hefty monsters, all the great balloons of war, began to rise at once
“Great Socks and Rocks!” Finn said. “What a muddle, what a mess!”
Why the military should choose disorder as a plan, as a ploy, Finn couldn't say. The Bullie, though, working his pulleys and his lines, noted Finn's words with a rumble of disgust, deep within his chest.
The horde began to rise, swiftly now, upon the lofty winds. Ten, a dozen, twenty, fifty, more than Finn could count. Some like clumsy sausages, puffers, floaters, blind worms bobbing about. Some like swollen melons, ready to burst in the heat of the sun.
Each, and all, seemed distended this way and that. None could claim a color more enticing than mud. Each was a hodgepodge, a muddle of canvas, linen, and sacks, patches of calico, patches of pants.
And, ‘neath each of these behemoths, some a good hundred feet long, hung a tangle of webbing, a jumble of cords, a covey of baskets chock-full of pikemen, dragoons and fusiliers. Lancers, sappers, archers and doomed grenadiers.
Some of these craft carried loads so heavy they were lashed together in sixes and fours. Still, many seemed scarcely able to rise above the ground.
Even as Finn watched, two great bulbous creatures- seven gasbags in one, four in the other-collided some fifty feet above the ground. Lines tangled, baskets tipped, and spilled their hapless troopers about.
Finn closed his eyes against the sight, but he could still hear the screams, hear the rips and the tears as the great crafts tore themselves apart.
And this is the beginning, this is just the start. We've yet to even taste the war…
And, as confusion reigned supreme, as disorder held sway, Finn had visions of these bloaters, these lunks bobbing against the sooty pall below. As much as he wished the picture would go away, it was hard to dispell the image of a great, airborne sewer, with a multitude of turds all about…
Bucerius’ craft, which carried no carco at all, except for Finn's clock and a goodly stack of food, sailed well ahead of many of the merchants, and all of the cumbersome military craft.
Below, the River Gleen quickly gave way to the awesome Swamp of Bleak Demise, which stretched all the way to the Prince's foes, Heldessia Land. The swamp, as every schoolchild in each of the warring nations knew, was the reason both combatants had turned to balloons.
No army could cross the Swamp of Bleak Demise. If there was to be a war at all, it had to take place on reasonably solid ground. Thus, more than seven hundred years before, the lords of both domains had chosen the small, agricultural province of Melonius, an island of plenty surrounded by the swamp on every side, for their mutual battleground.
It was no longer known as Melonius, for the folk there had long been driven from their homes. There were no trees there, and no trace of crops of any sort. Now, it was a barren plain of death, where nothing, not even the hardiest weed, dared to grow.
Finn had little desire to peer over the side of the craft, for his stomach was yet to catch up with the rest of himself. And, when he chanced to look below, there was always the sight of tattered balloons that had not made it past the swamp or back. Many, Finn imagined, had rotted and disappeared into the darkness years before.
Toward noon, Bucerius brought out hard bread, a large wedge of odorous cheese, and a jar of stale beer. He offered to share with Finn. Finn was surprised, and grateful as well, for he had forgotten to bring the fatcakes and berry sandwiches Letitia had carefully prepared.
Though the Bullie had scarcely said a word since they'd begun, he seemed more amiable after his belly was full.
“I see you be lookin’ down there,” he said, shoving a whole pickled potato in his mouth. “It don't be a good idea to bother them what's down below.”
“And who would that be?” Finn asked, for he couldn't imagine who the fellow could mean.
“Coldies, what you think? There's seven hunnert years of the dead scattered round down there. Many a soldier's falled to his doom ‘tween here and where we be headed for.”
“I hadn't thought of the dead, though you're right as you can be. I think, though, if I were a Coldie, I wouldn't stay there. I'd get out of the Bleak Demise as quickly as I could. Get to a town, a decent city somewhere.”
Bucerius looked aghast. “You never been down there. Isn't no one be findin’ they way outta that. You dyin’ there, you stayin’ there. Even a human person ought to be knowin’ that.”
“I, ah-suppose. Though I've always found the dead like their comforts as well as the living do. And they clearly have plenty of time to search about. They've nothing else to do.”
Bucerius muttered under his breath, clearly not pleased with Finn's opinion on the matter. Finn had to remind himself that Bullies, by nature, found it offensive if others had opinions contrary to their own. Not unlike a great many beings of other races, as far as that was concerned.
When the meal was done, Bucerius tossed a few bites of food over the side, and Finn did the same. If any of the dead were down there, they would surely enjoy the essence, the emanation of these remains.
Finn knew it was likely better to leave things as they were, but there was little to do until they fell to their doom, and death was much upon his mind.
“You think, then, there is such a thing as the afterlife? You think we go somewhere else?”
Bucerius frowned. “What you be meaning? We just talkin’ ‘bout that.”
“I mean after you're a Coldie. After that.”
“Isn't no after that. You be dead, that's that.”
“Some say different. There's churches tell you there's a hereafter place to go.”
“Here after what?”
“Somewhere different. Somewhere you go after you're dead for a while. I talked to a Coldie once said it's so. Fellow used to be a barrister, so he might know. Said there's seers tell you if you act right after you're dead for a time, you can do something else.”
“Huh.” Bucerius spat in the wind, narrowly missing Finn.
“That be what seers an’ magician folk is for, you livin’ or you're dead. Get you to buy somethin’ from ‘em, get you to spend your last pence on some stupid spell.”
Finn gave the Bullie a curious look. “Your kind don't believe in magic, then? I never knew that before. Plenty of Newlies do.”
“‘Course we believes in magic. What you think, you better'n me?”
“Certainly not. As you have pointed out, friend, I'm united in bliss with a Mycer girl.”
“Don't mean you got any concern for my folk-or any other creature what isn't humankind.”
“You think what you will. My feeling, simply from being with you a very short while, is that it is you who have little affection for any but your own. And I'm not certain of that. I saw how those Bullies back at the Grounds looked at you. And how you looked at them.”
For an instant, the cords in Bucerius’ massive neck tightened, and his broad nostrils flared. Then, turning away, he began to busy himself with the shrouds of his balloon.
“Don't be botherin’ me, human person. You be wavin’ at the dead down there. Preach at ‘em all you like. I got work to do…”
By late afternoon, the war balloons began to catch up a bit, though none passed the fleeter merchant ships. If any of the military craft had collided or fallen in the swamp, Finn couldn't tell.
Closer, he could see crewmen swarming about the dizzy heights of the portly craft, loosing this, possibly tightening that. Many, he noted, were Yowlies, Newlies with flat, ugly faces, pumpkin-seed eyes, and mean dispositions. Still, their great agility was valued on ships at sea, as well as those in the air.
Before the Change, before the erring seers had brought them up from beasts, the ancestors of the Yowlies had viciously hunted down the ancestors of Letitia's kind. Finn could scarcely blame Letitia for her fear and dislike of such beings. Their fierce appearance and disturbing cries were enough to set anyone's nerves on edge. If any creature changed from beasts lived up to its name, Yowlies took second place to none.
The afternoon sun caught the big balloons in its glare, and Finn noted their swollen flanks were no longer entirely bare. Now, magic symbols in garish shades of yellow, violet and green were smeared on every side.
