Free The Curse of the Gloamglozer by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell Page B

gnokgoblin's.
    ‘It's pay-up time,’ he hissed.

iii
East Side: 9th Staircase
    A slanting light fell across the ninth set of stairs of the east-facing Viaduct Steps, also known as ‘the chankers'. This was the place where the sub-deans from all of the Sanctaphrax schools gathered together to discuss matters – for, with the complexities of their job, they had far more in common with one another than withothers from the same school. The word itself came from an ancient trog word, shankir , which was the name given to the roosting grounds of the lesser woodowl – cunning Deepwoods nightbirds that would, it was claimed, gather noisily to plan their next hunting trip. Like the woodowls, those academics who became sub-deans also tended to be cunning, intelligent – and noisy.
    ‘I see Seftus has decided not to attend once again,’ the Sub-Dean of the Raintasters commented.
    ‘Too good for the likes of us,’ said the Sub-Dean of Cloudwatching.

    ‘Like all those other confounded mistsifters,’ the Sub-Dean of Windtouching announced, and sniffed. ‘Ever since Linius Pallitax was made Most High Academe, they've been insufferable.’
    ‘And they've beeneven worse since Pallitax moved into the Palace of Shadows,’ a fourth sub-dean added.
    ‘Lording it over the rest of us the whole time,’ another complained. ‘And the Most High Academe does nothing to stop it, despite all his fine words about how equal we all are.’
    ‘Equal?’ snorted yet another. ‘That's a good one. The mistsifters get all the best preferments. They're all he cares about. The rest of us never get a look in.’
    ‘It's iniquitous!’ said the Sub-Dean of Cloudwatching.
    ‘Invidious!’ said the Sub-Dean of Windtouching.
    ‘Something,’ said the Sub-Dean of Raintasting darkly, ‘must be done.’
    iv

iv
West Side: 12th Staircase
    ‘Fifty gold pieces, and that's my final offer,’ said the tall, bulbous-nosed apprentice.
    ‘But, Skillix,’ said the second apprentice, ‘I told you, I haven't got fifty gold pieces.‘
    ‘Then stop wasting my time, Runt .’ Skillix sneered and, turned away.
    Runnet winced. He hated his nickname. However, this was not, he realized, the time to complain about its use. With the important Mistsifting examination only two days away – and himself so ill-prepared – he needed all the help he could get. Skillix, he'd overheard, had comeby a copy of the examination paper. If he could just get his hands on it, then he'd be able to prepare the answers – and pass. If he didn't, he'd be thrown out on his ear. And if that happened, his father – a big name in the League – would disown him.
    Runnet lunged forwards after the departing apprentice. ‘Don't go!’ he cried, clinging onto Skillix's robes.
    ‘Get off me!’ Skillix said, twisting round and swatting the young sub-apprentice away like a bug.
    ‘You must let me have it,’ Runnet persisted. ‘You must …’ He dragged a pouch from his pocket and jangled it loudly. ‘Thirty-eight gold pieces there are here,’ he said, ‘and I can get you the rest next week.’
    ‘The rest?’ said Skillix.
    ‘The other twelve gold pieces,’ said Runnet. ‘I'll…’
    ‘Call it twenty and I might be interested,’ Skillix interrupted.
    Runnet's jaw dropped. ‘Twenty?’ he said. ‘But you said … I can't … It's too much…’
    ‘As you please,’ said Skillix, and turned away again.
    This time Runnet did not try to stop him. His eagerness to buy had alerted Skillix to the value of the paper he was trying to sell. They both knew that there were several apprentices in the School of Mist – apprentices with far more generous fathers – who would pay twice as much for the question paper once word got round that it was available. And, Runnet thought bitterly, word would get round.
    ‘Oh, Gloamglozer,’ he muttered miserably, and held his head in his hands. ‘What in Sky's name am I going to do now?’
    ‘So far as I can see, you have two choices,’