Toller began to comprehend the scheme Zavotle was proposing, and for a moment he seemed to feel the coldness of the high air seeping into his body. “You want to detach the balloons, and… and…”
“And return them to the ground, where they will be used to carry other fortress sections aloft,” Zavotle said, nodding. “I see no reason why an individual balloon should not make the return journey many times.”
“That is not the issue I was going to raise,” Toller said. “You’re talking about leaving men up there. Stranded! With no means to check a ship’s fall!”
Zavotle’s face became more serene, and somehow less human. “We are discussing the weightless zone, my lord. As you yourself once said to me - how can an object fall if it has no weight?”
“I know, but…” Toller retreated from the use of logic. “I don’t like it.”
“But I do!” Chakkell half-shouted, beaming at Zavotle in a manner which suggested that his burgeoning affection had quickly reached full flower. “I like it a lot!”
“Yes, Majesty,” Toller said drily, “but you won’t be up there.”
“Nor will you, Maraquine,” Chakkell countered. “I am appointing you my Sky Marshal because of your extensive knowledge of skyships—not because of your redundant and fading physical prowess. You will remain firmly on the ground and direct operations from here.”
Toller shook his head. “That is not my way. I lead from the front. If men are required to entrust their lives to… to wingless birds, I would prefer to be among the first of them.”
Chakkell looked exasperated, then he glanced at Zavotle and his expression became enigmatic. “Have it your own way,” he said to Toller. “I am investing you with the authority to take any man in my kingdom into your service—may I assume that your friend Zavotle will be given an important advisory post?”
“That was my intention from the beginning.”
“Good! I expect you both to remain at the palace until we have discussed every major aspect of the defence plan, and as that will take a considerable time it will be…” Chakkell broke off as his stoop-shouldered secretary entered the room, bowing vigorously, and approached the table. “Why do you interrupt me, Pelso?”
“Apologies, Majesty,” Pelso replied in a quavering voice. “My information was that you were to be informed without delay. About the execution, that is.”
“Execution? Exe…? Oh, yes! Go on, man.”
“Majesty, I sent for the holder of the warrant.”
“There was no need for that. I simply wanted to know if the chore had been completed. Oh, all right—where is your man?”
“He waits in the east corridor. Majesty.”
“What good is he to me in the corridor? Bring him here, you old fool!”
Chakkell drummed on the table with his fingers as Pelso, still bowing, backed away to the door.
Toller, although he had no wish to be diverted from the discussion in hand, stared towards the doorway as the thick-chested figure of Gnapperl appeared. The sergeant, carrying his helmet under his left arm, showed no sign of nervousness over what was undoubtedly his first audience with the King. He marched to Chakkell and saluted very correctly, awaiting permission to speak, but his eyes had already met Toller’s and they were malignly triumphant, beaconing their message ahead of the spoken word. Self-recrimination and sadness caused Toller to lower his gaze as he thought about the hapless farmer he had met on the road to Prad that foreday. Could it really have been such a short time ago? He had promised Spennel help, and had failed him, and adding to the poignancy of his regrets was the knowledge that Spennel had expected him to fail. How was he to defend an entire world when it had proved beyond his powers to rescue one man from…?
“Majesty, the execution of the traitor Spennel was carried out in accordance with the lawful warrant,” Gnapperl said in answer to Chakkell’s signal.
Chakkell shrugged and turned to Toller. “I did what I could. Are you satisfied?”
“I have one or two questions for this man.” Toller raised his head and locked eyes with Gnapperl. “I was hoping that the execution would have been delayed. Did the sight of the skyship occasion no disturbances in the city?”
“There were many disturbances, my lord—but I could not allow them to divert me from the course of duty.” Gnapperl spoke with ingenuous pride, a way of covertly baiting Toller. “Even the executioner had gone off with the crowds to follow the skyship, and I was forced to ride hard for several miles to find him and bring him back to the city.”
He was the first executioner you encountered today, Toller thought. I am the second. “That is most commendable, sergeant,” he said aloud. “You appear to be the kind of soldier who puts his duty above all else.”
“That I am, my lord.”
“What is going on here, Maraquine?” Chakkell put in. “Don’t tell me you have descended to feuding with common soldiers.”
Toller smiled at him. “On the contrary, I hold the sergeant in such esteem that I intend to recruit him into my own service. That is permissible, isn’t it?”
“I told you you can have anyone you want,” Chakkell said impatiently.
“I wished the sergeant to hear it from your own lips.” Toller addressed himself directly to Gnapperl who—belatedly realising he had misread the situation—was beginning to look alarmed. “There will be many dangerous tasks to perform when it comes to testing our new skyships which hang in the high air without the support of balloons, and I will have need of men who put their duty above all else. Send those who are with you back to Panvarl, with my compliments, then report to the house commander. Go!”
Gnapperl, now pale and thoughtful, saluted and left the room, followed by the bowed form of the secretary.
“You told him enough about our deliberations,” Chakkell grumbled.
“The sooner the word is put about the better,” Toller said. “Besides, I wanted the sergeant to have some idea of what is in store for him.”
Chakkell shook his head and sighed. “If you intend to have that one killed, do it quickly. I won’t have you wasting your valuable time on trivia.”
“Majesty, there is something in this account I fail to understand,” Zavotle said, abstractedly rubbing his stomach. Throughout the exchange with the sergeant his narrow head had been bent over Colonel Gartasian’s dispatch book, ears protruding like tiny clenched fists, and now he was looking puzzled.
“Does it concern the musket?”
“No, Majesty—it’s to do with the Landers themselves. If these odd-looking New Men are simply the offspring of men and women who were partially immune to pterthacosis, should there not have been a sprinkling of them among our own newborn?”
“Perhaps a few were born,” Chakkell said, not showing much interest. “The parents would probably have disposed of them quickly without saying much about it. Or perhaps the condition is latent. It may not manifest itself until the brats are exposed to the toxins—and the ptertha on Overland are not poisonous.”
“Not yet,” Toller reminded him, “but if we go on destroying brakka trees the globes will surely change.”
“Something for future generations to worry about,” Chakkell said, pounding the table with the gavel of his fist. “Before us is a problem which must be solved in days, instead of centuries. Do you hear me? Days’”
I hear you, Toller thought, and already in his mind he was ascending towards the weightless zone, that realm of thin, cold and meteor-streaked air which he had entered but twice in his lifetime and had never expected to see again.