we wouldn’t be yakking, now would we?”
Mel’s eyelids fluttered a bit more. “I think I’d like to rest for a while, if you don’t mind.”
“Just let me look at your eyes,” Johnny said. He knew from adventure books that the eyes could tell you if someone had a concussion. He examined Mel’s and they looked fine—the pupils were not too large and were both the same size.
“Do you feel dizzy or confused? Have a headache?” he asked.
Mel shook her head.
“Ringin’ in the ears? Nausea?” chimed in Jock.
Mel said no.
“Then let’s get you back to your seat,” Jock said, as he hoisted her up.
After they buckled Mel in, Johnny and Uncle Louie settled back in their seats—pillows behind their heads and blankets across their laps. But Johnny had a hard time falling asleep, unlike Uncle Louie. He tried and tried, and just couldn’t. He was quite wide-awake when the ranks of snow-capped mountaintops began passing by the floatplane, a bit after dawn. The view from twenty thousand feet was absolutely spectacular.
Mel woke up about that time and seemed to be perfectly fine, except for a little headache and a cranky mood. She took charge of distributing orange juice, coffee, and sandwiches—which tasted surprisingly good, especially for food wrapped in cellophane.
The Gianelli tri-motor arrived safely at the dock at Zephyr Lines’ Silver City base later that afternoon. Everyone piled out to look for any damage done by the tall pine trees of the Treport River.
Just as the colonel had reported to Johnny while they were still airborne, there were scratches and dents on the pontoons, and bits of greenery stuck in seams and joints and corners of trusses. That’s when they realized how close they had come to disaster. A takeoff climb only a few feet lower would have ended in a cartwheeling maelstrom of crushed metal and flame.
“The colonel saved our bacon,” Johnny pointed out. “If he hadn’t shown us where to go, we’d all be dead.”
“I promise,” Danny proclaimed after his inspection of the Gianelli, “that I will never ever take an aeroboat up in the middle of the night on an uncharted river! Ever! Again!”
“But you did it, you and Jock,” Mel said, grabbing and waggling Danny’s forearm. “You’re the best pilots in the whole world!”
* * *
Johnny was agog at the huge Zephyr Lines base on Silver City Bay. There were scores of flying boats in wet docks and dry docks. They had flown all over the world, these aircraft. To destinations westward, such as the Orchid Isles, Majuro, Port Marlowe, Tor Chan. Back east across the fractured continent that had once been a country called the Free States—back before the First Border War. Beyond Freedonia’s great metropolis of Neuport, Zephyr Lines aeroboats flew east across the Lesser Ocean, to the Royal Kingdom, La Belle Republique, and points beyond. Johnny wanted to visit every single one of those places. And the way he figured it, his Zoom 4x5 press camera would take him there.
Uncle Louie, Nina, and the Graphics said goodbye to Danny and Jock, and took a taxicab into the city, through the gathering dusk and heavy rush hour traffic. Some kind of a blockage up ahead stopped them for a time in the middle of the three-mile-long Silver Gate Bridge. It gave Johnny a chance to view the city’s magnificent skyline. Silver City was the capital of the Coastal Federation, so Johnny wasn’t surprised that the downtown had even taller skyscrapers than Zenith—and lots more of them.
The weary travelers checked into the Paragon Hotel and had a quick supper in the cafe in the lobby. From their tenth-floor suite they could look out at the night vista of nearby Jadetown—where Mongke Eng had died. It was a little universe of colorful, flashing neon and ornate, exotic architecture. Somewhere out there were Monkge Eng’s daughters. And Johnny and Mel had to get an interview with at least one of them.
Mel and Nina went to bed at eight-thirty. Johnny
Mel’s eyelids fluttered a bit more. “I think I’d like to rest for a while, if you don’t mind.”
“Just let me look at your eyes,” Johnny said. He knew from adventure books that the eyes could tell you if someone had a concussion. He examined Mel’s and they looked fine—the pupils were not too large and were both the same size.
“Do you feel dizzy or confused? Have a headache?” he asked.
Mel shook her head.
“Ringin’ in the ears? Nausea?” chimed in Jock.
Mel said no.
“Then let’s get you back to your seat,” Jock said, as he hoisted her up.
After they buckled Mel in, Johnny and Uncle Louie settled back in their seats—pillows behind their heads and blankets across their laps. But Johnny had a hard time falling asleep, unlike Uncle Louie. He tried and tried, and just couldn’t. He was quite wide-awake when the ranks of snow-capped mountaintops began passing by the floatplane, a bit after dawn. The view from twenty thousand feet was absolutely spectacular.
Mel woke up about that time and seemed to be perfectly fine, except for a little headache and a cranky mood. She took charge of distributing orange juice, coffee, and sandwiches—which tasted surprisingly good, especially for food wrapped in cellophane.
The Gianelli tri-motor arrived safely at the dock at Zephyr Lines’ Silver City base later that afternoon. Everyone piled out to look for any damage done by the tall pine trees of the Treport River.
Just as the colonel had reported to Johnny while they were still airborne, there were scratches and dents on the pontoons, and bits of greenery stuck in seams and joints and corners of trusses. That’s when they realized how close they had come to disaster. A takeoff climb only a few feet lower would have ended in a cartwheeling maelstrom of crushed metal and flame.
“The colonel saved our bacon,” Johnny pointed out. “If he hadn’t shown us where to go, we’d all be dead.”
“I promise,” Danny proclaimed after his inspection of the Gianelli, “that I will never ever take an aeroboat up in the middle of the night on an uncharted river! Ever! Again!”
“But you did it, you and Jock,” Mel said, grabbing and waggling Danny’s forearm. “You’re the best pilots in the whole world!”
* * *
Johnny was agog at the huge Zephyr Lines base on Silver City Bay. There were scores of flying boats in wet docks and dry docks. They had flown all over the world, these aircraft. To destinations westward, such as the Orchid Isles, Majuro, Port Marlowe, Tor Chan. Back east across the fractured continent that had once been a country called the Free States—back before the First Border War. Beyond Freedonia’s great metropolis of Neuport, Zephyr Lines aeroboats flew east across the Lesser Ocean, to the Royal Kingdom, La Belle Republique, and points beyond. Johnny wanted to visit every single one of those places. And the way he figured it, his Zoom 4x5 press camera would take him there.
Uncle Louie, Nina, and the Graphics said goodbye to Danny and Jock, and took a taxicab into the city, through the gathering dusk and heavy rush hour traffic. Some kind of a blockage up ahead stopped them for a time in the middle of the three-mile-long Silver Gate Bridge. It gave Johnny a chance to view the city’s magnificent skyline. Silver City was the capital of the Coastal Federation, so Johnny wasn’t surprised that the downtown had even taller skyscrapers than Zenith—and lots more of them.
The weary travelers checked into the Paragon Hotel and had a quick supper in the cafe in the lobby. From their tenth-floor suite they could look out at the night vista of nearby Jadetown—where Mongke Eng had died. It was a little universe of colorful, flashing neon and ornate, exotic architecture. Somewhere out there were Monkge Eng’s daughters. And Johnny and Mel had to get an interview with at least one of them.
Mel and Nina went to bed at eight-thirty. Johnny
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