forefinger wagged beneath her nose. “Aye, blush like the dawn, you pint-sized Cloudlands pirate. We will have words, later. Right now, I need a competent Dragonship pilot. I’m short one, who was struck down with a bowel infection yesterday evening. Are you the woman to help us?”
“Certainly, Master.”
He snorted at her tone. “I don’t buy the meek and mild Lia. Pack her away, and go find the other pilots. We leave in ten minutes. And Princess, one more thing.”
“Aye, Master?”
“Nice beard.”
Lia spluttered something respectful, and fled.
Her face itched beneath her disguise, but Lia concentrated through the distraction as she piloted her hundred-foot traders’ Dragonship out of the cavern, one hand lightly resting on the levers controlling the airflow valves which governed hot air flow into the six main compartments of the dirigible’s sack, and the other on the wheel. She gazed through the forward crysglass windows, judging the tricky exit. Meantime, in the main cabin behind a panel at her back, ten monks peddled the machines that drove the six turbines, affixed in two clusters of three up the Dragonship’s port and starboard flanks. With severely limited fuel, they would have to rely on manual propulsion or a helping wind.
This beast was so much less manoeuvrable than her Dragonship. Flying solo was one matter. Being responsible for twenty-five lives back there, including Master Jo’el’s … daunting. The crossing to Ya’arriol Island, however, should take only a couple of hours. The small Island stood a little apart from the main Fra’anior Cluster, west and a few points north of Ha’athior.
“You know, that beard is amazing on you,” said Ja’al, from the doorway.
Without looking, Lia flung a rolled-up scrolleaf at him.
“How did you lose your curves?”
“Padding on the shoulders, binding around my ribs, and what do you care anyway, you prissy, puritanical–”
“I kissed a bearded Princess?”
“Get out!”
“Hua’gon wants to kill you.”
“Tell him to stand in line! There’s Ra’aba first, an Orange Dragon next–” Lia’s hands jerked on the controls, swerving the Dragonship, but she recovered her mistake deftly “–after that, any other Dragon who figures out I lived on Ha’athior Island, and lest we forget all of Ra’aba’s troops …”
Ja’al pointed at the crysglass window. “What’s that ridiculous dragonet of yours doing?”
Lia tilted her head askance. “I do believe he’s calling you an egg-head.”
* * * *
Stop distracting me, Hualiama’s voice growled in Flicker’s head. Ever since she had learned telepathic Dragon speech, her mental voice had been growing stronger and more distinct. Are you alright, Flicker?
I’m far handsomer than the egg-head, said Flicker.
I kissed you first, remember?
Fickle woman, he grumbled, mostly because of her alert perception. Flicker was not feeling well–the fiery scourge, dragonets liked to call this fever. It could kill a hatchling.
He zipped through the doorway, making Ja’al duck, and alighted on Hualiama’s shoulder. He glared at the monk, making his expression as fierce as possible. Paws off my girl, egg-head.
Lia made her cross clucking sound. He’s a good man. And how exactly am I your girl?
Fine, I’ll call you my talking perch, then.
Oh, a dragonet’s perch? It’s all I’ve ever aspired to in life.
Barely fit for the clasp of my claw, said Flicker, rubbing his muzzle contentedly against her neck.
“Are you two talking Dragonish right now?” Ja’al asked curiously.
“We are. He said–ouch, you flying earthworm!” The dragonet purred as he showed Lia the talons of his right forepaw. She shoved his paw away. “Honestly, Flicker. He said–aieee! My neck’s being held to ransom here, Ja’al. If I’m still alive, I’ll tell you later. Boys, I need to concentrate on piloting this Dragonship now. Can you kindly–”
“Aye, Captain,” said Ja’al, throwing her a slipshod salute.
Lia hissed wordlessly at him.
After the monk withdrew, however, Flicker sensed that her thoughts dwelled upon him. Lia said, Flicker, you feel hotter than your natural temperature …
I’m not well, he said, explaining.
With a deft touch, Lia set the controls and locked them in place, freeing up her right hand–the left, she kept on the wheel. Flicker, are you fully recovered from what the warren-mother did to you? I worry …
Too much, he said, nibbling her ear. You know how that scar on your back twinges sometimes?
Aye.
It’s like that. Now, memorise this herbal recipe, which should help my fever.
* * * *
Lia chatted a few more minutes with the dragonet before he fell asleep on her shoulder–unusually, for him. Just as a bird could sleep clutching its perch, the dragonet remained in place even when sleeping, his febrile body curled around her neck.