under discussion. There was a third aircraft, below and ahead of them. It was Scrupilo’s little airboat, the original
As the
Zek was making genial laughing noises. Then he spoke in Samnorsk, with Vendacious’ voice. “Woodcarver’s balloon has run away, my lord. One little threat from Nevil was all it took.”
“Indeed,” said Tycoon, though he watched the departing airboat with only a single pair of eyes. The rest of him was looking ahead. “In less than half a turn we’ll be back in landing position, Vendacious.”
“We are still tracking directly behind you, my lord. We’ll continue on our course as you land. Please keep in touch via the network.”
Tycoon turned a couple of heads to look at Zek. The poor creature had collapsed on his perch. He looked very tired, past coherent fear. Ravna guessed that relaying was all he could manage now. More of Tycoon looked around, glancing at Jefri and Ravna. He cocked his heads as if indecisive. Would he betray Zek and his peers? But then all he said was, “Very good. I’ll keep Zek close.”
Airships might look like some flyers of the Beyond, but the only real similarity was that both could float in the air. Airships were fragile balloons, slaves to the atmosphere. Landing an airship was an enormously awkward exercise, at least if you didn’t have reasonable automation, or trained ground crews.
As they descended upon the meadow, Tycoon had six heads forward, staring down and forward. This time, he wasn’t bothering his pilot. Every meter of descent was a balance of ballast and fine maneuver. They were now so low that most of Newcastle town was above them. Nevil’s open-air stage was at far end of the field, but dozens of humans and even more packs were running along below the airship. Ahead were clusters of younger Children let out of their Academy classes. The colors were festival cheerful, as if the crowds were welcoming back far explorers.
Suddenly the ship’s engines buzzed louder, and the deck shivered beneath her. She could see the tiny heather flowers just beyond the bow window. Still under power, the ship was motionless. Depending on how much lift gas the pilot had vented, they might be floating like thistledown. Then the engines died. She heard crunching noises as the airship was drawn down to the vegetation.
Humans and Tines rolled tie-down weights across the ground just in front of the bow. She recognized faces. These were people from Scrupilo’s ground crew. Tycoon watched with nervous twitches.
Zek was relaying assurances in Tinish, presumably from Vendacious circling above, but Tycoon seemed more interested in what he could see and what he was hearing via the speaking tubes from his own crew. Now he hopped down from his thrones and padded past Ravna and Jefri to the spiral stairs. He was giving orders in all directions, though Ravna could understand only a little.
Jefri looked surprised by something the pack was saying. “Hei, I think Tycoon wants
Zek got down from his perch and almost tripped on his cloak. Ritl ran to him and made encouraging noises. Zek didn’t seem especially frightened; he rearranged his cloak and walked over to Ravna and Jefri. When he spoke, it was Vendacious: “Ah, the humans. What to do with you? M’lord Tycoon says it’s safe to take you outside, that your presence will disarm the likes of Woodcarver.”
The gunpack had two heads stuck up from the stairwell. It waggled a snout in Zek’s direction, evidently telling him to get a move on. Zek started toward the stairs, but he seemed to be getting conflicting orders. He stopped to relay one more piece of advice from Vendacious: “I hope my lord Tycoon is right in this—but keep in mind that
Chapter 39
That afternoon, Johanna Olsndot discovered some true friends. The surprise and the life-saving miracle was that they were exactly everyone she met. Within ten minutes of Nevil’s attack on the pier, she was in the Larsndots’ apartment above the tailor shop on Wee Alley. Ben Larsndot had found her tottering down back alleys.
“I was just at the front of the crowd. I saw you peeping out of the stormwalk and then the world blew up.” He was half-carrying her. “Did those Tropicals bring a bomb ashore?”
“No. It was … beam gun.” She could barely gasp the words that should have been screamed.
Even so, Ben stopped in surprise. “But—even Nevil wouldn’t do something like that!”
“But it’s the truth,” she said. This conversation was the story of Nevil’s life.
Ben didn’t say too much after that, but she sensed his rage. When they got to the apartment, he stayed just long enough to tell his wife what had happened, and then he departed to go back to the pier. Wenda went tight- lipped when she heard the story, but she let him go. She looked at Johanna, “Ben has to help out. On the other hand, I’m the one with political savvy in the family.”
Johanna was lying limply on a sofa, under a nice warm cloak. She was vaguely aware of Wenda, Jr., and Sika hovering about. They didn’t seem frightened, just generally awed by all the sudden activity. “Political savvy is what I need. I want to get the word out about what’s really happened—without any more innocents getting killed.”
Wenda gave her clean clothes, warm and good for hiking. Over the next two hours, Johanna learned what the tailor family could really do. Indeed, the Larsndots had spent these years going native. Wenda and her kids knew the backstreets of the South End. They were merely being properly paranoid, not using the telephone system, but not worrying about automatic surveillance. The kids, especially Wenda, Jr., seemed to know just where Deniers might be looking, and more than once took Johanna on little detours to avoid revealing encounters. “We play these games every day now,” said Wenda, Sr. “We don’t like Deniers down here on the South End. Since you disappeared and Ravna was kidnapped, things have been…”
Johanna was still limping, but she had no trouble keeping up with the three. “Jefri. What about him and Amdi?”
Wenda, Sr., looked away. “Both gone. The same night Ravna was grabbed. We … we don’t know about them, Jo. You know those two had dealings with Nevil and Gannon Jorkenrud. Gannon’s gone too.”
They were walking in deep shadow now, down a narrow alley between Tinish-style half-frame buildings. These had been built since the Children landed—most of the South End dated from then, but the style was medieval. Out of the shadows, ahead and behind, a couple of packs materialized. Johanna recognized Benky ahead and Wretchly behind.
Jo faltered. Benky was Woodcarver’s most reliable lieutenant, but—“Hei, Wretchly is—”
Wenda nodded, waved at her to keep walking.
From behind, Wretchly’s voice wafted forward. “Heh, yup. Now that Screwfloss is gone, I’m Flenser’s number-one flunky and hatchetman.”
There was quiet giggling from Junior and Sika. Junior slipped forward to be with Benky. Sika dropped back and walked among the Wretchly foursome. They took several sharp turns, skirting the Ferryside market and heading downslope. Around them was the faint scent of garbage. Now Sika wanted her mother to carry her. The timber- frame dwellings gave way to stone slab buildings, two and three stories tall. Here and there, packs crossed their path, but Jo didn’t see any humans. In fact, the market sounds were sparse. Maybe that was no surprise.
After one last turn, the alley opened out onto a view of the ferry docks. They were just a meter or two above the water. The Straits was a flat silver line across their view. Ordinarily, there would be a ferry or two in the moorage. Another ferry might be out in the Straits, and a couple more would be parked on the mainland side. Today, not a single ferry was pulled up on the Hidden Island side. Jo looked across the water at Cliffside, just a couple thousand meters away. She counted five ferries there.
Benky settled one of himself beside her. “That’s where everybody went. Most all are up on Starship Hill
