Page 119 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy
“Weather’s already turning,” said Ruain.
“We just need to get there,” said Fairhrim.
“Her name is theFarewell,” said Ruain, loosing a rope ladder from the craft’s side. “Welcome aboard.”
Fairhrim clambered in first, followed by Osric. The cabin was a cramped affair. Two seats for passengers—ancient upholstered things that looked as though they’d been stolen from some aunt’s dining room—were fixed to the floor with great bolts. The portholes looked as though they’d been repurposed from a rusted cargo ship. Toilet facilities consisted of an old-fashioned porcelainpot de chambreat the back of the craft.
There were safety belts provided in the form of literal men’s belts. Fairhrim’s opinion thereon was conveyed to Osric with an eloquent eyebrow as Ruain went through a safety briefing.
A taxidermised gnu head was affixed in pride of place at the back of the craft.
“I thought it was elegant,” said Ruain.
“Oh, yes,” said Osric. “Adds the weight of respectability to the whole affair.”
The control panel at the front of the craft was more reassuring than the cargo end: it was quite a wonder of buttons and gauges and brass knobs and things hissing and beeping. Ingenauts and Leyfarers worked together often, and the touch of the former was clear in this part of the craft.
Ruain slipped on a pair of goggles.
“What are those for?” asked Osric. “There’s a windscreen.”
Ruain tapped at the goggles, which shimmered opal and nacre. “Loggles. To see the ley lines. Are we ready?”
Osric and Fairhrim belted themselves in. Ruain pressed his tacn to a golden half globe—like a writing ball without the keys—and the craft shuddered to life. He tugged at pulleys; the sails outside tilted into the wind; the propellers sputtered and whirled; the craft rose and drifted towards the edge of the Downs, where the cliff fell into the sea.
Fairhrim adjusted her man’s leather belt and swallowed.
TheFarewelladvanced off the cliff like a briskly moving rhinoceros. Fairhrim snatched Osric’s hand and stared straight ahead with a look of resigned despair.
“Let’s fly, my darling,” said Ruain to the leycraft. To Osric and Fairhrim he said, with a wink, “Mind the gap.”
With a queasy leap, theFarewelltook off into the twilight.
23
The Thunor Moon
Osric
Ruain’s leycraft shook as they entered a ley line. The feeling was familiar to Osric from the waystone graticule, but it was more intense, more prolonged, and far more discombobulating. Then he ceased to think at all, because he was a million particles whisking over the sea.
When they emerged from the ley line, the Rummy Thing and the Kentish coastline were nothing but a smear upon the horizon. Osric was going to comment, but Ruain tilted the craft and flew into another ley line, and Osric was a million particles again. Two or three more times, he came back into being, before being scattered into nothing, then materialising again.
When Osric came back to himself the final time, feeling, admittedly, a bit green, he found the craft whipping violently from side to side. Ruain was whistling to himself—the tuneless whistle of one concentrating hard.
“No more ley lines now,” said Ruain, pushing his loggles to his forehead. “We’re flying manual to get close enough to the isle for a drop-off. Wind is feisty.”
Fairhrim had responded well to the Druid anti-nausea drug in the sense that she had fallen asleep. Which was for the best, given the leycraft’s convulsions.
Ruain pulled a U-shaped steering device up from somewhere between his legs and locked it into place. Steering the craft in these winds looked more akin to wrestling. Were they riding the wind or were they humping at it? Whatever it was, it made Ruain’s forearms pop. (Osric could respect a good forearm.)
“Derepmet visibility,” said Ruain as they advanced into the void.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Osric.
Ruain tapped at his windscreen, etched on the outside with a blurry word. “Old joke. It’s when you can’t see a bloody thing outside—you’re only able to read ‘Tempered’ backwards in the glass.”
Night fell, along with churning cloud cover. It was impossible to see anything outside. Ruain navigated using his instruments and his tacn. He said it was too bad: sometimes, apparently, you could see whales from up here. Osric, feeling a bit vomity, would have preferred to see solid ground, and also never see Ruain again.
