Bitterlich’s nerves stretched tight and worry scratched at his mind as he soared in the form of a galvatross above the jagged shoreline of the thornscrub skyland where the Thunderclap’s ill-fated launch had crashed. Its aetherkeel was cracked in half, and two bloody corpses lay within. Black, bloated flies swarmed all around. Gulls tore at the carcasses.

Bitterlich landed in the center of the mass and set loose a galvanic charge that sent the gulls flapping away, screeching their avian indignation. Dozens of crispy flies rained from the sky like tiny hailstones. The rest of their mindless ilk buzzed on, undeterred.

Bitterlich recognized what was left of Long Thom and Skyman Plonta. Of Jean-Claude, Hailer Dok, and the other aeronauts, there was no sign.

He pulled on his erstepelz and, standing upwind from the reek, quickly gave the dead men the rites of last watch. Then he waded into the cloud of insects, hefted a body in each hand, and hurled them off the sky cliff. It was not a proper send-off, but it was better than being food for the gulls.

Someone had survived the crash, for the bracken around the wreckage had been stomped down, and a path cleared to a more hospitable spot on the skyland’s rim. Bitterlich turned into a dire wolf and sniffed along the path. He smelled Dok, several other people, and the stink of burned flesh. Of Jean-Claude there was not an iota of scent. Dread for the Old Hand grew like a canker in Bitterlich’s heart. Jean-Claude had never had much use for Bitterlich, but Isabelle loved him as her father.

Bitterlich picked up a trace of another smell, an odor not entirely of this world, a volatile oily musk tinged with an accent he could only call the vault-reek. It was the scent that leaked out of a Seelengewölbe when a Seelenjäger shifted shape.

He followed the scent parade along the rim of the skyland to an inlet. There he found scrape marks where another boat had been dragged ashore. Dok and the Seelenjäger had been picked up by another ship, probably one of the Skaladin sloops.

Bitterlich transformed into a galvatross and rode a thermal up, looking for some sign of his quarry. The skyland was surrounded by a reef of unincorporated stonebergs and aethercorals, but they were likewise unoccupied by anyone living or dead.

Bitterlich’s worry grew heavier the harder he looked. If Jean-Claude had fallen into the Gloom, there would never be anything to find. He shuddered to imagine facing Isabelle with such news. It would shatter her in ways no physical wound ever could.