“Find us a working line,” Father said, pointing at the ruins of the Ivory Station. “I want a conversation with Prima.”
“Communications are problematic,” the officer pointed out.
“I beg to differ.” The Archon of Archons walked up to his son, reaching high with both hands, starting to push. Other fathers might straighten their children’s unruly hair, but List risked slicing fingers, trying to make the plates lie flat. “The greatest military force in the world is under my colleague’s feet. I’m quite certain that she knows that I’m here.”
The plates began to drop under the little fingers.
Father winked knowingly. “But this idea is always warm in your mind, isn’t it, son? Conversation is really the least impressive way to deliver your message.”
Bountiful dropped little streams of water meant to evaporate before being noticed, and tanks of pressurized hydrogen were milked for a few moments, giving the bladders more lift. Then the tethers were released, anchors left buried in the trees. Smoothly and quietly, the smallest two engines nudged the ship ahead, pushing it through the first gap and into a crooked airborne tunnel that would carry them up to places where the big machine would never be seen.
Father hadn’t returned.
Good sat beside Diamond, both watching the open doorway. “Merit where?” asked the monkey.
“Coming,” Diamond said.
Good stood on his four hands, considering his boy.
Diamond had promised the captain that he wouldn’t approach the open air again. But he could tell his monkey, “Watch for him. Go on now.”
A slow gait carried Good across the shop floor. Everybody in the crew had a job, a task, some consuming chore that kept him distracted. The harpooner’s chore was to stand beside the long gun, an explosive round sleeping in the breech. The man was counting branches, and then he looked at the monkey, unhappy about something. And Good tried to smile—a peeling back of lips to reveal yellow canines and pink gums—and as he did on rare occasions, he rose up on his hind legs, clumsily shuffling forwards like a shriveled old human man.
The harpooner said a word.
The little man beside him said several words.
And together, the two of them watched the world steadily descend around them.
Elata and Seldom sat on the floor with Diamond. Tar`ro and Nissim filled matching chairs. Both men had made cups with their right hands, chins against their palms as bleary eyes lost the war against sleep.
“I don’t want to be here,” said Elata
The boys squirmed silently.
“I know, I know,” she said. “There’s nowhere else to be.”
The day was as short as any could be. The high parts of the world had never warmed properly and now they were growing black. The ship’s little engines rumbled, easing Bountiful inside shadows. Disturbed, a young leatherwing rose from below, wings beating hard to match the ship’s motion, four lidless eyes peering inside the shop before the creature pivoted and spun away.
Master Nissim snored softly.
“But what am I doing here?” Elata asked.
“Sitting,” said Seldom. Then he made himself laugh.
Diamond looked at the girl’s hand, and in his mind, he took hold of it. But when he tried to do that in life, she pulled her arm away. “I didn’t ask,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Did I say, ‘Let me ride along’?”
Diamond felt his stomach and his heart, but he wasn’t sure why.
“We’re here with our friend,” Seldom said.
“I know where we are. But I don’t see why.”
When he concentrated, Seldom squinted. The long squint ended with a firm voice claiming, “We’re here to help Diamond.”
Elata looked at Diamond. Her eyes and face had never worn that expression, mistrustful and sad and very nearly desperate. Then she looked out the open door, saying, “He doesn’t need us. He has the Master and his bodyguard, and everybody else.”
Crossing his arms, squeezing his chest, Seldom said, “Diamond is our friend.”
“I know.”
“Diamond’s my best friend,” he said.
“Not mine,” she said.
The air had changed temperature. Diamond couldn’t tell if it was colder or warmer, but there was a difference.
She said, “You’re my best friend, Seldom. Diamond is second.”
The boy had to smile, but he didn’t seem to like the happiness.
Diamond wanted to talk, and so he said, “Maybe.”
His friends looked at him, waiting.
“Maybe you’re here so I can take care of you,” he said.
Elata made a scornful face, considering those words.
“Maybe,” said Seldom, without conviction.
Yet if that were true, then Diamond should accomplish some good act. But nothing could be done or said that seemed beneficial, and those thoughts put him back into a gray sorry place.
Then Good let loose with a wild celebratory hoot.
Out in the wilderness, myriad monkeys returned the call.
Dropping to all fours, Good sprinted back to the children, saying, “Old man back.”
The little airship climbed into view, chasing them through the trees.
Nissim was awake again.
The children stood.
The little airship revved its engine and then slowed again, aiming for Bountiful’s door. Mr. Fret nearly clipped his right wing as he slid onboard.
Father was out and walking before the airship was restrained. It was important to give his son a smile and nod, and then he asked a pair of mechanics, “Why aren’t you gone? These woods are clear as glass.”
Nobody answered. A captain’s decisions didn’t need defending.
Tar`ro got to his feet, but the Master remained seated. From the chair, he asked, “What did Prima say?”
Blood lit up Father’s face. He intended to answer, or perhaps he had a different subject in mind. Diamond never learned what words would come next.
The man hesitated.
His head tipped on its side, eyes nearly closed. “Cut your engine, Fret,” he shouted.
The engine was rattling and spitting stink, and then it was quieter, the propeller taking its time spinning down.
Bountiful’s engines continued pushing, but a sharper second noise was closing.
Tar`ro stared at the floor, and getting to his feet, Nissim looked at the ceiling, nodding without comment.
The crew began racing each other around the shop.
Holding his gun by its handles, the harpooner was taking aim at something that nobody else could see, something that was moving.
“Tell the captain,” Merit yelled.
But the captain already knew. Bountiful’s main engines came awake, driving as hard as possible, and the floor was rising beneath them, pushing at Diamond’s legs as various alarms began to screech. Yet those noises were nothing compared to the burly wrenching roar that lifted another ship into view. Narrow through its body and bristling with propellers set at odd angles, the newcomer looked like strange bird—a giant bird with a glass body and a belly full of papio.
The papio looked through the Bountiful’s open door, staring at the tree-walkers. Their faces were made from long jaws and long yellow teeth with candy-bright red gums, and their smiles were very much like Good’s smile. And everything in view seemed to make them exceptionally happy.
“ ‘A wind moves all leaves but one,’ ” her father liked to quote. “ ‘And which leaf does the eye notice?’ ”
Prima was the motionless leaf, and the forest was being thrashed by the gale.
“The central fleet’s gathering inside the Hole, madam,” said Sondaw.
“The Hole” was the District’s gaping wound, and everyone had embraced that grossly inadequate name.
“They found a working call-line,” the Lieutenant continued. “Your colleague’s at the other end, and he wants to speak to you, madam.”
“Is it secure?”