The blazing nylatl ran full tilt into the half-empty flask of tar spirit. Flame licked it, then bottle, basket and nylatl were blown apart in an explosion that sent flames bursting out in all directions
The ladder burned away from below Nish’s feet. His trousers caught fire. He beat them out. Nish opened his eyes to see the remains of his nemesis falling in a sheet of flame. It surely had to be the end of it.
The balloon, freed of most of its load, shot upwards, higher than it had been before. There it caught a gale blowing west.
Nish climbed up next to the warmth of the brazier. Tying himself to the ladder, he thrust his hands into his sleeves. The air was numbingly cold, but it eased the pain. It was thin, too. So thin that he could hardly breathe. He closed his eyes.
FIFTEEN
Ullii screamed herself into a fit and had to be sedated, for she kept trying to jump out of the air-floater in mid-air, as if she could fly to Nish. When the drug had taken effect, the guards bound her hands and took her inside the cabin, a flimsy structure of canvas attached to stretched rope and a few bracing timbers.
The scrutator stood with the mechanician, arms folded, watching Nish’s desperate struggle with the nylatl. ‘Dare we go closer, M’lainte?’ he asked at one point.
She took a long time to answer. ‘We dare not. We can’t get near enough to take him out of the basket, and if we tried, chances are the brazier would set off our floater-gas. I don’t want to end our lives as a firework.’
‘He might kill the beast,’ said Flydd. ‘If he does, can we risk landing to pick him up?’
M’lainte eyed the three lyrinx, which were circling some distance away. They don’t look as though they’re going to attack.’
‘I was referring to our shortage of floater-gas.’
‘We’re already taking a risk,’ said the mechanician. ‘Ask me if it happens.’
They watched in silence until Nish began to hurl liquid about the basket. ‘What’s in that flask?’ the scrutator asked sharply.
‘Tar spirits.’ M’lainte swung around but the scrutator was quicker.
‘Away!’ roared Flydd. ‘Away and all speed!’
The air-floater veered off. The complement of the vessel was leaning over the rail now, willing Nish to succeed.
‘Faster!’ yelled the mechanician. ‘Get over the other side, you lot. You’re ruining our trim.’
‘What’s he doing?’ cried Flydd, for they were now a long way off.
‘He’s up at the brazier,’ said the watchman with a spyglass. ‘He’s reaching into the brazier with his bare hands. He’s …’
They watched, holding their breath as flames appeared in the basket. Suddenly it was blown apart and dark objects fell, trailing flame. The balloon shot upwards, was caught by high-level winds and disappeared towards the west.
‘Well?’ Flydd said to M’lainte.
‘Not a chance. Nothing could catch it now.’
The scrutator turned away, shoulders slumped. ‘A pity! He had a great future, that lad.’
‘We can’t be certain he’s dead,’ said M’lainte.
‘If not now, then soon enough, when the balloon comes to ground in the wilderness. Let’s go home.’
Despite the danger, Flydd changed his mind as they whirred past the great mountain. Tapping Pilot Hila on her slender shoulder, he pointed to the ragged entrance. The air-floater landed just inside and the guards formed a ring around it, aiming their weapons at the circling lyrinx, while scrutator and mechanician walked into Tirthrax.
‘I hope …’ began the scrutator.
M’lainte raised an eyebrow.
‘I must speak with Malien.’
‘To make alliance with her?’
‘Just to talk, first. I …’ Flydd smiled self-consciously. ‘My childhood was spent elbow-deep in the books of the Histories.’
‘You had a childhood?’ M’lainte was making one of her rare jokes. ‘I thought you were born scrutator.’
‘I loved the Great Tales as much as any child alive. It’s ironic, now that I look back …’
‘What?’ she said.
‘No matter. Malien is a legend, one of the few surviving from ancient times. Just to talk about the past –’
‘I understand, Xervish. This place is a marvel,’ M’lainte went on as they passed yet another staircase made of little more than a ribbon of metal. ‘The Aachim know so much. It’s tragic that we’ve not been able to make an alliance with them.’
‘Aye,’ said Flydd, ‘but they are a people much governed by history, tradition and a powerful sense of their own worth. The affairs of other humans are of importance only when they touch theirs, and in their increasing isolation, that is seldom.’
‘Until now!’
The scrutator looked morose. ‘What has this fleet of constructs come for? Is Aachan really dying, or is it the first wave of an invasion?’
‘The Aachim of Santhenar will take their side, whatever their purpose.’
‘And we’re in the middle. But can we persuade them to take our side against the lyrinx?’
‘We are both human species.’
‘The lyrinx are not as alien as they might appear,’ the scrutator said enigmatically.
They stopped beside the two wrecked constructs. ‘Nish’s message said there were three,’ Flydd went on. ‘Where is the other?’
‘And Tiaan gone too,’ said M’lainte shrewdly.
‘Well, better her than the enemy.’
‘I dare say. Beautiful metalwork,’ the mechanician observed.
‘Aye.’
She walked around and around, making notes on a scrap of paper. ‘They float above the ground, Nish said.’
‘Yes, and we must try to get Tiaan’s back.’
‘She could be hard to find.’
‘There’s not much the scrutators can’t find if they want it enough. I’ll send a skeet at once, in case we don’t get back.’ Flydd cast an anxious glance at the entrance. ‘We’d better go, M’lainte. Those lyrinx may have called their mates. We’re vulnerable here.’
‘To say nothing of our leaking floater-gas. Write your message, surr. I’ll just have a peep inside.’
The scrutator flexed his twisted fingers. ‘Make it a quick one, old friend. I’d hate to lose you.’
‘I’d hate to lose myself!’ M’lainte looked down at her thick body and grinned. ‘Not much danger of that.’
The scrutator wrote a note and took it to the skeet handler, who was standing mournfully outside the cage. The skeet lay on the floor, quite dead.
‘What the bloody hell’s happened?’ Flydd began.
‘Jellybeak,’ said the handler. ‘There was an outbreak in Tiksi but I thought our birds were clean.’
Cursing, Flydd returned to the constructs. ‘Come on, M’lainte!’ He was not worrying about her being killed, and least of all himself, but if they did not get back to tell all they knew, the war effort would suffer.
‘I’m coming,’ she said from inside. She did not appear.
He went across to a broad set of steps guarded by a black conical object like a witch’s hat. Flydd knew it to be a sentinel. He looked up. The stair passed through a hole in the stone ceiling, as did all the others. He edged closer. Closer. Crack! The shock curled his toes and it was just a warning. If he tried to go up it would be far worse.
He considered using his Art on it. Scrutator magic was designed for sneaking, spying, interrogating and manipulating, and the breaking of locks and protections. Only rarely did it involve outright power, but he had that too, in words of power, charged crystals and other artefacts. Flydd thought better of it. The Aachim had used sentinels for ages and had defences for most of the Arts.
He walked up the other end of the vast chamber, looking all around. The sentinel would have sounded an alarm in the floors above but Malien did not come to check on it. Finally, when the mechanician had been inside for a good hour, Flydd rapped on the hatch with a knuckle.
Her head popped out. M’lainte’s eyes were gleaming. ‘Marvellous!’ she said. ‘Just marvellous.’