‘The complication is the strength of the wind in this place. It is far stronger, and more persistent, than my nation’s standard approach would handle. This necessitates certain changes.’

‘What kind of changes?’

‘For one, a greater mass to stabilize the structure. In addition, a secondary control point, local to the device. This should allow for the desired precision of delivery. Savage, release the catch.’

‘Wait, wait, wait, are you saying—’

The barrier dropped. The wind rushed over the platform, and the tiers of boxy silk leapt from Rennic’s outstretched arms. With the fluttering of heavy wings, the object rose fast into the sky, extending to its full height. Around him, Chel heard the whisper of spooling cord. He felt the ropes in his hands go taut.

‘Just what is—’

Chel took to the air. The ropes around him snapped tight, and with a lurch his feet were dragged from the platform and into the night sky. A terrible vertigo overcame him, suddenly disconnected from solid ground, the torchlit buildings swimming beneath his gaze, the drop to the darkened plaza below utterly fatal. He felt like he was falling even as he rose, his brain’s certainty of impending death overwhelming all other thought. The wind tore at him, yanking the structure above him ever higher, dragging the ropes suspending him with it. It could only be a matter of time before he was blown up and into the clouds, carried aloft and away, lost to the heavens then dashed to the earth below on the wind’s caprice. At long last he realized he was screaming, and paused to draw breath.

Something twanged beneath him, and with a jolt his upward progress ceased. The structure remained airborne, floating on the wind, while he dangled beneath, staring down at the moon-washed points of the towers and domes below.

‘Stop looking down, idiot!’

The Nort sounded very close. With great effort of will, Chel tore his gaze around, toward the origin of the voice. He was hanging from the silken box, itself kept airborne by the fierce wind through its sails, a rigid tether anchoring it back to the platform behind and beneath him. Kosh stood not five lurching feet from him, hands on hips, a look of quiet satisfaction on her face. He was barely two diagonal strides above and away from the platform, despite his all-consuming sensation of flying free and uncontrolled.

‘Concentrate on the handle! Can you direct the kayt?’

The kite. He pulled at the handle in his grip, teasing it to one side. Above him, the structure shifted, and he felt the whole thing begin to lurch sideways. He pulled in the other direction, overcompensated, and found himself fluttering hard the other way. After some trial and error, he managed to correct his movements, stabilising once more. With surprise, he realized he was enjoying himself.

‘What are the strings for?’

‘What?’