Free Stormchaser by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell

Do you understand? I’ll see you never so much as set foot on a sky ship again. I’ll…’
    There was a muffled knock. Mother Horsefeather froze. The door opened. ‘You!’ she exclaimed.
    ‘My lord,’ Cloud Wolf gasped, and fell to his knees.
    Twig stared at the newcomer in confusion. He was old – very old – with long white hair and a stout staff to aid his unsteady gait. With his broken sandals, his fingerless gloves and his patched and threadbare gown, he looked as wretched as any alley-vagrant. Yet there was his father kneeling down before him.

    Twig turned to Forficule for an explanation, but the nightwaif had moved away. It was up on the table, urgently whispering into Mother Horsefeather's ear behind its pale and bony hand. Twig would have given anything to know what was being said but, strain as he might, he could hear nothing but a conspiratorial hssp-psss-psss .
    Twig groaned, returned his attention to his father – and groaned again. If he had been disappointed by Cloud Wolf's reaction to Mother Horsefeather's proposal, then he was mortified to find his father still kneeling.
    Will you stand up and fight? he wondered bitterly. Or do you intend to remain on your knees for ever?

• CHAPTER SIX •
S CREED T OE- T AKER
    T he journey across the Mire was proving to be as harsh as anything Mim had ever experienced. And if the leader of the gnokgoblin family was finding the going tough, then the others were all but at the end of their strength. Mim's concern was growing more acute with every passing minute.
    Screed had given strict instructions that they should all keep together, yet the further they went on across the endless muddy wasteland, the more separated they were becoming.
    Mim squelched back and forth along the long straggling line as fast as the gluey mud would allow. From the young’uns up at the front to old Torp, who was bringing up the rear, and back again, she went – offering words of encouragement as she passed.
    ‘Not far, now,’ she assured them. ‘Nearly there.’ Therank, stagnant stench of the Mire grew stronger. ‘Forget where we are now and keep your thoughts on the wonderful place for which we’re bound – a place of plenty, a place of opportunity, a place where goblins are respected and the streets are paved with gold.’
    The gnokgoblins smiled back at her weakly, but none made any attempt to reply. They didn’t have the energy. Even the young’uns, who had started out so enthusiastically – gambolling ahead like lambs – were now dragging their feet painfully slowly. Mim knew it would not be long before the first of her party gave up completely.
    ‘Hey!’ she cried out to the gaunt figure up ahead. ‘Slow down a bit.’
    Screed turned. ‘Now what?’ he snapped irritably.
    Mim strode towards him. The burning sun beat down ferociously. Screed waited for her to catch up, hands on hips, leering. ‘We need a rest,’ she panted.
    Screed looked her up and down, then squinted up at the sky. ‘We keep on till sundown,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll rest for the night. It's too dangerous travelling by darkness – what with the sinking-mud and poisonous blow-holes…’
    ‘Not to mention the muglumps, oozefish and white ravens,’ Mim interrupted tartly. ‘Not that we’ve encountered any so far.’
    Screed pulled himself up to his full height, and stared down his nose at her scornfully. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, his voice loaded with sarcasm, ‘I was under the impression that you employed me as a guide to avoid these dangers.If I’d only known you wanted to see them for yourselves…’

    Mim looked down sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It's just … Well, some of us are finding it difficult to keep up with the pace you’re setting.’
    Screed glanced back along the line of goblins. ‘You paid for a two-day crossing,’ he said sharply. ‘Any longer than that and it’ll cost you.’
    ‘But we haven’t got any more money,’ Mim cried out.
    Screed's