made the perilous climb up the swaying mast to reach the main balloon and used her channeling abilities to keep the magic flowing into the constructs, to keep the balloon from deflating.
A channeler was a person who could “channel” magical energy, send the magic flowing through existing constructs. A channeler was not gifted enough in magic to be able to draw sigils and create new constructs. Some channelers could act as a conduit for the magic, transfer it from one sigil to another by touch. If Rodrigo had drawn one of his famous diagrams, it would have three sigils, A, B, and C in a line. If B was broken, a channeler could form a bridge between A to C, keep the magic flowing.
The climb up the wet mast in the dark, by feel alone, was dangerous even for Miri, who had spent her childhood racing up and down the mast just for a lark. Once up there, she had to cling to the slippery wood with one arm, while she reached up to the balloon to channel magic directly into it. Since the constructs that evenly distributed the magical energy were set inside the balloon, charging the lift gas in this manner would have only limited, short-term success.
Dag, his face creased with worry, stood beneath the mast, peering upward in a vain attempt to see Miri through the thick mists. Perhaps he had some thought of catching her if she fell, though they all knew that if she did fall, she would likely pitch straight into the Breath.
“Miri’s skills are really what’s been keeping the Cloud Hopper afloat all these years,” Rodrigo told Stephano. “She was able to use her channeling abilities to reroute the magic around, above, over, and under all of Gythe’s protection spells.”
The two were down below in the hold, where Stephano was rooting around in the trunk Benoit had packed in preparation for his master’s journey. A lantern, hanging from a hook in the ceiling, swayed back and forth as the boat rocked in the currents of the Breath.
This night was going to be colder than the night before and he was digging out his old flight coat. Benoit had, of course, dumped the coat at the very bottom, hiding it beneath frilly shirts and dress coats and trousers, stockings and underwear. Benoit had packed as if Stephano was making a grand tour of the continents, not a trip to the unsavory city of Westfirth.
Stephano didn’t answer. He was in a bad mood. He knew he was in a bad mood and he knew why-his friends were in danger, he couldn’t get them out of danger, and it was his fault they were in danger in the first place. And he was jealous.
He needed to be doing something. He had never been the kind of officer to lead from the rear. He had been at the head of the charge, fighting the foe head-on. Dag was working to repair the damage done to the propeller. Gythe and Rigo were working to fix the magic. Miri kept the ship afloat. Stephano was reduced to pacing the deck in company with the cat. And even Doctor Ellington played his part, boosting morale by rubbing around their ankles.
As for Miri, Stephano had no reason to be jealous. He loved her as a friend; his closest friend next to Rodrigo, but still a friend, not a lover. Dag was like a brother to him, a good man worthy of any woman’s love. Stephano wanted both his friends to be happy, so why wasn’t he happy for them? Perhaps, Stephano admitted sourly to himself, he had fondly imagined Miri loved him. It had come as a shock to find out that she was in love with someone else. His heart was bruised, his pride wounded.
Because he was in a bad mood, he needed someone to blame, and Rodrigo was close at hand.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” Stephano said, pulling out linen drawers and lace-edged shirts and tossing them onto the floor. “We’ve been sailing on the Cloud Hopper for four years, and I can’t help but wonder you never noticed until now that the magic on this boat was in such a bloody mess!”
“But, my dear fellow, why should I have paid any attention to the magic?” Rodrigo asked, picking up the clothes Stephano was hurling about. He looked truly astonished at the thought, and that irritated Stephano even more.
“Because you’re a bloody crafter!”
“A mere dabbler in the art,” said Rodrigo. “A theorist, a philosopher. When I set sail, I watch with pleasure the panorama of the passing shoreline. I admire the picturesque little villages, the grandeur of the mountains. I do not spend my time dissecting magical constructs on the hull.”
“Well, maybe you should!” Stephano said angrily. “Make yourself useful!”
“Like I’m doing now?” said Rodrigo with quiet dignity.
Stephano remembered belatedly that his friend had been awake all last night, working with Gythe to try to find a way to solve their predicament. They had worked all that day, taking a break only for meals.
“I’m sorry,” Stephano muttered. “It’s just… I feel so damn useless!”
“You are our captain,” said Rodrigo. “You give us guidance, inspiration. You boost our spirits-”
“Oh, go jump in the Breath,” Stephano told his friend, though he couldn’t help but smile.
Rodrigo found Stephano’s flight coat at the bottom and handed it to him. He then folded Stephano’s clothes and carefully repacked them.
“I may have thought of a way out of this,” he said as he worked. “I’m going to go to my hammock and sleep on it. I sent Miri and Gythe to bed, as well. You should get some rest yourself.”
“I napped some this afternoon,” said Stephano, adding bitterly, “I didn’t have anything else to do. I’ll stand watch.”
Rodrigo nodded and left, rubbing his eyes and heading for his hammock.
Stephano picked up the flight coat. The smell of leather seemed to warm the dank air of the hold, brought back memories of the best and happiest time of his life. Putting on the green coat, meant to blend in with the greenish-blue scales of a dragon, was like reuniting with a dear friend. The calflength garment, made of the finest quality leather, was slightly fitted at the waist, though loose enough to hide several inner pockets and a sheath for a small pistol.
Brass buttons, engraved with a winged sun with a vertical sword thrust through the center of it-the emblem of the Dragon Brigade-adorned the front. The padded coat had a high collar and a mantle that covered his shoulders. The mantle was deliberately designed to flap in the wind when he rode, throwing off the aim of anyone shooting at him. The coat was split in back, allowing the wearer to sit in a saddle and keep his legs covered.
Two dragons made of contrasting colors of leather had been appliqued on the coat, one on each breast. Trimmed in gold thread, the dragons faced each other. The workmanship was exquisite, detailed down to the scales and claws and done in deep red, gold, and purple. Only the Lord Captain of the Dragon Brigade could wear a flight coat with dragons of those colors.
The coat had cost him dearly. Upon his promotion, his mother had offered to commission a coat for him as a gift. Stephano had proudly refused. He had spent every last silver rosun he possessed to have this coat made to his specifications, including magical constructs to keep the wearer warm and protect against enemy gunfire, flying shrapnel, and the like.
The coat was worn, well-worn. He’d noticed a month ago that the stitching was wearing thin and one of the buttons was loose. He had told Benoit to see to the mending and, looking at the coat, he was astonished to find out that his old retainer had actually done what he’d been asked to do.
Or rather, Stephano realized, looking at the small, neat stitches and the expert manner in which the button had been reattached, Miri had mended his coat. It was like her to do the work and say nothing to him about it.
Before he put it on, he gently touched a patch of gold scales on the dragon over his left breast. The scales were stained, but that was one place on his coat he never cleaned. The stain was blood-the blood of his dragon and partner, Lady Cam.
He slid his arms into the sleeves, remembering the first time he’d worn the coat, on parade at his promotion ceremony. His men had cheered; the dragons of the Brigade had lifted their voices in a raucous shout. He could have never imagined at that moment wearing his flight coat to keep warm on a Trundler houseboat stranded in the Breath.
Taking the lantern, he went up on deck, where Dag was pacing back and forth, his hands stuffed into his pockets, trying to keep warm. He was wearing a padded leather coat of Guundaran make and design, from his days in the military. Miri had knit him a pair of gloves, but he was not wearing them. Difficult to pull a trigger with gloves on.
The night was so cold, Stephano could see his own breath mix with God’s.
“You should get some sleep,” he told Dag.
“The back of my neck itches, sir,” said Dag. “I’ve had the feeling before. When I’m walking sentry duty and I
