David Gerrold - The Flying Sorcerers

They had been gathering at this point for some days now, ever since Purple had begun filling his airbags.

I began to wonder about this. Curious, I approached that end of the trough and observed. The water was bubbling furiously as the gas rose from the wires. The young men would put their faces near it and inhale deeply, then fall back among their fellows and giggle happily.

Their behavior was much like that of one who was drunk on Quaff — but that was silly. These boys were still unconsecrated and not allowed to drink Quaff.

But then, what was producing this strange effect?

I pushed my way through them and asked, “What’s going on here?”

They shook their heads shamefacedly, but would not say.

I bent over and sniffed at the bubbling waters, but I could smell nothing. Curious, that. I took another sniff. Still nothing. It was interesting though. I took another sniff, a deep one — I felt just a wee bit light-headed.

I took another sniff — was it possible that this gas made people light-headed? I wondered about that. The other gas made things light — this gas made people light. No, I’d have to think about that. I took another sniff. The other gas made things rise above other things. This new gas made people’s view of things rise above other things.

Another sniff — how strange! I knew what I meant. Why weren’t there words for it? I lowered my head again.

Abruptly I was being pulled away by Shoogar, “Lant, Lant — what is the matter with you?”

“Um — ah, oh — hi, Shoogar —”

He dragged me downwind of the bubbling water. “What are you doing?”

“Um, I was investigating the bubbles.”

“You will turn into a bubblehead — like those wastrels! He gestured at the boys once again gathered around the trench. “They talk about the strange gas that makes them light.”

“I didn’t know you’d investigated it, Shoogar.” I was beginning to feel heavy again. “Is it dangerous?”

“Of course it is — if only because it teaches the young to enjoy themselves.”

“Something should be done.” I said.

“Right Shoogar fumbled in his sleeve. “I’ll toss a ball of fire at them.” He reached and pulled and — Fwoof! It went off in his hand, burning and sizzling faster than I’d ever seen.

Shoogar yelped and plunged his hand into a water pot. He shouted, “See? I told you the bubbles were dangerous!”

When it happened, it happened in broad double daylight. Red sunlight and blue lit the sky. The windbags glowed like moons; one side red, the other blue.

There was always a crowd on the Crag now, and Purple had posted men to keep them back. Mongers moved among the people, trading sweetdrops and spicy meats for small tokens.

Wilville and Orbur were just storing the last of Purple’s supplies. Each packet had been wrapped in aircloth to protect it from the wet and cold Purple said they would find in the upper sky.

I stood below, leaning on one of the taut ropes that led from the boat to the ground.

Purple was up on the landing cradle with three large pots of water. He had his battery connected to one of them, and a neck of cloth hung down from one of the balloons. It was tied tightly to the water-pot funnel, and as we watched, this last giant sphere swelled and tightened.

Abruptly one of the mooring ropes parted. One end of the boat swung upward.

There was an “ Oooooo!” from the crowd.

Purple jumped back in surprise, knocking over one of the water pots. Wilville and Orbur had been thrown to the floor of the boat — they stuck their heads up confusedly.

“The other end! The other end!” Purple was shouting and pointing, “Go stand at the other end!” He pointed to the nose of the boat which was aimed eagerly at the sky.

Wilville and Orbur scrambled quickly up the boat. As they did so, that part of it started to settle. Purple began directing men to secure it with new mooring ropes. He bent to disconnect his battery, and hurriedly began tying off the neck of his balloon.

And then Shoogar arrived, leading an excited team of men, bringing with them the twelfth giant windbag. He caught sight of the eager airboat and cried, “Purple, Purple — don’t leave without your balloon!”

The murmur of the crowd rose behind him — a gabble of voices and conflicting opinions. “Shut up, Shoogar — if he wants to leave without it, let him!”

Wilville was leaning out over the edge, pointing and waving at the men with the balloon — “No, no! That’s the wrong rope — don’t attach it there!” They couldn’t hear him.

“Wilville! Orbur!” I cried. “Get out of the boat!”

But Purple was crying, “Stay in the boat! Stay in the boat!” He jumped off the landing cradle and ran over to where Shoogar and the others were trying to attach the windbag. “Not here, you slithy tove!” He began pulling them around to the other side — “This is the rope, here!”

For a moment I thought they were going to lose it — the bag was as eager as the rest to leap into the sky. Thank the Gods for the anchor ropes. If we lost a balloon, we would lose many days of work. The anchor ropes prevented that. The balloons could not escape their tethers. If we let go of one, it would only snap upward until we could pull it down again.

Under Purple’s direction the men were able to fasten the bag to the proper rope without losing it. It snapped upward, and the rope strained as taut as the others.

This last windbag seemed to do it. The boat hung upward at the end of its mooring ropes. The chatter of excited voices rose.

“Ballast!” Purple was crying. “Get the ballast bags.”

“I’ll do it!” cried Orbur and started to climb out of the boat.

“No!” Purple swarmed up the cradle and pushed him back in — he fell to the deck slats with a thump “You stay in the boat! We need your weight to help hold it down.”

Shoogar was bouncing around the base of the launching cradle, barking at the men struggling to tie more mooring ropes. Heavy wooden stakes were being pounded into the ground.

Other men came running across the slope — each carrying two heavy ballast bags with him. They swung ominously back and forth. Trone the Coppersmith brought four.

The ballast bags were also made of aircloth, and filled with sand. Purple had realized their need only a hand of days ago, and Grimm had had to hurry to sew them up. Trone had taken the responsibility of seeing that they were filled.

Now the men came jumping up onto the cradle and practically threw the bags at Wilville and Orbur — Orbur slipped under their weight and disappeared again into the bottom of the boat. There was a muffled curse.

The bags had been finished and waiting since this morning. Purple said they were needed to provide extra weight that was expendable as the gas leaked out. A thought occurred to me — why hadn’t he put them in the boat as they were finished, instead of waiting till the last moment like this. It certainly would have been easier.

“More bags! More bags!” He was calling. The men took off again, dashing to get another load. Wilville and Orbur staggered to stow them evenly.

Purple then jumped into the boat to help. He grabbed the ballast bags as each one was brought up, and directed their distribution about the craft.

I jumped up on the cradle. “Purple,” I screamed over the noise of the crowd and the ballast runners. “It has been a great honor to have you here — we will miss you greatly — your memory will never be forgotten — we wish you the speediest of journeys —”

“Shut up, Lant — you blithering wart! “I’m not going anywhere. I’m only going on a test flight! That’s why we only need twelve balloons for now. We’ll need the other four for the longer journey, but right now we only want to see how well she handles in case we have to make any modifications —”