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ears whistled. His head throbbed. Despite the intensity of his memories, the words of explanation wouldn't come.
    ‘When, Twig?’ said Maugin. ‘When will the Mother Storm strike? Did he tell you or not?’
    Twig clutched his head. The air grew denser, heavier. ‘I … he …’ he murmured. His eyes filled with bewilderment. ‘When the water stops flowing …’
    He fell silent and winced with pain as he struggled toremember his father's last fateful words. His eyes throbbed. His head felt as though it had been clamped in a vice.
    ‘When … when the very last drop falls, she will arrive. Dawn over Riverrise,’ he whispered faintly. ‘Midnight over Sanctaphrax …’
    But Twig could not know whether Maugin had heard him or not, for a wind whisked his words away, whiteness filled his vision and a high-pitched whine whistled in his ears.
    ‘Put … your hood on,’ he shouted to Maugin, and stepped forwards to help her back into the heavy suit.
    The air grew even whiter. Bright white. Dazzling white. It filled his eyes, shutting out everything else till he was utterly blind. The sky ship trembled. He fell away from Maugin and stumbled backwards - slowly, impossibly slowly - through the viscous air.
    ‘Maugin!’ he cried out - or rather, tried to cry out - for his voice could no longer escape his mouth.
    He landed on the deck. Muffled noises echoed round him: splintering, cracking, crashing. The whiteness intensified. The high-pitched whine grew to a scream. Twig screwed his eyes shut, clamped his hands over his ears and rolled himself up into a tight ball.
    But it was no use. He couldn't keep it out. The terrifying whiteness was inside him, as blinding and deafening within as without. It blunted his senses. It gnawed at his memory.
    ‘Maugin,’ Twig mouthed. ‘My crew …’
    Whooooopff!
    Unable to withhold the mounting pressure a moment longer, the white storm imploded in on itself. For an instant there was stillness. Then, with a cataclysmic thunderclap, the dazzling sphere - with the Edgedancer at its centre - exploded outwards with such force that the very sky juddered.

• CHAPTER THREE •
THE LOFTUS OBSERVATORY
    F ar away, the floating city of Sanctaphrax keeled and bucked in a fearsome storm. The Anchor Chain which moored it to solid ground was being tested to the limit. Inside the sumptuous buildings, its citizens - the academics and apprentices, the servants and guards -huddled together in silent groups of their own kind, terrified at the thought that the chain could snap.
    Only the Professor of Darkness remained alone. As Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax, it was his duty to continue working while the others sought refuge. When the violent storm had first broken, he had hurried up the winding staircase to the top of the Lof tus Observatory as fast as his frail, old legs would take him. The various pieces of measuring equipment which represented every academic discipline in Sanctaphrax awaited his inspection. He arrived to find them all going wild.
    ‘Sky above!’ he exclaimed as he entered the airy room.He scratched his bushy beard and pushed his steel-rimmed spectacles up his nose as he took a closer look at the instruments. ‘But such readings are unheard of,’ He glanced out of the window of the high tower. ‘And little wonder.’

    The storm that night was greater than any he had ever witnessed before. Hurricane-force winds and driving rain were sweeping in from beyond the Edge, battering the jutting spur of land with unprecedented violence.
    ‘Come on, now,’ the professor muttered to himself. ‘Readings must be taken. Calculations calibrated. Facts and figures logged,’ He gripped his staff tightly as he crossed stiffly from one side of the swaying observatory to the other. ‘But where should I begin?’
    The brass anemometer was spinning furiously, registering wind speeds far in excess of any previously recorded. The rain-gauge was overflowing and bleeping loud the concentrated