Across the Stonewind Sky: Stonewind Sky, #1

Cover credits

Image: Natalina Lina Cavalier 1874-1944

Italian operatic soprano, actress, and monologist.

Overall Graphic Design – Paul Potiki

Final composition and Colourising – Ged Maybury

CHAPTER ONE - Brave Men All

DEEP BENEATH THE DECKS of Her Majesty’s Gravityship Empire Queen, mighty steam engines turned tirelessly as her boilers throbbed, and from her funnels poured tall plumes of roiling coal smoke. Across the stern, jostling a little in the blustery air, were twelve little airships, and upon the adjacent deck stood the launching crews, shivering in the morning cold. The Empire Queen was alone in the sky, but the sky was not empty. Just three leagues ahead stood a wall of cloud that stretched from north to south, but this was no ordinary cloud. It had stood upon this spot since time immemorial.

Every crewman aboard watched the approaching wall, and although none would admit it, they were all afraid.

Deep within this ship, and getting ready to represent the might of the British Empire, was a young man who was, at that moment, afraid of something quite different. Captain Rodney Hoverrim was about to brush his teeth, and as he dabbed his tooth brush into his tooth powder, he noticed in the mirror that he had egg in his moustache.

Gad! That won't do. I’d never hear the end of it from Mother!

Meanwhile, high above, the Meterological Officer turned from his observation post and hurried to the bridge. He briskly saluted the captain. Conditions are perfect, sir! The Stormwall is drawing a light breeze of around six miles per hour, storm-churning is minimal, and there is no sign of lightning.

Excellent. Captain Hammerbrand filled his lungs. Helm! Bring her about; bearing westerly to wind. Airscrews! Bring her steady at six miles per hour on this wind. Navigation! Triangulate our position continually. I want to maintain a separation of no less than two leagues from the Stormwall!

Yes sir!

Aye, aye, sir!

Will be done, sir!

Levers were pulled. Bells rang. Orders were shouted into speaking tubes. The mighty ship came about as the giant airscrews spun up to half speed. The entire ship now thrummed with a new purpose. Steam and smoke streamed into the sky.

Captain Hammerbrand smiled. A perfect turn. Even so, as his eyes now checked the position of the Stormwall out the rear windows, he felt the same deep unease that every gravityshipman felt, flying this close to the Stormwall of Arkorvarste.

Of course he did not show his fear. After all, he was British!

He lowered his gaze, taking in the odd collection of airships they had towed all the way here from London. By gad, he thought, those chaps are brave: setting off in those flimsy little things! Oh well, duty is duty.

He turned to the one civilian upon the bridge, Mister Chisholm Chapman.

Mister Chapman, you may inform the Minister that the aeronauts will launch on schedule at eight o’clock sharp. Oh, and wish them God Speed from me.

Yes sir. Thank you, sir!

Mister Chapman rattled his way down three flights of steel stairs, momentarily got lost, then found his way to the crowded first class saloon overlooking the stern deck. He passed on the captain's message to the Minister of Exploration, who promptly took to the podium.

Ladies and Gentlemen, he began with his usual pomp (but without much circumstance), Brave Aeronauts! The time has come for our Glorious Empire to once again extend the Hand of Friendship to the Denizens of the Storm’s Domain.

Huzzah! added a voice from the side.

As you all know, forty-two men have now gone into The Storm’s Domain from this ship, brave men all, and eight have returned so far. Letters have been received from a further fifteen, but only because one of those fifteen was a postman and rather obsessed with his task!

Scattered laughter. Excellent. The speech was going well. He directed his next words specifically at the twenty or so men who stood about the room, heavily dressed in padded leather flightsuits and looking decidedly overheated in the conditions.

Gentlemen, he said sternly, as a schoolmaster might (and here he quoted from the Official Handbook of Modern Exploration) it is your Duty as Representatives of our Fine Civilization to seek out New Societies and spread our Good British Intentions. Act with Dignity at all times and Seek Wisdom from all Philosophies, Arts and Sciences that you may from time to time encounter.

He saw one of the aeronauts patting at his own holstered pistol and added, Remember, gentlemen, always behave with Peaceful Intent, and, whenever you can, present your Letter from The Queen to any and all Dignitaries, Rulers, and Royalty that you might meet along the way. Because, wherever you go, you represent the British Empire!

Huzzah! added several voices, as the Minister went on and on.

At the back of the room, a well-dressed woman of fifty turned to her companion and whispered, Walter, where the heck is Rodney? He should be here for this!

He'll be fine...

He'll be sulking in his room if I know him!

Don't be too hard on him, Martha. He's had a terrible setback...

She snorted crossly as her voice edged up, He just needs to grow a spine and go right back to Lady Bentley and tell her ... She stopped. Everyone was looking at her, most disapprovingly!

Wait here, Martha, murmured her brother, embarrassed, I’ll find him.

Walter, a barrel of a man with a ruddy face and a tendency to puff and gasp upon any overexertion (daily life, in fact), turned and hurried deeper into the ship, actually quite relieved to be spared her company, not to mention the Minister’s entire speech. With unerring accuracy he found his nephew Rodney still in front of a mirror.

Come on, boy! The speeches have started!

Then we have plenty of time, replied Rodney promptly, with a twinkle in his eye. He was now trimming a few fine hairs off his muttonchops.

Really, Rod! This is hardly the time! Have you checked your buoyeur?

Yes, Uncle, of course! I was out before breakfast. Everything is stowed and ready. No hydrogen lost. Rodney continued with his pogonotrophic pruning.

Good. Now get yourself along to the saloon, and please be kind to your mother. She’s already in quite a state.

Rodney rested from his vital labours to study the results, Well damn it, Uncle, it is I who will undertake this adventure, not her, and I’m damned if I’m going to let her spoil it for me! He began meticulously putting away his grooming tools.

Are you absolutely sure about this, lad? I know that you have just been turned down in marriage, but...

Damn it, Uncle Walt! Must you bring that up again?!

At ease, soldier, said Walter soothingly, "But really, charging off like this is rather..."

Listen! snapped Rodney, "I am over Miss Bentley. I am not upset. I am not doing this on a whim. I’m not doing it because I have a broken heart. I'd be doing this anyway! He snapped shut his little Sparks & Mincieur grooming kit, as if ending all such talk, And I have the family reputation to live up to, too."

Roddy, this has cost us quite a whack ...

"Uncle Walt, I promise you: I'll do everything I can to make it up to you. He turned for the door, Let's get going!"

But Walter held him back and sighed guiltily, Listen, lad. I hate to drop something on you at the last minute, but I have something here from your Aunt Hetty.

Oh God, groaned Rodney, what is it this time, a magnetic crystal? Nettle juice?

It’s a lucky charm, apparently. Uncle Walter pulled forth a hefty brass-bound tube from the mysterious bag he had been toting that morning. Now be polite, boy. You know Hetty can be a little odd.

A little?! snorted Rodney, taking the thing, "Oh gods, it’s so heavy! Doesn’t she know I have a telescope already?"

It’s no telescope, lad. It’s sort of a ... carry case for the charm, which is apparently inside. She says it’s a magic stone.

Rod rolled his eyes and groaned. Do I have to take this?

Walter rolled his eyes too, Look, I promised! I’ll be in a world of trouble if I don’t give you this damn thing! Now just tuck it away somewhere, keep it safe, bring it back, lose it, I don’t care!... Oh! He lunged into his bag again and pulled out an tatty yellow curling vellum manuscript, And these are the instructions.

Rodney shoved the hefty tube thing into his belly pocket which, along with his gloves in there, made him look quite tubby, then took the document. The title was quilled in a flowery old-fashioned hand:

The Keeningstyne

Moste Compleate Gyide Evyr Contryved ...

Oh God. He read no more, simply rolled it up and jammed it into his last available pocket on the left leg of his British Flightsman’s leathers, Very well, then! Now, can we get on with this?!

Within a minute they were back in the overheated saloon. The speeches were done, and now he had to cross to Mother. Almost at once a voice called out, Ah, here he is! Hoorah for Young Hoverrim!

It was what he’d hoped to avoid. Suddenly, it seemed that everyone wanted to shake him by the hand as he crossed the room.

Good on you, Rodney!

Jolly good show!

Your grandfather would be proud of you!

You’re a real hero!

Rod had heard this already, too many times. After the fifth time he wanted to shout ‘I am not my bloody grandfather!’ but of course he didn’t. Finally, having crossed the room, he arrived before his mother. Her face was pinched and pale, but her sharp eyes still fixed upon his, challengingly.

Why are you doing this, Rodney? Why take such a risk!

Mother, he answered as his grandfather had apparently once said, drawing himself to his full height (six feet exactly), a Man must do something with his Days. He must Rise to some Challenge, climb a Mountain Yet Unclimbed, or... and here he digressed from the famous speech, ...or do bee-keeping or something.

Her gaze softened ever so slightly, he saw her glance down, saw the flicker of a smile sneak across her lips, then her eyes came up again, hard.

Damn you, boy! Your father was the same. And don’t try humour on me right now, son. I’m not in the mood!

Right-o, mother! And suddenly he hugged her warmly. Not a hug for the public eye amongst the tell-tattle crowds of London, but this was not London. Far from it. Extraordinary circumstances and all that.

Martha allowed her tall handsome son to hug her for as long as he wished. She had little choice anyway, for he was so strong. Still, she did her best not to cry (after all, she was British!). Then she stood back to admire him. He was so like his father, yet a little more strapping, and with that curiously curly blond hair. He looked absolutely dashing, and she could not understand why young Lady Bentley had suddenly changed her mind just five weeks ago. Unless it were true: that Emily had found out how badly the Hoverrims were actually doing. She sighed, hoping this madcap adventure of his was somehow going to turn their fortunes right.

Right, well, I see that you’ve made up your mind, she said, rather briskly, You’d better get going then. And do well! She glanced away to where the other aeronauts were now heading down to the rear deck, and quickly dabbed at her tears.

Walter patted his sister on the shoulder and murmured, I’ll see him away. Best you stay here. Frightfully cold out, and you’ll have a better view here anyway.

IT WAS A RELIEF TO get outside and be with the men. Across the broad stern deck, all was productive activity. At the extreme right hand end, Airship One had just been released. A great cheer immediately went up. The Launching Officer was bellowing through his loudhailer, Number Two, Are You Ready? Launch Crew, Stand By Number Two! The last of the aeronauts were hurrying across the deck towards their bouyeurs. Rodney, one level higher, took the moment to find his own ship in the line up.

It's a splendid little boat, Walt. Thanks ever so much!

Yes. So just come back alive and write up your story and make your mother happy. And don't be too long about it! Oh, and did you get that note from the Minister of Defence?

Yes. But I don't fancy being a spy...

It's not spying, it's just observation, hissed Walter, glancing around in fear, There's a thousand pounds in it if you do it right. So damn well do it, lad! Now get going. Walter gestured to the steep companionway.

"No, no, no, after you, sir!"

Walter puffed and heaved his bulk down the steps and Rod waited, gazing at the scene. There were a variety of airships in the lineup, each design a little different. Two were of French make. One crew was from Sweden, another from the Federated Colonies of America. His little ship was number ten counting from the right, and sported a distinctly coloured yellow gas bag. There were actually three launch crews, working as a kind of chain. His ship was still unattended.

Plenty of time then.

Finally Walter was down. Rod turned and descended in a swift series of almost musical bangs, and was at the foot of the companionway when someone suddenly hailed him from the shadows, startling them both.

Captain Hoverrim, I presume?

Rod turned to look. A young man came forth, perhaps having waited quite some time. There was not much to see except the classic garb of a man ready to fly in cold weather. He wore typical flightsman overalls of thickly padded leather. His goggles were poised upon his brow and his tightly drawn hood framing a decent jaw, two dark green eyes, a strong nose and a neatly trimmed moustache. His chin was half buried in his silk scarf. But whoever this handsome young turk was, he had evidently gone several days without a shave.

Yes? asked Rodney.

The stranger gestured with a thick yellow envelope and got straight to the point. Twelve hundred pounds to ride with you, sir. I carry nothing, no extra weight, and you may see me off at your first port of call—any port. The stranger then eased out the wad of bank bills for them both to see, fumbling somewhat as he already had his gloves on.

Uncle Walter’s eyes actually began to water. Twelve hundred pounds, he repeated in a small choking voice. Rodney’s heart hesitated, confused. He could not use the money himself, not in the Skylands he knew of beyond the Stormwall, but after everything Uncle Walt had done ...

A cheer went up nearby. Number Two was away.

Rod felt a flutter of panic. Things were moving along, rather! He quickly got out his gloves, mainly to give himself time to think through this unexpected proposal.

Have you flown before? he asked, striving to delay a decision.

The stranger seemed desperate, his voice breaking as he shouted against the wind and noise, "Yes, a lot! I know – I mean I’ve studied everything that is known about Var.., about Arkorvarste. Honestly, you must regard me as an excellent investment!"

Another cheer. The third ship was away.

Number Four, boomed the launching officer, Are You Ready?

Gad! I’ve got to get on! Rod started towards his ship, feeling his anxiety increase. The others hurried with him. What a dilemma! Look here, sir, he said to the persistent stranger, I hadn’t really planned on taking a companion. I’m quite well prepared, really, and have read ... He stopped mid sentence, noting that his uncle had visibly sagged. Damn it! This was an astonishing turn of luck. Maybe Aunt Hettie's 'lucky charm' was already working. Twelve hundred pounds!! How could he refuse?

A cheer. Number Four was away. Rod glanced around. The first buoyeurs were already drifting towards the Stormwall. He saw the motor of one smoking into life, then another. He saw their rudders turn as the moved off under power.

Suddenly, Gentlemen! boomed the launching officer directly at them through his loudhailer, Please Get Aboard At Once!

They had reached the rope ladder that ascended to his ship, still restrained by the requisite ropes and waggling slightly in the wake of the enormous starboard-side airscrew a good hundred yards away. He looked up at the Lizzie. A little beauty she was, and without Walter’s help he would never have made it this far.

Another cheer! Number Five was away.

Number Six, boomed the loudhailer, Are You Ready? Then the voice targeted Rodney.  "Number Ten, Please Get Aboard!" Rod saw the launching crews getting ever closer. Saw the Launching Officer striding towards him looking severe. Saw the crews of the three intervening ships all looking at him askance.  

How utterly un-British of him to be behind schedule!

He turned back to the stranger and spoke to him almost angrily, Very well, sir! You have passage to Arkorvaste. Dearest Uncle, take the money! All yours. But don’t tell Mother or we’ll never hear the end of it!

Thank you, boy, thank you! Walter seized the envelope and at once the stranger took charge. He grasped the rope ladder and tugged it tight.

Up you go. I’ll hold you steady.

Rodney paused to shake Walter by the hand, then began up clumsily, only to remember his manners part way, Oh, but we haven’t been properly introduced.

Robert, announced the new man, but my friends just call me Bob.

Rodney reached back to shake hands. The ladder swayed alarmingly. His airship was already sinking under the extra weight, I’m Rodney. Rodney Hoverrim.

Yes I know, Hoverrim of the Holdfaste, replied Robert rapidly, Now get on!!

Oh yes, jolly good. Say, wh- Rodney’s attempts at conversation paused momentary as he clambered into the gondola, using the bow-stay as a handhold, -what school did you go to, Eton or Harrow?

But the stranger didn’t answer the question, Let go your ballast-weight, now!

Rodney knew what to do, of course. He already had the two bags prepared for quick release, one from port and another from starboard. As soon as they were gone the ladder re-tightened. The stranger then came up calling, Now my weight, four medium! Rodney kept going on the bags, fumbling with the knots. He slid off his gloves. Gad! Everything was so cold!

Robert was now aboard and the airship had sunk again, almost level with the linesmen. Use your knife! he shouted at Rodney, then turned to the launching crew, Free the ladder! The dog-hitch came loose and he hauled the ladder in with a machine-like motion.

Number Nine! went the call beside them, Let Go Number Nine!

We’re next! panicked Rodney, still on the bags. He preferred to untie them rather than use his knife and risk damage to his perfect little boat. The airship was rising now.

Go warm the motor, ordered Bob, I’ll get these.

Right! Ah, thanks. He turned to his shiny new Blatt & Whitely Aero-Pistonator.

Number Ten; Are You Ready? came the call right then. Bob stood tall in the bow and lifted two thumbs high. Ready!

Rodney nodded from the rear, still distracted by the business of getting the flame lit and the motor warm. He had to pump pressure into the secondary fuel tank, turn on the fuelcock (half a turn), then spin the thumb-wheel to send a spark into the innards of the motor. Once burning spirits had thoroughly heated the main body he’d shut that off, wind the cranking handle a dozen times, turn on the main fuel, tug the valve-pegs to close the compression, then the magneto would start sparking the fuel directly inside the cylinders. So easy!

Let her go! called Bob at the bow.

Let Go Number Ten!

Rodney suddenly realized how he had been waiting for that moment, to shout those important words, and here was this stranger doing it instead! Bloody hell! And Mother had warned him to stick to the plan.No time to think. They were off! Still on his knees he put his face to the gunwale to look back. He was adrift in the air. The noise from the deck of the Empire Queen was fading away fast. Uncle Walter and Mother were down there somewhere, already indistinguishable, mere dots in his view. He was adrift, afloat, away on the adventure of a lifetime, and only about two leagues away from the first danger, the mysterious and eternal Stormwall of Arkorvarste.

His new companion let go the last ballast bag. Rodney watched it plummet into oblivion, and felt his stomach suddenly plummet along with it. For the first time ever, he was hanging above The Deep in nothing but a flimsy little airship, and it scared him.

We’re terribly high, he said, suddenly noting their position.

Exactly how I wanted it, the newcomer replied without looking around, We can see all the other idiots blundering about, while we are quite safe from their folly, and we shall get propelling when we need, without a panic.

Rodney had to admire his new companion’s pluck. He would never have thought of being so free with the ballast bags so early in the game. Getting extra height right now seemed a smart move. He put on his gloves, stood, and grasped a hanger-strap so he might safely gaze about at the scene.

Once in a lifetime I will see this, just once in a lifetime.

There was silence; not even any wind in the rigging. And without the wind he felt warmer. A whiff of coal smoke drifted up from the Empire Queen. Seen from above Rodney could now appreciate the sheer immensity of the gravityship. Her solid iron body like a dinner plate in the sky, extended fore and aft to cut smoothly through the air, and the deep keel below to ballast the whole, filled with her supplies of coal. Above this were the seemingly delicate upper decks, mostly of varnished oak and brass, stacked one upon the other. To each side of these were the twenty-foot airscrews spinning to left and right, and the matching set spinning even faster just below the disc of the gravity-engine itself. Standing above all else were those two magnificent funnels.

Rod saw that the twelfth and final airship had just gone free.

Beautiful, he murmured.

Those things? snorted Bob with a hint of distaste, You ain’t seen nothing yet. Bob’s voice had changed. It seemed to have relaxed or something, as if the man had been making a effort to sound more masculine than he actually was.

As Rodney looked around in amazement, Bob pushed back his hood and shook out a plume of long black hair, shouting, "Gods, it’s good to be flying again!"

CHAPTER TWO - Hijacked!

RODNEY STARED, DUMBFOUNDED. Had Bob smuggled a woman on board with him too? Impossible! But after five seconds or so of frantic thinking, Rodney’s addled brain finally put together the only reliable explanation for this sudden outbreak of femininity. He had seen the plays of Larkspeare where men would dress as women and women would dress as men. Such a jolly lark at the theatre, but here was some crazy lass playing that same stunt for real! How dare this woman make a fool of him?

How dare you make a fool of me, young lady, he shouted with all the fury he dared unleash, This is unspeakably rotten!

‘Bob’ peeled off her false mustache with an audible rip. Ow! she said.

"‘Ow’? Is that all you have to say for yourself? Who are you anyway? Who put you up to this prank?" (Ack! He was sounding just like his mother.)

She stared at him, or just past him actually, the make-up on her cheeks making her look like some girl dressed as a pirate for a school play, except she was no girl. Her face was too solid and broad for a woman, and she had a rather ugly nose; long and slightly hooked. Is that at the highest setting? she asked without ceremony.

He glanced around, What?

The flame. I want to get propelling as soon as we can.

Oh, now just wait a minute, miss, we’re not going anywhere until you explain yourself!

I think you’re about to get no choice in the matter.

Huh? He glanced over his other shoulder, The Stormwall!

Coming up fast. She moved past him, glanced at the motor, twisted on more fuel to the preheater, then stooped to take note of the rudder slap-lines. The gondola rocked and he instinctively moved into the bow to balance her.

These’ll break unless we ease them off, she said urgently, tugging off her gloves. They hung from her sleeves on short cords. What an excellent idea!

What do you know about it? demanded Rodney, still very cross.

Quite a lot actually, she grunted, loosening each line and resetting the way its loop hung down. She tested the amount of play in the loop, asking, How many hours have you flown? One? Two?

Er, about two, yes. More than you have, I’ll be bound!

She just laughed.

Now listen!

Until we get in, she interrupted firmly, "I want you to follow my orders exactly. I’m taking you in the high way. That means a faster ride but it’s going to get rough. She pulled her goggles down and looked expertly around. Check your provisions are well secured. What’s that in your pocket?"

Eh? Rodney looked down. The old scroll from his Aunt Hetty had already worked its way halfway out of his thigh pocket and was in danger of falling to the deck. He grabbed it and began to wield it as a kind of conductor’s baton. Listen, Miss whoever-you-are, you cannot come aboard my ship and start giving me orders. It’s, it’s, it’s just not done in my country!

Oh, yes, that’s what I loved about your country: her voice took on a mocking tone, pompous and formal: Capt'n Hoverrim, I’d like you to meet Lady Romarny Skijypzee of the Inner Rings. She will be your guide for the day. I say, how do you do? Simply splendid. Cup of tea? Why, lovely!

Do you mind? he huffed, This is serious! Ah, what did you mean: ‘Guide’?

I’m going to guide you into Arkorvarst, as you call it. You do want to get ahead of... She stopped. Her eyes fell upon his ‘baton’. The goggles went up.

"What exactly is that?"

Sorry? This? He unrolled it for a moment, "Just some piece of hokum from my crazy aunt. Look, what is going on here?"

For once she seemed as perplexed as he. Her eyes did not leave the tattered document for a good five seconds. That is actually a bloody good question, she said.

Rodney was shocked.

Stow that, she ordered suddenly, pulling down the goggles again, stow it as securely as you possibly can! She glanced around at the empty sky. I owe you an explanation, Mr Hoverrim, and you will get it in good time. Suffice to say that you had the best ship and you were determined to go it alone, two very strong points in your favour. But I needed one final bit of information, and I found it just a week ago, your uncle has a gambling problem. After that I knew I had a good chance of getting aboard.

He stared at her, in disbelief. This woman was so brazen!

I do apologise for the disguise, but knowing you British you’d never brook the notion of a woman going on a man’s adventure. But it was a close call none the less. Brace yourself!

Wha- A squall of wind struck them, sending the gondola swaying and the buoyancy envelope momentarily pulsed above them like the body of a huge animal.

We need to get propelling! she shouted, I think we’re well high enough.

At this point Rodney glanced over the edge and was dismayed to see how far below had sunk the Empire Queen. It was little more than a black apple pip in the sky, sitting at the darkest point of a long hazy brown cloud of coal-smoke.

Bloody hell! We’re way too high!

Not yet. She heaved on the motor’s starting handle, already in place. Out the back, on the end of its long polished brass shaft, the four-blade ring-propeller began to turn lazily in the air.

Twelve turns!

I know, check the pulseometer!

He peered at the brass dial, It’s charging... oh yes, excellent pulserage!

Start the main fuel, half-a-turn. Now, pull out the valve-pegging bar!

I know, I know! He twisted a lever and pulled on a knob. There was a spring-loaded ping from within the housing, a bang, then another and another. The bangs settled into a series of smooth loud pops and filthy smoke poured from the outlet pipe.

Just some oil burning out. He said to reassure her, fiddling the throttle control.

We can do a lot to improve this, she replied, disengaging and stowing the crank, Doesn’t it have some sort of spark-point adjustment?

Oh, that’s right! He fiddled with a big knob, listening to the improving note of the engine. Once he had it running sweetly he locked the spark-point to that setting.

Meanwhile she had taken the steering wheel. It didn’t move. Release the rudderline wedges! Where are they?

He crouched in the well of the gondola, tugging at the hard rubber wedges, but only one came loose. Can’t get the port-side free!

She wrenched the wheel to starboard and the jerking line pulled the wedge away.

Good thinking, he said in genuine admiration, noticing that he was struggling somewhat for enough breath.

It happens. You get someone who has a check-list, they’re going over the boat again and again, each time they check that wedge they kick it in tighter and tighter. Experience, that’s what you people lack.

He stood, stewing inside with the urge to snap back at her. It had been he himself who had been driving the wedges tighter these last few days and he did not like being called an idiot!

But had she actually said that? Had she actually said the word ‘idiot’ or had that been his imagination. His father would certainly have said it. But had she? No. No she hadn’t. Hadn’t even blamed him for the error. How jolly decent of her!

Miss Row-mar-ny?

Romarny, yes, that’s my first name.

Miss Romarny, I certainly must admit that you have an excellent knowledge of airships, but I still have to protest. You got aboard by base deception, and now you endeavour to take charge of my ship. What is your game?

Captain Hoverrim, I am not attempting to take over your fine little airship, I am simply trying to get home. Here, take this immediately.

She handed him a large pill that she had tugged from some hidden pocket.

Why should I?

It will prevent you from dying.

What?

Just take it! It protects you from the worst effects of low pressure.

But...

She became quite fierce, Mr Hoverrim, I advise you to take my advice, or my orders if you will, until we are safely through this.  She was cut off by another fierce gust of wind. Expertly she brought the ship’s prow about and the gust flowed over them to little effect. My people have used the same formulation for many generations. I’ve even adjusted the dose to your bodyweight. Go on! You have tea in your thermos.

You’re not just trying to poison me?

No! We’re going to ride this to the very top. In fact we have to now. Another five thousand feet at least. Your body will not otherwise cope!

Holding their course one-handed, she pulled out another identical pill and promptly swallowed it, dry. Go on!

He swallowed the pill, then hastily found his thermos and drank some tea to wash it down. And oh how lovely! It was at just the right temperature.

We only have to keep her steady, head to wind, she was saying, The forces of nature shall do all the rest. We’re accelerating all the time. She had begun talking in short gasping sentences. Have you heard of the jet-streams? At this altitude there are huge winds, blowing almost continuously around our entire world.

What? That’s preposterous! Whatever keeps them moving?

Our scientists don’t know yet.

It’s impossible!

Believe whatever you will, but they do exist. My people discovered them over a thousand years ago. Anyway, another fierce gust hit them, Once in the jet-stream we can travel huge distances without expending any power.

Rodney felt suddenly dizzy. He sat down. He was gasping for breath. The motor was gasping too. She turned, adjusted the fuel mixture severely, and it rattled on for another minute.

Try as he might, Rod could neither get up nor speak. The cold seeped into his very bones, but he felt oddly warm. A sensation of great peace slowly spread over him. The deck shivered as the motor struggled on, then abruptly there was silence.

A HAND WAS SHAKING him. He did not want to wake up. Captain Hoverrim? said a woman’s voice. He thought it was the maid. Frightfully cheeky of her to wake him like this. He tried to roll over, expecting warm pillows. Instead he struck his face on an ice-cold wooden frame.

Ow!

Captain, I need the hole if you don’t mind.

Suddenly he was awake. The whole crazy nightmare had begun again. Sitting up he sensed ice over everything. It was biting cold. However, he was pleased to note that he was well tucked inside one of his expensive quilted blankets.

We must descend! he gasped as soon as his senses returned to him, This will be the death of us!

We’re at fourteen thousand feet and steady, she said curtly, You’ll be perfectly alive again once you’ve had a cup of tea. Now, the hole? Please?

Every airship had a hole. It was simply one of those necessities dictated by the base functions of the human body. Of course he was deeply embarrassed to hear a woman mentioning it so freely. Finally he realized what her urgency was. He had been sleeping directly upon it. Being a gentleman he did his best to get up for her, but found it dashedly difficult. His muscles seemed unable to function correctly. He looked out at the sky.

Are we out of your mythical ‘jet-stream’ now?

Yes.

What time is it?

About midday.

Where are we?

Down the back garden. Oh look! I think I just saw some fairies. Really, Hoverrim, we’re in the Skies of Varste. Or as you mistakenly call it: ‘Arkorvarst’. Now, do you mind, I need the hole!

Certainly, Miss...

Please, can we drop the ‘Miss’?

Oh, I’m so sorry, so you’re married?

The hole!

Sorry.

He gazed resolutely from the bow for some time while she attended to her bodily function (he did not ask which, of course!). Finally she announced the all-clear. Even so he did not turn at once. What is our motion? I can get no sense of direction. Although I do believe that is south there. He pointed.

Well done. Now, see there? she pointed at a skyland some way off in the opposite direction, that’s either Sulfurpit or Fandango. See how the cloud streams off to one side? That usually indicates east. So that puts us southwest of their location. Anyway, regardless of which skyland it is, it still means we’ve made good time.

Where are you taking me to, may I ask?

"You have heard of Havencliffs?"

Really? We’re going to reach there today!

Every chance of it.

I say, that’s jolly good news! I’d hoped to eventually reach that fabled city, but not for months.

He heard her snort. Fabled city?

Well yes, the very heart of Arkorvarst!

It’s ... impressive, I suppose, she said, as if suddenly deciding not to share her true opinions. But anyway, we have a few more hours to go yet.

He let the matter drift, just as his little ship still drifted. The frost was melting off from everywhere, finally. But something was worrying him.

He pointed to the distant skyland, Could you ever be mistaken by these signs?

Oh yes, it happens. But no aeronavigator would ever rely on just one thing. We’ve plenty of time to descend once I see a reliable landmark.

He glanced up. His envelope was looking distinctly flabby. I should inflate the ballonet a little.

He reached up to the rigid frame under the envelope (the ‘keel’ as the craftsmen had taken to calling it), and un-clipped a long handle. It was attached to a small, light-weight bellows and thus, through a series of long slow strokes, he pumped extra air into the ballonet set under the hydrogen bag. The envelope became plump and sleek once again.

Warmth would have done the job just as well, she said.

I cannot abide a loose bag. He re-clipped the handle, Now, I have a modest reserve of foodstuffs, Miss...

Romarny. Just call me Romarny.

Very well. Um, well, then would you care for some lunch, miss? The least I can provide you with is a little sustenance.

She seemed restless, kept gazing around. Yes, yes thank you.

I can do bacon and eggs.

Just eggs for me.

Not bacon? It is very good.

No, I cannot abide the thought of those wretched beasts being kept in cages.

As you wish. So, how do you want your eggs?

However they come. They’re probably still frozen anyway. She seemed quite distracted.

Is there something wrong?

No, no, just familiar skies. She pulled down her goggles and spent some time gazing down into the haze. Pausing at his task of poking through the side lockers looking for his little alcohol stove, he leaned over the other side (to keep the gondola balanced) and looked as well. All was chaos below, with the high sun sending shafts of light and shadow through the various confusing layers of cloud below.

Have you got a telescope? she suddenly asked.  He drew it out and reluctantly passed it to her, slightly anxious that she would drop it over the side.  She certainly knew how to use it, looping her wrist through the safety strap immediately. She spent a long time slowly scanning the cloudscapes below, and he went back to considering what he might give her. Toast? He was good at toast. It seemed that his mood towards her had mellowed somewhat since he had awoken. Perhaps she had hijacked his adventure, but it was already proving to have a far better result. He