Treachery of Kings (8 page)

“Huh.” Bucerius spat in the wind, narrowly missing Finn.

“That be what seers an’ magician folk is for, you livin’ or you're dead. Get you to
buy
somethin’ from ‘em, get you to spend your last pence on some stupid spell.”

Finn gave the Bullie a curious look. “Your kind don't believe in magic, then? I never knew that before. Plenty of Newlies do.”

“‘Course we believes in magic. What you think, you better'n me?”

“Certainly not. As you have pointed out, friend, I'm united in bliss with a Mycer girl.”

“Don't mean you got any concern for my folk—or any other creature what isn't humankind.”

“You think what you will. My feeling, simply from being with you a very short while, is that it is you who have little affection for any but your own. And I'm not certain of that. I saw how those Bullies back at the Grounds looked at you. And how you looked at them.”

For an instant, the cords in Bucerius’ massive neck tightened, and his broad nostrils flared. Then, turning away, he began to busy himself with the shrouds of his balloon.

“Don't be botherin’ me, human person. You be wavin’ at the dead down there. Preach at ‘em all you like. I got work to do. …”

B
Y LATE AFTERNOON, THE WAR BALLOONS BEGAN
to catch up a bit, though none passed the fleeter merchant ships. If any of the military craft had collided or fallen in the swamp, Finn couldn't tell.

Closer, he could see crewmen swarming about the dizzy heights of the portly craft, loosing this, possibly tightening that. Many, he noted, were Yowlies, Newlies with flat, ugly faces, pumpkin-seed eyes, and mean dispositions. Still, their great agility was valued on ships at sea, as well as those in the air.

Before the Change, before the erring seers had brought them up from beasts, the ancestors of the Yowlies had viciously hunted down the ancestors of Letitia's kind. Finn could scarcely blame Letitia for her fear and dislike of such beings. Their fierce appearance and disturbing cries were enough to set anyone's nerves on edge. If any creature changed from beasts lived up to its name, Yowlies took second place to none.

T
HE AFTERNOON SUN CAUGHT THE BIG BALLOONS
in its glare, and Finn noted their swollen flanks were no longer entirely bare. Now, magic symbols in garish shades of yellow, violet and green were smeared on every side.

This rite, he had heard before, was performed only when the craft were in the air. From the distance of Garpenny Street on the far side of Ulster-East, Finn had often seen vessels returning from the west with such markings, but never on any as they rose into the skies. “Not too surprising,” he muttered to himself, “for the
more disaster, mortal fear and death are involved in a spell, the more effective they seem to be. …”

Many of the merchant vessels bore runic markings too, but Bucerius’ balloon showed nothing but an archaic B, a letter in the common tongue.

“You credit the magical arts to some extent,” Finn said, “though I see no signs upon your craft. Would I be out of line if I were to ask why?”

“Out of line's not even be a start,” the Bullie answered, without turning from his tasks. “Human persons be pokin’ they ugly heads into ever'thing they got no business in at all.

“No, I got no signs or symbols on my craft, an’ don't intend to.”

He stopped, and abruptly faced Finn, the late sun narrowing his eyes. “That thing up there be snappin’ a line or rippin’ a hole, you try chantin’ a spell while we be drop-pin’ like a barrel of lead. What I believe is curses an’ hexes can send this thing to the ground. I doubts there's a charm can hold ‘er up.”

Words, Finn thought, that made a strange kind of sense. Perhaps he, and this great—often smelly and disagreeable creature—shared a belief in kind: that he who depended on the strengths within himself possessed a power greater than magic spells.

“At least,” Finn added, “I'd like to think it's so….”

Y
OU MUST PROMISE ME YOU WILL TAKE CARE
of yourself, my dear. I know you are a fine, capable, and courageous man, and responsible in every respect. Still, I urge you to take extra caution at all times. You will be alone in an alien land, and have no one to depend upon but yourself.”

“I promise, Letitia. And I will, indeed, make every effort to keep myself wholly intact, and return as quickly as I can.”

“Oh, Finn, I have no doubt you will.”

“And I must tell you, love, and I mean this in the highest regard, you are showing a braver face at my departure than anyone could truly expect. You know I am embarking on a voyage that is rife with hazard, and danger of every sort. Yet, you do not falter, you do not yield to the fear, the dread, the torment that is tearing you up inside. I think no other could show such mettle as you are showing now.”

“I know you will come back, Finn. You have faced adversity before, but you always come through.”

“Yes, that's true. But
this
venture, you understand, is somewhat more treacherous than any I've faced before.”

“Ah, you'll persevere. I have no doubt of that.”

“You don't?”

“You are skillful, deft, cunning to a fault, my Finn.”

“I suppose I am, that's true, but anything could happen, you know. I don't wish you to worry, but—”

“I won't, really.”

“Won't? Won't what?”

“Worry. Not truly, I mean.”

“Well, you should, if I may say so, Letitia. It may be you are taking this all too lightly. As a fact, it would not be unseemly if you were—greatly concerned. Certainly, more than you seem to be now!”

“Give us a kiss here in the hallway, love, where no one can see and turn us in for lust between Man and the spawn of the beast, and be on your way to your balloon. The sooner begun, the sooner done, as some wise sage has said. Or if he hasn't, he very likely will…”

I
T ISN'T AS IF I WANT HER WAILING AND THRASH
ing about,” Finn mumbled to himself, noting that the sun had dropped farther behind a crimson veil. “But I do feel she could have shown a bit more fervor, anguish and remorse. I don't think that's too much to ask”

“What now? What you be mumbling over there? A human person's got such a weaky little voice, they might's well not be talkin’ at all.”

“I was talking to myself, Bucerius. I would have spoken louder if my words were meant for you.”

Finn was surprised he'd let his attention wander so long. The war balloons were closer now—much too close for his liking, and too many of them to boot. Was there any reason they had to huddle together like a school of bloated fish? There was plenty of room to move about, a whole bloody sky.

Some, he noted, had vented their balloons, letting their craft sink rapidly down. Others tossed over bags of sand to rise higher still. The skies were near smothered with clumsy craft, rising up and sinking down. Through sheer dumb luck, most seemed to pass each other with room to spare.

“Fate is truly kind,” Finn said, “or we should see a dozen dire disasters before our very eyes—

“Kites and Mites,” he suddenly shouted, squeezing the wicker rail, “
look out, you damn fool!
”

No one heard him above the constant shriek of air. Bucerius saw it too, and cursed beneath his breath, jerking a line that sent his vessel swooping dizzily away.

It happened in a wink, in the blink of an eye. A great, dun-colored sausage, patched, pasted, fiddled and darned, rose straight up into four enormous spheres, linked together as one. It struck the wicker baskets suspended from the vessels, struck them cruelly hard, and sent grenadiers, archers, fusiliers with purple pantaloons, crimson-clad dragoons, shrieking down in a deadly colorful array. Some went straight to the ground, some bounced once, some bounced twice on other balloons, before they went down. Several poor fellows plummeted through another craft and disappeared.

As one cart collides with another on the ground, as each slams another, and another after that, so it is with vessels of the air. Finn looked on in abject horror as one balloon tore itself apart and spun dizzily to the ground, a basketful of doomed soldiers trailed by a string of tattered rags.

A tragedy greater still occurred then, one that stunned Finn above the rest. A large balloon exploded, its fabric set ablaze. Finn covered his eyes from the blast as a gaseous ball of fire blossomed nearby.

Before it was done, he counted nine of the monsters down. There was no way to tell how many men had perished as well.

“Have you—have you ever seen this happen before,” Finn said, staring at Bucerius. “Whales and Nails, it's not
always
like this, is it?”

“Isn't bad. I be seein’ worse.”

“Worse?”

“Trouble is, there be plenty of
bold
balloon pilots, but there isn't no
old
balloon pilots. If a captain don't die his first trip, he don't be ever signin’ on again.”

“You seem to make it, all right.”

“I be a business person. I'm not some kinda fool what's fightin’ in a war.”

Bucerius looked at Finn with a mix of scorn and pride. “War be for human persons. Killin’ be what they like to do.”

“There are many brave Newlies who have joined our forces to fight with valor in the war.” “Uh-huh. They be stupid, too.”

And that, it appeared, was that.

AS IF ON SOME SILENT SIGNAL, THE CLUSTER OF merchant balloons rose higher still, higher than they'd risen before. Finn peered over the side and saw the reason why. There, far below, lay the dread, desolate province once known as Melonius. The only dry land in the midst of the Swamp of Bleak Demise, it was now the battleground where warriors from Prince Aghen Aghenfleck and the King of Heldessia, met to slaughter one another as they had for seven hundred thirty-nine years.

Finn was glad they had risen so high. The balloons of Fyxedia and those of her foe, which had just arrived from the west, were disgorging their troops on the bare and blackened ground—those that had survived the journey there. The gaily decked officers and somber-clad men were much too far away to appear more than blotches to Finn's eye, and he was most grateful for that.

Beyond, the swamp took hold again, and, past that, the onset of the night.

“I see the sun is nearly gone,” Finn said. “We can hardly have more than an hour more of light. Where will we stay for the night?”

“What?” The Bullie scratched the little nubs where horns had appeared among his kind in the past.

“Where would you
like
to stay, different from where you bein’ now?”

“Why, down there somewhere, of course. Surely you wouldn't attempt to sail this device in the—in the dark?”

Finn felt a sudden chill, for he could see the answer in the Bullie's glassy brown eyes.

“No, truly, that makes little sense at all. We can't very well remain aloft unless we can see… “

“An’ what'd you like to do? Set ‘er down there among that poor lot? By damn, if you'd stop thinkin’ ‘bout your Mycer lass, you'd see what be a'happenin’ outside your fuzzy head… “