up from their saddles, they grabbed the cables that wrapped all around the gondola and started climbing.
Iolanthe aimed her rifle at them. “You have no permission to come inside!”
“Put away that primitive weapon of yours, if you do not wish your balloon burned to a cinder,” the leader of the wyvern riders said coldly.
The two Atlanteans inside the now-crowded gondola examined the burner, the ballasts, the additional containers of fuel, which had all been part and parcel of Baron Wintervale’s commission. They also looked at the trunk of clothes, the tins of biscuits and potted meat, and the cooking and eating implements—Iolanthe had raided the kitchen, the pantry, and the laundry department at Windsor Castle, as well as borrowing a few rifles that belonged to the queen.
One of the Atlanteans nudged Master Haywood with a boot.
“What happened? Who are these ruffians disarranging our things? Where are my glasses? Let me put them on. Dear God in heaven, there is a—”
Master Haywood wilted again, his face conveniently pressed into the side of the gondola.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” shouted Iolanthe. “Look what you have done to the poor man. I can’t operate this apparatus all by myself from here to England—it needs attention round the clock. Careful that you don’t do anything rash with the fuel—it’s highly combustible. And don’t even think about throwing out one of the ballasts—it will make my balloon jump up right into the talons of your dragons overhead!”
How closely were the Atlanteans going to search everything? She wasn’t worried about her watch. But their emergency bags, which she’d secured to the top of the balloon’s inside envelope, would give them away immediately.
She summoned just enough air to jostle the gondola. The Atlanteans stumbled. She grabbed on to the side of the gondola too.
“Careful! Over the open ocean it’s full of rogue air currents.”
“What is this?” asked an Atlantean, pointing at the typing ball, which she had decided was worth the effort to drag along.
“Don’t you know anything? It’s a typewriter. Up so high fountain pens leak, so we use a typewriter for our daily logs.”
But she had not thought to create a logbook ahead of time. What if they were to ask to see it?
She had better go on the offensive. “Anyway, who are you people? Those dragons of yours, mind if I snap a photograph of them? This is going to take the scientific world by storm—it’ll make the Loch Ness Monster about as interesting as a lizard in a tub. My God, I could sell the negative to the Times! Where is my camera?”
She had also swiped one of those from the castle. The Atlantean nearest her yanked the apparatus from her hand.
“Hey, hey! You can’t just toss my camera overboard.”
The Atlanteans returned to their mounts and left without another word, while she screamed after them, “Where are you going? Come back here. You must compensate me for the destruction of my camera. That cost me twenty-five American dollars to buy when I was in New York City last!”
The flapping of dragon wings grew more distant. She kept on shouting for some time. Presently Master Haywood got up and came to stand next to her, staring at the retreating backs of the wyvern riders—to do anything else would be out of character for nonmages who’d been brought up on the idea that dragons were strictly fictional.
After the wyvern riders disappeared from view, there were no celebratory hugs. Instead they searched every inch of the interior of the gondola for any tracers the Atlantean might have left behind. Then they took advantage of a huge cloud bank and sailed into its midst for Iolanthe to check the outside of the gondola and even the outer envelope of the balloon itself.
They found eight tracers, six inside the gondola and two on the envelope. To keep them was to let Atlantis oversee their progress. To destroy them or throw them into the ocean below would be a clear signal that these seemingly convincing nonmages actually knew what tracers did.
Iolanthe agonized for ten minutes before she sprang into action. She cut the stiff silk from the skirts of one of the gowns she had swiped—yards and yards of fabric those gowns had—and secured it to a frame made from segments of wicker that she snipped from a picnic basket that held some of the foodstuff. Then she attached all the tracers to the kite and set it aloft with a gentle current.
It would float above the Atlantic, drifting with