Taziri watched her little mirror long enough to be sure that both of her officers were inside and the hatch was shut and then she focused on her flight stick and throttle. Power up, flaps up. The Halcyon shivered and skidded sideways just a bit and then the huge metal bird hopped into the air and everything changed. The vibrations settled down, the noise dropped, and the world tilted backward as the tiny plane angled higher and higher into a haze of falling snow. Taziri held the controls absolutely still as she watched their speed building and their altitude rising until she was confident that they were well and truly flying safely, and then she brought the nose down, leveled the plane against the horizon, and exhaled.
She gave herself a few moments to breathe and flex her hands. Her left hand responded as best it could. It was immobilized at the wrist, held firm by an aluminum brace after a vicious burn had destroyed most of the muscle and nerves in her forearm nearly two years ago. Her fingers still waggled on command, though the two little ones were completely numb. Still, she knew she was one of the lucky ones. Major Geroubi had lost an eye. The rest of the Northern Air Corps had lost their lives.
“Everyone all right back there?” she called.
Kenan flashed his nervous grin and his awkward thumbs-up, then stood and shuffled up to the cockpit to sit beside her. He made a small show of wiping the sweat from his forehead and then began checking his instrument panel. “That was a little more exciting than I thought it would be, captain.”
“It certainly was. How’s your board look, lieutenant?”
He blinked and nodded. “Looks good.”
“Then take the stick and get us above these clouds.” She barely gave him time to take over before she stood and made her way slowly back along the sloping cabin to the major. “You all right?”
He was poking at his upper thigh. “Yeah, he just nicked me. I don’t think it even broke the skin.” Syfax frowned thoughtfully. “Pretty pathetic guns in this country.”
“Well, I’m just glad you’re in one piece.” Taziri shifted to look at the third passenger, the young man with the prominent nose and brow who was curled up against the cabin wall and vigorously rubbing his temples. She said in Espani, “Excuse me, sir. You’re the chemist, right?”
The youth turned to stare at her with a vague look of horror on his face. “What? Yes. Aligeri. Dante Aligeri.”
“All right, Dante. Who were those men? Why were they shooting at you?”
With shaking hands, he fished a silver box from his pocket, produced a cigarette, and proceeded to light it with a wooden match. After taking several slow draws, he said, “They were Corso Donati’s men, the Black Guelphs.”
“What’s a Guelph? And why were they shooting at you?”
“Why?” Dante exhaled slowly and straightened up in his seat, swept the hair back from his face, and managed to look her in the eye for a moment. “They don’t like me very much. I’m sorry for any inconvenience, but as we all appear to be alive and well, I think we should all leave well enough alone. And shouldn’t you be controlling this unholy contraption, my dear?”
Taziri stared the man down until he turned his look of contempt to the small window beside him, and then she made her way forward. The tall man in blue, still wearing his tricorn hat and painted mask, was staring out his own window. But the woman in checkered purple and pink had removed her jingling headgear and offered Taziri a bright smile as she passed. The Eranian woman was young and slightly plump, her thick black hair just beginning to tumble loose from the elaborate ties and buns on the back of her head. She said, “This is all so exciting. Is it always like this?”
Taziri paused beside her. “Not always. But more often than I’d like.”
She strapped herself back into her pilot’s seat and checked that Kenan was on course for the island of Mallorca, corrected him, and then leaned back to relax her eyes. When she peered up at her overhead mirror, she saw Syfax dutifully patting down each of their passengers for weapons. The scowling Dante gave up a knife and a tiny two-shot revolver, which the major pocketed without any indication that he might throw the young man out the hatch to the sharks.
At the major’s request, the man in blue removed his painted mask to reveal that he wasn’t a man at all. She did have a rather square jaw and prominent brow, and in a dim room Taziri supposed she might be mistaken for a man anyway. The woman allowed herself to be searched, and being found unarmed, she said, “I apologize for the theatrics. My name is Nicola DeVelli, secretary to the Ten of War council.”
Taziri noted the self-satisfied but not entirely condescending smile the woman wore. “Are you running from someone too?”
“Not at all,” Nicola said. “But I find that a woman in my position benefits more from discretion than notoriety. Italia is a passionate nation, full of passionate people. Unfortunately, some of their passions include dueling and hunting in the streets. There are more factions and parties these days than there are people, or so it often seems. It’s going to get us into trouble one day unless we do something about it.”
Syfax checked the young Eranian woman and then thumped back to his seat, strapped himself in, and promptly fell asleep. Taziri watched him, envious. It took her forever to quiet the worries in her head and drift off at night.
“How long will this take?” Dante called from the back.
“Four hours west to Palma, where we’ll refuel and eat lunch,” Taziri said. “Then another four and a half hours south to Tingis.”
“Halfway across the Middle Sea in less than a day?” Shahera beamed. “That’s extraordinary. What will we be able to see from up here?”
Taziri smiled into her scarf. “Lots of clouds, and if you’re lucky, a little bit of water.”
“Oh. Well, it’s still very exciting. Can you tell me how it works?”
“Will you both please shut up!” Dante snapped. “I’m trying to sleep.”
Taziri frowned at the man and saw Kenan’s nervous glance out of the corner of her eye, but Syfax didn’t seem concerned at the outburst, and the major was a very light sleeper. Three months ago as they cruised above the Strait of Tarifa, a young man had had a panic attack and demanded to be taken back to Tingis, threatening to kill one of the other passengers if he wasn’t returned to solid ground immediately. Syfax had been asleep then too, but the moment the panicked man began shouting the major had been on his feet and a moment later the passenger was unconscious in his seat. Since then, Taziri hadn’t worried much about the passengers when she had the air marshal onboard.
The flight to the little airfield outside Palma on the island of Mallorca passed slowly. Taziri had Kenan map their progress using the airspeed indicator, fuel gauge, and compass to calculate their position since all they could see out the windows were several shades of white and gray clouds. Despite the weather, the landing was textbook and a bland Espani soup warmed their bellies while the ground crew refueled the plane with Major Geroubi’s new oil concoction. After only half an hour of stretching their legs, they were back in their seats and back in the air.
“The clouds are thinning out,” Kenan said.
“Yeah. So let’s plan to follow the coast as long as we can see it and turn south when we’re closer to Ejido.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Taziri liked that. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Kenan wasn’t a perfect pilot and he was barely useful as an engineer, but he was a good officer with a strong work ethic, and she was sure with a little more work he would make a good flight officer. One day.
They were barely half an hour out of Palma when Kenan tapped the window to his right. “I can see a city. It’s pretty big. I think it’s Valencia.”
Taziri checked her map. “If it is Valencia, what does that tell us?”
“We’ve reached the coast of Espana?”
“It means we’re too far north because you’ve been bearing west instead of south-west. You need to keep one eye on the compass at all times. We’ve been over this, Kenan. Kenan?”
“I swear I did, captain. It must have been a crosswind.” The lieutenant pressed his face close to the window to peer down at something at an uncomfortable angle. “Captain? I think you should take a look at this.”
“At what?” Taziri stood up and looked over his shoulder. “Where?”
“See the sandy point that looks kind of like a duck’s tail? With the lighthouse? Okay, follow the coast inland toward the city and there’s a big black building between two jetties. See it?”
