yell for joy, but he fought to remain calm. He had to concentrate. With the winding-winch now free, he seized the pulley-wheel and turned it and turned it, as fast as he could. The cage rose. The rock receded. The landing-stage drew closer…
    If Quint had been too cold before, now he was too hot. However, he waited until he had untied the professor and secured the low-sky cage to its moorings before wiping the sweat from his eyes.
    ‘Come on, then, Professor,’ he said, helping Linius from the cage and onto the relatively solid ground of Sanctaphrax. He pushed the traumatized professor's almost rigid arm over his own shoulder and supported his weight, and the pair of them made their way back along the wooden boards of the landing-stage. ‘Not far to go,’ Quint whispered. ‘Soon be there.’
    But what could possibly have happened down there in the stonecomb to leave the professor in such a terrible state?
    Quint wasn't the only one wondering what was wrong with Linius Pallitax, the Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax. For, as the pair of them stumbled past,Bagswill once again stepped out of the shadows. ‘The Most High Academe in obvious distress,’ he murmured, and tied a knot in the remembering-rope. ‘Pale. Dazed. Assisted by apprentice…’
    He tied another knot, and looked up to see Linius leaning heavily against the young apprentice. A smile spread across his heavy features.
    ‘Investigate apprentice!’

· CHAPTER SEVEN ·
    THE FOUNTAIN
HOUSE
    I n the event, neither Maris nor Welma appeared when Quint and the professor made it back to the Palace of Shadows. Only Tweezel – whose acute hearing woke him up the moment they stepped into the hallway – came down to greet them.
    ‘Oh, master,’ he trilled when he clapped eyes on Linius. His antennae waved wildly. ‘You look dreadful! What in Sky's name has happened to you this time?’
    Quint frowned. ‘You mean this has happened before?’ ‘I've never seen him looking this bad,’ said Tweezel. ‘But, yes.’ He nodded his huge, angular head. ‘Yes, he has returned from his night-time jaunts in a sorry state on more than one occasion.’ He tutted. ‘Accursed sky cages,’ he complained. ‘He's going to kill himself one of these nights. I keep telling him to take a low-cage puller with him but he won't listen…’
    Quint said nothing. Perhaps it was better if Tweezelthought that the professor's condition was in some way connected to the sky cage. It spared him all sorts of awkward questions, like why an apprentice had allowed his professor to go into the stonecomb, of all places, on his own – and then stood for hours in the freezing night without going in to look for him.
    The spindlebug tutted sympathetically as he inspected the professor's trembling body. ‘Curious,’ he observed, and turned back to Quint. ‘What do you know about this?’
    ‘Nothing,’ said Quint, truthfully enough. ‘I…’
    Linius stirred. ‘Over,’ he murmured. ‘And it's all my fault…’
    ‘Aye, well,’ said Tweezel, turning to the professor. ‘I'll have to get one of my most efficacious cordials out of the larder. Hyleberry perhaps. Or healwort … And then get him to bed. He looks totally exhausted.’ The spindle-bug's eyes narrowed. ‘As do you,