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eyebrow arched high.
    Beside him, the bird-creature clucked with amusement.
    ‘What’s it to be, then?’ said Glynte. He picked up his quill and dipped it in the ink-pot before him.
    ‘I’ve decided to take you up on the offer of the sky barge,’ said Thaw Daggerslash. ‘And a crew of one … It sounds exactly what I need just now.’

• CHAPTER THREE •
TURBOT SMEAL
    The rafters high up above the drinking hall of the Tarry Vine tavern were festooned with hammocks of every shape and size. Grubby spider-silk sheets, which could accommodate several crews, swayed gently beside the hanging-pockets favoured by waifs, oakelves and the lighter sleepers, while in the garret alcoves, captains and quartermasters enjoyed all the privacy that a hanging-drape could provide.
    There was, however, no escaping the snuffling, snoring and muttered sleep-talking of the hundreds of sleeping sky pirates. And yet, as their growling snores mingled with the warm woodhop-scented air that rose up from the brewing cellars far below, a heady, hypnotic atmosphere was created that induced sleep in all but the most troubled occupants of the rafters.
    Quint lay on his back, staring upwards. Above him, the two sides of the steeply sloping roof came together in the shadows, looking, he mused, like the upturned hull of a great sky ship. On either side of him, the crew of the Galerider added their snores to the general rumbling hum - a sound answered by the tiny batowls that nested in the gaps between the joists.
    Next to him, Ratbit smacked his lips together noisily and rolled onto his other side. Sagbutt let out a rasping snort, while further down the line of hammocks, Spillins muttered something in his sleep and gave a small, high-pitched giggle.
    Quint glanced across at the garret alcove, where Maris was sleeping. The faint glow of her tilder-oil lamp had faded an hour earlier and, from behind the spider-silk drapes, nothing stirred. Quint turned over in his hammock and pulled his greatcoat around him with a shiver. Despite the warm air and sonorous snoring, he could still feel the dreadful chill of the cliff quarry, and whenever he closed his eyes, the hideous shrieking face of an edge wraith seemed to loom at him out of the darkness.
    Sleep, he thought miserably, seemed impossible, even in this warm, safe place.
    Just then, from out of the darkness there came a long, agonized groan - like that of a tilder, a hunter’s crossbow bolt buried in its neck, breathing its last. Quint sat up. There it was again, coming from behind the curtain of the garret alcove next to the one where Maris was sleeping.
    Quietly, Quint climbed out of his hammock and tiptoed along the narrow rafter to the safety of the garret balcony. He paused for a moment outside the alcove, only to hear the terrible groan once more. Quint pulled back the curtain and stepped inside.
    ‘F… Father?’ he whispered. ‘Are you all right?’
    Wind Jackal was standing at the tall, narrow garret window, the shutters of which he’d thrown open. A chill, swirling wind plucked at his heavy sky pirate coat and ruffled his hair. At the sound of Quint’s voice, Wind Jackal slowly turned, the moonlight catching one side of his face and throwing the other into deep shadow. Beneath his brows, his eyes glinted.
    ‘He’s out there, somewhere,’ he said in a low voice, scarcely above a whisper. ‘The very thought of it is like a swarm of snickets gnawing at my innards.’
    Wind Jackal turned back to the window, where Quint joined him.
    ‘Father,’ Quint began again, laying a hand on Wind Jackal’s arm. ‘I’m worried about you …’

    Wind Jackal surveyed the roofs and towers of the sleeping city spread out before him. ‘Surely you, of all people, understand,’ he shot back, his voice almost a snarl. ‘I have to destroy Turbot Smeal … I have to!’
    Quint nodded, but his grip on his father’s arm tightened. ‘What I don’t understand …’ he said slowly, not daring to look at