Chapter Seven

1.

Nathanial watched Annabelle bank gracefully over the treetops towards the clearing. He almost shouted at her to line up into the wind, but she did that of her own accord. He nearly forgot that the girl had logged her share of hours at the helms of airships and liftwood fliers. A glider was different, of course, but some principles remained the same. Annabelle was a natural aviatrix.

Far too natural for her own good, Nathanial thought as Annabelle slid across the compressed peat of the clearing. He felt himself growing angry with her again, just as he had when he saw her scoot off to frolic in the clouds. What the devil was the girl thinking? This wasn’t a boat trip on the Serpentine; they were in the middle of a dangerous jungle on a dangerous planet flying doubtless dangerous aircraft into enemy territory. Which was dangerous.

He unwrapped a packet of digestive biscuits he’d brought on the trip. One never knew when a biscuit might be called for. He bit with a savagery that alarmed him. Nervous energy, he supposed.

Annabelle, for all the trauma she’d been through and all the deviltry she’d seen, never really seemed to worry as much as any normal person would. Nathanial couldn’t decide if that was a virtue or a vice.

Eh. It was Annabelle. Really, nothing more could be said on the subject. He loped over to her glider, now stopped at the other end of the clearing. She’d managed to bring it down intact, he saw without too much surprise. On the other hand, he and Arnaud hadn’t been quite so fortunate, or to be more honest, skilled. After what could only very generously be called a landing, he and Arnaud had decided that the gliders had been designed to absorb the impact by flying apart in a crash. The more energy spent ripping a wing off, the less spent crushing a would-be aviator’s skull. Besides, clearly the gliders were only intended for one use.

In hindsight, Nathanial was dismayed to realise that conclusion was nothing more than a product of their mutual masculine sense of pride. He liked to imagine that he was above such things, but quite obviously not. At least Arnaud was equally guilty in that regard. The Frenchman seemed far too nonchalant for his own good at times; knowing he had a prickable ego beneath that veneer of Gallic insouciance was oddly heartening.

And it seemed he was also capable of anger.

“Annabelle!” Arnaud snapped as he helped her out of the glider. “Do you have a notion of the fear we had when you went, ah, what is the word, gallivanting off into the void?”

Nathanial was about to add his thoughts when he caught Annabelle’s eye. The girl looked uncharacteristically shaken. “I’m sorry, Arnaud,” she said. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“No?” Arnaud gave her a concerned look. “Are you well? I’ve unpacked a bit of wine, if you feel faint.”

“No, no, that’s—” Annabelle paused. “That would be lovely. A small glass, yes.”

“More like a tin cup, but I suppose it will have to do,” Nathanial said as he took her other arm. He and Arnaud walked her over to the improvised campsite by the bonfire.

Thymon was there, unwrapping provisions from their oilskins. The lizard-man uncoiled to his full height, towering a good head or so above the humans. And that wasn’t including the extra inches provided by his deerstalker.

Thymon swept his hat off his head and bowed at Annabelle, giving her a light tap on the hand with a long, clawed finger. “Miss Somerset, is very good to see you again,” he said in the whistling accents of the lizard-men. “I see you have tamed small rekota.”

“And very good to see you, Thymon,” Annabelle said with a nod of her head. “But I don’t know that I’ve tamed the…rekota? That’s a flying creature, is it not? Are they plentiful around here?” There was a distinct concern in her voice.

“Worried about the fauna?” Nathanial asked her. “Not a frivolous fear at all, truth be told.”

“No,” hissed Thymon softly, touching a scar on his arm. “If not for Master Forbes…” He shook his head with a shudder. “Like not to think about that. Here, just the machine rekota you bring.”

Annabelle allowed Arnaud to help her sit down. “I wish I believed that, dear Thymon,” she said. “But I saw something on the way down. There were lights in the clouds. Flames.”

“Ignis fatuus,” Arnaud said. “It is not an unheard of phenomenon in swamps. There was a curious monograph I read just the other month that suggested a connection between decaying organic matter and the feaux follets.”

“I was a good distance above the swamp,” Annabelle said. “And these were no ethereal lights. Truth, I thought them the flare at first.”

“Leading you astray?” Arnaud said. “Well, this would be consistent with the fables, no?”

“No,” said Annabelle. “I am certain they were flames as real and as hot as this fire beside us.”

“Perhaps you saw the St Elmo’s fire?” Arnaud suggested. He shrugged. “There is no doubting the presence of the electrical fluid in the weather.”

“I’ve seen St Elmo’s more than a few times. I’ve my share of hours airborne, remember?” Annabelle said with a clear touch of irritation. “In fact I encountered it on the way down. No doubt that’s what gave me away.”

“Pardon?” Nathanial said. “Gave you away? You think these lights you were chasing were in fact chasing you? Oh, come now.”

“They almost burnt me alive! I’m not making things up. And I think there were some of those flying creatures nearby as well. What did you call those again, Thymon? Rekotas?”

“Yes,” said Thymon, glancing at the sky. He cocked his head to stare at Annabelle with a saucer sized eye. His nictitating membrane blinked rapidly. “Flames, yes?”

“Yes!” said Annabelle. “If I wasn’t so wet, I’d have been singed. And I could have sworn I saw some huge creature up there.”

“But not one so hungry as to attack?” Nathanial asked.

“It was hard to see, to be honest.” Annabelle sighed. “Perhaps I just imagined that. Or perhaps it was one of you, for all I know. Fine, I’m some scattered brained girl who wouldn’t know an omnibus from an elephant.”

“Not true, and you know full well that’s not what I think,” said Nathanial.

“Oh?” she said. “Then stop patronising me.”

“No one is a perfect observer. It’s a sad reality.” Nathanial considered offering her a biscuit to calm her down, then thought better of it. Besides, he might want one later. For all her other virtues, Annabelle rarely shared. “Look at it from our perspective, dear. Either you saw some admittedly mysterious by-product of the rugged weather hereabouts, perhaps had a near miss with a stray bolt of lightning, or you chased and got chased by a fire-breathing flying creature of unknown provenance.”

“A Venusian dragon?” Arnaud asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

Annabelle shot him an angry look, then her shoulders sagged. “You’re right, of course. I just panicked up there.” She shook her head angrily. “I am such an idiot! You should have left me on the station.”

“No, no,” said Nathanial quickly. “Look, we even brought a bow along for you.”

Annabelle smiled. “Thank you, Nathanial. I suppose the two of you do need some protection.”

“That’s the spirit. But you can more easily protect us if in the future you refrain from diving off into clouds unknown.”

“Your point is well taken.” Annabelle patted his hand. Then she looked puzzled. “Whatever is Thymon doing?”

Nathanial turned to look. The lizard-man was frenziedly attacking the gliders with an axe. Wood and fabric flew as he tore into them, occasionally dropping the axe and ripping away at the wings with his hands.

“What did the devices ever do to our reptilian friend?” Arnaud asked.

“I don’t know,” said Nathanial. “He’s typically quite tranquil, even by human standards.” He paused. “I have to admit, I’m not eager to go over there and intervene.”

“I am agreeing with you,” said Arnaud. “De tout facon, we were not to use those gliders again, is that not so?”

“Vraiment. Well, we’ve a fire and supplies. Anyone for tea?” Nathanial started to rummage through the supplies for the brick of tea he’d packed. Sadly, he’d left the sugar behind. The oilskins had protected everything well enough, but any semblance of dryness would no doubt be temporary once they got going. Already the heavy mist in the clearing was solidifying into a soft drizzle. “Here we go,” he said, triumphantly producing the travel pot with fire trivet attachment. “This little thing has taken me around the Solar System, couldn’t bear to leave it behind, you know?”

“Love some,” said Arnaud, suddenly launching into a coughing fit. Nathanial rushed over to him, only to be waved off. Feeling chagrined beyond belief, Nathanial went back to boiling the water for tea. He’d almost forgotten about his friend’s ailment. Wasn’t that the reason they were here in the first place? Well, Folkard no doubt would have pushed them to come for his reasons, whatever they were. But Nathanial’s would, or at least should, lie with looking after those he cared about.

Like Annabelle, come to think of it. He looked up to see her being helped back to the bonfire by a decidedly calmer Thymon. Nothing remained of the gliders.

“Had to fetch my leg before it got chopped up by our guide,” she said.

“Sorry,” Thymon said. “Small rekota must be destroyed. Can be seen. Now must leave.” He waved at the fire. “No flames. Put out, please.”

“What?” Nathanial asked, surprised. “Would you care to explain? We’re no more visible now than an hour ago, and there’s hardly a German in sight. Let us take the time to prepare for this expedition, eh?”

“No flames!” said Thymon emphatically. He grabbed a shovel and started tossing mud onto the bonfire.

Annabelle grabbed Nathanial’s sleeve. “He’s afraid that the fire will attract the flying creatures that attacked me.”

Nathanial looked mournfully at the barely warm pot of water. “I’ve never heard of a wild beast that was attracted to fire. Quite the opposite, even on Venus.”

“Not beasts,” said Thymon, stamping on the last of the embers. “Fire from the skies. Did not think would be here. If so, I tell Mister Forbes I not come here. Very bad.”

Nathanial’s irritation was passing. Perhaps once he would have dismissed Thymon’s fears as the superstitions of savages, but he’d seen far too many oddities to maintain the scepticism he once held regarding such things, and besides, he could feel a prickling of apprehension curling its way along his spine.

That feeling, on the other hand, he’d learned to trust.

“This fire from the skies, is it an animal?” he asked while staring upwards into the drizzle. He only got rain in his eyes for his efforts.

“Big rekotas, but not their fire. They bring. Will hunt us. Must go!” The lizard-man’s command of English appeared to be slipping as he grew more agitated.

“Well, did we not want to search for our Collins?” asked Arnaud. “And truth, let us trust our friend. Fire breathing or not, I do not wish to be le plat principal for the animal. I’ll make you a nice hot cup when we get there.” He winked.

Nathanial nodded. Arnaud had the right spirit of things. Once at the safehouse, they’d have plenty of time for questions and planning.

“Let’s go,” he said. “You do know the way, don’t you, Thymon?”

The lizard-man clicked his tongue rapidly. “Mister Forbes, he like to say when making things ‘no, buts I has a notion’.” He opened his mouth in what might have been an attempt at a smile.

“Tres bien, a lizard-man with a sense of humour,” said Arnaud, clapping Thymon on the back.

“Let us hope he’s a sense of direction as well,” murmured Nathanial as they set out.