the continual shows of lightning. Strata, thought Meralda, that's the word. Inky black layer here. Dark grey there. Swirling ragged light greys here.
"When this is all over I'm going to curl into a ball and not speak for days," said Mug. "But right now, the Sammi is at least three hundred feet above us. Maybe four."
Meralda sent the Jenny soaring straight up. My hat is gone, she realized, as her hair streamed behind her, and huge fat raindrops, cold as ice, beat against her face.
I loved that hat.
"They're moving," said Meralda. "They won't be hanging there, perfectly still."
Mug stuck a leaf outside his cage.
"The wind is blowing that way," he said, pointing with a second leaf curled into a point.
Meralda moved levers and put the wind to her back. Above, a greater darkness grumbled and flowed, moving like a vast river made of angry black clouds.
"Oh no. Mistress. The holdstones. The batteries. We're losing both fast." Half a dozen of Mug's eyes emerged from his cage, scanning the Jenny from bow to stern. "The right flying coil must have a short. We're trailing smoke."
Meralda glanced at her bank of dials and frowned.
"We'll have to hurry then. All eyes ahead, Mr. Mug."
"Aye aye, Captain." Mug pushed twenty-eight eyes skyward, while a single blue one remained watching the dials. "Am I allowed to mutiny? Because if I am, I’d like to do it soon, before the batteries fail."
"You had your chance down in the courtyard," said Meralda. "Too late now."
"Blast," said Mug, his eyes peering upward, into the boiling dark.
Minutes crept past, punctuated by flashes of lightning and the ever-present grumble of nearby thunder.
"Batteries are down to seven percent," said Mug. "Holdstones are down to six."
Meralda didn't reply, but she couldn't help but calculate the percentages into time aloft. Fighting the wind was taking more of a toll than she'd thought. The burned section of the right coil was adding even more strain on the Jenny's failing reserves.
Assuming we're three hundred miles or more from Tirlin, we'll never make it back, she decided. We might make another twenty miles. Thirty, if we go right down, right now.
"Thirty-six miles, Mistress," said Mug, echoing her thoughts. The Jenny rocked in a sudden savage burst of wind. A brief but intense fall of rain -- which Meralda observed to be traveling horizontally -- soaked her and left the shorted section of the Jenny's right flying coil trailing a wide swath of billowing steam.
The Jenny lurched, listing heavily to the right. Sparks joined the steam, burning and hissing before vanishing in the dark.
Meralda watched the dials begin to fall.
"Best guess," said Meralda, mopping sideways rain from her eyes. "Point, and I'll take us that way."
Mug peered intently into the murk. A fusillade of lightning turned the clouds into billows of shadow.
"Mistress -- follow this eye!"
Mug held a red eye out ahead of the others. It remained fixed on a distant point in the storm, even as Mug tossed and rocked and wobbled.
"Do you see them?"
"I don't know. I saw something. I think. Just hurry!"
Meralda shoved her levers, and the Jenny wallowed up and ahead, trailing steam and bits of molten copper that trailed green as they fell.
Following Mug's gaze, Meralda piloted the Jenny into a mile-wide band of hurried, roiling clouds. The wind changed suddenly, and for one awful moment, the Jenny's nose dipped down and Meralda felt the tiny craft fall, really fall, for a dozen feet before the wind changed again and she was able to once again follow Mug's unwavering eye.
Lightning forked and blazed about them, claps of deafening thunder following every flash. Up and up, until the altimeter passed twenty thousand feet, and ice rimed Meralda's goggles. She pulled them off and hurled them away, and the altimeter reached twenty one thousand before the needle reached its stop and could move no more.
The air was frigid, colder than even the deepest chill of winter. And thin, so desperately
"When this is all over I'm going to curl into a ball and not speak for days," said Mug. "But right now, the Sammi is at least three hundred feet above us. Maybe four."
Meralda sent the Jenny soaring straight up. My hat is gone, she realized, as her hair streamed behind her, and huge fat raindrops, cold as ice, beat against her face.
I loved that hat.
"They're moving," said Meralda. "They won't be hanging there, perfectly still."
Mug stuck a leaf outside his cage.
"The wind is blowing that way," he said, pointing with a second leaf curled into a point.
Meralda moved levers and put the wind to her back. Above, a greater darkness grumbled and flowed, moving like a vast river made of angry black clouds.
"Oh no. Mistress. The holdstones. The batteries. We're losing both fast." Half a dozen of Mug's eyes emerged from his cage, scanning the Jenny from bow to stern. "The right flying coil must have a short. We're trailing smoke."
Meralda glanced at her bank of dials and frowned.
"We'll have to hurry then. All eyes ahead, Mr. Mug."
"Aye aye, Captain." Mug pushed twenty-eight eyes skyward, while a single blue one remained watching the dials. "Am I allowed to mutiny? Because if I am, I’d like to do it soon, before the batteries fail."
"You had your chance down in the courtyard," said Meralda. "Too late now."
"Blast," said Mug, his eyes peering upward, into the boiling dark.
Minutes crept past, punctuated by flashes of lightning and the ever-present grumble of nearby thunder.
"Batteries are down to seven percent," said Mug. "Holdstones are down to six."
Meralda didn't reply, but she couldn't help but calculate the percentages into time aloft. Fighting the wind was taking more of a toll than she'd thought. The burned section of the right coil was adding even more strain on the Jenny's failing reserves.
Assuming we're three hundred miles or more from Tirlin, we'll never make it back, she decided. We might make another twenty miles. Thirty, if we go right down, right now.
"Thirty-six miles, Mistress," said Mug, echoing her thoughts. The Jenny rocked in a sudden savage burst of wind. A brief but intense fall of rain -- which Meralda observed to be traveling horizontally -- soaked her and left the shorted section of the Jenny's right flying coil trailing a wide swath of billowing steam.
The Jenny lurched, listing heavily to the right. Sparks joined the steam, burning and hissing before vanishing in the dark.
Meralda watched the dials begin to fall.
"Best guess," said Meralda, mopping sideways rain from her eyes. "Point, and I'll take us that way."
Mug peered intently into the murk. A fusillade of lightning turned the clouds into billows of shadow.
"Mistress -- follow this eye!"
Mug held a red eye out ahead of the others. It remained fixed on a distant point in the storm, even as Mug tossed and rocked and wobbled.
"Do you see them?"
"I don't know. I saw something. I think. Just hurry!"
Meralda shoved her levers, and the Jenny wallowed up and ahead, trailing steam and bits of molten copper that trailed green as they fell.
Following Mug's gaze, Meralda piloted the Jenny into a mile-wide band of hurried, roiling clouds. The wind changed suddenly, and for one awful moment, the Jenny's nose dipped down and Meralda felt the tiny craft fall, really fall, for a dozen feet before the wind changed again and she was able to once again follow Mug's unwavering eye.
Lightning forked and blazed about them, claps of deafening thunder following every flash. Up and up, until the altimeter passed twenty thousand feet, and ice rimed Meralda's goggles. She pulled them off and hurled them away, and the altimeter reached twenty one thousand before the needle reached its stop and could move no more.
The air was frigid, colder than even the deepest chill of winter. And thin, so desperately
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