sized chunk of it. Her eyes kept seeking out the land to which it was attached, but there was nothing of the sort. It moved in the air, through the air. Then she saw — at the centre of the city — the spire known as the Caress, its shadow reaching out over the buildings. It was said that you could tell time by it, and Margaret could believe that, even if it was the greatest sundial she had ever seen.
Drift's plateau extended at a slight gradient away from the Caress, ending on the steepest gradient of all. Young Aerokin floated and wrestled there, flagella tangling and releasing. And — from the slight excited shudders of the Aerokin that contained them — Margaret could tell it wasn't too long ago that this little craft had played there.
Looking down, Margaret was struck with the familiarity of the sight, and yet how utterly alien it was.
Here was the city of Drift, built on Stone, and yet it floated five thousand feet above the ground. Casting a great shadow over the ground beneath it. Clouds broke on its walls, or were torn apart by the jagged point of its base. Here was a mountain inverted, drifting in the sky.
All at once she understood the arrogance of the people that dwelled upon it.
How could you be anything but, when you had lived in the sky?
The air above it was carnival bright, Aerokin everywhere, in places dozens of them were entwined, an orgy of the sky perhaps, or some more arcane form of communication. Everywhere their bright carapaces gleamed. And beneath them Drifters flew on gliders and wings, chasing the heat. And she was reminded again, and painfully, of her home and the Sweepers that had patrolled the Steaming Vents.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” David said, not even trying to hide the awe from his voice. He almost seemed like the David she had first known. “No matter how many times you see it, it’s amazing. And I have never seen it from this angle. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget this moment.”
And, as if in response, the clouds parted and the sun’s light washed down over the city, and it shone like a great jewel from the point of the Caress to the tops of the hangars. A delicate jewel.
Margaret had seen such things deep in the belly of Tate, gypsum jewels that shone in torchlight, but would splinter to the touch. Drift was like that. Frail as the Aerokin.
It’s all an illusion, she thought. Scintillating and bright, but so easy to end. She could think of a dozen ways that this city could be taken, even with as few as two iron ships. When the Roil came to this city, it would come fast and violently.
And her mood fell with that realisation, and she turned from the sight of the city, to check over her weapons once again. After all, they had no idea what they would face once they landed in the city.
“So much for a surprise arrival,” Margaret said. People down below were pointing. Larger weaponised Aerokin were drawing in.
“I suppose there was never going to be a way to arrive by stealth.”
“Yes, but I didn’t expect a reception either,” Margaret said.
David watched her, and Margaret grimaced at him.
She said, “Better to be prepared for betrayal.”
“Long way from the ground if we are betrayed, don’t you think? What will you do, if that’s the case?”
“Fall,” Margaret said. “If we have to fall, then fall we will.”
CHAPTER 20
The Mothers of the Sky, who hasn't wondered at their insight or their political control. No government has been more stable, nor, with the exception of two wars, (and that is two wars over six thousand years) more isolationist. What did they do? How did they rule? Truth is, we know little of it. Just that it worked, and worked for a people so contrary and wild. Nothing was arbitrary, nothing ill-considered, they ruled, and they ruled well.
THE CITY OF DRIFT 1400 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL
Pinch came down slowly in the field beside the great stony tower of the Caress, her flagella gripping landing pegs set out for her. David couldn’t help but gawp at the famous tower of stone, the tallest structure in Shale other than the Breaching Spire itself. Clouds tangled and tore on its edges. Clouds tore and tangled on everything up here.
The Drifters that waited below were delicate, and lean to a man and woman. David was easily three inches taller than the majority of them. They watched Pinch ’s approach silently, and with a scrutiny that David found unnerving. Just what did they expect to come shambling out of the little Aerokin?
Most of the crowd wore frock coats and capes, with an occasional greatcoat similar to Margaret's. Pilots always dressed in a manner both gaudy and functional, rings gleamed from fingers, brass holsters shone. Their skin was brown like David’s. Margaret stood out even more here. In the light her skin was almost luminous. To the rear of the crowd stood men and women armed with rifles, part of some local militia.
Margaret had seen them too, of course; she was already charging her guns.
“Don’t be foolish,” David said.
“If we’re going to die-”
“If they had wanted us dead, Pinch could have hurled us into the sky at any time. The moment we got onto the roof, our lives were in the Drifters’ hands.”
“And we gave them so easily.”
Then David saw Kara near the front of the crowd; a woman, taller and older than the rest, stood beside her. David tried to work out her age, but couldn’t. A memory spiked within him. He felt his cheeks burn.
“What do you think they want?” Margaret said.
David stared at Kara's companion, tried to access memories that weren't quite his. “We’ve travelled all this way, I believe that they won’t waste too much time in telling us.” No luck, he turned to Margaret, motioned to her guns, then the bag of weapons. “Put them away. We're not here to fight. For goodness’ sake, those are meant to be our allies down there.”
“We're always here to fight. And David, we don't have any allies,” Margaret said, though she slid the rifle back into her bag. She did nothing about the other weapons that she had holstered around her waist.
David frowned at her.
“They can pry these off my dead body, if they wish, but that is the only way that I am ever giving them up.”
David walked to the fore of the Aerokin. The gondola’s doorifice opened for him, admitting the cool air of Drift. He said, “When you decide to die, please don’t take me with you.”
“If I die, at a time not my choosing,” Margaret said, “the whole world will go with me, you included.”
“We need to be very careful,” David said. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.” He buttoned down his cape. “And no destroying the world for a while yet.”
The crowd stood some distance from Pinch — no one coming forward. Indeed, they watched with less than welcoming eyes, until Kara cried out in greeting — the older woman, a Mother of the Sky perhaps, held back.
“David! Margaret! At last, at last, at last!” Kara flung her arms around David, then pulled away, face puzzled. “When did you grow so cold? You’re bloody freezing, cold as death.”
“I’m all right,” David said. “I’m fine.”
David could tell that the older woman wasn’t used to giving the lead to anyone else, and by the crowd’s reaction they weren’t used to seeing it given. Only Kara seemed remotely close to natural, her smile the least forced.
“We thought you were in trouble,” Margaret said, her bag rattling on her shoulder.
Kara looked at the guns holstered at her belt. “Oh — that, that was a misunderstanding.”
“Your letter seemed rather unambiguous,” David said.
Kara cleared her throat and looked away. “Politics is very changeable here,” she said, her voice low, her eyes flicking in the direction of the older woman. “Like the wind, truths shift.”
