All The Turns of Light (8 page)

“So noted,” the Tower agreed. “I place your position as six hundred and seven miles from Tirlin. I am now revising my estimate of the Glass’s effective communication range.”

Kervis and Tervis exchanged confused looks.

Meralda explained, “We won’t be able to talk to Tower for the whole trip. There are limits, even to magic.”

“Any news from home while you’re estimating?” Mug demanded. “Have the papers gotten wind of the King’s absence yet?”

“There has been no mention of the King traveling,” the Tower replied. “Mage. I detected three small airships ascending from the Lamp immediately after the
Intrepid
departed. They appeared to give chase, though they were unprepared for the haste of your departure.”

“Oh?” Meralda frowned. “How far did they pursue us?”

“They gave up after a few miles. One craft discharged a cohesive volume of thermal energies toward your gas envelope. I deflected it back toward the other two airships. I fear all three ignited and were consumed in flight.”

“Air pirates!” Mug crowed. “And you shot them down!”

Meralda silenced Mug with a gesture and a look. “The nature of the thermal binding?”

“Vonat sorcery,” the Tower said. “Inelegant but effective.”

Mug whistled. Meralda looked at the Bellringers.

“Not a word of this,” she said. “Not of Goboy’s Glass, and nothing of Vonats or attacks. Can I trust your silence?”

“Also ignore the various boxes of apples and chocolates—” began Mug, who fell silent at a glare from Meralda.

Both Guardsmen nodded. Meralda sat, rested her chin on her fist, and stared into the black depths of the mirror.

After several moments of silence, the Tower spoke again. “My revisions are complete. We will be able to maintain voice contact for eleven thousand miles. It may be possible to send simple text messages for an additional thousand miles after this.”

An image of the front page of the
Tirlin Times
appeared in the glass. The headline read, SAMPLE TEXT MESSAGE HERE.

“Which gives us thirteen days of contact with home,” Meralda estimated. “Possibly fourteen.”

In the Glass, the front page of the
Times
changed so that the headline read, “330 HOURS AND SEVEN MINUTES OF COMMUNICATION REMAINING!”

“Show-off,” muttered Mug.

“We’d better get back to our posts,” Kervis said. “Is there anything else, ma’am?”

“No. Thank you both. I’ll see you after the morning briefing.”

The Bellringers filed out, smiling.

“One look at that pair and the whole airship will know they’ve been up to something.” Mug swiveled all his eyes to face Meralda. “So. The Vonats have taken at least one swipe at us. Not counting whatever poisonous nasty they’ve hidden somewhere below decks.”

“That’s all gone,” Meralda said. “They dumped it all overboard, right before sunrise. Such a waste.” Meralda glanced back toward Goboy’s Glass. “Tower. Will the Glass allow you to observe the flying coils?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Please monitor their current consumption and radiator temperatures.”

“Aren’t they doing that on the bridge?” asked Mug.

“They are, but not as accurately as Tower can.”

“Correct,” replied the Tower. “I shall prepare the data in the form of a daily report for as long as I am able.”

“Thank you, Tower.” Meralda stood and began pacing.

“Yes, and remember to shoot down any more air pirates,” added Mug. “When you’re not too busy preparing reports, that is.”

The Glass shimmered and presented a normal reflection.

Meralda regarded herself in the mirror. Her hair was a wild tangle. Her dressing gown was inside-out, and a grey stocking clung to the left shoulder.

“Well, this voyage is off to a fine start.” Mug waved various fronds. “Vonat air-pirates. Mages engaged in smuggling. Provisions and rare art dumped into the Lamp River. We could be attacked again at any moment. What are you going to do about all that, Mistress?”

Meralda shrugged at her reflection and stood. “I’m going to bathe, dress, and have coffee,” she said.

“The stuff of epic legend,” Mug said. “But perhaps the murderous Vonats will be intimidated by your dedication to personal hygiene.”

Meralda draped her dressing gown over Mug’s cage and left him sputtering behind her.

* * *

Meralda wandered for a time, watching the sky grow brighter through the
Intrepid’s
many portholes. The view from the empty Grand Salon was especially lovely as the sea of clouds, their peaks just touched with crimson, rushed past below.

A man in a starched white galley apron poked his head inside the salon. “Pardon me, ma’am,” he said. “Just counting chairs. The view is better to the fore, by the way. Going to be a fine sunrise. Fifty-two.”

“Fifty-two what?” asked Meralda.

“Chairs,” said the man. “Missing one. Good day.”

He closed the door, leaving Meralda alone. Voices and footsteps sounded from outside the salon as the
Intrepid
began to waken. The Lord Mayor of Tirlin, surrounded by a retinue of bleary-eyed staffers, burst into the salon.

“I must be going,” announced Meralda, the second the Lord Mayor’s eyes fixed on her. “I’m in a terrible hurry.” She ducked through the door as he began to sputter demands for bigger quarters.

Outside the salon, the wide passageway led fore and aft. Meralda turned toward the airship’s bridge and hurried toward it, the Lord Mayor in pursuit.

* * *

“Chief Engineer on deck,” said the watch officer, as Meralda stepped through the doors onto the
Intrepid’s
bridge.

“Oh, my,” she said, halting suddenly.

The
Intrepid’s
wide glass bow was full of the sunrise. But it was not just any sunrise.

The risen sun, fat and orange and shrouded in a dazzling light, painted the endless bank of clouds beneath it with reds and oranges and yellows. The sky itself seemed to be composed of weary flames, frozen in place, cast in a scale that dwarfed all of creation.

The watch officer smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. “You never get used to seeing the sunrise, you know. No other sight quite like it.”

“You’re right,” Meralda agreed, her gaze still lost amid the golden, glowing peaks and crags of the clouds.

“It’s like someone spilled a bucket of autumn,” said the grinning elevator man, though his eyes never moved from his inclinometer.

“Aye, it’s pretty enough, but you know the old saying—red skies at night, airman’s delight. Red skies in morning, airman take warning,” said the young man poised by the rudder controls. He nodded at Meralda and smiled. “I’m rudder man first class Ingalls Innit,” he said. “Yon wight minding the bubble is Ben Salpeter.”

“Elevator operator Ben Salpeter,” corrected the other Air Corps officer. “You’ll have to forgive Mr. Innit,” he added. “He’s Eryan.”

“More work and less chatter,” said the watch officer. He rose and moved to stand beside Meralda. “Welcome, Chief Engineer Ovis. I’ve been hoping to meet you.” He extended his hand, and Meralda shook it. “The flying coils are performing perfectly.”

Meralda smiled, wishing she could remember his name.

The
Intrepid’s
deck dipped, ever so slightly, and the watch officer’s gaze turned to the elevator man.

“Already compensated, Officer Merton,” Salpeter said, as he made a minute adjustment to a polished brass lever. “We’ll see a bit of turbulence now that the sun is up, but nothing to worry about.”

The watch officer nodded. “These lads know their business.” He turned to face a man seated at a desk on the port side of the bridge. “Our position, Mr. Hay?”

The navigator consulted his charts and row of clocks and gauges briefly. “We are fifty miles from Ambervale station, sir. A hundred miles from the coast.”

“Current airspeed?”

“One hundred and eight miles per hour,” replied the navigator. “We made better than two hundred miles per hour out of Tirlin.” He swiveled to smile at Meralda. “Which makes us the fastest vehicle to ever take to the skies, Chief Engineer. It’s an honor to serve with you.”

The familiar buzzing of Mug’s tiny flying coils came from behind them. “It certainly is, and don’t you forget it,” Mug piped up, as he brought his flying cage to hover over Meralda’s right shoulder.

“Mug, meet your bridge crew,” Meralda said. “Everyone, this is Mug, who is not authorized to give orders, no matter what he might claim.”

“You wound me.” Mug flew his cage close to the curving glass tube at the elevator station. “What’s this?”

“The main inclinometer.” Salpeter blinked and grinned at the dandyleaf plant.

“And what is a main inclinometer?” Mug eyed the bubble with his mobile eyes.

“It indicates the pitch of the airship across her long axis,” the elevator man explained. “I watch the bubble there.” He pointed to the fist-sized air bubble that rode at the top of the curved tube. “During level flight, if the bubble moves aft, I raise our nose with these levers. If it moves to the fore, I lift our tail. If the Captain calls for descent or ascent, I adjust the elevators accordingly.”

Mug nodded and then flew about the station. “Doesn’t it get boring after a time?”

“I’m not the only elevator man aboard. We all work in shifts. Four hours watch, four hours rest, four hours standby.” He patted his instrument frame. “I wouldn’t care to be anywhere else, Sir, um, Mug.”

“Good man!” Mug bobbed over to the rudder man’s station, then the navigator’s desk, the gas master’s console, and finally the watch officer’s seat, demanding explanations at each stop. Finally, he brought his cage to hover near the
Intrepid’s
front glass. “Looks like we’ll see our first storm before the day is done. They’re going to get soaked taking on fresh provisions.” He turned half a dozen eyes toward Meralda and winked. “Not that certain people have any need of fresh provisions.”

Meralda glared.

“Well, gentlemen, it was wonderful meeting you.” Mug buzzed back toward the bulkhead behind Meralda. “I’d be much obliged if you’d keep that bubble level, Mr. Salpeter. Mistress, I’m due at a card game in the Grand Salon. Join me, if you wish.”

Mug buzzed away, humming the Air Corps marching song.

No sooner had the bridge hatch closed than it opened again to admit the King. He was bleary-eyed and his hair was mussed, but his lopsided grin returned at the sight of the sunrise.

“Just the Chief Engineer I was looking for,” he said, moving to stand beside Meralda. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I have a small task for you.”

“A small task,” replied Meralda, groaning inwardly. “And what might it be, Your Highness?”

“I need you to get a message through to the Air Corps outpost at Kenney. Tell them we’re two hundred miles out, and we’ll be docking later to take on provisions.”

Meralda frowned. “You said earlier we’d be stopping at the Ambervale station,” she said. “And if I recall, Kenney is a good four hundred miles south of Ambervale, which puts us nowhere near it.”

“Precisely,” said Yvin.

“You do realize the only communication gear we carried was left with the gifts in the Park,” Meralda said. “How am I to send a message to Kenney at all, even a false one?”

“You’ll think of something, Chief Engineer. Better hurry, though. Make it a little clumsy, won’t you? We don’t want to put our Vonats to undue effort now, do we?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Ah, Mister Merton,” said the King, his voice booming suddenly. “Tell me all about this airship of ours.”

Meralda took one final brief glance at the golden-red clouds before slipping quietly off the bridge.

* * *

“Just send a wonder chicken ahead to Kenney,” Mug said. He flew his birdcage about Meralda’s tiny cabin in tight circles, barely avoiding walls and furniture with muffled cries of glee.

“The Vonats would never be able to intercept such a message,” Meralda said. “If there are indeed any Vonat sorcerers listening.”

“Oh, there are,” Mug said. “Why not tell the crows to be clumsy?”

“Remember the fire at the Docks?” asked Meralda. “Remember the giant smoke-woman?” She shook her head. “No. The staves will play no part in this.”

“Fine.” Mug brought his cage to a halt. “What will you do, then?”

Meralda sat at her desk and began to doodle. “Think like a Vonat,” she said. “How do airships normally communicate?”

“By telesonde,” Mug said. “But that’s limited to what, a couple of hundred miles?”

“At best.” Meralda frowned at her scribblings. “Any Vonat spy would know we wouldn’t just casually reveal our destination over the telesonde.”

“True,” Mug said. He swung his eyes about the dimly lit room. “So what have we got to work with? Your blouses, your skirts, your undermentionables?”