The Children of the Sky

“Just a moment more, Mr. Ambassador.” Ravna dropped back into her head-to-heads with Nevil and Scrupilo. “I have no idea, Scrupilo. Those paint jobs mean less to me than anyone.” I wish Pilgrim were here. Pilgrim would know just what the Tropicals could do with themselves.

Nevil turned, waved one of his friends forward. Then he continued, whispering. “Actually, Bili saw something weird when we were up on top of the quarry.”

Bili Yngva dropped to his knees beside them and nodded. “Yeah. There was a fivesome skulking around the quarry hoists. Its panniers were stuffed. When I tried to get a closer look, the critters took off for the boat landings. And the strangest thing—I think there were blue smudges on its pelt, like these fellows’ body paint, but rubbed off.”

Scrupilo let out a hoot of triumph. “I knew it!” Then he dithered. In a second more, orders would be flying in all directions.

Nevil stood up, gave Ravna a look. “Your Highness?”

Yes, Ravna abruptly realized, it’s time to act the co-Queen. She put a restraining hand on one of Scrupilo’s heads. “Please bear with me, Mr. Science Advisor.” Then she stood and turned to the crowd, which itself was milling uncertainly about. “People! People!” Well, that worked in the classroom. And goodness, it got everyone’s attention here, too! “We’re going ahead with the property search the Ambassador just agreed to. Scrupilo will advise, but I want humans to do the close-in.” Who? She was suddenly even more grateful that Nevil had shown up. He was on good terms with all the kids, and was a born leader. “Nevil Storherte will supervise.”

She said, in an aside to Nevil: “Is Johanna close by?”

“Sorry, she’s on the mainland this afternoon.”

“Okay, check out our visitors.”

Nevil nodded, and began to gather a proper crew. Ravna glanced at Godsgift. “We’ll have you out of here very soon, Mr. Ambassador.”

The Tropical leader smiled broadly. “Excellent.” Quite evidently, it had no worries about its guilt being proven here.

Scrupilo was dancing with frustration. His gobbling chords broke into a hissed Samnorsk whisper. “This is all useless! I should phone the boat moorage, put out an island-wide alarm, and contact Oobii.”

They also needed some aerial surveillance.… She looked up at the airboat that had been the backdrop for this confrontation. “Is the Eyes Above flyable?” She pointed at the aircraft. “And does it have a radio on board?”

“What? No radio, but the motor is charged … hmm, grmm! Yes!” He started shouting to his ground crews, chords and Samnorsk all mixed together, in various loudnesses and different directions. What she could understand was: “Phone Woodcarver!”, “Nevil, move your investigation away from the Eyes Above! I have use for it.” And a whisper for her ears: “The craft is fully prepped. I wonder if Mr. Crapheads knew that.” He ran to the wicker basket as two of his helpers approached from the other side. They were fiddling with a row of gas valves, arguing with Scrupilo about details.

Nevil’s people and the Tropicals had moved twenty meters off. The suspects were grudgingly removing their panniers and jackets. Huh, the intricate body painting covered much of their bare skin. Some of the Tropicals were watching the airboat curiously, but they didn’t seem the least disconcerted by Scrupilo’s activity.

One of Scrup’s assistants came rushing out with the lab’s loose radio. The nearest of Scrupilo grabbed the box and passed it to himself, up the gangplank. Then he hesitated, looking around as though he had forgotten something critical. “Oh, if only Johanna were here. This will go better with a combo crew.” That is, a pack and a human. “Nevil!” he shouted.

Ravna put a foot on the gangplank. “That’s okay, I can help you as well was anybody here.” That was probably true; she’d been up with Scrupilo a number of times. Besides, she didn’t want to stay here and second-guess Nevil.

Nevil Storherte had started back in their direction. For a second, Ravna thought he was going to object. The boy—no, the man; he was only eight years younger than she—was always going on about her indispensable role in high planning. This time, he seem to realize that he already had a job and that seconds counted. He hesitated, then gave her a little wave. “Okay. Good hunting.”

She waved back, then shooed the rest of Scrupilo up the ramp, into the airboat’s narrow basket.

For once, Scrupilo was not arguing. He scrambled aboard, all the while shouting to his ground crew. The basket did its usual disconcerting wobble as Ravna climbed across into the chair at the stern. She wasn’t quite tied down when the ground crew cut the tethers and the balloon drew them firmly skywards.

This was almost like agrav—but steadier then Pilgrim’s flier. The ground simply fell away. Looking over the edge of the basket, she could see all the Tropicals’ gear laid out. No way that an entire set of radio cloaks could be hidden in that.