The Ice Gate of Spyre

  Epigraph

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  1. Land Ho!

  2. Bats!

  3. The Dark Lotus

  4. Back to Normal

  5. The Stone Windgalleon

  6. Wingnut Flange

  7. Lunchtime!

  8. Too Late!

  9. The Ice Gate

  10. The Quivering Hoof

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PROLOGUE

  The legends say that once—long, long ago—there was a single round world, like a ball floating in space, and that it was ruled over by six wise badgers. The legends also tell of a tremendous explosion, an explosion so huge that it shattered the round world into a thousand fragments, a vast archipelago of islands adrift in the sky. As time passed, the survivors of the explosion thrived and prospered and gave their scattered island homes a name—and that name was the Sundered Lands.

  That’s what the legends say.

  But who believes in legends nowadays?

  Well … Esmeralda Lightfoot, the Princess in Darkness, does, for one. According to Esmeralda, the truth of the ancient legends was revealed to her in a reading of the magical and ancient Badger Blocks—a set of prophetic wooden tokens from the old times. And her companions are beginning to believe it as well: reluctant hero Trundle Boldoak, lighthearted minstrel Jack Nimble, and the loopy ex-pirate Ishmael March have all joined in the quest, and they’ve already found three of the crowns.

  But there is a problem. Someone else is also hunting for the six crowns. His name is Captain Grizzletusk, and he’s the meanest, bloodthirstiest, wickedest pirate ever to sail the skies of the Sundered Lands. And just to make matters even worse, Grizzletusk and his murderous pirate band are being helped by none other than Millie Rose Thorne—Esmeralda’s very own aunty!

  For the moment, our heroes have outrun their pursuers—but if they think their problems are over, they’re about to find out they have another think coming!

  “Can I wear the crown again yet?” asked Ishmael, twisting his ears between his paws and looking at his three companions with big, mournful eyes.

  “No,” Esmeralda replied, for the tenth time. “The Crown of Fire is staying safe and sound in its biscuit tin.”

  Trundle gazed sympathetically at the loony ship’s cook. Ishmael seemed so sad, sitting there forlornly in the narrow prow of the Thief in the Night.

  “Never you mind, old pal,” said Jack, perching on the skyboat’s rail at Ishmael’s side and lightly running his bow across the strings of his rebec. “Let me cheer you up with a merry ditty.”

  “Rattle me bones and strain me gravy,” Ishmael sighed, his long head between his paws. “Even an oyster has his wheelbarrow, and that’s a fact!”

  Trundle did feel sorry for the poor old chap. It wasn’t so very long ago that the loopy hare had been strutting around in the ruins of the phoenix nest, the beautiful fiery crown jammed onto his head, spouting out clues for the next stage of their quest.

  “This clue you have found in the phoenix bird’s fire:

  You must seek for the Crown of Ice in the land of Spyre!”

  Trundle had never heard of Spyre, but Jack had a pretty good idea of how to get there. The carefree musician had been everywhere and seen everything. Sometimes Trundle felt quite inadequate, remembering his quiet, dull little life on the windswept flats of Shiverstones, with its acres and acres of dismal, depressing cabbages. Although his life had hardly lacked for excitement since he had met up with Esmeralda!

  “Here’s a little song I’ve written about our adventures,” said Jack as he stroked his bow across a block of rosin so it would play smoothly. “I call it ‘A Quester’s Life.’ I hope you like it.” He cleared his throat, attacked the strings with the bow, and began to sing.

  “Oh, a quester’s life is a jolly life, although it may be short.

  We’re on the run; it’s lots of fun, with a foe in every port.

  Even dear old Aunt Millie makes our life quite fraught.

  And we’ll hang on high ’neath the starry sky, if by pirates we are caught!

  Ohhhhh, we’ll hang on high and must say goodbye, if by pirates we are caught!”

  “I’m sorry,” interrupted Trundle. “Is that supposed to cheer us up? Because if it is, then you’ve seriously misjudged your audience.”

  Jack frowned at him, his bow falling still. “Everyone’s a critic these days.” He sighed.

  Trundle got up and made his way to the stern of the skyboat, where Esmeralda was busy at the tiller. It was a bonny, breezy day, and the skies of the Sundered Lands were full of fluffy white clouds. Dotted above and below and behind and in front were scores of distant floating islands. Some were mountainous, others flat and barren; some sported large towns and cities, shining like jewels; others were all farmland and rolling hills, or deep forests and tumbling silvery waterfalls.

  Occasionally a windship would pass close by, and Trundle would wave at the sailors in the rigging—and sometimes they would wave back as they went on their way. At such times, he would shiver with the delight of being out here in the wide worlds, experiencing all the remarkable wonders of the Sundered Lands. And then sometimes he would think of the pirates who were chasing them, and of Esmeralda’s treacherous aunt Millie—and his hand would stray to the hilt of his newfound sword and he would wish he were back home again, with a stout oak door between him and all their troubles.

  “How far to Spyre now?” he asked Esmeralda.

  “A hop and a skip,” she declared. “We’ll be there before nightfall, if the skycharts are accurate.”

  “They have been so far,” Trundle said, leaning over to look at the unrolled chart that was spread out at her feet. “I just wish they could tell us a bit more about the place we’re going to.” He frowned, turning to the great heap of provisions and gear that filled the rear of the skyboat. “There’s a whole bunch of papers and documents in there. Shall I go and see if any of them mention Spyre?”

  “By all means, if it’ll make you happy,” chirruped Esmeralda.

  Trundle smiled. “You’re in a very good mood today.”

  “And why not?” Esmeralda replied. “We’ve seen no sign of Captain Grizzletusk for days on end, we’ve outfoxed my wicked aunty, plus we’ve already found three of the six crowns to boot. I think we can feel pretty proud of ourselves, Trundle, my lad!”

  She had a point. Half the crowns had been discovered. The first two—the Crowns of Crystal and Iron—were now in the ancient city of Widdershins, in the keeping of their friend the Herald Pursuivant, while the third—the Crown of Fire—was safely stowed away in an old biscuit tin under Esmeralda’s seat.

  Yes, all in all, she had good reason to be feeling cheerful. Things were going marvelously well. Trundle wrinkled his forehead. Oh, dear. That was just the kind of thinking that could jinx the whole quest! He cleared his head of overconfident thoughts and busied himself rummaging among their provisions. Surely there would be something useful among all this stuff?

  “Aha!” he crowed, pulling a rolled-up scroll from the pile and brandishing it in the air.

  Written in an ornate style on the outside of the scroll were the words:

  The Ingenious and Instructive Guide For

  Pleasant Relaxings and Spiritual Illuminatings

  on the Pilgrim Island of Spyre

  “What have you found?” asked Jack.

  Trundle sat down and unrolled the scroll. “It’s some kind of guide,” he said. Across the top of the scroll was written the following, in large, decorated letters:

&nbs
p; Spyre! The perfection of pilgrimage destinations—whether your seekings are enlightenment or relaxation or just plain good timings.

  There was something very odd about the way this guide had been written—and it only got stranger as more of the script was revealed.

  Jack came and perched behind Trundle, reading aloud.

  “‘Special Offer,’” he pronounced. “‘Partake of two vouchers for free tea at Rachette Chop-Chop’s Magnanimous Rissole Restaurant (vegetarian option).’” He rubbed his snout with a paw. “Hmm. Sounds like a good deal—we should take them up on that.”

  “Take a look ahead,” came Esmeralda’s excited voice from the stern. “Spyre ho, my hearties!”

  Trundle and Jack lifted their heads from the scroll.

  “Lawks!” exclaimed Jack, his eyes bulging.

  “Crikey!” gasped Trundle, openmouthed.

  “Ahoy, cap’n, there be giblets in the wind!” warbled Ishmael, his ears knotting and unknotting themselves rapidly.

  They had good reason to be astonished.

  Spyre was a very astonishing island.

  At first glance, and in the distance, it looked to Trundle like a great, elongated teardrop hanging in the sky, green at the base and sparkling white at the point. Fascinated and thrilled, he snatched up the skyboat’s telescope and applied it to his eye.

  “According to this guide, there are thick, impenetrable jungles and slimy swamps at the bottom of Spyre,” said Jack. “We’ll want to steer clear of that region.”

  “Yes. I see them!” Trundle roved the telescope up the curiously shaped island. There was more greenery above the jungles and swamps, but it looked neater—more like cultivated fields. And then came something truly odd: Some kind of barrier had been built above the green fields, circling the island like the brim of a hat.

  Above that, Trundle saw a whole mass of buildings—a thriving town, by the look of it. On terraces above the town were the coral-colored walls and roofs of what he took to be a sprawling castle. And then, far above both town and castle, towered the peaks and pinnacles and crests of a huge, snow-covered mountain.

  “Wow,” Trundle said. “Amazing!”

  “Hey, Ishmael, take over the tiller, there’s a good fellow,” called Esmeralda. “I want to take a look at that guide.”

  “Sure as ninepins, your ladyshipness,” chortled Ishmael, clambering over the provisions heap and relieving her in the stern. “Trust old Ishmael, he won’t steer ye wrong.”

  “See that you don’t!” warned Esmeralda. She came up behind Trundle and Jack amidships. “Give us a lend of that telescope, Trun,” she said. Trundle handed it over, and for the next few minutes they took turns at getting a close-up view of the rapidly approaching island.

  “So? What else does that guide tell us?” asked Esmeralda.

  The three of them huddled over the guide. The writing was smaller now, and they had to lean in close to read it.

  The Island of Spyre is divided into four regions, the guide informed them. At the bottom is bad place we don’t go—not for pilgrims!

  “Why is it written in such a peculiar way?” Trundle wondered aloud.

  “The population of Spyre comes from all over the Sundered Lands,” Jack explained. “Not everyone speaks the common tongue. There are dozens of different languages in the Sundered Lands—you just haven’t been to any places where they’re spoken.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Trundle, feeling a little ignorant and deciding to be more tolerant of the guide’s strange style.

  Above bad places is the extensive tea plantings of Lowspace, he read, where delicious beverage is grown for drinkings home and abroad. Then pilgrims will see Boardwall, where the pilgrim zone begin. Above this is teeming metropolis of Downtown, and it is here that all pilgrims will moor and find good feedings and beddings and helpful guides in plenty.

  “Ishmael, keep a weather eye out, there’s a good fellow,” Esmeralda called, her eyes still fixed on the scroll.

  “No problems!” Ishmael called back.

  Pilgrims will then be in friendly and hospitable parts of Spyre and ready to take tour to the famous and legendary monastery, where mystical lamas dwell and ruminate on secrets of the world all day and night, mostly.

  “I’ve heard of the lamas of Spyre,” said Jack. “They’re supposed to be totally awesome!”

  The lamas of Spyre are happy to give out words of wisdom and enlightenment, and free Badger Block readings, too, for those pilgrims who have paid for the Special Deluxe Thousand Steps to Radiant Wisdom Tour (tips accepted with much thankings). Tours available for all pockets—from budget trips to all-in extravagants!

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of a deluxe tour,” muttered Trundle. “I bet it’ll be really expensive.”

  “Oh, live a little, Trundle!” said Esmeralda. “We can afford it. Besides, we have to land here to search for the Crown of Ice—so we might as well make the most of it.”

  “My thinking exactly,” agreed Jack. “And look what it says here.” He read aloud. “‘Stairways lead up from the monastery to specially constructed enlightenment platforms, where lucky pilgrims can see the legendary Ice Gate of Spyre. This is the most mystical and wondrous sight in all of Sundered Lands. Enlightenment guaranteed or your money back.’” Jack grinned. “Well, you can’t say fairer than that.”

  “Hey, Ishmael,” called Esmeralda. “How are we doing?”

  “Fine as a ferret,” Ishmael replied cheerfully. “No problems!”

  “You’ll let us know when we get close, won’t you?” called Esmeralda.

  “Sure thing, I will, your nobilitiness!”

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Trundle.

  “We make landfall in Downtown,” Esmeralda said. “We probably have funds enough for the all-in tour, plus a bit left over for emergencies.” She beamed at her two companions. “And then we let the Fates show us the way to the Crown of Ice!”

  “Sounds dandy to me,” said Jack. He tapped the scroll. “But you should cast an eye over this bit.”

  Warnings to all pilgrims, read Trundle and Esmeralda. Downtown is only safe place to land, trust us. Why would we lie to you, honored guest? Swampy jungles full of dangerous beastlies and high snow slopes of mountain is where deadly albino snow snakes live. Even baby snakes are ten foot long and adults can swallow entire windship in one gulp. Very nasty!

  “That’s worth knowing,” said Esmeralda.

  “With our luck, the Crown of Ice is going to be right in the middle of all those snakes.” Trundle sighed.

  “Oh, don’t be such a gloomy Gus,” said Esmeralda. “Hey, Ishmael?” she called over her shoulder. “How’s it going?”

  “Sweet as a swannicle!”

  “Don’t let us get too close before you give me a call,” she warned.

  “Leave it to old Ishmael, he knows a shrimp from a serving hatch, so he does!”

  “So that’s the plan,” Jack said. “Landfall in Downtown, stop off for a tasty meal and a good night’s sleep. Then we take a leisurely stroll up to the monastery—at which point we put our trust in Esmeralda’s Fates to steer us right.” He gave them a toothy grin. “Spiffy! What could possibly go wrong?”

  About half a second after Jack had finished speaking, Trundle got the distinct impression that the whole world was coming to an end.

  Crash! Crunch! Bash! Wallop! Thud!

  He felt himself turning head over heels while his two friends and the entire contents of the Thief in the Night went flying around his ears like shrapnel.

  Smash! Crack! Wham! Whack! Splinter!

  Trundle was vaguely aware of branches and leaves and vines and lianas whizzing past as he was thrown through the air like a rag doll. When at last the chaos and the noise and the mayhem and the spinning around came to a sudden, shuddering halt, he found himself clinging desperately to the branch of a tree with his feet dangling in thin air. Spitting out fragments of leaf, he peered down frantically between his waggling toes.

  He was in the
topmost branches of a very tall tree. Way, way down, he could just about make out the green and swampy-looking ground.

  A muffled voice called out from somewhere above him. It was Ishmael, sounding rather pleased with himself.

  “Land ho!” he announced.

  “Good evening,” said a friendly voice. “How very jolly of you to drop in.”

  Trundle blinked and found himself staring into the upside-down face of a large, smiling bat.

  “Umm …” His brain was spinning like a top inside his skull.

  “We so seldom get visitors,” continued the bat. “Could I persuade you to partake of a nice cup of tea?”

  Trundle took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for his brain to stop revolving. When he opened them again, the cheerful bat was still peering quizzically at him—the right way up now.

  He also noticed other things. Like the fact that the Thief in the Night was wedged in the branches of the tree a few yards above him—upside down, with its mast snapped in two and its sail in shreds and its propeller broken and all their provisions gone. A few bits and pieces of their gear hung like peculiar fruit in the tree, but Trundle presumed that the rest lay smashed and splattered way down on the jungle floor.

  A short way off, Esmeralda was jammed in a fork between two branches, struggling to free herself. Jack was clinging to the remains of the mast, his precious rebec clutched in one hand. Their steersman had gotten himself stuck feet upward in a tangle of branches with a flour sack over his head.

  The only comforting thing Trundle noticed was that the biscuit tin with the Crown of Fire in it was trapped under the stern seat—so at least that had survived the wreck!

  “Ups-a-daisy,” chortled the bat, helping Trundle down to the relative safety of a wide branch. “That was quite a tumble you folk took. Trainee steersman, was it?”

  “Something like that,” gasped Trundle, straightening his clothes and making sure his sword was all right.

  Several other bats were climbing through the tree, helping Esmeralda and Jack and Ishmael out of their precarious positions and dusting them off. Once everyone was the right way up and feeling a little better, and the box with the crown in it had been retrieved, Esmeralda spent quite a while telling Ishmael exactly what she thought of him. Trundle was amazed that anyone could yell for so long without taking a breath. And all the while, Ishmael was grinning and nodding enthusiastically and saying things like “That’s the way! You tell it like it is, ma’am! Don’t you hold back!” until Trundle was sure he saw steam coming out of Esmeralda’s ears.