The Flying Sorcerers

It was a strange scene — four giant frames, three covered with cloth, and the fourth holding a gently puffing mass of rising airbag. A trench of water ran below, and bubbled furiously at its free end. At its other end a nozzle and hose attachment reached up to the giant bag.

Farther up the slope, more than a hundred and twenty men were pumping wildly on their bicycles. Great spinning generators whirred loudly. One could hear their high-pitched whine all over the hill — but we had become used to that sound. It had become a part of our lives.

Nine airbags had already been filled and ferried up the hill. Wilville and Orbur were climbing excitedly about on the airboat frame, making last minute adjustments in the rigging.

All over the slope we could see the imposing frame of the craft — and at last we saw what Purple had visualized all this time. Not all the airbags had yet been attached; yet the nine straining upward from their ropes gave us an idea — a cluster of moons swelling gloriously in the red and blue light.

It had taken nearly five days to fill this many bags.

Already the first bags filled were starting to droop, and others were showing ripples in the wind — signs that they were not as taut as they should be.

But Purple had counted on a certain amount of leakage during the time it took to fill the bags. He intended to use his battery to replenish the hydrogen in each of them just before departure.

By now the affair had turned into quite a festival. There was much singing and shouting and drinking of Quaff. The men working on the generators had organized themselves into teams and had begun competing — each team trying to see how long they could go at full speed — each team trying to prove it was stronger than the other.

Purple was delighted. He offered two extra spell tokens for every man on the winning team. As soon as one competition was ended, another promptly began, fresh teams replacing the tired ones on the bicycles. The process of replacement was always fun to watch — one man at a time would hop off his bicycle, leaving the pedals still spinning wildly. Another would then hop on and match the rate of pumping. The next man in line would then hop off his bike and so on.

As soon as all the teams were replaced the signal would be given, and another competition would begin with a roar from the spectators. Purple had even permitted a certain amount of side-wagering with his spell tokens although Shoogar and I had expressed some misgivings about it. “Why not?” Purple said. “It makes them more enthusiastic.”

He was right about that. Often the teams would bet large amounts of spell tokens against each other so that it was possible for a generator team to lose chips while they worked.

But if they didn’t mind…

Trone and his men were eager to finish the fourth generator — they hoped to form a bicycle team themselves and earn some of those extra chips. He would be a formidable team, I thought. Trone’s arms and legs were strong and thick from years of coppersmithing. I might bet on him myself.

Meanwhile, the eleventh balloon was already puffing up. The tenth was just being removed from its filling frame for its transfer up the slope. Purple was directing the transfer, with much swearing and threats of curses.

It was an eerie sight: Six strong men bouncing slowly up the hill under the absence of weight of the giant balloon. Once a sudden gust of wind caught them, and they bounced high in the air and floated slowly down. All were laughing — except Purple. He was white beneath his beard as he followed them up.

Then they were on the Crag, and the harnessed bag was attached to the rigging. The rope transfer was made and the men released the balloon — it snapped upward to join the others. They were blue spheres with white lines inscribed upon them, looking tiny from here. The airboat tugged at its mooring, and Purple kept climbing in and out of it, pulling at its rigging and anchoring ropes.

Satisfied, he came bounding down the hill again, shouting, Two more balloons, Lant. Two more and I can go flying!”

“I thought you wanted to use sixteen —”

“But it works so well. Look! See how it tugs at its ropes — and that’s with only ten balloons! And see how some of them are limp. Imagine how it will lift when I pump them up again with the battery! Two more balloons should do it. Those will be for the weight of the supplies and the passengers. We will be able to test it today!”

And he bounded on down the hill to supervise the filling of the eleventh balloon. I followed slowly in his wake. Thoughtfully.

I couldn’t get used to the idea. Purple was actually leaving!

He had actually built his flying machine, and he was actually going to leave in it. Soon we would be rid of him.

I shook my head as I looked over the fantastic activity below me — things would not be the same with him gone.