Heart of Gold
THE SECOND VOLUME OF
The Laws of Magic
AUBREY FITZWILLIAM KNEW THAT CRISIS WAS another word for opportunity. He simply wished that he saw more of the latter and less of the former.
AUBREY GRIMACED, TIGHTENED THE LAST VALVE ASSEMBLY and closed the ornithopter's cowling. He stretched, wincing, just as his friend George Doyle spoke up. 'Aubrey?'
'Hm?'
'What's bright orange and floats through clouds?'
'Riddling, George? Really, you need to find something more worthwhile to do.'
'It's not a riddle, old man. It's what I'm looking at right now.'
While Aubrey had worked on the ornithopter, George had spent much of the evening lounging on a bench, propped on one elbow and reading the newspaper. Now, he was peering out of the window of the workshop at the night sky. Aubrey wiped his greasy hands on a rag and strolled to see what had caught his friend's attention. 'Where?'
A pearly-grey blanket of cloud hung over Finley Moor Airfield and stretched to the south, where it reflected the many lights of Trinovant, the heart of the Albion Empire. Thunder growled nearby.
'There. That glow.' George pointed to the north-east, past the control tower – dark at this time of night – and the dirigible mooring masts. Four long grey cigar-shapes bobbed at rest. They were the pride of the Albion airship fleet, the 800-foot-long Imperial class, the most advanced lighter-than-air craft in the world.
The orange light was coming from something in the clouds – something large. Aubrey frowned, trying to make out what it was, then he gaped as it burst through the clouds. A flaming dirigible staggered across the sky, its nose angling downward, losing lift and sagging in the middle. Fire had enveloped the front third of the stately airship, puncturing the internal gasbags. Flames lit up the airfield and the countryside in a ghastly hell-light.
Aubrey's tiredness vanished. He sprinted out of the hangar, a thousand decisions competing for his attention. He flung open the door of the nearest ornithopter. It was a Falcon model, not his favourite, but it was a six-seater, with a largish cargo bay, and that was what he wanted.
George caught up and seized his arm. 'What are you doing, old man?'
'That's a Gallian airship, an RT-401.Twenty crew members are going to die up there unless we do something.'
'You've never done a night flight before,' George pointed out.
I know, Aubrey thought. And I flew solo for the first time just two days ago. 'How hard can night flying be?' Aubrey vaulted into the pilot's seat. 'It's the same sky, after all.'
'It's not the sky I'm worried about.' George squeezed his broad-shouldered frame into the co-pilot seat. 'It's the ground waiting for us if you make a mistake.' He shook his head. 'This is madness. Shouldn't we send for help?'
'No time. Those poor souls don't have long.' Aubrey ran through his pre-flight checklist, decided it would take too long in the circumstances, then pulled the ignition lever. The engine coughed into life and he seized the controls.
The great metal wings creaked and stretched. Aubrey used the foot pedals and the landing gear whirred into action. He felt the bird-like craft settle, tense, and then a stomach-dropping thrust as its legs kicked upwards. The wings twisted and beat, noisily driving upwards.
Aubrey forced the craft to climb almost vertically. He flicked his black hair as it fell in his eyes. 'Where is it?' he shouted over the crashing of the metal wings.
'Left!' George shouted back. 'Port, I mean! Over there, past the sewage works!' He pointed. Aubrey dragged the wheel around until the dirigible came into view overhead.
He pulled back on the wheel with all his strength, and sent the ornithopter into a testing climb. Then he levelled off and swept toward the crippled airship.
A huge gout of fire erupted from the nose of the dirigible. Aubrey gritted his teeth and wrenched at the controls. George shouted as a jet of flame reached for them, a wave of heat screaming like a flock of harpies. Their craft staggered and heeled, the port wing canting while the starboard wing flailed wildly. His heart hammering wildly, Aubrey held on, glad for the belt that kept him in his seat.
From behind them came the shriek of struts protesting under strain. Aubrey held his breath and eased off the controls. The rending noise slowed, but then he heard the sharp pings of rivets giving up and popping loose. Immediately, metal crashed against metal, grinding horribly. Not a good sign, he thought. With little choice, he ignored it and concentrated on keeping the craft steady.
The Falcon was approaching the dirigible almost directly head-on. Aubrey banked the ornithopter to port and swooped along the vast flank of the airship. The Falcon bucked a little, but Aubrey anticipated and held the line.
The entire front half of the dirigible was ablaze. The smell of burning rubber was harsh in Aubrey's nostrils and he grimaced. He eased the Falcon toward a tight turn around the stern of the airship, aiming to glide along the other side.
George shouted and grabbed his arm. The ornithopter, delicately responsive, dipped and shuddered. Aubrey had to strain the controls, adjusting wing pitch and attack, to right it again.
'Don't do that!' he shouted.
'Someone's in the back!'
Aubrey risked a glance as they rounded the tail of the aerial behemoth. A stocky man in the uniform of the Gallian Dirigible Corps was standing in the rear observation cockpit, waving desperately.
'We'll come back for him.' Aubrey steered toward the bow, where the gondola clung to the belly of the dirigible.
The gondola was the long cabin where the captain controlled the airship. If he was able to come alongside, he might be able to get the ornithopter to hover long enough to take on survivors. The Falcon could carry four passengers, but Aubrey was sure he could manage six, then shuttle back for the rest.
He licked lips that had suddenly gone dry, and began to edge closer to the dirigible. He clenched his teeth and concentrated on keeping his hands steady.
A mighty groan came from the airship, followed by the sharp, bright noise of metal reaching the end of its strength. Automatically, Aubrey sheered off and dropped away. Then he climbed, not wanting to get caught in the rain of debris falling from the crippled dirigible – struts, wire, shattered glass, burning fabric.
He glanced up and, to his horror, saw that the internal frame of the airship was collapsing. Tormented metal screamed and buckled. One of the motor units wrenched loose and fell, still whirring, to the ground far below. Then, without warning, the entire gondola tore away. It tilted and hung, attached along one side, then it plummeted.
Immediately, the remnants of the dirigible lurched upwards, much lighter now. The clouds opened around it, then swallowed the flaming leviathan of the air.
Sickened, Aubrey closed his eyes, grieving for the lost crew. Twenty brave souls, gone in an instant. He banged the instrument panel with a fist, cursing his failure to save them. Should he have gone for help as George suggested? Was he simply being too rash, too overreaching – again?