S'lound let out a mirthless chuckle. 'Not the sea, anyway. A bog, by the smell of it. And not a very deep one either.'
So it proved, when a cold day dawned some hours later. They had gone through thin ice into a waist-deep pond. There were reedy bogs all around, but little wind at ground level, so the balloon had stayed upright once the weight went off it. S'lound climbed up to the brazier, reporting nothing but mire in every direction. Ullii took one look at the place and retreated to her basket. Nish fed the skeet with a couple of half-frozen rats from a bin. The messenger bird screamed and tried to take his fingers instead.
'Now what?' said Nish as they ate bread and cheese for breakfast, washed down with swamp water.
'Gather reeds for fuel,' said S'lound. Nothing seemed to upset him. No doubt he'd had many worse days as a common soldier.
Nish picked a handful of reeds. 'No heat in these. We'll never get off the ground.'
'Soak 'em in tar spirits. That'll get us high enough that we can look for some wood.'
Nish doubted it. The expedition was turning into another disaster and this one was entirely his responsibility. Of course, they might not be able to walk out of this place at all. They might die here.
They spent the day gathering reeds. It was tedious work in the freezing water and sucking mud, and after labouring for about nine hours, all the daylight they had, the pile of fuel was depressingly small. Late in the afternoon Ullii came out of her basket and collected a bundle of reeds, handing it to Nish with the air of someone bestowing a great gift. It was, had Nish only realised it, but he was in no mood. He snapped at the seeker, who retreated to her basket, deeply hurt, and did not come out all night.
It was too late to take off that afternoon. The following morning, Nish's prediction proved correct – the damp, hollow reeds generated hardly any heat at all. The ones soaked in spirits of tar were better, exploding as soon as they were tossed in the brazier. The first time it happened Nish fell off the ladder into the water and emerged covered in smelly mud. Had it happened in the air, he would have been killed.
'Less spirits,' said the imperturbable S'lound, lifting him over the side all black and dripping.
It was nearly midday by the time they were ready to go but the balloon did not budge. The basket was stuck in the mud. They had to rock it free before it would lift, and then sluggishly. Once in the air they caught a breeze and drifted west over swamp, lake and yet more swamp. There was not a stick of wood to be seen.
S'lound leaned on the edge, cheerful as ever. Nish scrunched himself up in the corner next to Ullii's basket, pulled the coat over his head to keep the drifting flakes off, and felt a failure in every respect.
He was disturbed by a cold nose pushing against his cheek, an arm going over his shoulder. To his amazement it was Ullii.
'You are sad, Nish,' she said softly.
'We'll never get out of here. We'll never find her. I've failed again.'
She sat quietly beside him. Nish was touched. She cared about him.
'I can see trees!' called S'lound.
Nish jumped up. A scrubby patch of forest had appeared out of the foggy distance, and just as well. The reed bundles were exhausted.
It was almost dark when they landed by the forest. The following morning they chopped wood for several hours, and had a good bit stacked in the basket, when Ullii cried out.
'What's the matter?' yelled Nish.
'Someone coming.'
A tall man was advancing towards them, waving a wooden spear and shouting in an unknown dialect. There was a host of angry villagers behind him.
'Any idea what he's saying?' asked Nish.
'We're stealing his wood.'
'There's wood everywhere. It's rotting on the ground.'
'Nonetheless, it's his.' S'lound sprang up on the side and began shouting back, waving a menacing broadsword. 'Get the fire stoked up,' he said over his shoulder.
'We're ready to lift.'
'Untie the ropes.'
Nish climbed out. The balloon was already putting pressure on the knots. He got them undone but the balloon went up too fast. Afraid of being left behind, he gave a triple turn of the rope around his wrist. It tightened and jerked him up. A spear whizzed between his legs, close to parts he was particularly fond of.
Ullii gave a shrill scream. The rope felt as if it was going to tear right through his skin. If it came undone he was dead. They were already as high as the treetops.
He snatched and caught the rope with his left hand. It eased the strain a little. Then S'lound was leaning right out, hauling him up and grabbing his free hand to make sure he did not fall. Nish was pulled over the side and dumped on the floor. Ullii herself helped to bring him down, and when he lay there, gasping, she kissed him on the nose, an astonishing intimacy. 'I can see the sea,' S'lound said as the sun was setting.
Nish scrambled to his feet. 'We'd better put down. We can't afford to go over the water.'
'Then what?'
'We gather fuel and wait for a southerly to take us north to the mountains.'
'Shouldn't be too long a wait,' said S'lound. 'Feels like it's blowing from the South Pole right now.'
He was still saying that a week later. This time they'd gone to see the villagers and made an arrangement with them for fuel. Nish was canny enough to pay in coppers, which they were glad to have, and the villagers chopped and fetched a mountain of wood, enough to enable them to keep the brazier going the whole time. If the air in the balloon went cold it would take hours to fill it.
The wind blew from the west, the north and even the east, but never from the south. Nish fretted. What was Tiaan up to? Ullii had sensed great urgency the last time she'd seen her. They had, however, found out where they were, somewhere between the cities of Runcil and Tatusti. Ullii had managed a clear sighting on Tiaan. Assuming she had not moved, the intersection showed her to be near Mount Tirthrax.
Late on their eighth night in that place they were woken by a great buffet on the basket. The wind whistled through the ropes, a gale carrying not snow but stinging crystals of ice. It was a howling southerly that lifted the balloon with every blast.
'We'd better go,' said S'lound.
'I don't dare take it up in this.'
'It'll get worse! We'll lose it if we stay here.'
The wind screamed and flung the balloon right over. Nish thought it was going to smash against the ground. Before the craft could right itself another gust pushed it over again and the stakes on the windward side tore out.
'Cut the ropes,' S'lound roared, drawing his knife.
Nish did the same. Either way they were doomed. Before he could put his knife to the rope the other stakes tore free. The basket bumped along the ground. Flames belched out of the top of the brazier and he held his breath as they went close to the tarred fabric.
Bump, bump, then the basket struck an obstruction that caved in the side but kicked them into the air. They drifted sideways, almost parallel to the ground. The wind eased and the balloon pulled the basket up.
Nish climbed the ladder, hanging by one hand while he stoked the fire with as much wood as he could cram in. 'I want to get as high as I can,' he said when he was safely down. 'That's where the winds are, and the further we're blown the less we'll have to walk.'
Soon the brazier was glowing red, the distant ground racing by faster than it ever had. The whole balloon was shuddering, as if the air up top was moving faster than at basket level. The moon reflected silver off a thousand lakes.
'How far to go?' S'lound asked.
'A hundred and twenty, maybe thirty leagues.' Nish was watching the procession of lakes and rivers go by, comparing them with his map and making constant amendments. 'This is a very poor chart,' he said, peering over the side. 'That huge lake down there isn't even marked, and the river turns west, not east.'
'Hard place to map, I'd reckon,' grunted S'lound. 'Bad maps are the soldier's biggest problem.'