The Last of the Sky Pirates by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell

that the very construction of the road seemed to alter.
    It became narrow beyond the tally-hut, and the balustrades seemed to be closer together. They curved up like the bars of a cage. Above, there were two longcables – one on each side of the road – slung through great hanging hoops and snaking off into the distance.
    The gnokgoblins emerged from the tally-hut with lengths of rope, which they threw over the cable-hooks above their heads. Then they attached both ends to their belts.
    ‘Knot them firmly!’ screeched a shryke guard, looking on. ‘And keep moving, if you know what’s good for you.’
    Alone amongst the creatures of the Edge, shrykes were impervious to the effects of the treacherous forest. Their double eyelids ensured that its seductive visions had no power over them. It was this immunity which had enabled them to build the Great Mire Road, and now meant that any who crossed the Twilight Woods were dependent on the callous and unpredictable bird-creatures for safe passage.
    ‘Next!’ came the rasping voice of a tally-hen from the hut.
    Rook, Stob and Magda got down from the cart and entered the hut. A large speckled tally-hen sat in the dimly lit interior behind an ornately carved lectern. She looked up.
    ‘Three is it?’ she squawked. ‘That’ll be nine gold pieces for the rope and three more for the cart. Hurry up, hurry up! Haven’t got all day …’
    Magda paid and the shryke handed them each a length of rope from a sack hanging from the side of the lectern, and a scrap of barkpaper with a symbol scrawled on it in brown ink.
    ‘For the cart!’ she snapped as Rook took it gingerly from her talons. ‘Next!’
    Outside, a shryke guard met them and snatched the barkpaper from Rook. She examined it with unblinking yellow eyes, handed it back and clicked her bone-flail. A second shryke appeared and climbed up into the driver’s seat. With a vicious snap of the reins, she drove the hammelhorn on. The wagon clattered off along the timbered road and into the Twilight Woods in a cloud of glittering dust.
    ‘Central Market, Holding Pens,’ squawked the guard. ‘It’ll be waiting for you there.’ She jerked her head to one side. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
    Magda stepped forward. She flung her rope up into the air and over the cable-hook. Stob and Rook followed suit. Rook flushed crimson as he fumbled with his leash-rope, making the knots round his belt as tight as possible.

    ‘Tie them firmly!’ commanded the guard. ‘And keep moving.’
    With a deep breath Rook plunged into the rippling twilight after the others. He felt the rope go taut and tug on him. Straining with exertion, he pushed on; the hook, rasping on the cable above, like a leadwood anchor-weight, pulling him back. Every movement was an effort. Every step, an achievement.
    He struggled after the other two. Up ahead, the gnokgoblins laboured with their handcarts, their ropes swaying as they pulled at them. Behind him, Rook could see a small group of cloddertrogs milling round the tally-hut.
    ‘Keep moving!’ screeched the guard behind him. ‘If one stops, you all stop! Any hold-ups and you’ll be cut loose! Remember!’
    Rook pressed resolutely on. Soon his lungs were on fire, his legs ached and he found himself gulping in the thick, humid air as fast as he could. His head was swimming, and everything swayed and swirled in front of his eyes. I can’t keep going! he thought, fear churning in the pit of his stomach.
    Behind him, the cloddertrogs panted and groaned. In front, Stob’s back shimmered, sometimes close, sometimes impossibly far away. Then, just as Rook thought he was going to faint with exhaustion and be trampled on by the following cloddertrogs, the panic and fatigue suddenly seemed to disappear. He felt strength returning to his limbs. The rope seemed less like an anchor and more like a string holding a balloon. A sense of elation began to course through his body.
    It was, Rook thought, like being