Free Driftmetal by J.C. Staudt Page A

the
nearflow. Too much pressure on any of the rigging could put us back
in a similar predicament.
    “There it is,” Vilaris said, leaning forward in his
seat. “The back of it is poking out through that cloud.”
    “Alright, I see it,” I said. “Never thought I’d be
in such a hurry to get to church.”
    Our little floater slipped out of view in the bottom
windows. I pushed the engines to half speed, making sure I was
rising faster than I was accelerating. We rose until we were at
altitude with the Skytemple. I closed the ballonet valves and
headed for the cluster of pillowy white clouds where our
destination was hiding. Soon we were engulfed in a blinding cloak.
I cut the engines to slow as wisps of cumulus licked the interior
of the ship like white flames, dissipating in the crisp air of the
cabin.
    Something thudded against the hull.
    “Not again,” I sighed, thinking another line had
snapped.
    We came into clear sky, and the island temple spread
out before us. It was a large floater, a tenth of a mile long at
least, with dense forests and a mountain waterfall at its head. The
temple foundations were of lavish gray stone, its wings and
courtyards set on multi-layered terraces whose steps flowed over
the contour of the land like rivers. There were towers and steeples
topped by concave roof trusses, with porcelain shingles of a deep
watery purple. Like most inhabited floaters, this one had a small
airfield. There was a hover and two air barges, which the
inhabitants must’ve used to transport goods and passengers. The
airfield wasn’t large enough for a runway, but there were empty
spaces for other ships to land. The whole thing looked welcoming
enough, except that there were monks streaming out of doors and
onto balconies, aiming crossbows and ballistae in our
direction.
    Vilaris swore.
    “I told you I had a bad feeling about this,”
I said.
    “No, you said you hated law-lovers,” said
Blaylocke.
    “Was I wrong?”
    Blaylocke didn’t answer. Chaz was mumbling gibberish
to himself.
    “Well, I don’t see any reason to stick around, do
you? The Clarity is airworthy; that much we know. Might as
well stay that way while we still can, or they’ll turn this thing
into a pincushion.” I was twisting open both ballast valves and
reversing the engines as I spoke.
    We began to rise while crossbow bolts punched the
hull, quivering. Others careened off the windows, while still more
rose toward us and lost momentum before plummeting back down. The
monks were dressed in purple robes that matched the color of the
roofing tiles. They scurried around like ants, getting smaller and
less menacing as we faded up and back into the clouds.
    “Isn’t Leridote supposed to be a peaceful god?” I
said.
    “Men have been fighting in the name of peaceful gods
for as long as there’ve been gods,” said Vilaris.
    “They ought to know we didn’t come here to continue
the tradition,” I said.
    “Anything on the bluewave?” asked Vilaris. “Maybe
you can tell them yourself.”
    I looked at the comm. “Not a thing. They didn’t even
send us a warning.”
    “Uh, are you watching this pressure gauge here?”
Blaylocke asked, rising from his seat and tapping the glass.
    The needle wiggled. The pressure in the balloon was
dropping.
    I swore.
    “Did we get hit in the bag?” asked Vilaris.
    “Don’t know what else it could be, unless a
woodpecker got frisky with the ship while we weren’t looking.”
    I opened the valves as wide as they could go and
rotated the prop engines until they were vertical. We jerked
upward, rising like a puff of smoke. I didn’t care if we hit
something; I was taking us as high as I could before we lost the
ability to rise altogether. The pressure gauge was inching to the
left, moving so slow it was hard to tell.
    “We gotta find someplace to land this thing,”
Vilaris said. “I’m going above to take a look around.”
    “Send Blaylocke,” I said. “I’m gonna need you down
here in a