flying cage down quickly, lest its buzzing give the pair away.
The guards passed by without entering though, and soon Meralda risked using her tiny magelight–a gift from Donchen–to search the ranks of crates and tins for the coffee she herself had purchased and brought into the airship.
“Apples,” she whispered, frowning at the box. It’s not that large, or that heavy, she decided, and she put it quietly down on the floor beside her. Oh, and look–a hoop of lovely Calloford cheese.
“Mistress, are you looking for coffee, or stocking a grocery store?” Mug said.
“It’s going to be a long voyage,” replied Meralda. “Ooh. Chocolates!”
“Going to be a lot longer in the brig,” Mug said. He hovered just at the edge of the light cast by the magelamp.
“We don’t have a brig,” Meralda said.
“Oh,” replied Mug. “In that case, see if you can find a bag of mulch in all that.”
“There you are!” Meralda said, reaching above her head for the box which bore her own careful handwriting. “Coffee! A nice Rivet Street medium-dark blend. Five dollars a tin. You’re far too good to be wasted on any river.”
She added the box to the ones already stacked about her feet.
“Wonderful,” Mug observed. “Now all you have to do is haul all that up two decks and across the whole length of the airship without being seen.”
“I most certainly will not,” Meralda said. She produced a short, worn latching wand from her pocket and touched it to the box of coffee.
The letters identifying the contents curled and peeled away from the box, leaving the surface unmarred. Meralda put the wand away, produced a fat marking pen, and wrote the words MAGICAL INSTRUMENTS, MAGE OVIS, HANDLE WITH CARE on its face.
Mug chortled. “Mistress, I’d say you’ll never get away with it, but frankly, I think you will,” he said, as Meralda removed box labels and then repeated her new marking on each container.
“I’ll stack them outside, and have the Bellringers bring them to my room,” she said. “If my mischief is discovered, I’ll blame it all on you.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve done today,” Mug replied, before sailing hastily toward the doors. “I’ll go fetch the lads, shall I?”
Meralda grinned, and cautiously opened the doors.
* * *
Meralda awoke and rubbed her eyes. Light, faint and grey, leaked past the stiff shades that covered the porthole at the front of her cabin.
Meralda padded sock-foot to the porthole, picking her way through the boxes and crates of treats she’d liberated from the cargo hold the night before. Once at the porthole, she lifted the shade and peered out into the sky.
A few stars remained, though the sky was caught between the deep black of night and the first blush of day. Meralda gasped when she realized the faint hints of movement she saw were clouds rushing past the Intrepid’s hull, only a few yards below.
The vast, unbroken bank of clouds appeared to rise and fall as it slipped past. Now and then, a few wisps of vapor would rise above the rest and be sent curling and spiraling in the wake of the Intrepid’s polished hull. The flight left a wake like a boat, only this wake was across the sky.
“Good morning, Mistress,” Mug said as he steered his flying cage toward the porthole. “What has you transfixed?”
“Look and see,” replied Meralda, moving aside. Mug hovered near the glass, his cage’s tiny flying coils humming. He sent his blue eyes through the bars of his birdcage and whistled.
“That’s beautiful,” he said after a moment. “I’m almost glad I came.”
Meralda laughed. “Careful. You nearly displayed enthusiasm.”
Mug’s tendrils played at the tiny silver levers affixed to the cage’s side, and he bobbed away from the porthole, coming to rest on Meralda’s desk.
“Not a chance,” he said. “So what’s our agenda for the day? Will I be joining you on the bridge? Lots of nice glass up there. I’m eager to
The guards passed by without entering though, and soon Meralda risked using her tiny magelight–a gift from Donchen–to search the ranks of crates and tins for the coffee she herself had purchased and brought into the airship.
“Apples,” she whispered, frowning at the box. It’s not that large, or that heavy, she decided, and she put it quietly down on the floor beside her. Oh, and look–a hoop of lovely Calloford cheese.
“Mistress, are you looking for coffee, or stocking a grocery store?” Mug said.
“It’s going to be a long voyage,” replied Meralda. “Ooh. Chocolates!”
“Going to be a lot longer in the brig,” Mug said. He hovered just at the edge of the light cast by the magelamp.
“We don’t have a brig,” Meralda said.
“Oh,” replied Mug. “In that case, see if you can find a bag of mulch in all that.”
“There you are!” Meralda said, reaching above her head for the box which bore her own careful handwriting. “Coffee! A nice Rivet Street medium-dark blend. Five dollars a tin. You’re far too good to be wasted on any river.”
She added the box to the ones already stacked about her feet.
“Wonderful,” Mug observed. “Now all you have to do is haul all that up two decks and across the whole length of the airship without being seen.”
“I most certainly will not,” Meralda said. She produced a short, worn latching wand from her pocket and touched it to the box of coffee.
The letters identifying the contents curled and peeled away from the box, leaving the surface unmarred. Meralda put the wand away, produced a fat marking pen, and wrote the words MAGICAL INSTRUMENTS, MAGE OVIS, HANDLE WITH CARE on its face.
Mug chortled. “Mistress, I’d say you’ll never get away with it, but frankly, I think you will,” he said, as Meralda removed box labels and then repeated her new marking on each container.
“I’ll stack them outside, and have the Bellringers bring them to my room,” she said. “If my mischief is discovered, I’ll blame it all on you.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve done today,” Mug replied, before sailing hastily toward the doors. “I’ll go fetch the lads, shall I?”
Meralda grinned, and cautiously opened the doors.
* * *
Meralda awoke and rubbed her eyes. Light, faint and grey, leaked past the stiff shades that covered the porthole at the front of her cabin.
Meralda padded sock-foot to the porthole, picking her way through the boxes and crates of treats she’d liberated from the cargo hold the night before. Once at the porthole, she lifted the shade and peered out into the sky.
A few stars remained, though the sky was caught between the deep black of night and the first blush of day. Meralda gasped when she realized the faint hints of movement she saw were clouds rushing past the Intrepid’s hull, only a few yards below.
The vast, unbroken bank of clouds appeared to rise and fall as it slipped past. Now and then, a few wisps of vapor would rise above the rest and be sent curling and spiraling in the wake of the Intrepid’s polished hull. The flight left a wake like a boat, only this wake was across the sky.
“Good morning, Mistress,” Mug said as he steered his flying cage toward the porthole. “What has you transfixed?”
“Look and see,” replied Meralda, moving aside. Mug hovered near the glass, his cage’s tiny flying coils humming. He sent his blue eyes through the bars of his birdcage and whistled.
“That’s beautiful,” he said after a moment. “I’m almost glad I came.”
Meralda laughed. “Careful. You nearly displayed enthusiasm.”
Mug’s tendrils played at the tiny silver levers affixed to the cage’s side, and he bobbed away from the porthole, coming to rest on Meralda’s desk.
“Not a chance,” he said. “So what’s our agenda for the day? Will I be joining you on the bridge? Lots of nice glass up there. I’m eager to
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