brings her nose level with a criss-crossed maze of light metal tubing. She unwinds the coil of chain from her arm, finds a fat bolt that protrudes vertically two or three inches and slips the end link of the chain over its head. She allows the remainder of the chain to fall to the floor, where it landed with a clatter that seemed to echo endlessly, each reverberation sounding louder than the last.
In a near panic at last, Bronwyn leaps from the ladder, drags it as far as she can from the aeronef and bolts from the hangar. As she emerges, she throws a glance to her right and sees that half a dozen windows in the barracks are now lit and dark figures are beginning to emerge from the doors. She turns her face toward the balloon, which seems as distant as either moon, and tries to run even faster. A voice shouts after her, puzzled, not yet alarmed.
By the time she reaches the balloon, however, there are more voices, very definitely alarmed. A bell begins to clang.
Six pairs of hands grasp her and haul her over the rim of the basket. By the time she regains her feet and looks back toward the hangar there are a score of men racing across the field toward them.
“Cut the ropes!” she cries. “Cut them! Hurry!”
As each restraint parts, the balloon gives a convulsive lurch upward. There is a sharp crack almost simultaneous with the sound of something smacking sharply against the basket.
“They’re shooting at us!” cries the baron.
“What a surprise,” she answers. “There’s just two more ropes; get them undone! Hurry!”
It is done quickly, the efforts spurred on by the increasing number of gunshots. The balloon leaps upwards so suddenly that everyone but Thud is thrown to the floor of the car. Just as suddenly there is a crash and the basket tips so violently to one side that it threatens to throw out its passengers altogether.
“We’ve hit the trees!”
“Throw out ballast! Quick, before we tip over!”
The balloon has carried its basket directly into the tops of the trees that surround the aerodrome. The limbs and branches are snapping with a sound that rivals that of the gunfire from below. Branches are also becoming entangled with the ropes that attach the basket to the load ring above it; anchored thus, the balloon, carried by the slight breeze, is tipping further and further toward the horizontal. The car itself is nearly in that plane and its panicked occupants have to hang on for fear of tumbling out. At the same time, however, they have to try to cut loose as many of the bags of sand that hang from around the outside rim of the car as they possibly can. All the while the basket shakes violently in every direction, as though it were a cup in the hands of some god-like gambler and Bronwyn and her friends its dice.
Gyven, his face and upper body being painfully lashed by the whipping branches, is hanging over the edge of the car, sawing at the cords attaching the ballast. He gives a sudden cry and the balloon shoots into the sky like a rocket. Gyven is thrown back on top of Bronwyn who in turn collides with the baron. All three give thanks to Musrum that Thud remains standing.
The aerostat quickly rises to an equilibrium altitude where it assumes a gentle, horizontal motion away from the aerodrome. Its altitude is scarcely more than two thousand feet, but to Bronwyn it might as well be miles. She has never been further from the ground than the towers of her home and even the view from that modest altitude always gave her a giddy sense of vertigo. Still, although she looks over the padded edge of the car warily, fearful of extending any more of her body into space than necessary, clutching the ropes to either side with a vise-like grip, the view is not as frightening as she has supposed it would be. She rapidly begins to enjoy the sensation. This is, she realizes, because of the lack of perspective. When she looked from a tower window there would always be the wall beneath her tapering toward the
In a near panic at last, Bronwyn leaps from the ladder, drags it as far as she can from the aeronef and bolts from the hangar. As she emerges, she throws a glance to her right and sees that half a dozen windows in the barracks are now lit and dark figures are beginning to emerge from the doors. She turns her face toward the balloon, which seems as distant as either moon, and tries to run even faster. A voice shouts after her, puzzled, not yet alarmed.
By the time she reaches the balloon, however, there are more voices, very definitely alarmed. A bell begins to clang.
Six pairs of hands grasp her and haul her over the rim of the basket. By the time she regains her feet and looks back toward the hangar there are a score of men racing across the field toward them.
“Cut the ropes!” she cries. “Cut them! Hurry!”
As each restraint parts, the balloon gives a convulsive lurch upward. There is a sharp crack almost simultaneous with the sound of something smacking sharply against the basket.
“They’re shooting at us!” cries the baron.
“What a surprise,” she answers. “There’s just two more ropes; get them undone! Hurry!”
It is done quickly, the efforts spurred on by the increasing number of gunshots. The balloon leaps upwards so suddenly that everyone but Thud is thrown to the floor of the car. Just as suddenly there is a crash and the basket tips so violently to one side that it threatens to throw out its passengers altogether.
“We’ve hit the trees!”
“Throw out ballast! Quick, before we tip over!”
The balloon has carried its basket directly into the tops of the trees that surround the aerodrome. The limbs and branches are snapping with a sound that rivals that of the gunfire from below. Branches are also becoming entangled with the ropes that attach the basket to the load ring above it; anchored thus, the balloon, carried by the slight breeze, is tipping further and further toward the horizontal. The car itself is nearly in that plane and its panicked occupants have to hang on for fear of tumbling out. At the same time, however, they have to try to cut loose as many of the bags of sand that hang from around the outside rim of the car as they possibly can. All the while the basket shakes violently in every direction, as though it were a cup in the hands of some god-like gambler and Bronwyn and her friends its dice.
Gyven, his face and upper body being painfully lashed by the whipping branches, is hanging over the edge of the car, sawing at the cords attaching the ballast. He gives a sudden cry and the balloon shoots into the sky like a rocket. Gyven is thrown back on top of Bronwyn who in turn collides with the baron. All three give thanks to Musrum that Thud remains standing.
The aerostat quickly rises to an equilibrium altitude where it assumes a gentle, horizontal motion away from the aerodrome. Its altitude is scarcely more than two thousand feet, but to Bronwyn it might as well be miles. She has never been further from the ground than the towers of her home and even the view from that modest altitude always gave her a giddy sense of vertigo. Still, although she looks over the padded edge of the car warily, fearful of extending any more of her body into space than necessary, clutching the ropes to either side with a vise-like grip, the view is not as frightening as she has supposed it would be. She rapidly begins to enjoy the sensation. This is, she realizes, because of the lack of perspective. When she looked from a tower window there would always be the wall beneath her tapering toward the
Similar Books
