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

immersed in a pool of warm, golden water which swirled round his body and made him feel oddly buoyant. It poured into his ears, his eyes, his nose, drowning out the grunts and groans of the cloddertrogs and turning the toasted-almond scented air to shimmering liquid. And when he went to speak, it filled his mouth with forgotten tastes of hisearliest childhood, before the slave-takers had stolen his parents away – oak-flake rusks, smoky woodbee honey, delberry linctus …
    There were voices too, calling from the shadowy depths. ‘Come,’ they called, their honeyed tones matching the thick, dappled light. ‘Rook. Rook!’
    Rook trembled. That voice, so familiar … He felt his throat aching with loss, with longing. ‘Mother?’ he said tremulously. ‘Is that you?’
    The woods swallowed up his words. Ahead of him, he was dimly aware of Stob waving his arms and laughing hysterically, and of Magda’s great, gulping sobs. ‘Keep moving,’ he told himself. ‘Keep moving.’
    Rook tried to clear his mind, to ignore the voices and just look ahead – but the Twilight Woods seemed to have a hypnotic hold over him that he could not shake free.
    He found himself looking into the endless expanse of golden forest. The trees, sparkling with a strange sepia dust, creaked and groaned with age as the soft, warm breeze stirred their branches. The air twisted and sighed. Something – or someone – flitted between the shadowy tree-trunks.
    All at once a strange, spectral figure was emerging from the gloom. Rook stared with fascinated horror as it approached the road. Mounted on a prowlgrin, the apparition wore the tarnished antique armour of an ancient Knight Academic. It was as if an illustration in one of the library scrolls had come to life. The gauges and pipes, bolts and levers covering the rusting armour were all there; even in the twilight Rook could makethem out quite clearly. He reached out and tapped Stob on the shoulder.

    ‘Do you see it?’ Rook called. Stob kept on walking and made no reply. Rook hurried after him. ‘A Knight Academic! Stob! Out there in the woods! He’s getting closer!’
    ‘Shut up and keep moving!’ Stob growled back. ‘Or a shryke guard will cut you loose. You heard what they said.’
    ‘He’s right, Rook,’ Magda called back. Her voice was thick from crying. ‘It’ll soon be over if we just keep moving and don’t lose our heads.’
    Rook glanced back; the knight had vanished. He could hear muffled sighs and taunting whispers and, whichever way he looked, he caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye – though when he tried to focus in on it, the movement ceased and he saw nothing.
    Was anything real in the Twilight Woods? he wondered. Or was it inhabited solely by phantasms and ghosts – the spirits of those who had fallen victim to the seductive charms of the dimly lit forest?
    Just then there was a loud crash . One of the gnokgoblins’ handcarts had overturned, sending its cargo of metal pots clattering and clanging across the narrow road. The group came to a halt, twisting round on their leash-ropes as they attempted to right the cart and rescue its spilt contents. Soon they were all hopelessly tangled, and shouting at each other.
    ‘Turn this way, Morkbuff!’ wheezed their elderly leader. ‘You, Pegg! Help him out … No, not like that!’
    Magda, Stob and Rook came to a halt a few strides away. Behind them, the cloddertrogs approached.
    ‘Keep moving!’ they bellowed. ‘We can’t!’ Rook called back. ‘Or we’ll get caught up with that lot.’ He pointed at the tangle of goblins.

    Another handcart crashed over.
    ‘Somebody do something!’ shouted Stob above the din.
    ‘That’s really helpful!’ said Magda. ‘What do you suggest?’
    Around them, the Twilight Woods seemed to be listening. From the shadows, Rook was aware of movement. The Knight Academic reappeared.
    ‘Look,’ he whispered excitedly to the other two. ‘He’s back.’
    They followed