“Why did you not burn and sink us, like that other vessel?”
she asked in a flayed voice. “Why must this one return to the city?”
She wrenched free of him and stumbled out on to the deck. It was steeply tilted, and it bucked beneath her. She fell, picked herself up, walked with barefoot care to the rail and stared out across the ocean. Her hair and torn dress fluttered in the wind.
‘Tn
There was a great deal of technique to handling an airship. Ruori could feel that the thirty men he had put aboard this one were sailing it as awkwardly as possible. An experienced Sky Man would know what sort of thermals and downdrafts to expect, just from a glance at land or water below; he could estimate the level at which a desired breeze was blowing, and rise or fall smoothly; he could even beat to windward, though it would be a slow process much plagued by drift.
Nevertheless, an hour’s study showed the basic principles. Ruori went back to the bridge and gave orders in the speaking tube. Presently the land came nearer. A glance below showed the Dolphin, with a cargo of war captives, following on shortened sail. He and his fellow aeronauts would have to take a lot of banter about their celestial snail’s pace. Ruori did not smile at the thought or plan his replies, as he would have done even yesterday. Tresa sat so still behind him.
“Do you know the name of this craft, Doflita?” he asked, to break the silence.
“He called it Buffalo,” she said, remote and uninterested.
“What’s that?”
“A sort of wild dattle.”
“I gather, then, that he talked to you while cruising in search of me. Did he say anything else of interest?”
“He spoke of his people. He boasted of all the things they have which we don’t . . . engines, powers, alloys . . . as if that made them any less a pack of filthy savages.”
At least she was showing some spirit. He had been afraid she
had started willing her heart to stop; but he remembered he had seen no evidence of that common Maurai practide here in Meyco.
“Did he abuse you so badly, then?” he asked, not looking at her.
“You would not consider it abuse,” she said violently. “Now leave me alone, for mercy’s sake!” He heard her go from him, through the door to the after sections.
Well, he thought, after all, her father was killed. That would grieve anyone, anywhere in the world, but her perhaps more than him. For a Meycan child was raised solely by its parents; it did not spend half its time eating or sleeping or playing with any casual relative, like most Island young. So the immediate kin would have more psychological significance here. At least, it was the only explanation Ruori could think of for the sudden darkness within Tresa.
The city hove into view. He saw the remaining enemy vessels gleam above it. Three against one . . . yes, this would become a legend among the Sea People, if it succeeded. Ruori knew he should have felt the same reckless pleasure as a man did surf-bathing, or shark fighting, or sailing in a typhoon, any breakneck sport where success meant glory and girls. He could hear his men chant outside, beat war-drum rhythms out with hands and stamping feet. But his own heart was Antarctic.
The nearest hostile craft approached. Ruori tried to meet it in a professional way. He had attired his prize crew in captured Sky outfits. A superficial glance would take them for legitimate Canyonites, depleted after a hard fight but with the captured Maurai ship at their heels.
As the northerners steered close in the leisurely airship fashion, Ruori picked up his speaking tube. “Steady as she goes. Fire when we pass abeam.”
“Aye, aye,” said Hiti.
A minute later the captain heard the harpoon catapult rumble. Through a port he saw the missile strike the other gondola amidships. “Pay out line,” he said. “We want to hold her for the kite, but not get burned ourselves.”
“Aye, I’ve played swordfish before now.” Laughter bubbled in Hiti’s tones.