David Brin - The Practice Effect

“Will you want me to help in the heist?”

Arth shivered. “Uh, no, Dennizz. Some things are best left to experts. You walk like a bull rickel tha’s lookin’ for a female under a house. No offense, but I’ll do it m’self. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“All right, then.” Dennis looked at the settling twilight. “Maybe you’d better retire a bit early this evening, Arth. You look pretty tired.”

“Huh? But it’s only…oh.” Arth nodded. “You want me to do it tonight.” He shrugged. “Ah, well, why not? That means we make th’ break tomorrow night?”

“Or the night after.” Dennis was under a time limit. Kremer would not be stalled much longer.

“Okay.” Arth had picked up the expression from Dennis. The little thief yawned exaggeratedly for the benefit of the guards. He spoke out loud. “Well, I think I’ll work on improvin’ my cot for a while!” He nudged Dennis with his elbow and winked. “See you in the mornin’, boss!” Then he added under his breath, “I hope.”

“Good luck,” Dennis said softly as Arth walked away, followed by his guard. Dennis felt bad asking him to risk his neck like this. But the fellow knew his job and would do it cheerfully. Dennis counted himself lucky to have him as his friend.

Nearby, a small stream of pungent liquor had begun to drip from the end of the condenser. If that kept up, the crew’s main job would be simply to watch and practice the distillery as a unit. The hard part was teaching them to change the wine mix properly.

Dennis found his thoughts drifting several parapets higher. Now that he was committed to trying an escape soon, he would have to settle his feelings about Princess Linnora.

If he was really serious about doing something for her, somehow during the next twenty-four hours he would have to get in touch with her, somehow regain her trust, and find a way to get her away from her guards for a rendezvous with the glider at the castle peak.

It sounded next to impossible.

He only hoped that she would give him a chance to explain if the time ever came.

The distillery crew huddled around the condenser, watching the slow drip-dripping of brandy into a flask.

Dennis caught some brandy on his fingers and shuddered as he sniffed, wishing nostalgically for the bottle of thirty-year-old Johnny Walker Swing that presumably still sat in his closet back at Sahara Tech.

He popped a few drops into his mouth and then sucked air. The stuff did have a bite to it, he had to admit.

The evening shift of practicers arrived to relieve the day crew. It was time to change the pot anyway, so he ran the Coylian prisoners through the routine several times to make sure they had it down right.

By the time they had finished, the stars were coming out. He made sure all was in order, then picked up his cloak from the railing. “I want to stretch my legs,” he told his guards.

The northmen bowed slightly and followed behind. Although his privileges had been sharply reduced, he was still at least officially a quasiguest…and a wizard. He had freedom of the yard so long as he was accompanied.

He strolled the long way, past the glider sheds and then the main gate. As he neared the section of the castle where the L’Toff Princess had her rooms, his doubts returned. Every parapet was rimmed with sharp stakes, practiced every day by teams of soldiers armed with slabs of meat. To land a glider upon one and take off again would be as impossible as climbing those sheer walls appeared to be.

Should he take an already risky plan and reduce its chance to negligible by trying to free Linnora as well? Would that be fair to Arth?

Dennis rounded a corner and felt his pulse rise. In the light from the flickering wall cressets, he saw a slim girl dressed in white holding onto the bars three levels up. The L’Toff Princess stared into the starry night, the breeze tugging at her filmy gown. As Dennis approached, his guards keeping a steady five paces behind, he saw the girl turn. Someone else had come out onto her balcony.

Dennis bent in the shadows to tie the laces of his boots, and he looked up as casually as he could. He saw Baron Kremer come forth and confront Linnora. She looked terribly small before him.

The warlord spoke to her and she shook her head in reply. She tried to turn away, but he grabbed her arm and spoke again, more sharply. Dennis still couldn’t make out what was being said, but he could catch the tone.

Linnora struggled, but Kremer only laughed and pulled her close, holding her against his broad chest in spite of her resistance.

One of the guards behind Dennis made a rough joke. Obviously they thought their Lord was giving the haughty tirbeswoman only what she had coming.

Dennis felt under his waistband. Four carefully selected smooth stones made a lump there. He hadn’t had any opportunity to practice his crude weapon. It would only be as good as he had made it. All told, it was not much better a makeshift sling than the cummerbund he had used for the same purpose at that last Sahara Tech party.

Still, he could probably get one or two stones off before the guards brought him down. And Kremer was a big target.

If I were one of Shakespeare’s characters I’d consider it worthwhile to die for a lady’s virginity, he thought. Or at least her honor.

Dennis’s shoulders sagged. Most of Shakespeare’s characters had been poetic idiots. Even if he succeeded in striking down Kremer, it would only buy Linnora a respite. At the cost of his own life.

It wasn’t worth it. Not when he might be able to get her out of here tomorrow if he were patient. He was willing to risk his life for her, but he would not throw it away uselessly.

There was the sound of ripping cloth.

He turned away so he wouldn’t have to witness it. At least by forcing the guards to follow him, he could spare the girl an audience to her humiliation. He walked away quickly, shoulders hunched. The guards chuckled as they followed.

He got ten paces, then a hint of motion in the sky caught his eye.

Dennis stopped. He looked to the south.

Something in the southern sky was blocking a small patch of stars. It moved in the night, faster than a cloud and more regular in outline, growing larger as it came closer. He squinted, but with his night vision ruined by the tower torches, he couldn’t make it out.

Then a smile came unexpectedly. Could it be…?

At the southern edge of the encampment there was a sudden outcry, then a clamor of anxious shouts. Men came running out of the barracks, struggling into armor as an alarm bell began to clang.

Out of the night gloom, into the light of the tower torches, a giant round shape suddenly loomed. It had two great eyes that shimmered and glared angrily. At the bottom of the huge, looming face was a great maw. A fire burned within.

“Ha-ha!” Dennis jumped and struck at the air with his fist. “Kremer didn’t catch the others! They practiced it, and it flies! It really flies!”

A giant globe of fabric and hot air hissed and cobbed over the outer wall, slowly gaining altitude. In a wickerwork gondola below the globe, the dim shapes of his friends were vague shadows against the flames.

Still, something seemed to be wrong with the balloon. It wasn’t rising as fast as Dennis would have hoped. And worse luck, it was headed right for Kremer’s castle! It looked like it would barely clear the palace peak!

“Come on, guys,” he muttered while his guards pointed fearfully, their eyes outlined white in fear. “Up! Rise up and get out of here!” Dennis stared hard at the balloon, practicing it at climbing.

And it did seem to rise faster now, gaining slowly. Tiny faces peered from the gondola down into the courtyard below. A few soldiers threw spears and stones but none quite reached the majestic, silent craft.