warriors from Prince Aghen Aghenfleck and the King of Heldessia, met to slaughter one another as they had for seven hundred thirty-nine years.
Finn was glad they had risen so high. The balloons of Fyxedia and those of her foe, which had just arrived from the west, were disgorging their troops on the bare and blackened ground-those that had survived the journey there. The gaily decked officers and somber-clad men were much too far away to appear more than blotches to Finn's eye, and he was most grateful for that.
Beyond, the swamp took hold again, and, past that, the onset of the night.
“I see the sun is nearly gone,” Finn said. “We can hardly have more than an hour more of light. Where will we stay for the night?”
“What?” The Bullie scratched the little nubs where horns had appeared among his kind in the past.
“Where would you like to stay, different from where you bein’ now?”
“Why, down there somewhere, of course. Surely you wouldn't attempt to sail this device in the-in the dark?”
Finn felt a sudden chill, for he could see the answer in the Bullie's glassy brown eyes.
“No, truly, that makes little sense at all. We can't very well remain aloft unless we can see… “
“An’ what'd you like to do? Set ‘er down there among that poor lot? By damn, if you'd stop thinkin’ ‘bout your Mycer lass, you'd see what be a'happenin’ outside your fuzzy head… “
FOURTEEN
The moment the sun vanished under a purple haze, two frightening things occurred. First, the dark flowed in so quickly, Finn felt some heavenly scribe must have spilled his ink across the skies. And, with the coming of night, the breeze that had driven them steadily from morning's light suddenly disappeared.
Bucerius’ balloon began to sink like a stone. Finn drew in a desperate breath and held on tight, waiting for the dreadful impact with the ground.
Why hadn't the Bullie mentioned they'd never had a chance at all? That would have been the proper thing to do.
Instead, the fellow grabbed Finn's shoulders, bellowed out instructions that nearly left him deaf in one ear.
In an instant, he was tossing out sandbags as quickly as he could, watching the ground rise rapidly in the dark. Behind him, Bucerius was yanking at his infernal array of lines, shrouds, pulleys and vents, actions which seemed to have no effect at all.
Then, of a sudden, all was well again. They weren't moving fast, and they surely weren't sailing very high, but they were still in the air and not crushed upon the ground.
“Would you mind,” Finn asked, feeling as deflated as a capsized balloon, “telling me what that was all about? I thought we were doomed.”
“That isn't no word in the tongue of my folk. That's a human-person word, be what it is.”
Finn knew better than to argue the point. And, in time, Bucerius explained that surely Finn recalled that the Easterlies blew in the morning and the Westerlies in the night. It was night, as anyone could see, and now they would have to sail low, to catch what wind there might be, wind known, of course, to veteran pilots like himself.
Finn accepted the Bullie's answer, and wondered, not for the first time, if there might not be some better way to navigate the air than hanging below a bag of gas, hoping it would go where you wanted to be. He vowed, when he could, to give the matter more thought. There might be some way to craft a lizard for such a task. He would certainly take it up with Julia Jessica Slagg.
He quickly swept away those thoughts, determined not to bring them up again.
“And when will we reach Heldessia?” Finn wanted to know. “Sometime soon, I presume.”
“If the wind be willing. If it not, it be later than that.”
“Later than what?”
“Later than when we'd be if it wasn't. You wants to run this lovely device, let me be gettin’ some sleep?” “No, I wouldn't care to do that.”
“Wouldn't care for you to try. I got some good years left to be.”
So do I, Finn thought, and if I come home safe, I swear I'll not risk the time I've got on something as foolish as this…
He searched the sky for other balloons of the merchant fleet, but if they were there, it was too dark to see. The ground swept by perilously close below, and Finn could smell the foul stench of the swamp, the fetid odor of stagnant water and rotting vegetation, the scent of some loathsome, unknown creature of the night.
Either that, or the stupefying, deadly emanations from Bucerius, who had eaten great quantities of turnips, whistle beans and mackerel cheese. Finn thought of the jelly sandwich and fatcake he'd left behind, the supper Letitia had packed. Even his favorite foods had no appeal now.
“Sweet Letitia, how I wish I was with you now. Though it's clear you're not as worried, not as anxious or disturbed as I feel you ought to be, I would overlook that if only you were near… “
“What's that? By damn, what you be a'mutterin’ now?”
“Not a thing, Bucerius. I was talking to myself. As you so kindly mentioned before, it's a thing that human persons do.”
“It be one of the things. Not all of ‘em, for sure. You wantin’ some of this cheese?”
“No,” Finn said, holding his breath as the Bullie loosed a ripper again, “but it's kind of you to ask.”
Up, get up, damn your hide, on your feet, now!”
Finn came awake at once, suddenly aware he'd been dozing, and wondered how he'd managed that.
“What is it? Nothing of great matter, I hope.”
“Just hold on to those lines. Don't be lettin’ ‘em go.”
“Something's amiss, I can tell. Whatever it is, I want to know.”
“We be landin’ soon, is what it is. Them lights down there? That's Heldessia. Just south there's the royal grounds.”
“Say, that's fine.” Finn peered over for a better look.
“Isn't fine a'tall.”
“It's not?”
“You listenin’, human person? Not bein’ fine, there's Bowsers everywhere. Place be swarming down there. They already snaggered a balloon, or I'd never spotted ‘em at all.”
“What? Why would they-”
Finn's words were lost as a volley of musket fire rang out in the night. A lead ball thunked into the wicker basket, close to Finn's head. Another whined overhead and snapped a line.
“What do they want? What's going on here!”
“I shoulda remembered, damn me,” the Bullie said. “It's Thursday again. Tuesdays and Thursdays, they be try an’ kill the King…”
FIFTEEN
Finn had a great many questions, ques tions he felt called for answers at once. Panic, chills, fear of urination, gastric irritation, swept all thought from his head.
Shouts, howls, bellows and barks reached them from below. Discord, clamor, and harsh resonation filled the night. The flare of muskets, the smell of powder, the din of leaden shot stung his eyes, split his ears and burned his nose.
Then, with a terrifying, sound, a sound more fearsome than the rest, the fat sphere above ripped asunder,
