Nothing.
There was a crunching noise above him. 'Right here,' came the voice again. Silverdun. 'Well, don't just stand there. Help me!'
The object above him moved a little; then it began to rise slowly. There came the sound of voices grunting in labor. The object lifted a bit more, and then was shoved sideways.
A silhouette looked down at him, surrounded by witchlight. 'Still alive, I take it?'
'Silverdun!' he gasped.
'I know you're always eager to display your manliness,' said Silverdun, 'but pinning yourself under a yacht seems excessive, even for you.'
Ironfoot stood, shakily, and stumbled. Beneath him was not solid ground, but something soft and springy, like a feather mattress, only infinitely more pliable. Silverdun reached down and pulled him up onto ... something.
In the dark it was difficult to comprehend what he was seeing. There was very little light other than witchlight, which illuminated Silverdun's relieved expression. There were a number of robed figures standing nearby. Next to him, a black hulk, was the fore half of the yacht. It registered that he had briefly lifted the entire thing on his own. They were surrounded on all sides by strange shapes, and the place smelled faintly of garbage.
Something slapped against Ironfoot's hip as he took a step toward Silverdun. It was Timha's satchel. Somehow he'd managed to hold on to it.
Sela was behind Silverdun. She had a huge gash on the side of her head, and blood streaming down her dress, but she seemed not much the worse for wear. Silverdun was a bit rumpled, but otherwise seemed fine. Timha was stumbling toward them as well, his breathing ragged and hitching with what might have been sobs.
All else was darkness. No, not quite; on the horizon he could see silver wheat swaying in the moonlight.
'What happened?' he said.
'More to the point, what did not happen?' said Silverdun. 'What didn't happen was that we didn't get crushed to bits after falling a thousand feet in a burning yacht.'
'And how did that not happen, exactly?' asked Ironfoot, baffled. The last thing he remembered was being on board the yacht, flames hissing through the air. After that it was all a little fuzzy.
'Because of them,' said Silverdun. He gestured toward the robed figures standing nearby. Ironfoot noticed that most of them were carrying bulging sacks; two of them were carrying a large item between them. A table?
One of them stepped forward. All that Ironfoot could see of him was that he was lean and tall and his head was shaved clean. 'Hello,' he said. 'I am Je Wen. Welcome to the ground.' He spoke Common haltingly, in a thick, strange accent.
'You saved us?' said Ironfoot. 'How?'
'We did not save you,' said Je Wen. 'You fell into our net.'
A chaotic groaning sound issued from all around, and the ground swayed beneath their feet, as though they were on a ship on the sea. Ironfoot, Sela, and Silverdun toppled over, but the robed figures remained on their feet.
'We're standing on a sheet of Motion,' said Silverdun, shakily rising to his feet. 'A massive one. Incredibly soft and flexible; like a great fluffy pillow.'
Je Wen looked back at his fellow. 'Let us take what we need and be gone,' he said. He turned to Silverdun. 'We would like for you to come with us.'
'Who are you people?' said Ironfoot.
'They're Arami,' said Timha. 'And if they saved us, they'll want something for it.'
'I thought you didn't interact with the Fae of the cities,' said Ironfoot.
'Only that one,' said Je Wen, pointing at Timha, 'is of the cities. You are not.'
'How-?' Ironfoot began, but the sea of objects around them groaned again, and the swaying grew in fierceness.
'We must go,' said Je Wen. It would be wise for the four of you to accompany us.'
Ironfoot looked at Silverdun, and Silverdun shrugged. 'Unless you have something better to do?'
'You can't trust these people,' said Timha. 'I'm telling you.'
'You've been overruled,' said Silverdun. 'Let's go.'
Sela nodded as well. Ironfoot followed Je Wen and his fellows toward the silver light on the horizon. In the back of his mind were two similar patterns,
