Dag headed down below to fetch the chambers. The Cloud Hopper had two four-pounder cannons, mounted on the main deck, one on the starboard side and one on the port, and one “frog”, so-called because the cannon’s squat body and wide mouth resembled the reptile. The frog was positioned on the sterncastle, placed there to protect the helm. The frog fired an enormous cannonball, twenty-four pounds, or a variety of other types of shot, but had limited range.
Few Trundler vessels were so well armed. Most could not have afforded such expensive weapons, and there was generally no need for Trundlers to have to defend themselves. The biggest danger in the Breath was from pirates, and they almost never attacked Trundler houseboats, for the Trundlers carried little of value. A Trundler boat might be armed with a single swivel gun or an old-fashioned ballista. Most relied on muskets and pistols for defense.
“Dag!” Stephano shouted down the hatch. “While you’re there, bring your pipes!”
Dag stopped on the stairs and stared up at him in astonishment. “My what?”
“Bring your bagpipes! And tell Rigo to quit reading and start helping!”
Dag shook his head in bewilderment and continued on down.
“Why do you want him to play the pipes?” Miri asked tersely. “A funeral dirge as we’re dragged into Hell?”
Stephano didn’t answer. He was gazing at the cutter, measuring the distance between them with his eye.
“Miri, there must be some way for you to steer this boat.” He looked up at the balloon. “We have lift. We’re not sinking…”
Miri sighed, then, and shook her head. “Only in the direction the magic is taking us. We can’t maneuver or change course.”
“All you need to do is aim for the cutter. That’s more or less sailing in a straight line.” Stephano pointed in the direction they needed to go. “If we can reach the cutter, we can team up to protect each other.”
Sixty sailors defending the cutter, five on the Cloud Hopper. Six counting the Doctor, who had been forcibly removed from beneath the cannon by Gythe. Judging by the cat’s dismal howls, the good Doctor was now locked up in the storage closet.
Dag emerged onto the deck, carrying a large wooden case in one hand and a gunnysack filled with preloaded canisters in another. Rodrigo followed, staggering beneath the weight of a similar sack, which he flung with a sigh onto the deck, narrowly missing his own foot, and turned to Stephano.
“I found what I was looking for. An early Church edict banning-”
“Rigo, where’s the water?” Dag demanded. “I told you to fetch water!”
“In a moment. This is important-”
“So is our need for water,” said Stephano. “In case we need to put out the fires. Dag’s right, Rigo. You can explain all this magic stuff to me later.”
“If there is a later,” said Rodrigo in ominous tones, and he ran back down below to the hold where they stored the water barrels.
Stephano looked back through the spyglass at the demons. He could see them more clearly, and he had to admit that they looked exactly like the fiends in the paintings on the walls of his father’s chapel, paintings depicting the torments of the damned. Fiends with snarling faces and those strange fiery eyes, as though Hell’s flames burned inside them. Like most children, he had been fascinated by the demons, more interested in the fearsome looking creatures than in the angelic beings singing among the clouds. His father had been a religious man, but not demonstrative about his faith. He kept no chaplain. What was between him and God, he liked to say, was between him and God.
Was there a Hell? Did some fallen soul rule over it? Stephano had always believed men made their own Hell.
The demons were staring in his direction, perhaps trying to analyze the threat. The Cloud Hopper was partially obscured by the mists, which was perhaps the only reason the demons hadn’t flown to attack them already.
“What are you?” Stephano asked them silently. “Who are you? Where did you come from? Freya? Or some place hotter…”
Gythe had talked of hearing voices. If so, they weren’t answering him. Stephano shook off his metaphysical musings. The righteous and not-so-righteous aboard the Cloud Hopper were preparing for battle.
While Dag was loading the swivel guns, Stephano explained his plan. “Miri, position our boat directly above the cutter. That will keep the bats from attacking us from below and the cutter from above. We’ll be able to fire on the bats without risking hitting the cutter.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Miri
“Once you’re in position, you can go help Dag. Rodrigo can reload-”
“He is not touching my guns,” said Dag firmly. “He’d end up blowing us all to Freya.”
“Rigo should stay with Gythe,” said Miri. “He understands what she does with the magic. She might need him.”
“We all have our jobs. What will you be doing, sir?” Dag asked, eyeing Stephano curiously.
“Bring out the pipes, my friend,” said Stephano, watching the dragon circling the cutter. “Play ‘Jolly Beggarman.’ The Dragon Brigade is going to fly again.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Constructs degrade dependent upon the medium in which they are set and the processes they facilitate. Targeting constructs set in a cannon require monthly servicing, whereas strengthening constructs set in the stone wall of the Opera House in Galiathe, for example, require little maintenance. Only dragon breath is known to accelerate magic degradation, breaking down a construct in a process know as deconstruction.
– The Art of Crafting,
Church School Primer
WHILE DAG WAS REMOVING HIS BAGPIPES from their carrying case, Stephano ran down to his berth. He put on his flight coat and grabbed his sword belt, his saber, and the dragon pistol that had been a gift from his godfather. He flung the sword belt with the saber over his shoulder, tucked the loaded pistol into the pocket in his flight coat, then ran back up on deck.
Rodrigo ended a one-sided conversation with Gythe and glanced at Miri, who was still at the helm, looking with distress at her sister.
“How is she?” Miri asked worriedly.
Rodrigo shook his head.
Stephano watched the two of them and groaned inwardly. “What’s wrong now?”
“Gythe,” said Rodrigo.
Stephano glanced back at her. She was smiling, relaxed, and happy. Seeing Stephano looking at her, she grinned at him and laughed like a child and waved.
“Oh, no!” said Stephano softly. “Not now.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Rodrigo. “She’s having one of her spells. As bad as I’ve ever seen her.”
“Miri was hoping she was better.” Stephano ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “What is she doing?”
“She thinks she’s a child again, steering her parents’ boat. She’s laughing and giggling, singing old nursery rhymes…”
“Can you help her?” Stephano asked.
Rodrigo shrugged. “In a way, she’s helping herself. She’s so terrified she’s gone into hiding, so to speak. She’s gone back to being a little girl.”
Rodrigo looked out at the strange battle going on between the cutter and the bats-a battle the Cloud Hopper would soon unwillingly join-and he shook his head. “I can’t say that I blame her. I wish I had somewhere to hide.”
“But the protective magic,” said Stephano urgently. “It only works if she’s singing…”
“Not necessarily. It works better if she’s singing, but it will work. I don’t know what to tell you,” Rodrigo added, with a helpless shrug. “She may come out of this state. She may not. Perhaps if Miri talked to her…”
Miri had been listening to their conversation. She shook her head. “I’ve tried before. When she’s like this, she doesn’t even know who I am.”
Stephano swore softly. The rocky shoreline loomed ever closer. The cathedral had sustained serious damage; the walls were burned and charred and in some places completely breached. The beautiful stained glass windows had been broken out. He could smell the acrid stench of the smoke from the still smoldering rubble and another smell more horrible, like burning flesh.