Cognizance returned a second later. Stephano staggered to his feet. He’d been sleeping in his clothes for warmth. Clad in shirt sleeves and trousers, he thrust his feet into his boots and started to reach for his coat, only to realize that the air was warm again. They had risen up out of the depths of the Breath. He grabbed the small pistol he’d tucked into the inner pocket of his coat and raced up to the top deck.
Dag was at the rail, staring intently at the twin spires of a large cathedral silhouetted against the light gray- blue of approaching dawn. The boat itself was still in darkness. The stars above shone brightly. The balloon was fully inflated. The sails billowed with God’s Breath.
Miri, at the controls, was also gazing out into the east. Rodrigo was sitting up in the deck chair in which he’d spent the night, groaning and rubbing his neck and back and demanding querulously to know why no one had awakened him.
All seemed right with the world.
“I must have been dreaming,” Stephano said. “I thought I heard cannon fire.”
“You weren’t,” said Dag, adding grimly, “You did.”
A flash of orange in the distance was followed by a loud boom. Stephano rubbed his eyes that were bleary with sleep.
“Sounds like a four-pounder,” he said, referring to the cannon.
“So I’m guessing,” said Dag, with a nod.
Miri reached down below the brass control panel to a small storage area to retrieve the ship’s spyglass. Stephano held the glass to his eye and, after a moment’s search, made out the two masts and ballast balloons of a navy cutter. As he watched, the ship’s starboard cannons fired raggedly. The gun crews were being told to fire as they found their targets, not to wait for all to be fired in a broadside. The navy ship was under attack, but by who or what was the question. Bursts of strange green fire illuminated the cutter. Stephano was frankly puzzled by this sight.
“What the hell is making those green flashes?” Stephano asked Dag.
“Damned if I know, sir,” Dag replied. “Some sort of signal flare?”
“No,” said Stephano, staring through the glass until his eyes began to water. “The green fire is not coming from the cutter. It appears to be aimed at it.”
Miri took the glass from Stephano and put it to her eye. “Is that navy ship firing on the Abbey of Saint Agnes?”
“Perhaps His Majesty has finally declared war on the grand bishop,” said Rodrigo, coming to stand alongside Stephano.
Miri’s eyes flashed, her brows constricted.
“He’s teasing, Miri,” said Stephano and hastily changed the subject. “I could use a cup of hot tea. Anyone else?”
“Gythe and the Doctor went to put on the kettle,” said Miri, still glowering.
“Rigo, go help,” said Stephano.
Rodrigo grinned and departed.
Stephano assured Miri that the king would never declare war on the nuns and also pointed out that the cutter was aiming at something in the Breath, not on shore. He and Dag continued to watch the orange flashes and green flaring lights blaze in the distance. Miri, not entirely convinced, went back to her steering.
“Pirates?” asked Dag.
Stephano shook his head. “No pirate in his right mind would be fool enough to attack a navy cutter that carries fourteen four-pounders. Might be a Freyan privateer…”
They watched for another few moments, then Stephano said, “Miri, is it my imagination or are we sailing closer to the battle?”
“We are sailing closer to the Abbey of Saint Agnes. We were going to stop there to get a hot meal, remember?” said Miri with a look of innocence.
“Uh-huh.” Stephano grunted. “Our meal’s liable to be a bit hotter than we can swallow if we end up in the middle of a naval battle with the Freyans.”
“The nuns were always good to Gythe and me,” said Miri. “If anything is wrong, we might be able to help.”
She glanced at him and Dag from out the corner of her eye. Her red hair was damp from the mist and clung to her face. Her eyes narrowed. “Do either of you have a problem with that?”
Dag cleared his throat, rubbed his grizzled chin, glanced at Stephano, and said in a low voice, “Sorry, sir, but you’re on your own.” Dag moved off to take cover behind the mast.
“Miri, be sensible. We don’t want to get caught in the middle of a naval bombardment-”
“So now you’re calling me daft,” Miri said.
“I never said any such thing!” Stephano returned.
“You said I wasn’t being sensible. That’s the same as daft.”
“It is not-” Stephano began, then he stopped, drew a deep breath, and started over. “If one stray cannonball hit the balloon or the lift tanks or took down a mast, the Cloud Hopper would be finished. We’re only a few hours from Westfirth. We’ll sail there, report what we saw-”
A billowing mass of red flame suddenly lit up the sky. Stephano forgot Miri, forgot everything.
“I’ll be damned! That’s dragon fire!” Stephano said excitedly. He seized hold of the spyglass and brought it to his eye. “There’s a dragon in this battle! Maybe a dragon from the Brigade!”
Miri glanced at him from beneath her long lashes and said demurely, “Too bad we’re sailing for Westfirth.” She held her hand poised over the helm.
“We might move in a little closer,” said Stephano. “Just to get a better view.”
“Now who’s daft,” said Miri, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow.
An offshore breeze carried the Cloud Hopper landward. The sky and mists were now a pale pink. The orange flashes were no longer as bright as they had been in the darkness. The cannon fire was more sporadic. The strange green lights continued to flare. Rodrigo and Gythe brought up crockery mugs filled with steaming tea and handed them around. Doctor Ellington jumped up to his usual place on Dag’s shoulder.
“What is going on?” Rodrigo demanded suddenly. “Do you know we are sailing closer to the battle? Why are we sailing closer?”
He jabbed his finger at the cutter, that could be seen quite clearly now. “People are shooting at each other out there!”
Stephano was searching the skies. “There he is!” he called, and he pointed at the cathedral spires. The dragon could be seen flying over the cathedral. Wings spread, he was soaring upward, gaining altitude.
“He’s spiraling around for a dive!” Stephano said. His brow creased in a frown. “He’s not climbing very fast, though.”
“He’s an elder dragon,” said Miri, looking through the glass. “I can see the silvering of the scales on his head and mane. I don’t think he was in the Brigade, Stephano. This dragon is not a trained fighter. He has no idea what he’s doing.”
“Things are not going well for the cutter,” said Dag, shaking his head. “I’ve been watching the flashes, and I count only nine cannons firing. That means five of their guns have been knocked out. Has to be Freyans, sir.”
Stephano took the spyglass and aimed it at the cutter. He drew the glass away, rubbed his eyes.
“I must be seeing things.”
He handed the glass to Dag. “You take a look.”
“I have narrowly escaped certain death three times in as many days,” Rodrigo was saying. “That’s way over my limit. Can we please turn around and get the Hell out of here?”
“Just a bit closer,” said Stephano. “We can always slip away without being noticed. Dag…”
“You weren’t seeing things, sir. Those black creatures flying around the cutter. The green fire seems to be coming from them.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Stephano. He hesitated a moment, then asked, “What do those creatures look like to you?”
Dag scratched his jaw. “You’re going to think I’m daft, sir…”
“If you are, then so am I. Bats?”
“Bats the size of a bloody horse, sir,” said Dag.
