He settled on the bench seat under the window, his arms stretched out along the back. Adena poured a finger of Penumbra Panther brand whiskey for them both and joined him. They touched glasses with a soft clink. "Cheers!"
Greg drank then smacked his lips in appreciation. "Smooth."
"I know the distillers. They do good work." She sipped her own drink, felt the fire go a long way toward removing the chill in her bones generated by Mr. Phibuli's behavior. Greg looked much healthier. The spell of exercise walking around the ship added to his improved diet obviously helped. "So..."
A knock sounded at the door, and Adena cursed under her breath again. I cannot catch a break! "Come!" She called with more force than necessary.
Conner poked his head around the door. "We're coming up on the City, Skipper. Zared's compliments, and he'd like to be on the flight deck as we approach."
She glanced at the clock. "We've made better time than I expected. There must be a tailwind. Yes, fine, I can see he'd like that." She glanced at Greg and shrugged. "I've got to go. I'd ask you onto the flight deck too, but you must be too tired."
He stood up, using his cane to take most of his weight. "No, I'd like to see this city, if it's not inconvenient."
She pushed her frustration aside and managed a smile. "Not at all."
Chapter 7
Adena settled Greg on the stool in the starboard side observation bay then took the station next to the wheel. A guy in sage green robes with a crimson fez perched on top of cropped black hair entered the flight deck not long after and took up position in the port bay.
Greg guessed him to be Zared, the supercargo. He glanced at the guy's profile, struck by his air of suppressed excitement. The supercargo's features looked thin; indeed, his whole frame appeared lanky to the point of emaciation. He glanced once in Greg's direction, but resumed his careful watch on the approaching city with no further acknowledgment of his presence. Greg shook his head at the guy's aloofness and looked ahead.
What he had first taken to be a dark line of hills on the far horizon resolved into an urban landscape unlike any other he'd seen. As the airship approached, details became clearer. The buildings of the City of Night had a general uniform height of six to eight stories with some higher towers, turrets and spires here and there. Mansard roofs seemed commonplace, made of some dark fired clay-like material that contrasted with the lighter shades of brick and stone walls. The sea of rooftops spread in an undulating mass beyond the horizon and to either side, yet the urbanized zone came to a sharply defined boundary. The buildings reached the edge of the desert then stopped, their structures forming a virtual wall against the world. A pinprick of light showed here and there, which only served to give Greg a sense of unreality. He recalled flights on commercial airlines that passed over New York City and LA. How can such an urban expanse be so empty-looking?
Adena walked over to him and grinned. "Impressive, no?"
Greg nodded and folded his arms. "It looks something like medieval Paris combined with New York City's urban sprawl."
She gave him an amused glance. "I don't understand your references, but I'll take your word for it."
"Where are we headed?"
"There's a broad plaza about two leagues into the city." She pointed. "That building with the cupola and green dome is our way-point."
Greg followed the line of her pointing finger. He could barely make out the structure, which left him all the more impressed with Adena's eyesight.
She went on. "We take a bearing from that to another landmark deeper into the city and we should drop right into it."
"What's a league?"
She glanced at him. "You're an engineer and you don't know?" He shook his head. "Okay, it's three miles."
"How big is this city?"
"Something like five thousand square miles."
Greg blinked. "It's bigger than the New York urban sprawl!"
Adena shrugged. "If you say so. Nowhere near all of it is occupied. The Houses tend to stick to a core of residences and have outposts around the perimeters of their territory. There are areas peopled by escaped slaves, those who're too fearful of the desert and the things living there to try and leave. Resistance groups exist, too. They have their own turf, and we trade with them at times." She grimaced. "Not all of them are friendly. Some can be trusted as long as you keep a gun handy. This group we're heading for now seems stable enough. Excuse me."
Adena returned to her place at the helm and gave orders to bring Oculus Nightingale to a lower altitude. The engine pitch, a constant sound that Greg had long pushed into his subconscious, slowed and decreased in volume. He swayed a little as way came off the vessel, and the desert rose to meet them.
"Way ‘nuff." Adena peered down at the oncoming buildings. "Steady as she goes. Sound action stations, Mr. Dyer."
The bells rang out, filling the gondola until it echoed. Greg saw a gunner already occupied in her turret beneath the flight deck floor and realized the alert was a mere formality. The weapons crew knew they headed into potential trouble and needed no second warning to take their posts. It spoke of good training and probably, hard-won experience.
Adena glanced back at Greg. "We'll fly into the city a couple hundred feet above rooftop height. It limits our chances of being spotted by potentially hostile forces, while keeping out of range of ground fire."
Greg swallowed, suddenly nervous. He looked at Adena and her crew; they appeared relaxed. Greg forced himself to relax too, pushing his fear to the back of his mind.
The ship passed over the boundary between city and desert. Greg looked at the rooftops passing below. Some had slates, most had tiles, others flat stone roofs surrounded by battlements. No one pattern or construction
