“Alfred’s sent some dinner.”
The boy’s eyes were eager and curious, darting here and there at the cables attached to the harness, Hugh’s arms resting easily on them.
“Come up,” Hugh invited. “Just be careful what you touch and where you step. Keep away from the ropes.”
Bane did as he was told, sliding up through the hatch, placing his foot gingerly on the deck. In his hands he carried a bowl of meat and vegetables. It was cold. Alfred had cooked it before they left Pitrin’s Exile, then packed it away to be eaten later. But it smelled good to a man accustomed to living on the wayfarer’s meal of bread and cheese or the greasy fare of inns.
“Hand it here.” Hugh knocked the ashes from his pipe in a crockery mug he carried for this purpose, then held out his hands to take the bowl.
Bane’s eyes glistened. “You’re supposed to be flying the ship.”
“She can fly herself,” said Hugh, grasping the bowl and the horn spoon and shoveling the food into his mouth.
“But won’t we fall?” Bane peered out the crystal windows.
“The magic keeps us afloat, and even if it didn’t, the wings could support us in this calm air. I just have to make certain they stay extended. If I pulled them in, then we’d begin to sink.”
Bane nodded thoughtfully, turning his blue-eyed gaze back to Hugh. “What cables draw them in?”
“These.” He gestured to two heavy lengths of rope attached to the harness at his breast near his right and left shoulder. “I pull them this way, in front of me, and that draws the wings in. These other cables let me steer by lifting the wings or lowering them. This one controls the mainmast, and this cable’s attached to the tail. By flipping it one way or the other, I can control the ship’s direction.”
“So we could stay afloat like this for how long?”
Hugh shrugged. “Indefinitely, I suppose, or until we came to an isle. Then the wind currents would catch us and might suck us into a cliff or underneath the island, then slam us up against the coralite.”
Bane nodded gravely. “I still think I could fly it.”
Hugh felt satisfied enough with himself to smile indulgently. “No, you’re not strong enough.”
The boy gazed at the harness in longing.
“Try it,” Hugh invited. “Here, come stand beside me.”
Bane did as he was told, moving cautiously, being careful not to accidentally jar one of the ropes. Standing on the deck in front of Hugh, the boy placed his hand on one of the ropes that caused the wing to rise or lower. He pulled at it. The rope moved slightly, enough to cause the wing to shiver, and that was all.
Unaccustomed to having his will thwarted, the prince gritted his teeth and, wrapping both hands around the rope, pulled with all his might. The wooden frame creaked, the wing dipped a fraction of an inch. Grinning in triumph, Bane planted his feet on the deck and pulled even harder. A gust of wind, sweeping upward, caught the wing. The cable slid through his hands. The prince released his grip with a cry, staring at his palms, which were torn and bleeding.
“Still think you can fly it?” the Hand said coolly.
Blinking back tears, Bane mumbled, “No, Sir Hugh,” disconsolately. He wrapped his injured hands tightly around the feather amulet, as if seeking some sort of consolation. Perhaps it helped, for he swallowed and lifted shimmering blue eyes to meet Hugh’s. “Thank you for letting me try.”
“You did well enough, Your Highness,” said Hugh. “I’ve seen men twice your size who didn’t do as well.”
“Truly?” The tears vanished.
Hugh was rich now. He could afford the lie. “Yeah. Now, go on down and see if Alfred needs any help.”
“I’ll be back to get the bowl!” Bane said, and ducked through the hatch. Hugh could hear his excited voice calling for Alfred, telling the chamberlain how he had flown the dragonship.
Eating in silence, Hugh idly scanned the skies. He decided that the first thing he would do upon landing on Aristagon would be to take that feather to Kev’am, the elven wizardess, and see what she could make of it. One of the lesser mysteries he had to solve.