but all of you are suffering.”
“I’ve scaled heights for decades,” Bone complained, “and I feel absurdly dizzy. . . .” The ger seemed out of focus. Haboob was like the shadow of smoke upon water.
“He means mountain-height, Bone,” Gaunt snapped, “not mansion-height.”
“I dwelled for years upon the high plateau of Geam,” Katta mused. “Early on, my lungs sometimes felt as though they burned. Later I adjusted.”
“How special,” Northwing spat. “The rest of us are lowlanders, Haytham! Diminish the heat and let us drop! If I lose consciousness we’ll be at the winds’ mercy, and who knows where we’ll end up.”
“Bone,” Haytham said, “pull that black rope beside you . . . it opens an emergency flap to vent the hot air. . . .”
Bone did so, though his muscles were sluggish. His arms performed the operation like recalcitrant mules.
They dropped slowly at first, then precipitously. Bone’s mind and vision cleared. Now he comprehended enough to feel truly frightened. “Haboob, how close are we to the mountains?”
“As I was about to say, O thieving assistant to the great Haytham ibn Zakwan—”
“That’s greatest second-story man of the Spiral Sea.”
“—we are plunging toward a narrow pass between the burning city and the lands westward. Perhaps you would like the smoke cloud dispersed—”
“Yes! Yes!” Bone thought he heard the voices of everyone in the ger, including his own. He peered out a porthole.
A dark curtain ripped aside, and gleaming glaciated peaks stabbed upward as a clutch of spears might pierce the awareness of a gnat. Northwing cursed and gestured wildly. A sudden wind forced them into a sheer-sided gorge.
For an unnerving moment Bone saw the shadow of a gigantic balloon against the western clouds, encircled by prismatic light. “Names of the dead gods . . . the Karvaks have sent some sort of monstrous craft against us. . . .”
Flint peered out and chuckled. “Fear not! What you perceive is a mountain specter.” He turned and saw that Bone, Gaunt, Katta, and Snow Pine all had weapons out. (That Katta’s weapon was a blessed pastry did not reduce the seriousness of his expression.) “Peace!” the explorer said. “Mountain specters are an illusion. Our shadow is cast against the clouds. It happens so often to travelers here that this range is named the Homunculus.”
“Ah!” said Katta, returning his cake to a pouch. “That is why I see no demonic form ahead.” He gazed backward. “Nor behind. We’re safe.”
“I beg to differ!” Northwing said. “The prevailing wind’s easterly. Added to mine, it’s carrying us through the pass like wild horses! Make peace with your deities!”
“You don’t want to hear what I think of my deity right now,” Flint said with a giddy laugh.
“You don’t believe in him anyway,” Snow Pine teased him.
“Well, in these mountains I might!”
The passage was indeed glorious. Bone’s eyes drank it in. The landscape swept by at delirious speed. Glaciers blazed near at hand, and bright snow whirled down steep slopes like the ghost of desert dust. All was shining with reflected sunlight, as though sisters of the sun were frozen within the peaks. Bone blinked in the glare, turning toward darker regions where spindly evergreens waved like weary dancers in the sharp-biting breeze. A hawk dipped and soared, feathers twitching so much in the wind it looked impossibly nervous. But Bone was the nervous one. Abruptly the weather changed, and clouds and mists pressed close at hand. Fog curdled along the pass, and rocky danger flashed into view only now and then within a sea of gray.
“Are you finding inspiration?” he asked Gaunt, for she was inscribing words onto a wax tablet.
“I must guard against overdone similes,” Gaunt said, staring out a porthole, “like an angry hawk-beast protecting its eggs from the Scarlet Order of Omelet Chefs.”
“That is exactly how I feel. Well, not
“I’ve scaled heights for decades,” Bone complained, “and I feel absurdly dizzy. . . .” The ger seemed out of focus. Haboob was like the shadow of smoke upon water.
“He means mountain-height, Bone,” Gaunt snapped, “not mansion-height.”
“I dwelled for years upon the high plateau of Geam,” Katta mused. “Early on, my lungs sometimes felt as though they burned. Later I adjusted.”
“How special,” Northwing spat. “The rest of us are lowlanders, Haytham! Diminish the heat and let us drop! If I lose consciousness we’ll be at the winds’ mercy, and who knows where we’ll end up.”
“Bone,” Haytham said, “pull that black rope beside you . . . it opens an emergency flap to vent the hot air. . . .”
Bone did so, though his muscles were sluggish. His arms performed the operation like recalcitrant mules.
They dropped slowly at first, then precipitously. Bone’s mind and vision cleared. Now he comprehended enough to feel truly frightened. “Haboob, how close are we to the mountains?”
“As I was about to say, O thieving assistant to the great Haytham ibn Zakwan—”
“That’s greatest second-story man of the Spiral Sea.”
“—we are plunging toward a narrow pass between the burning city and the lands westward. Perhaps you would like the smoke cloud dispersed—”
“Yes! Yes!” Bone thought he heard the voices of everyone in the ger, including his own. He peered out a porthole.
A dark curtain ripped aside, and gleaming glaciated peaks stabbed upward as a clutch of spears might pierce the awareness of a gnat. Northwing cursed and gestured wildly. A sudden wind forced them into a sheer-sided gorge.
For an unnerving moment Bone saw the shadow of a gigantic balloon against the western clouds, encircled by prismatic light. “Names of the dead gods . . . the Karvaks have sent some sort of monstrous craft against us. . . .”
Flint peered out and chuckled. “Fear not! What you perceive is a mountain specter.” He turned and saw that Bone, Gaunt, Katta, and Snow Pine all had weapons out. (That Katta’s weapon was a blessed pastry did not reduce the seriousness of his expression.) “Peace!” the explorer said. “Mountain specters are an illusion. Our shadow is cast against the clouds. It happens so often to travelers here that this range is named the Homunculus.”
“Ah!” said Katta, returning his cake to a pouch. “That is why I see no demonic form ahead.” He gazed backward. “Nor behind. We’re safe.”
“I beg to differ!” Northwing said. “The prevailing wind’s easterly. Added to mine, it’s carrying us through the pass like wild horses! Make peace with your deities!”
“You don’t want to hear what I think of my deity right now,” Flint said with a giddy laugh.
“You don’t believe in him anyway,” Snow Pine teased him.
“Well, in these mountains I might!”
The passage was indeed glorious. Bone’s eyes drank it in. The landscape swept by at delirious speed. Glaciers blazed near at hand, and bright snow whirled down steep slopes like the ghost of desert dust. All was shining with reflected sunlight, as though sisters of the sun were frozen within the peaks. Bone blinked in the glare, turning toward darker regions where spindly evergreens waved like weary dancers in the sharp-biting breeze. A hawk dipped and soared, feathers twitching so much in the wind it looked impossibly nervous. But Bone was the nervous one. Abruptly the weather changed, and clouds and mists pressed close at hand. Fog curdled along the pass, and rocky danger flashed into view only now and then within a sea of gray.
“Are you finding inspiration?” he asked Gaunt, for she was inscribing words onto a wax tablet.
“I must guard against overdone similes,” Gaunt said, staring out a porthole, “like an angry hawk-beast protecting its eggs from the Scarlet Order of Omelet Chefs.”
“That is exactly how I feel. Well, not
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