windows in five adjacent rooms were smashed. Of course, that was during the height of the storm, and everyone assumed it was a tree limb, borne aloft by the winds."
Meralda nodded. "But it wasn't."
The Captain shook his head. "By the time anyone ventured outside, it was nearly daylight. There was trash blown about everywhere -- you walked here, you saw."
"I did."
"So it was an hour after that before a groundskeeper reported the wreckage of an airship, heaped at the bottom of the south wall."
Mug swung his eyes toward the Captain. "An airship? How did anyone miss anything that big lying about?"
"It wasn't a whole airship, houseplant, and in any case, it wasn't a great huge lumber-hauler as big as the Palace. We've identified it as a private airship, a tiny one-screw pleasure craft owned by Othen Ghote."
Meralda frowned. "The sewer magnate?"
"The same. He's a flyer. Word from his household staff is that he, his wife, and their two children have been off visiting family in Barnham for a fortnight. They were due home yesterday, in the Sammi, his airship."
Meralda's heart fell.
"So they were aloft, in the storm?"
"We're sure of it. The portion of the airship we've recovered bears her name.
We found personal effects belonging to the family. Then, an hour ago, a gas main crew found this, stuck in a tree on Lamp."
The Captain reached into his pocket and withdrew a scarf of yellow silk. He unwrapped
the scarf, and inside was a white linen handkerchief embroidered with the initial O.G. in one corner.
The handkerchief bulged, filled with objects. The Captain placed them carefully on Meralda's battered workbench.
There was a toy knight, his silver sword held aloft, his feathered hat painted bright red, his shield bearing the sigil of Tirlin.
There was a fine silver necklace, set with three tiny silver hearts, and a diamond-studded pendant.
And there was a ragged scrap of paper which bore a message penned in a hurried, unsteady hand.
"Read it," said the Captain. "I believe it's real, Sorceress. Decide for yourself."
We were bound for the Docks in North Tirlin when at 8:35 PM a storm of remarkable ferocity overtook us.
At 10:31 in the evening, we were forced sharply down and struck an unknown edifice. Rear compartment,
falling shrouds, and control of our craft lost. Pilot injured and unconscious. Four souls aboard.
Altitude at 11:46 PM is 2,806 feet and rising uncontrolled at 750 feet per hour. Cannot vent gas.
Cannot steer. Last known heading 96 degrees North. Air speed unknown. Please render assistance soonest.
Airship Sammi, Registry Number AA806, Mr. Othen Ghote pilot, Mrs. Elise Ghote reporting.
Meralda lowered the note to her desk. Mug quickly extended half a dozen eyes to examine it.
While Mug read, the Captain plucked the toy soldier from Meralda's desk, holding it carefully in his calloused hand.
"I know this toy," he said. "Was all the rage last Yule. Got one for my nephew. Part of a set. Comes with a tiny animated dragon. They fight."
He put the toy soldier carefully down.
"Those poor people," said Mug, after a moment. His leaves shivered, though the air in the Laboratory was perfectly still.
"Indeed," said Meralda. She met the Captain's weary blue eyes. "They're doomed, are they not?"
"Every airship in Tirlin is racing north in pursuit," said the Captain.
"Every Army troop carrier, every freight hauler. Every mail boat. Every passenger liner and every diplomatic flyer and
probably half the smugglers and ne'er-do-wells too. They've all taken to the skies." He let out a long, heavy sigh. "But yes. Even with all those airships out looking, I'm afraid that woman and those kids are done for."
"Well now wait just a moment," said Mug. "That's got to be hundreds of airships. Surely one will be fast enough to catch up to them."
"No. They won't be." The Captain rose and began to pace, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
"The Royal Meteorologists claim the storm moved off at nearly thirty miles
Meralda nodded. "But it wasn't."
The Captain shook his head. "By the time anyone ventured outside, it was nearly daylight. There was trash blown about everywhere -- you walked here, you saw."
"I did."
"So it was an hour after that before a groundskeeper reported the wreckage of an airship, heaped at the bottom of the south wall."
Mug swung his eyes toward the Captain. "An airship? How did anyone miss anything that big lying about?"
"It wasn't a whole airship, houseplant, and in any case, it wasn't a great huge lumber-hauler as big as the Palace. We've identified it as a private airship, a tiny one-screw pleasure craft owned by Othen Ghote."
Meralda frowned. "The sewer magnate?"
"The same. He's a flyer. Word from his household staff is that he, his wife, and their two children have been off visiting family in Barnham for a fortnight. They were due home yesterday, in the Sammi, his airship."
Meralda's heart fell.
"So they were aloft, in the storm?"
"We're sure of it. The portion of the airship we've recovered bears her name.
We found personal effects belonging to the family. Then, an hour ago, a gas main crew found this, stuck in a tree on Lamp."
The Captain reached into his pocket and withdrew a scarf of yellow silk. He unwrapped
the scarf, and inside was a white linen handkerchief embroidered with the initial O.G. in one corner.
The handkerchief bulged, filled with objects. The Captain placed them carefully on Meralda's battered workbench.
There was a toy knight, his silver sword held aloft, his feathered hat painted bright red, his shield bearing the sigil of Tirlin.
There was a fine silver necklace, set with three tiny silver hearts, and a diamond-studded pendant.
And there was a ragged scrap of paper which bore a message penned in a hurried, unsteady hand.
"Read it," said the Captain. "I believe it's real, Sorceress. Decide for yourself."
We were bound for the Docks in North Tirlin when at 8:35 PM a storm of remarkable ferocity overtook us.
At 10:31 in the evening, we were forced sharply down and struck an unknown edifice. Rear compartment,
falling shrouds, and control of our craft lost. Pilot injured and unconscious. Four souls aboard.
Altitude at 11:46 PM is 2,806 feet and rising uncontrolled at 750 feet per hour. Cannot vent gas.
Cannot steer. Last known heading 96 degrees North. Air speed unknown. Please render assistance soonest.
Airship Sammi, Registry Number AA806, Mr. Othen Ghote pilot, Mrs. Elise Ghote reporting.
Meralda lowered the note to her desk. Mug quickly extended half a dozen eyes to examine it.
While Mug read, the Captain plucked the toy soldier from Meralda's desk, holding it carefully in his calloused hand.
"I know this toy," he said. "Was all the rage last Yule. Got one for my nephew. Part of a set. Comes with a tiny animated dragon. They fight."
He put the toy soldier carefully down.
"Those poor people," said Mug, after a moment. His leaves shivered, though the air in the Laboratory was perfectly still.
"Indeed," said Meralda. She met the Captain's weary blue eyes. "They're doomed, are they not?"
"Every airship in Tirlin is racing north in pursuit," said the Captain.
"Every Army troop carrier, every freight hauler. Every mail boat. Every passenger liner and every diplomatic flyer and
probably half the smugglers and ne'er-do-wells too. They've all taken to the skies." He let out a long, heavy sigh. "But yes. Even with all those airships out looking, I'm afraid that woman and those kids are done for."
"Well now wait just a moment," said Mug. "That's got to be hundreds of airships. Surely one will be fast enough to catch up to them."
"No. They won't be." The Captain rose and began to pace, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
"The Royal Meteorologists claim the storm moved off at nearly thirty miles
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