The Flying Sorcerers

they were not as taut as they should be.

But Purple had counted on a certain amount of leakage during the time it took to fill the bags. He intended to use his battery to replenish the hydrogen in each of them just before departure.

By now the affair had turned into quite a festival. There was much singing and shouting and drinking of Quaff. The men working on the generators had organized themselves into teams and had begun competing — each team trying to see how long they could go at full speed — each team trying to prove it was stronger than the other.

Purple was delighted. He offered two extra spell tokens for every man on the winning team. As soon as one competition was ended, another promptly began, fresh teams replacing the tired ones on the bicycles. The process of replacement was always fun to watch — one man at a time would hop off his bicycle, leaving the pedals still spinning wildly. Another would then hop on and match the rate of pumping. The next man in line would then hop off his bike and so on.

As soon as all the teams were replaced the signal would be given, and another competition would begin with a roar from the spectators. Purple had even permitted a certain amount of side-wagering with his spell tokens although Shoogar and I had expressed some misgivings about it. “Why not?” Purple said. “It makes them more enthusiastic.”

He was right about that. Often the teams would bet large amounts of spell tokens against each other so that it was possible for a generator team to lose chips while they worked.

But if they didn’t mind…

Trone and his men were eager to finish the fourth generator — they hoped to form a bicycle team themselves and earn some of those extra chips. He would be a formidable team, I thought. Trone’s arms and legs were strong and thick from years of coppersmithing. I might bet on him myself.

Meanwhile, the eleventh balloon was already puffing up. The tenth was just being removed from its filling frame for its transfer up the slope. Purple was directing the transfer, with much swearing and threats of curses.

It was an eerie sight: Six strong men bouncing slowly up the hill under the absence of weight of the giant balloon. Once a sudden gust of wind caught them, and they bounced high in the air and floated slowly down. All were laughing — except Purple. He was white beneath his beard as he followed them up.

Then they were on the Crag, and the harnessed bag was attached to the rigging. The rope transfer was made and the men released the balloon — it snapped upward to join the others. They were blue spheres with white lines inscribed upon them, looking tiny from here. The airboat tugged at its mooring, and Purple kept climbing in and out of it, pulling at its rigging and anchoring ropes.

Satisfied, he came bounding down the hill again, shouting, Two more balloons, Lant. Two more and I can go flying!”

“I thought you wanted to use sixteen —”

“But it works so well. Look! See how it tugs at its ropes — and that’s with only ten balloons! And see how some of them are limp. Imagine how it will lift when I pump them up again with the battery! Two more balloons should do it. Those will be for the weight of the supplies and the passengers. We will be able to test it today!”

And he bounded on down the hill to supervise the filling of the eleventh balloon. I followed slowly in his wake. Thoughtfully.

I couldn’t get used to the idea. Purple was actually leaving!

He had actually built his flying machine, and he was actually going to leave in it. Soon we would be rid of him.

I shook my head as I looked over the fantastic activity below me — things would not be the same with him gone.

A group of boys stood down near the unused end of the trough, cheering the balloons and giggling hysterically.

Some were rolling in the blackgrass, others were peering into the bubbling water. Trone’s generator wires led into the water right at that point, and apparently the boys liked to watch it bubble.

They had been gathering at this point for some days now, ever since Purple had begun filling his airbags.

I began to wonder about this. Curious, I approached that end of the trough and observed. The water was bubbling furiously as the gas rose from the wires. The young men would put their faces near it and inhale deeply, then fall back among their fellows and giggle happily.

Their behavior was much like that of one who was drunk on Quaff — but that was silly. These boys were still unconsecrated and not allowed to drink Quaff.

But then, what was producing this strange effect?

I pushed my way through them and asked, “What’s going on here?”

They shook their heads shamefacedly, but would not say.

I bent over and sniffed at the bubbling waters, but I could smell nothing. Curious, that. I took another sniff. Still nothing. It was interesting though. I took another sniff, a deep one — I felt just a wee bit light-headed.

I took another sniff — was it possible that this gas made people light-headed? I wondered about that. The other gas made things light — this gas made people light. No, I’d have to think about that. I took another sniff. The other gas made things rise above other things. This new gas made people’s view of things rise above other things.

Another sniff — how strange! I knew what I meant. Why weren’t there words for it? I lowered my head again.

Abruptly I was being pulled away by Shoogar, “Lant, Lant — what is the matter with you?”

“Um — ah, oh — hi, Shoogar —”

He dragged me downwind of the bubbling water. “What are you doing?”

“Um, I was investigating the bubbles.”

“You will turn into a bubblehead — like those wastrels! He gestured at the boys once again gathered around the trench. “They talk about the strange gas that makes them light.”

“I didn’t know you’d investigated it, Shoogar.” I was beginning to feel heavy again. “Is it dangerous?”

“Of course it is — if only because it teaches the young to enjoy themselves.”

“Something should be done.” I said.

“Right Shoogar fumbled in his sleeve. “I’ll toss a ball of fire at them.” He reached and pulled and — Fwoof! It went off in his hand, burning and sizzling faster than I’d ever seen.

Shoogar yelped and plunged his hand into a water pot. He shouted, “See? I told you the bubbles were dangerous!”

When it happened, it happened in broad double daylight. Red sunlight and blue lit the sky. The windbags glowed like moons; one side red, the other blue.

There was always a crowd on the Crag now, and Purple had posted men to keep them back. Mongers moved among the people, trading sweetdrops and spicy meats for small tokens.

Wilville and Orbur were just storing the last of Purple’s supplies. Each packet had been wrapped in aircloth to protect it from the wet and cold Purple said they would find in the upper sky.

I stood below, leaning on one of the taut ropes that led from the boat to the ground.

Purple was up on the landing cradle with three large pots of water. He had his battery connected to one of them, and a neck of cloth hung down from one of the balloons. It was tied tightly to the water-pot funnel, and as we watched, this last giant sphere swelled and tightened.

Abruptly one of the mooring ropes parted. One end of the boat swung upward.

There was an “Oooooo!” from the crowd.

Purple jumped back in surprise, knocking over one of the water pots. Wilville and Orbur had been thrown to the floor of the boat — they stuck their heads up confusedly.

“The other end! The other end!” Purple was shouting and pointing, “Go stand at the other end!” He pointed