The Children of the Sky

“In his notebooks, he had flying machines and tunnelers and submersible boats. There’s only one problem with going from a notebook idea to a salable product. Well, no. There are ten thousand thousand problems. Most of his inventions depended on materials that didn’t exist, on engines more powerful than any we could make, on precision of manufacture that he barely had words for. He diverted our company into debacle after debacle. We had been so beautiful before…” All Tycoon’s heads were drooping. “In the end, I—the creature of business and common sense—couldn’t tolerate Scriber’s endless, brilliant failures. I forced him out of the business. He was agreeable enough. I … think … he understood why we had come to an end. He cashed out and left for the West.” Tycoon jabbed a snout at Jef and Ravna. “I know Scriber befriended you people. I know he was both too clever and too naive to survive the meeting. What did he discover about you two-legs? Why would this Johanna murder him in pieces, till all of him was dead?”

Poor Jefri was beyond indignation, perhaps beyond rage. He sat back, his mouth opening and closing in silent shock. Ravna put her arm across his shoulders. Let me try, one more time. She looked at Tycoon. “I never met Scriber Jaqueramaphan,” Ravna said. “But I know him through Johanna. She loved him. Her greatest shame is that she didn’t respect him enough. He died because he was trying to protect her, but it was Vendacious who murdered him. Won’t you even consider that possibility? Even after an, an employee has risked his life to tell you?”

Tycoon hesitated. “If that really is my employee and not just Amdiranifani’s speaking tube.… You and I have talked about this before. I have always taken these matters seriously. I have interviewed witnesses. Nevil himself—”

Zek interrupted with a long gobble, complaining about something or other.

Tycoon visibly pulled himself together. Then two of him leaned out from their thrones, looking almost straight down from the vertex of the bow. “Yes, Vendacious. I see it.”

There was more gobbling from Zek.

“Oh?” said Tycoon. “Woodcarver thinks that, does she? Well you tell Nevil to tell her that—” and then he was speaking Interpack, too.

Ravna glanced at Jefri. He gave his head a little shake, but kept silent. A moment later, she saw what was under discussion. There was a third aircraft, below and ahead of them. It was Scrupilo’s little airboat, the original Eyes Above. The boat was flying in its own circle over the field.

As the Pack of Packs continued on its course, the two craft came closer, but now the airboat was turning away, heading over the Inland Straits, perhaps to Scrupilo’s labs on Hidden Island. She glimpsed a pack in the gondola; it flipped a member impudently at them. I’ll bet that’s Scrupilo himself. She could imagine him and Woodcarver desperately trying to put the brakes on Nevil’s “Alliance for Peace.”

Zek was making genial laughing noises. Then he spoke in Samnorsk, with Vendacious’ voice. “Woodcarver’s balloon has run away, my lord. One little threat from Nevil was all it took.”

“Indeed,” said Tycoon, though he watched the departing airboat with only a single pair of eyes. The rest of him was looking ahead. “In less than half a turn we’ll be back in landing position, Vendacious.”

“We are still tracking directly behind you, my lord. We’ll continue on our course as you land. Please keep in touch via the network.”

Tycoon turned a couple of heads to look at Zek. The poor creature had collapsed on his perch. He looked very tired, past coherent fear. Ravna guessed that relaying was all he could manage now. More of Tycoon looked around, glancing at Jefri and Ravna. He cocked his heads as if indecisive. Would he betray Zek and his peers? But then all he said was, “Very good. I’ll keep Zek close.”

•  •  •

Airships might look like some flyers of the Beyond, but the only real similarity was that both could float in the air. Airships were fragile balloons, slaves to the atmosphere. Landing an airship was an enormously awkward exercise, at least if you didn’t have reasonable automation, or trained ground crews.

As they descended upon the meadow, Tycoon had six heads forward, staring down and forward. This time, he wasn’t bothering his pilot. Every meter of descent was a balance of ballast and fine maneuver. They were now so low that most of Newcastle town was above them. Nevil’s open-air stage was at far end of the field, but dozens of humans and even more packs were running along below the airship. Ahead were clusters of younger Children let out of their Academy classes. The colors were festival cheerful, as if the crowds were welcoming back far explorers.