Stormchaser by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell Read Free Book Online

she look up. You worm-ridden lump of hammelhorn dung, she thought bitterly.
    ‘Now, now,’ said Forficule gently, his huge bat-like ears twitching. Mother Horsefeather swivelled her head round and glared furiously at the nightwaif.
    ‘ Heard that, did you?’ she snapped.
    ‘I hear everything,’ Forficule replied. ‘As you well know. Every word, every whisper, every thought – for my sins.’
    Mother Horsefeather snorted. The feathers around her neck were standing on end, her yellow eyes glinted. ‘Well he is!’ she said sourly, and nodded towards the table of leaguesmen. ‘They all are. With their fine clothes, big tips and fancy manners. Hammelhorn dung, the lot of them!’
    Forficule tutted sympathetically. He understood his employer's loathing of the leaguesmen. Because of their alliance with Vilnix Pompolnius – building chains in return for phraxdust – their dominance in the drinking-water market had left them unassailably powerful. If it wasn’t for her black-market dealings with the sky pirates, Mother Horsefeather would have gone under long ago.
    ‘Ah, the sky pirates,’ Forficule sighed. ‘Those intrepidskyfaring brigands who will kow-tow to no-one. Where would we be without them?’
    ‘Where indeed?’ Mother Horsefeather nodded, her neck feathers finally lying down smooth. ‘Speaking of which, Cloud Wolf and his crew should be back soon. I hope to goodness he's had as profitable a trip as he led me to believe. Otherwise…’ The conversation she’d had with the Professor of Light abruptly came back to her, and an idea appeared, as if from nowhere. Her eyes twinkled. ‘Unless…’
    Forficule, who had been listening in to her thoughts, chuckled. ‘Heads you win, tails he loses, eh?’

    Before she had a chance to reply, the Bloodoak tavern suddenly rocked with the force of a nearby explosion. Forficule clutched at his ears and squealed with pain.
    ‘Lawks-a-mussy!’ Mother Horsefeather cried out, and the ruff of feathers shot back upwards. ‘That sounded close!’ As the dust settled, Forficule removed his hands, and shook his head from side to side. His massive ears fluttered like two enormous moths.
    ‘Two more poor fools trying to grind their own phraxdust,’ he said sadly. He cocked his head to one side and listened intently. ‘The dead one is Tendon, a slaughterer.’
    ‘I remember him,’ said Mother Horsefeather. ‘Often in here, he is – was. Always stank of leather.’
    Forficule nodded. ‘The survivor's name is Slitch,’ he said, and shuddered. ‘Ooh, a horrible piece of work, he is. He’d tried mixing stormphrax with deadwood dust and got Tendon to do his dirty work for him.’
    Mother Horsefeather frowned. ‘Everyone is so desperate to get hold of phraxdust,’ she said. Her yellow eyes sparkled malevolently. ‘If anyone's to blame for what happened,’ she added, nodding her beak towards the table of rowdy leaguesmen, ‘it's them! Oh, what I wouldn’t give to wipe that smug expression off their loathsome faces once and for all!’

• CHAPTER FOUR •
T HE C ARGO OF I RONWOOD
    I t was late afternoon and, having successfully concluded a deal with some woodtrolls for a massive consignment of ironwood, the crew of the Stormchaser were heading back to Undertown. The atmosphere on board the sky pirate ship was buoyant, and Twig – the hero of the hour – was feeling particularly pleased with himself.
    Although he hadn’t personally known any of the woodtrolls they’d encountered, the fact that he’d been brought up in a woodtroll village meant that Twig was familiar with their ways. He knew when their nos meant yes . He knew when to haggle and, more importantly, when to stop – for if a woodtroll is offered too little for his wood, then he will take offence and refuse to sell no matter what. When Twig saw the tell-tale signs in their faces – a pursing of the lips and twitching of theirrubbery noses – he had nodded towards his father. The deal was as good as