Clariel was thinking about the pies in Estwael when a long shadow flitted along the street, raced up the walls of the house near the pie cart, then turned and went back along the street again. The shadow was followed a moment later by the Paperwing that had cast it, the aircraft banking and looping around to land into the wind, coming down to swoop along the road a mere fingerbreadth above the stone paving, before sliding to a very neat halt three or four houses to the right of the inn.

‘Paperwing’s landed!’ shouted Clariel, jumping to her feet.

chapter twenty

you don’t see that every day

‘He has flown swiftly!’ said Kargrin. He set his wine glass down on the closest table and took Clariel’s hand. ‘Come on!’

They went out the side door of the inn into a narrow alley crowded with empty barrels stacked high against one wall. Clariel’s shoulder bumped against them as Kargrin dragged her along. He increased his pace to a full-out run as they reached the street, running to the Paperwing, the pie seller staring with her jaw open, her lack of sales now partially made up for by a story she could tell over many drinks.

The Paperwing was smaller than Clariel had expected. She’d seen them flying before but in the far distance, which made it hard to gauge their size and shape. This one had a body rather like a slim boat, tapered at each end, with a hole in the middle where the occupants sat. Its hawklike wings stretched out and back from the middle. They were partially folded for landing, but when fully extended would stretch for forty paces a side, or perhaps even more. The whole craft was made of paper, Clariel knew, layered and bonded together with secret glues and considerable Charter Magic. The outer layers were coloured in glorious reds and golds, in swirls, dots and circles, save for the front where dark, very lifelike eyes looked ahead on either side.

Bel was standing up in the middle of the craft, slightly hunched and favouring his left side. He was wearing his gethre plate armour, one plate holed near the shoulder, over hunting leathers. He had a heavy wool cloak on as well, despite the warm and humid morning.

‘Clariel!’ he shouted out, combining a wave with sitting down in a clumsy motion that obviously hurt, for he gasped in pain before adding over his shoulder, ‘Quick!’