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

Rook’s gaze.
    ‘He’s not the only one,’ said Stob.
    Sure enough, other figures were emerging from the shadowy gloom, as if drawn by the gnokgoblins’ commotion. Rook shuddered. There were ragged, half-deadtrogs, skeletal leaguesmen, several desperate-looking goblins, some with missing limbs and many bearing terrible wounds. They stood all round them; hollow-eyed, staring, silent.
    The gnokgoblins saw the ghostly crowd they had attracted and fell still. The two groups watched each other in absolute silence; the living and the undead.
    Despite the clammy heat, Rook felt icy sweat run over his face, into his eyes, down his back. ‘This is a dreadful place,’ he whispered.
    Suddenly, there came the sound of furious screeching and squawking, and a squadron of shryke guards appeared through the gloom, glittering dust flying in their wake. Just as suddenly, the ghostly apparitions melted back into the woods.
    ‘What’s going on?’ squawked the shrykes’ leader, an imposing female with bright yellow plumage and a purple crest. ‘Why is no-one moving?’
    Everybody started talking at once.
    ‘Silence!’ roared the shryke, the feathers round her neck ruffling ominously. ‘Twilight-crazy, the lot of you!’ She turned to her second-in-command. ‘Clear this featherless vermin off my road, Magclaw, and get the rest moving!’
    ‘You heard what Sister Featherslash said!’ rasped Magclaw, with a click of her bone-flail. ‘Cut them loose! Now!’
    The gnokgoblins began wailing, and Rook flinched as the shrykes began slashing at the snarled ropes with their razor-sharp scythes. The ropes fell to the ground.The shrykes chased the weeping goblins into the woods.
    ‘Get moving, the rest of you!’ ordered Sister Featherslash. ‘I’m sure you’ve all got important business in the beautiful Eastern Roost!’ She cackled unpleasantly. ‘If you ever get there.’
    Magda, Stob and Rook set off quickly.
    ‘I don’t care what the Eastern Roost is like, it can’t be worse than this,’ said Magda. ‘Can it?’
    ‘Just keep moving,’ said Stob. ‘And try not to think about it.’
    Rook looked back over his shoulder. In the eerie, dappled light, the elderly gnokgoblin was sitting on a tree-root, waving his arms and protesting loudly to thin air.

ut of the swirling twilight loomed a lufwood tree, so enormous that a gateway had been tunnelled through the middle of its vast trunk. It straddled the road, separating the Twilight Woods from the Eastern Roost beyond. High up, above the arched entrance, the cable to which the leash-ropes were attached came to an end.
    Two shryke guards stood sentry, one on either side of the gateway. ‘Untie your ropes!’ one of them commanded harshly as Magda, Stob and Rook approached.
    They quickly did as they were told. Already, the cloddertrogs were arriving behind them.
    ‘Proceed by the Lower Levels to the Central Market!’ barked the other guard. ‘The upper roosts are for shrykes only’ Her yellow eyes glinted menacingly. ‘You have been warned!’
    Rook’s head was beginning to clear as the strange,penetrating atmosphere of the Twilight Woods released its grip. He squinted into the gloom beyond the Lufwood Gate.
    The first thing that struck him was the smell. Beneath the roasting pinecoffee and sizzling tilder sausages, beneath the odours and scents, of leatherware, incense and the greasy smell of oil lamps, there was another smell. A rank and rancid smell. A smell that, as the wind stirred, grew more pungent, then less – but never faded completely.
    Rook shivered.
    ‘We’re going to be fine,’ Magda whispered, and squeezed his hand reassuringly. ‘If we all stick together. We must head for the Central Market.’
    Rook nodded. It wasn’t only his sense of smell which had become so acute. After the sensory deprivation and confusion of the Twilight Woods, his senses were blazing. The air felt greasy, dirty. He could taste it in his mouth. His ears heard every screech, every