admit that they looked exactly like the fiends in the paintings on the walls of his father’s chapel, paintings depicting the torments of the damned. Fiends with snarling faces and those strange fiery eyes, as though Hell’s flames burned inside them. Like most children, he had been fascinated by the demons, more interested in the fearsome looking creatures than in the angelic beings singing among the clouds. His father had been a religious man, but not demonstrative about his faith. He kept no chaplain. What was between him and God, he liked to say, was between him and God.
Was there a Hell? Did some fallen soul rule over it? Stephano had always believed men made their own Hell.
The demons were staring in his direction, perhaps trying to analyze the threat. The Cloud Hopper was partially obscured by the mists, which was perhaps the only reason the demons hadn’t flown to attack them already.
“What are you?” Stephano asked them silently. “Who are you? Where did you come from? Freya? Or some place hotter…”
Gythe had talked of hearing voices. If so, they weren’t answering him. Stephano shook off his metaphysical musings. The righteous and not-so-righteous aboard the Cloud Hopper were preparing for battle.
While Dag was loading the swivel guns, Stephano explained his plan. “Miri, position our boat directly above the cutter. That will keep the bats from attacking us from below and the cutter from above. We’ll be able to fire on the bats without risking hitting the cutter.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Miri
“Once you’re in position, you can go help Dag. Rodrigo can reload-”
“He is not touching my guns,” said Dag firmly. “He’d end up blowing us all to Freya.”
“Rigo should stay with Gythe,” said Miri. “He understands what she does with the magic. She might need him.”
“We all have our jobs. What will you be doing, sir?” Dag asked, eyeing Stephano curiously.
“Bring out the pipes, my friend,” said Stephano, watching the dragon circling the cutter. “Play ‘Jolly Beggarman.’ The Dragon Brigade is going to fly again.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Constructs degrade dependent upon the medium in which they are set and the processes they facilitate. Targeting constructs set in a cannon require monthly servicing, whereas strengthening constructs set in the stone wall of the Opera House in Galiathe, for example, require little maintenance. Only dragon breath is known to accelerate magic degradation, breaking down a construct in a process know as deconstruction.
– The Art of Crafting,
Church School Primer
WHILE DAG WAS REMOVING HIS BAGPIPES from their carrying case, Stephano ran down to his berth. He put on his flight coat and grabbed his sword belt, his saber, and the dragon pistol that had been a gift from his godfather. He flung the sword belt with the saber over his shoulder, tucked the loaded pistol into the pocket in his flight coat, then ran back up on deck.
Rodrigo ended a one-sided conversation with Gythe and glanced at Miri, who was still at the helm, looking with distress at her sister.
“How is she?” Miri asked worriedly.
Rodrigo shook his head.
Stephano watched the two of them and groaned inwardly. “What’s wrong now?”
“Gythe,” said Rodrigo.
Stephano glanced back at her. She was smiling, relaxed, and happy. Seeing Stephano looking at her, she grinned at him and laughed like a child and waved.
“Oh, no!” said Stephano softly. “Not now.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Rodrigo. “She’s having one of her spells. As bad as I’ve ever seen her.”
“Miri was hoping she was better.” Stephano ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “What is she doing?”
“She thinks she’s a child again, steering her parents’ boat. She’s laughing and giggling, singing old nursery rhymes…”
“Can you help her?” Stephano asked.
Rodrigo shrugged. “In a way, she’s helping herself. She’s so terrified she’s gone into hiding, so to speak. She’s gone back to being a little girl.”
Rodrigo looked out at the strange battle going on between the cutter and the bats-a battle the Cloud Hopper would soon unwillingly join-and he shook his head. “I can’t say that I blame her. I wish I had somewhere to hide.”
“But the protective magic,” said Stephano urgently. “It only works if she’s singing…”
“Not necessarily. It works better if she’s singing, but it will work. I don’t know what to tell you,” Rodrigo added, with a helpless shrug. “She may come out of this state. She may not. Perhaps if Miri talked to her…”
Miri had been listening to their conversation. She shook her head. “I’ve tried before. When she’s like this, she doesn’t even know who I am.”
Stephano swore softly. The rocky shoreline loomed ever closer. The cathedral had sustained serious damage; the walls were burned and charred and in some places completely breached. The beautiful stained glass windows had been broken out. He could smell the acrid stench of the smoke from the still smoldering rubble and another smell more horrible, like burning flesh.
“Bagpipes are ready when you are, sir!” Dag announced, arranging the chanter and the drone over his shoulder and placing the blowpipe in his mouth.
“You’re really doing this,” said Miri gloomily. “Flying off and leaving us.”
“I’m not leaving you. Not exactly,” said Stephano, putting on his leather. “I think it’s our best chance. Stay with Gythe. Try to help her.”
Rodrigo gave a nod and shook his head at the same time and went back to talk with Miri, who was standing at the helm, watching over Gythe, who thought she was a child steering her parents’ boat.
“Go ahead, Dag,” said Stephano.
Dag drew in a deep breath and blew into the pipe, filling the bag with air. He began to “skirl,” referring to the high, shrill, wailing tone made by the pipe known as the chanter. Soon the lively music of “Jolly Beggarman” sounded from the deck of the Cloud Hopper.
Dag knew the tune well, for Stephano often asked him to play it in the evening hours when the members of the Cadre would sit on the deck of the houseboat on a fine summer’s evening or were snug around the fire in Stephano’s house on a winter’s night. The moment the music of the bagpipes started, an irate yowl sounded from down below emanating from the storage closet. Doctor Ellington took strong exception to bagpipe music.
The march made Stephano’s blood tingle, bringing with it a flood of memories. He watched the dragon, who was still flying above the cutter, waiting for him to react.
Dragons are passionately fond of music. A dragon’s greatest sorrow is the inability to make music, the one skill in which dragons concede humans are superior. The wealthy dragon families often hired human musicians, bringing them to live in their immense castles, where they were treated like royalty.
Stephano hoped the dragon would be able to hear the sound of the pipes over the noise of battle. Dragons have excellent hearing, far better than humans, and they especially love the sound of the bagpipes. Unfortunately, the demon bat riders also had very good hearing, apparently, and perhaps they did not like the sound of the pipes. At the first notes, the demons who had been conferring about whether or not to attack the Cloud Hopper made up their minds. Three bat riders began flying toward them. The dragon, so far, was oblivious.
Dag cast a sharp glance at Stephano, requesting permission to stop playing and man the guns.
“Just a few more bars,” Stephano urged.
Dag continued to play, and at last the dragon heard the music. Hovering in midair, he turned his head, searching for the source of the sound. Stephano had no way of knowing whether this dragon had ever been part of
