Walking the Steps of Terrel Fen was the Gegs’ term for this method of ridding themselves of undesirables. The Terrel Fen are a series of small islands that float beneath Drevlin, revolving downward in a never-ending spiral until they eventually vanish into the swirling clouds of the All-dark. It was said that in the ancient days, just after the Sundering, it was actually possible to “walk” the Terrel Fen, the islands being close enough to Drevlin that a Geg could leap from one to the other. The ancient Gegs presumably forced their criminals to do this very thing.
Over the centuries, however, the islands had gradually been pulled deeper and deeper into the Maelstrom, so that now one could—during pauses in the storm—only vaguely make out the shape of the nearest island drifting down below. As one of their more ingenuous High Fromen pointed out, a Geg would have to sprout wings in order to survive long enough for the Mangers to judge him on the way down. This led, quite naturally, to the Gegs thoughtfully providing wings for the condemned, which led to the development of the “bird contraption” that Jarre had described.
“The “Feathers of Justick” was its formal appellation. It was made of the finely shaped and neatly trimmed wood pieces spit out by the Kicksey-Winsey for use in the lectriczingers.
The wooden frame, four feet wide, had a wingspan of about fourteen feet. The frame was covered with a woven material (another product of the Kicksey-Winsey) that was then decorated with her feathers, held in place by a sticky substance made of flour and water. Ordinarily, a strong cable attached to the lectriczinger allowed it to zoom up into the heart of the storm and harvest lightning. But, of course, it couldn’t very well do this with a two-hundred-rock Geg weighing it down.
During a lull in the storms, the offending Geg was taken to the edge of Drevlin and placed in the center of the Feathers of Justick. His wrists were strapped securely to the wooden frame, his feet dangled out over the back end. Six clarks lifted the contraption and, at the order of the High Froman, ran with it to the edge of the isle and cast it off.
The only Gegs present to witness the execution were the High Froman, the Head Clark, and six minor clarks necessary to send the Wings of Justick into the air. Long ago, all Gegs not serving the Kicksey-Winsey had attended executions. But then had come the sensational “walking” of the notorious Dirk Screw. Drunk on the job, Dirk fell asleep, and didn’t notice the tiny hand on the whistle-toot attached to the bubble-boiler waving at him wildly. The resultant explosion parboiled several Gegs and—what was worse—seriously damaged the Kicksey-Winsey, which was obliged to shut itself down for a day and a half to effect repairs.
Dirk, though severely steam-burned, was taken alive and was sentenced to Walking the Steps. Crowds of Gegs came to witness the execution. Those at the back, complaining that they couldn’t see, began to push and shove their way to the front, with the tragic result that numerous Gegs standing on the edge of the isle took unexpected “walks.” The High Froman banned all further public viewing of executions from that time forward.
On this occasion, the public didn’t miss much. Limbeck was so fascinated by the proceedings that he completely forgot to look martyred, and highly annoyed the clarks, who were strapping his hands to the wooden frame, with his endless string of questions.
“What is this stuff made from?” Referring to the paste. “What holds the frame together? How big are the sheets of fabric wrapped around the frame? Do they come that big? Really? Why does the Kicksey-Winsey make fabric?” Finally the Head Clark, in the interests of protecting the innocent, decreed that a gag be placed in Limbeck’s mouth. This was done, and the Feathers of Justick was ready to be cast off into the air without ceremony at the hurried command of the High Froman, who—crown on his head—had a splitting headache and wasn’t able to erjoy the execution in the slightest.
Six stout clarks grasped the main-frame section of the Feathers and hoisted it up over their heads. At the signal from the Head Clark, they broke into a lumbering run, dashing down a ramp, heading for the edge of the isle. Suddenly and unexpectedly, a gust of wind caught the Feathers, snatched it from their hands, and lifted it into the air. The Feathers bucked and lurched, spun around three times, then crashed down to the ground.
“What the samhill are you doing out there?” shouted the High Froman. “What the samhill are they doing out there?” he demanded of his brother-in-law, who—looking harassed—ran to the edge to find out.
The clarks extricated Limbeck from the broken lectriczinger and brought him, dizzy and spitting feathers out of his mouth, back to the starting platform. Another Feathers of Justick was procured—the High Froman fuming at the delay—and Limbeck was strapped on. The clarks received a stern lecture from their superior about the need to hold on tightly to the frame, and then they were off.
The wind lifted the Feathers at just the right moment and Limbeck sailed gracefully into the air. The cable snapped. The clarks, the Head Clark, and the High Froman stood at the edge of the isle watching the feathered contraption glide slowly outward and sink slowly downward.
Somehow or other, Limbeck must have managed to yank the gag from his mouth, because Darral Longshoreman could have sworn that he heard a last “Whyyyyy?” trail off into the heart of the Maelstrom. Removing the iron crown off his head, he fought back an impulse to hurl it over the edge of the isle, and—heaving a vast sigh of relief—returned to his home in the holding tank. Limbeck, floating on the air currents swirling him gently round and round, twisted his neck to look at the isle of Drevlin above him. For many moments he enjoyed the sensation of flying, circling lazily beneath the isle, peering up at the coralite formations that appeared unique from this viewpoint—much different than when seen from up above. Limbeck wasn’t wearing his spectacles (he had them wrapped in a handkerchief tucked safely away in a pocket of his trousers), but having been caught in an updraft, he found himself swept quite close to the bottom of the isle and therefore had an excellent view. Millions and millions of holes bored up into the interior. Some were extremely large—Limbeck could easily have sailed into one if he had been able to manage the wings. He was quite startled to see thousands of bubbles drifting out of these holes. They burst almost immediately when they hit the open air, and Limbeck realized in a flash that he had happened on a remarkable discovery.
“The coralite must produce some sort of gas that is lighter than air and so keeps the island afloat.” His mind went to the picture he’d seen on the Eyeball. “Why would some islands float higher than others? Why would the island that the Welves live on, for example, be higher than ours? Their island must weigh less, that’s logical. But why? Ah, of course.” Limbeck didn’t notice, but he was rapidly descending in a spiral that would have made him dizzy if he had thought about it. “Mineral deposits. That would account for the difference in weight. We must have more mineral deposits—such as iron and so forth—on our island than the Welves do on theirs. Which is probably why the Mangers built the Kicksey-Winsey down here instead of up there. But that still doesn’t explain why it was built in the first place.”
Moved to write down his latest observation, Limbeck was irritated to find that his hands were tied to something. Looking to see what, he was recalled to his current interesting, if desperate, situation. The sky around him was growing rapidly darker. He could no longer see anything of Drevlin. The wind was blowing harder and had taken on a distinct circular motion; the ride was growing considerably more bumpy and erratic. He was tossed this way and that way, upward and downward and around and around. Rain began to pelt down on him, and Limbeck made another discovery. Although not as momentous as the first, this one had rather more impact.