Abruptly, the engine noise increased and she felt a chilly breeze.
“Jefri!” Somehow he had managed to
“Hei, the benefits of low tech,” he said.
“Um.” Of course, it should be safe. They weren’t more than three thousand meters up, with an airspeed of only a few dozen meters per second. She popped the other tiny hatch and pulled the glass inwards. The engine sound became a buzzing roar, and eddies of frigid air blasted around the cabin. But the view was utterly clear. She stared into the cloud deck, seeing detail within detail.
Jefri looked down as steeply as he could. “I figure they’re taking us to the Choir!”
For a moment, Ravna’s mind looked out much farther than the physical windows. So Nevil had been conspiring with just about every one of the Domain’s antagonists. Who was villain-in-chief?
“Wow.” Jefri’s voice was muffled by the wind, but it brought her back to the physical view. The thunderhead was closer now, its tower a maze of light on dark, its anvil climbing out of sight above them. Flying with Pilgrim on the antigravity skiff, Ravna had come much too near such things. Pilgrim loved to fly right into the vertical drafts of great storms.
The pitch of the engines changed. The ship was angling away from the storm, but losing altitude at the same time. Soon the cloud deck had become fog, curling up to them. The turbulence grew.
“I hope these people know what they’re doing,” said Ravna.
“Maybe that was what the steward pack meant when it said ‘twenty-three minutes.’”
The clouds closed darkly around them. They motored along for some minutes. Still descending? The clouds had come into their cabin. She felt tiny droplets of moisture condensing on her face and eyelashes. Outside, lightning flashed electric blue, diffused by the dense mist. The deck tilted as thunder crashed. Their breakfast bowls were scattered all over the cabin.
The lightning gradually diminished and after some minutes the airship broke through the bottom of the clouds. There were still more clouds below, but they were scattered flotsam in the grayish-green depths. A steady rain ricocheted off the hull. The turn and descent had brought the other airship into view. It was pacing them, perhaps a thousand meters away, but it was almost invisible except when silhouetted by the glow of distant lightning. Jefri was silent for some time, just watching the other craft.
In the hours that followed, the thunder and lightning were more distant, but the airship was not the stable platform of before. It rode up and down like a boat on ocean swells, except that this motion was much more arbitrary and abrupt.
They spent most of the time at the portholes, watching their progress from forest to jungle and swamp. They were flying so low that when the rain lessened, they could see flowers in the treetops and wader birds in the open swamps. This was very much like the environment of equatorial Nyjora, when the Techie had battled both the exploiters and the plague that was killing the last of their men. She glanced at Jefri; how little of that history made any sense here.
Jef didn’t seem to notice her look. He was staring downward more intently than ever. “I still don’t understand what Vendacious and Tycoon are doing here. We seem to be as far south as coherent packs can survive.”
“How can you tell?”
“I can see a bit under the trees when we pass over rivers. There are Choir settlements—at least that’s what I think they are. When these settlements begin to connect together, there’s no way that packs can penetrate and still keep their minds. Look down there. Around the trees. That mottling, I think that’s floating shacks.”
“… Yes.” She could see a change in the texture of the river shore. And here and there, she saw polygonal shapes that might have been real buildings. Within an hour, they were flying over settlements in open clearings. As the day darkened into true twilight, the settlements merged and the forest was replaced by an unending, chaotic jumble of vegetation, swamp, and artifact.
By the time their little steward showed up, it was night outside—and pitch black in their cabin. The cabin had a small mantle lamp but it had seemed to be disabled. Besides delivering dinner, the steward showed them how to light the lamp. The foursome was a cheerful creature, not at all the jailer Ravna would have expected.
After dinner, the rain slackened and—strangely—the air became steadily warmer. They doused the cabin lamp and returned to the portholes. There was no more lightning, but no stars or moonlight either. Here and there, what looked like campfires shone below. The air coming in the ports smelled faintly of compost and sewage.
“We’re descending,” said Jefri. “We’ll come down in the middle of that.” But an hour passed. Two. They fell asleep as the rain increased and the air grew choppy.
The door bolt clicked, lifting open. Someone was scratching at the cabin door. Ravna struggled to wakefulness, confused. The steward would have tapped politely on the door and sung out for them to rouse themselves.
Jefri was up on his elbows. “What—?” he said, but very softly.
“Maybe we’re finally landing?” Ravna noticed that she was whispering too. Pointlessly. Any Tines on the other side of that door could hear them fine.
The furtive scratching continued.
She put out a warning hand, but Jefri was already at the door. The hall beyond was lit by a single gaslamp. Two members were visible, but only in silhouette. One stuck a snout into the room, peering about. Then it wriggled past Jefri.
Not a pack, a piece of Mr. Radio; in the lamplight, Ravna could see an occasional glint off its cloak. The creature hesitated, perhaps communing with far off employers. Then it squeezed past Ritl and blundered around in the dark, evidently not much good at echo location. It flinched back every time it stepped on their legs, but there wasn’t very much human-free floorspace. It ended up scrunched against the wall.
Ritl slid the door almost shut, then sprawled across Ravna’s shins and pressed her head close to the narrow door opening, as if listening out into the hall. The light from the hall lamp made it easy for Ravna to see, though for the Tines, the room must seem very dark. The radio-singleton looked seriously nervous. And Ritl? Well, maybe she was scared quiet, but more likely she was just being animal crafty.
After a moment, Jefri said dryly—but softly!—“Well, who do we have here?”
The radio singleton looked up at the sound and seemed to relax. “Jefri, is it just you and Ravna there?” The words were barely the breath of whisper … but the voice belonged to Amdi.
Jef gave a stifled whoop. “Amdi! Are you okay? How—?”
“
Jefri was silent for a moment, seemingly stunned by the turn of events.
On the other side of the tiny cabin, Ritl gobbled softly. It wasn’t an alarm, just a variant of her usual scolding. Amdi’s voice was resigned: “That Ritl. Even when she’s helping, she’s a pain.” Then he continued, “We had to try and talk, Jefri. There are things you have to know, things we have to plan.” To Ravna these assertions had a rushed, questioning quality.
Certainly, Jefri heard that too. His tone was reassuring: “It’s okay, Amdi. How did you manage this? Who— what—is Mr. Radio Cloaks?”
“Utzekfyrforfurtariil is a Vendacious creation—though Tycoon doesn’t know that. Vendacious figures that by controlling the Mr. Radio network, he’s the puppetmaster of everybody.”
Ravna looked at Zek suspiciously. “So what went wrong?”
Zek relayed Amdi’s very human, little-boy laughter. “What do you think? Vendacious himself. He’s smart, but
