The Children of the Sky

Timor rested the device on the window ledge and looked through it, seeing nothing but a lot of rain-wet concrete. No sign of that small first passenger. Ah, now he was looking at some part of the airship. The main hatch was hidden beneath the curve of the hull, but he could see a pack near the entrance. It was watching something that it thought was important. Timor looked for a second more, holding the optics as steady as he could.… A gunpack came smartly down the stairs, its gun muzzles down, but watching in all directions. It looked like Mr. Skeetshooter, the fellow who usually guarded Timor.

And then there was a human. A guy, tall. From this angle, it was hard to … that was Jefri Olsndot! But I thought he was one of Nevil’s toadies? The thought flitted out of his mind because a second human had appeared.

Ravna!

Timor hunched forward, losing the view for a moment. When he found her again, Ravna had descended the stairs. She seemed to be leaning against Jefri. Seeing her here was the best thing he could imagine … or was it the worst? He’d know when he saw which direction they were taking her. Mr. Skeets herded Ravna and Jefri to a little rickshaw wagon. There was the singleton, already aboard.

After a moment the rickshaw driver pulled them away, followed by Mr. Skeets. They were headed here, to the House of Tycoon! The rickshaw disappeared beneath his tower’s view. He watched the airships a few moments more, but saw only crew and maintenance packs.

Timor slid down to the floor, the binoculars now unnoticed in his lap. Maybe he should keep watching, but he was too busy thinking about what this could mean and what he should do: Tell Geri. Decide how to approach Tycoon on this. Timor had gotten better at guessing how the big guy would react to developments—even if the reasons for the reaction were not always clear. In the beginning, Timor had tried to explain that Ravna was a good person who should be an ally. That had not worked very well, though Timor was sure—almost sure—that Tycoon would not kill her out of hand the way Vendacious wanted.

Suddenly he was overcome by the need to move; he’d plan on the way. He climbed to his feet and set the binoculars in their velvet box. Geri’s cell was above his. Getting up the stairs was always a pain, though Tinish steps were easier for him to climb than steps the size most humans preferred. He’d considered complaining about the problem—but there was no way to make the stairs more convenient for his bad legs. If the Big Guy took him seriously, he might just move Timor out of the tower entirely.

The tiny stairwell was cool, the walls and steps slick with condensation. The door at the top was metal, edged with a rubber sealing ring. He tapped politely on its surface, then popped it open.

“Hei, Geri. It’s me, Timor.” Actually, it couldn’t be anyone else, not through this door. “Can I come in?”

There was no answer, but Geri replied only on her really good days. Timor eased the door open and stepped into the cold semidarkness. Actually the room was pretty warm by Domain standards, but it was at least ten degrees cooler than outdoors, and unlike in the stairwell, the air was relatively dry. Timor himself had lived in this room for a few tendays—till the lack of windows and the hassle of moving in and out of the heat had gotten to him. Geri would have that problem too if—when she felt well enough to leave the room.

“Geri?”

Shadows shifted and a head poked up. “She here. She say no visit.” That was the jailer, a not very bright foursome—but one of the few packs who spoke some Samnorsk.

“Hei, Jailer,” and he tried to gobble-whistle the Jailer’s given name.

As usual Jailer bobbed a smile, but whether she was amused or pleased, Timor had never been able to figure out. The pack was gathered together all on one side of the bed. Geri became visibly upset when a pack surrounded her. As Timor settled down on the other side, Geri shifted uneasily under her blankets, shrinking away from him. She stared determinedly away from both Timor and Jailer. This must be one of her bad days, when she couldn’t bear to be touched, much less hugged.

Darn the luck, but he had to tell someone. Timor rested his hand on the edge of the five-year-old’s blankets. Geri was years younger than Timor now, but he was still only a little taller than she was. Once upon a time, Geri surely had understood that Timor was older, just stunted down to her size. Now she often seemed to confuse him with her Academy playmates. Since her time with Vendacious, there was a lot she was confused about, and lots more she refused to think about. “Geri, I have good news. Ravna is here! I saw her myself!”

Her violet eyes shifted in his direction; some distant emotion passed across her small, dark face. Timor took any expression that wasn’t fear as a positive thing. The little girl seemed to consider him for a second. “What did she say?”