He met the scrutator’s eyes. On the other hand, if he did stay, who would take care of Ullii? In spite of his barely sublimated lust, no one cared for her as Nish did. Moreover, the balloon had been his idea and he wanted to follow it through. He wanted to redeem himself too. Staying here could never erase the stain on his record.

Most importantly, that the scrutator was prepared to risk his own life on this mission showed how vital it was. How could he refuse?

‘I will go,’ Nish said. His knee shook and he knew that the scrutator noted it. ‘Even if there are a thousand lyrinx at the other end. How else are we to win the war?’

The man’s eyes gleamed. Crab fingers gripped Nish’s shoulder. ‘Keep an eye out for anything of a flesh-forming nature.’ The scrutator turned away.

At mid-morning the mechanician finally climbed down from the basket. ‘It’s ready. Fill it up!’

They began to inflate the balloon with hot air funnelled via a flexible pipe from a fire built nearby. They did not want to waste fuel getting the craft airborne. By the time it was inflated a strong wind was blowing. The structure strained at the guy ropes.

‘Time to go,’ said Flydd, examining the sky. It was midday. ‘I don’t like the look of the weather.’

Nish did not, either. Moreover, the late start meant that there was no chance of reaching their destination before dark. Setting down for the night in this wind would be perilous. By dinnertime he might be burnt to death, or fallen to his doom.

Ullii climbed in, crouching down in a padded basket specially made for her. A skeet was caged on the other side, to carry a message back. The cage was covered, skeets being notoriously vicious. Nish shook hands with the mechanician and Overseer Tuniz. Climbing up the rope ladder with wobbly knees, he went over the high side. Last came the soldiers and Rustina, whose gear had been stowed earlier.

Irisis was pacing more anxiously than before, practically running back and forth. What was she planning?

‘Are you coming, surr?’ Nish called down to Flydd.

The scrutator tugged the anchor cables. ‘I just want to see how she lifts. Let go a few ropes and slacken off the others.’

Nish fetched him a salute. ‘Cast off those ropes!’ He gestured with a theatrical flourish that took all the braggadocio he could muster. ‘Slacken the other tethers. Open the furnace damper!’

It was done but the balloon did not look like lifting. Nish was glad.

M’lainte frowned. ‘I did wonder if it would take that much gear. Rustina, bring your troops down for a minute. We’ll have to work this out again.’

Seven of the soldiers got out. The eighth began handing their gear down. He’d just lifted the second pack when a furious gust heeled the balloon over. It lifted sharply and all but one of the ropes ripped their stakes out. Everything not tied down, including Nish, fell against Ullii’s basket. The skeet screeched. Ullii wailed. The brazier roared and flames licked up toward the tarred fabric. If it caught, the balloon would go up like a bonfire.

The mechanician shouted something. Nish could not tell what, with the wind in his ears. Irisis threw herself at one of the dangling ropes but was carried up into the air.

The balloon whirled on its remaining tether, down until it was in danger of smashing into the ground, then up again just as abruptly. Nish had to do something before it crashed and exploded. Whipping out his knife, he hacked clean through the remaining rope. Another gust lifted the balloon, which soared into the sky, righted itself and kept rising. Irisis wailed and let go.

Down below, the scrutator was shouting. The words did not carry. A white-faced Irisis was staring up at him. She did not seem to be hurt.

‘What else could I do?’ Nish muttered, realising just what he had done. All but one of the soldiers were left behind. Everything was up to him now.

Ullii was moaning in her basket. The violent lurches would have terrified her. Nish’s eyes met the soldier’s and he forced himself to appear calm.

‘I’m Cryl-Nish!’ He held out his hand.

‘S’lound.’ The soldier crushed it. He was a tall veteran of maybe forty years, with thin grey hair and a white beard, rather stained about the lips.

They leaned on the rim of the basket, on opposite sites for balance, watching the manufactory recede until they could no longer see it. The balloon was climbing quickly.

‘Cold up here,’ said Nish.

‘Ain’t it!’

What he should have done, Nish realised, was to pull the release-valve rope. Too late now. They were travelling over rugged country where it would be risky to land.

They were drifting south-west. Nish was amazed at how fast the balloon was going. Landmarks below, that he had spent days labouring across, fled by in minutes. This was the way to travel! He began looking for the plateau where the battle had occurred.

Maybe an hour later, S’lound interrupted his thoughts. ‘Looks like we’re going down again.’

Nish had forgotten the brazier, which had died down to a thick layer of coals. The pitch burned hot but it also burned quickly. He climbed the rope ladder, swinging alarmingly in the wind, and fed the stove with more black slabs. It erupted greasy yellow and brown fumes. Nish got down hastily.

‘Disgusting smell,’ he said breathlessly as he regained the basket. The climb had been unusually hard work.

‘Ain’t it.’

A man with a small choice of words. Nish lifted the lid of Ullii’s basket. ‘Would you like to see …?’ She snapped the lid down again.

Nish sighed. It was going to be a lonely journey.

They were now travelling so fast that they were past the plateau before he recognised it. Everything looked strange from above. By late afternoon they had crossed the first prong of the range and were moving rapidly towards the second. Beyond was the wilderness of Tarralladell, somewhere in the middle of which lay circular Lake Kalissi, where Ullii had seen Tiaan previously. But that had been months ago.

Nish tapped on the lid of the basket. ‘Do you think you could come out now, Ullii? I need to talk to you.’

After a considerable interval her head emerged, swathed in a bag of spider-silk with a black hat crammed on top. ‘What?’ she said in the tiniest voice.

‘Can you still see Tiaan?’

‘Of course! That way.’

She was pointing west-north-west, by Nish’s reckoning. He bent to his map. ‘If we’re now here, and she’s seeing this way …’ The two lines intersected in Mirrilladell, a little way south of the Great Mountains. But the two sightings were close together, so the intersection would not be accurate.

S’lound interrupted his musings. ‘It’s not long to sundown. Were you planning to fly all night?’

‘Definitely not! We might end up anywhere.’ They were floating over the second prong of the range, though the flat lake-lands of Faralladell were visible in the far distance. Nish pulled the valve rope and the balloon began to descend, rather too rapidly. He yanked the other rope, which closed it again. They drifted down toward a stony ridge.

‘Do you think we can land there?’ he fretted.

‘Haven’t a clue,’ S’lound said cheerfully. ‘Ain’t been in a gasbag before.’

Nish eyed the vertical outcrops of slate. If they hit one, the balloon would tip over and probably be wrecked, or catch fire; or split open, dropping everything except Ullii’s basket, which was tied down. Then, relieved of its load, it would be off again, carrying her. Nish imagined her shrieks dwindling away. He dared not risk it. Climbing up, he tossed more pitch into the brazier.

The further side of the slope was even worse – incredibly steep, with rocks and pointy trees everywhere. ‘I thought flying was going to be the hard part,’ he muttered. ‘It’s not a patch on landing.’

The valley bottom was hopeless, covered in trees, and the other side just as bad. It was nearly dark now. He spotted a bare area on the adjoining ridge. The balloon was drifting toward it. ‘Let’s try there.’ Nish spilled air from the valve. They lurched in an updraft. Beyond, the trees loomed up like a jagged wall. He felt the panic of having no idea what to do. The wind was too strong, too gusty.