The bloom on Steenameert’s smooth cheeks deepened and he lowered his voice so as not to be overheard by Correvalte who was nearby at the airship’s controls. “Sir, if anybody dared speak ill of you in my presence I would…”
“You will not be required to do battle on my behalf,” Toller said firmly, addressing his wayward inner self as much as anybody else, then saw that Steenameert’s attention had been drawn elsewhere.
The sergeant spoke quickly, before Toller could frame a question. “Sir, I think we are receiving a message.”
Toller looked aft in the direction of Ro-Atabri and saw that a point of intense brilliance was winking amid the complex layered bands of the city. He immediately began deciphering the sunwriter code and felt a peculiar thrill, an icy mingling of excitement and apprehension, as he realized that the beamed message concerned him.
By the time Toller got back to base the balloon of the skyship was fully inflated and the craft was straining at its anchor link, ready to depart for Overland. It was swaying a little within the three timber walls of the towering enclosure, like a vast sentient creature which was becoming impatient with its enforced inactivity. A further indication of the urgency of the situation was that Sky-commodore Sholdde was waiting for Toller by the enclosure instead of in his office.
He nodded ungraciously, obviously in a foul temper, as Toller—flanked by Correvalte and Steenameert—approached him at a quick march and saluted. He ran his fingers through his cropped iron-grey hair and scowled at Toller.
“Captain Maraquine,” he said, “this is a cursed inconvenience. I’ve already been deprived of one airship captain—and now I have to find another.”
“Lieutenant Correvalte is perfectly capable of taking my place on the round-the-world flight, sir,” Toller replied. “I have no hesitation in recommending him for an immediate field promotion.”
“Is that so?” Sholdde turned a hard-eyed, critical gaze on Correvalte and the look of gratification which had appeared on the lieutenant’s face quickly faded.
“Sir,” Toller said, “is Commissioner Kettoran very ill?”
“He looks to me like he’s already dead,” Sholdde said indifferently. “Why did he particularly ask for you to fly him home?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I can’t understand it either. It seems a strange choice to me. You haven’t exactly distinguished yourself on this mission, Maraquine. I kept waiting for you to trip over that antiquated piece of iron you insist on wearing.”
Toller unconsciously touched the haft of his sword and he felt his face grow warm. The commodore was subjecting him to unnecessary ignominy by giving him a dressing down in the presence of lesser ranks. The most Toller could do to register a protest was to hint that he viewed Sholdde’s remarks as a waste of valuable time.
“Sir, if the commissioner looks as poorly as you say…”
“All right, all right, begone with you.” Sholdde glanced briefly at Steenameert. “Has this man become a Maraquine family retainer, part of your personal entourage?”
“Sir, Corporal Steenameert is a first-class skyman and his services would be invaluable to me on—”
“Take him!” Sholdde turned and strode away without any kind of salute, an action which could only be interpreted as another direct insult.
So that’s it, Toller thought, alerted by the commodore’s reference to the “Maraquine family”. My grandfather was the most famed warrior in Kolcorronian history; my father is one of the most brilliant and most powerful men alive—and even the likes of Sholdde resent me for it. Is that because they believe I secretly make use of family influence? Or is it because, by overtly not making use of it, I proclaim a special kind of egotism? Or can it be that I shame or annoy them by refusing to grasp opportunities for which they would give… ?
A prolonged blast on the skyship’s burner, echoing in the huge cavity of the balloon, interrupted Toller’s reverie. He touched Correvalte’s shoulder in farewell, ran with Steenameert to the gondola and climbed over the side. The ground crew sergeant who was at the burner controls, keeping the ship in readiness, saluted and nodded towards the passenger compartment.
Toller went to the chest-high cane partition and looked over it. Commissioner Kettoran was lying on a pallet and, in spite of the heat, was covered with a quilt. His long face was extremely pale, with lines of age and weariness graven into it, but his eyes were alert. He winked when he saw Toller and twitched a thin hand in an attempted greeting.
“Are you travelling alone, sir?” Toller said with concern. “No physician?”
A scornful expression briefly animated Kettoran’s features. “Those blood-letters will never get their hands on me.”
“But if you are ill…”
“The doctor who could cure my complaint has yet to be born,” Kettoran said, almost with satisfaction. “I suffer from nothing less than a dearth of time. Speaking of which, young Maraquine, I was under the impression you also were anxious to make a speedy return to Overland.”
Toller mumbled an apology and turned to the sergeant, who immediately moved away from the burner controls and clambered over the gondola’s side. Pausing for a few seconds on the outside ledge, he explained to Steenameert where all necessary provisions, including skysuits, had been stored. As soon as he had dropped out of sight Toller fed a plentiful charge of hot gas into the pliable dome of the balloon above him and pulled the anchor link.
The skyship surged upwards, its acceleration enhanced by the lift created as the curved upper surface of the balloon moved into the current of air flowing over the enclosure. Well aware that the extra buoyancy would be cancelled as soon as the balloon fully entered the westerly airstream and began to move with it, Toller kept the burner going. The skyship—in spite of being so much below its maximum operating weight—performed a queasy slow-motion shimmy as it adapted to the changing aerial environment, causing Steenameert to clutch theatrically at his stomach. From Commissioner Kettoran, hidden behind his wicker partition, came a moan of complaint.
For the second time in less than an hour the sprawling panorama of Ro-Atabri began to recede from Toller, but now it was retreating downwards. I can scarcely believe that all this is happening to me, he thought dreamily, almost stupefied by the flux of circumstance. Only minutes earlier he had been racked by fears that he would never see Vantara Dervonai again—now he was on his way to her, keeping an appointment which had been specially arranged for him by the forces of destiny.
Soon I will be able to see Vantara again, he told himself. For once, things are working out in my favor.
Toller had not eaten anything for a day, and had taken only a few sips of water, barely enough to replace the bodily moisture lost by exhaling into the arid air of the middle passage. Toilet facilities on a skyship were necessarily primitive and unpleasant to use at the best of times, but in weightless conditions the disadvantages—including the sheer indignity—were so great that most people chose to suspend their natural functions as completely as possible for a day on either side of turnover. The system worked reasonably well for a healthy adult, but Commissioner Kettoran had begun the voyage in a severely weakened state, and now—much to Toller’s concern—appeared to be using up the last dregs of his strength merely to stay alive.
“You can take those slops away from me,” Kettoran said in a grouchy whisper. “I refuse to be suckled like a babe at my time of life—especially from a revolting dug like that.”