dramatic adventure stories she had read were right: it was better not to look down.
Feeling for hand and toe-holds in the ridges, she started to climb down. It went well enough, until her right foot reached for a toe-hold in empty space. Her stomach lurched, her head swam, and she nearly lost her grip. Deep breaths, deep breaths, Emilie chanted to herself, fighting down the fear. She lifted her foot again, found purchase, and started to edge sideways. After about a foot, she gingerly tried again. Still nothing. Keep going, she thought.
On the fourth try she found purchase, the rough surface of a column. A little fumbling and her foot found a decorative finial on it. Carefully, she eased herself down, one ridge at a time.
Finally she could wrap her legs around the column and edge down it, until she could swing over onto the gallery floor. As soon as her feet touched the firm stone surface, her legs gave out and she sank down into a huddle. Shaking in relief, she realized: If I'd known it was going to be that hard, I'd never have tried. Her hands and feet were scraped, her fingers sore, her arms trembling from the effort. So it was a good thing I didn't know, she thought. She couldn't believe she had actually done it. The idea of getting caught after that effort was horrific.
If you can do that, a voice in her head whispered, you can do anything. Anything she had to do to get herself and Rani and Miss Marlende out of here. Huddled trembling on the stone, she suddenly felt a hundred times stronger.
Now get on with it, Emilie told herself, and eased forward to take a careful peek between the balusters. The men had stopped loading the airship, and were standing on the platform, talking to a man dressed in ordinary clothes rather than a uniform. He was in his shirtsleeves, no coat. Lord Ivers, maybe, or someone else of high rank in the crew. He was tall and slim, with the blond hair and light skin of someone of Northern Menaen descent. That would be a good clue, if she had ever heard a description or seen a photograph of Lord Ivers, which she hadn't. She couldn't hear what they were saying either, just snatches of words carried on the breeze.
She crawled back from the edge and stood, padding barefoot toward the nearest door, the tiles cool under her feet. It was an open arch, leading in to a big empty room with a blue and green mosaic floor. It had a lonely air of long disuse, and there was even a patch of mold on one wall. She slipped through it and two other similar empty chambers, and found an open door out to a corridor. It was empty and shadowy too, no lamps in the niches, the figures of merpeople painted on the walls faded and blotched. She couldn't hear any voices or movement. As Emilie stepped out into it, she spotted a large curving stair at the end.
She knew what she should do; she should run immediately back toward the harbor and swim out to the Sovereign. The problem was, she had no idea where she was or how to get to the harbor from here. She didn't know the language or have a translator shell to ask for directions, and she had no way to tell which merpeople were involved in the plot or which were innocent bystanders, so she couldn't risk approaching anyone for help. And if she did somehow make it to the Sovereign, the Queen could still hold Miss Marlende and Rani hostage against Lord Engal's cooperation. If he and Kenar aren't hostages now, too, to force Captain Belden to attack the nomads, she thought.
The obvious conclusion was to rescue Miss Marlende and Rani before proceeding. Rani first, since Emilie knew where she was.
Emilie started toward the stairs. Just as she reached the stairwell, she heard voices echoing up from below, and she froze like a startled rabbit. It was Miss Marlende, and a male voice with a Menaen accent, that she didn't recognize.
Miss Marlende was saying, “I think you must be mad.”
The man laughed, not sounding offended. “No more mad than your father or Engal.”
Lord Ivers, Emilie thought. Funny, he didn't sound evil.
Fury in her voice, Miss Marlende said, “My father and Lord Engal aren't causing a war simply for their own gain!”
“I'm not causing this war, young lady. The Queen