“He’s insane,” Zavotle said, looking about him to ensure the treasonous statement had not been overheard. “He’s at the enclosures now… driving the loaders and inflation crews… sword in hand… I saw him cut a man down just for stopping to take a drink.”
“He…!” Toller’s consternation and bafflement increased. “What brought all this about?”
Zavotle looked up at him in surprise. “You don’t know? You must have left the Quarter before…Everything happened in a couple of hours, Toller.”
“What happened? Speak up, Ilven, or there’ll be more swordplay.”
“Lord Prelate Balountar led a citizens’ march on the base. He demanded that all the ships be destroyed and the supplies distributed among the people. Leddravohr had him arrested and beheaded on the spot.”
Toller narrowed his eyes as he visualised the scene. “That was a mistake.”
“A bad one,” Zavotle agreed, “but that was only the beginning. Balountar had the crowds worked up with religion and promises of food and crystals. When they saw his head on a pole they started tearing down our screens. Leddravohr sent the army against them, but… it was an amazing thing, Toller… most of the soldiers refused to fight.”
“They defied Leddravohr?”
“They’re local men — most of them drawn from Ro-Atabri itself — and they were being ordered to massacre their own people.” Zavotle paused as a skyship overhead produced a thunderous roar. “The soldiers are hungry, too, and there’s a feeling abroad that Leddravohr is turning his back on them.”
“Even so.…” Toller found it almost impossible to imagine ordinary soldiers rebelling against the military prince.
“That was when Leddravohr really became possessed. They say he killed more than a dozen officers and men. They wouldn’t obey his orders…but they wouldn’t defend themselves against him either… and he butchered them.…” Zavotle’s voice faltered. “Like pigs, Toller. Just like pigs.”
In spite of the enormity of what he was hearing, Toller developed an unaccountable feeling that he had another and more pressing cause for concern. “How did it end?”
“The fires in the city. When Leddravohr saw the smoke… realised the ptertha screens were burning… he came to his senses. He pulled all the men who remained loyal to him back inside the perimeter, and now he’s trying to get the whole skyship fleet off the ground before the rebels organise themselves and invade the base.” Zavotle studied the nearby soldiers from beneath lowered brows. “This lot are supposed to defend the west gate, but if you ask me they aren’t too sure which side they’re on. Blue uniforms are no longer popular around here. We should get back to the enclosures as soon as.…”
The words faded from Toller’s hearing as his mind made a rapid series of leaps, each one bringing him closer to the source of his subconscious alarm. The fires in the city…ptertha screens burning…there has been no rain for many days…when the screens go the city will be indefensible… the migration MUST get under way at once…and that means…
“Gesalla!” Toller blurted the name in a sudden accession of panic and self-recrimination. How could he have forgotten her for so long? She would be waiting at home in the Square House… still without confirmation of Lain’s death… and the flight to Overland had already begun.…
“Did you hear me?” Zavotle said. “We should be.…”
“Never mind that,” Toller cut in. “What’s been done about notifying the migrants and bringing them in?”
“The King and Prince Chakkell are already at the enclosures. All the other royals and nobles have to get here under the protection of their own guards. It’s a shambles, Toller. The ordinary migrants will have to get through by themselves, and the way things are out there I doubt if.…”
“I’m indebted to you for meeting me here, Ilven,” Toller said, turning to mount his bluehorn. “I seem to remember you telling me when we were up there — freezing to death and with nothing to do but count the falling stars — that you have no family. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“In that case you should get back to the enclosures and take the first ship that becomes available to you. I am not free to leave just yet.”
Zavotle came forward as Toller swung himself into the saddle. “Leddravohr wants us both as royal pilots, Toller. You especially, because nobody else has turned a ship over.”
“Forget that you saw me,” Toller said. “I’ll be back as soon as lean.”
He rode into the base, taking a route which kept him well away from the balloon enclosures. The ptertha nets overhead were casting their patterns of shadow on a scene of confused and frenetic activity. It had been intended that the migration fleet would depart in an orderly manner over a period of between ten and twenty days, depending on weather conditions. Now there was a race to see how many ships could be despatched before the Quarter was overrun by dissenters, and the situation was made even more desperate by the fact that the vulnerable ptertha screens had been attacked. It was fortunate that there was no perceptible air movement — a circumstance which aided the skyship crews and kept ptertha activity to the minimum — but with the arrival of night the livid globes would come in force.
In their haste to load supply carts workers were tearing down the wooden storage huts with their bare hands. Soldiers belonging to the newly formed Overland Regiment — their loyalty guaranteed because they were due to fly with Leddravohr — roamed the area, noisily exhorting base personnel to make greater efforts and in some cases joining in the work. Here and there amid the chaos wandered small groups of men, women and children who had obtained migration warrants in the provinces and had arrived at the Quarter well in advance of their flights. Above and through everything drifted the racket of the inflation fans, the unnerving spasmodic roar of skyship burners and the marshy odour of free miglign gas.
Toller attracted scant attention from anybody as he rode through storage and workshop sections, but on reaching the covered way which ran east to the city he found its entrance guarded by a large detachment of soldiers. Officers with them were questioning everybody who passed through. Toller moved to one side and used his telescope to survey the distant exit. Compressed perspectives made the image hard to interpret, but he could see massed foot soldiers and some mounted groups, and beyond them crowds thronging the sloping streets where the city proper began. There was little evidence of movement, but it was obvious that a confrontation was still taking place and that the normal route to the city was impassable.
He was considering what to do when his attention was caught by shifting specks of colour in the scrubby land which stretched off to the south-east in the direction of the Greenmount suburb. The telescope revealed them to be civilians hurrying towards the centre of the base. From the high proportion of women and children Toller deduced they were emigrants who had breached the perimeter fence at a point remote from the main entrance. He turned away from the tunnel, located an auxiliary exit through the double ptertha meshes and rode out towards the advancing citizenry. When he got close to the leaders they brandished their blue-and-white migration warrants.
“Keep heading towards the balloon enclosures,” he shouted to them. “We’ll get you away.”
The anxious-faced men and women called out their thanks and hurried on, some carrying or dragging infants. Turning to look after them, Toller saw that their arrival had been noticed and mounted men were coming out to meet them. The sky behind the riders made a unique spectacle. Perhaps fifty ships were now in the air over the enclosures, dangerously crowded at the lower levels and straggling out as they receded into the zenith.