CH251 · Rewrite
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Chapter 251: Flying Again

The morning after Maggie’s departure, Roland spread a stack of white paper across the courtyard and set the witches to work.

The back garden had grown since the last round of construction — Leaves had long since relocated her plants to the front, and the corridors now ran beneath wooden frames thick with vines. The canopy overhead was dense enough to fracture sunlight into scattered coins of gold on the flagstones below. It felt less like a castle courtyard and more like the antechamber of some prehistoric forest, cool and green and quietly alive.

He gave Soraya the paper and asked her to coat it with the lightest wash of sky-blue she could manage. She obliged, working in methodical passes, the coating settling across the surface with the faint whisper of breath. Unlike the first hot air balloon — that lumbering patchwork of bovine intestinal membrane and stitched canvas — this new generation was purely coated material, no sutures, no seams. Lighter by half, stronger throughout.

“I heard from Lightning that there may be witches coming over from the Fjords,” Wendy said, not looking up from the section she was helping to hold flat.

“Possibly, if everything goes well.” Roland recapped the arrangement with Tilly’s letter — the fifth princess’s reply, the conditions, the witches still unnamed. “We’ll have to wait for her answer to know the real situation.”

“It seems Ashes succeeded, then.” Wendy mused on this for a moment. “To have gathered so many witches on Sleeping Island.”

“She had a head start.” Roland spread his hands. “I suspect Tilly had been planning that migration for more than a year, quietly sending people to contact witches — not just from Graycastle, but from all three other kingdoms. Your own Witch Cooperation Association probably received an invitation. That’s likely why no one came knocking at our door no matter how loudly we spread the word about a safe haven. We were simply a step behind her.”

“Cara never mentioned it to us,” Wendy said quietly, rubbing her shoulder.

“If she had, you might have stopped looking for the Holy Mountain altogether.”

“That’s true.” She shook her head slowly, the beginning of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “But we wouldn’t have come to Border Town, either. So maybe it’s better that she didn’t.”

“I think it’s better too,” Lightning announced, raising her hand.

“You can’t really say that going to the Fjords wouldn’t have been an improvement,” Lily muttered, curling her lip. “At least there it’s all witches. You don’t have to watch every step you take just going out of the house.”

“It has gotten much better than before,” Anna said, with the calm certainty of someone who remembered exactly what before meant. “In the past I didn’t dare go out at all.”

“Some people just behave that way.” Mystery Moon’s voice drifted from the far side of the courtyard. “Like Ashes — she so obviously wanted to refuse our invitation, and yet she still came all the way out to put on that performance.” A pause. “And then said she wasn’t a traitor.”

“You—” Lily’s eyes went wide. “Fool!”

“Traitor!”

The laughter that followed traveled the full length of the courtyard.

This, Roland thought, watching them — and felt something uncomplicated and warm settle in his chest. He was not the sharpest mind in any room where Tilly was present. He lacked Timothy’s iron nerve and Garcia’s ruthlessness. But he could give these women a life that was free and unhurried. He could give the townspeople something better. That counted for something.

“This hot air balloon is going to be several times larger than the last one,” Nightingale observed, looking at the expanse of coated material already laid out across the stone. “Are you planning to use it to ferry the witches?”

“Among other things.” Roland nodded. “The cleanest route to avoid any harbor city is to cross directly over the sea to the south. Beyond that — it’s a new attempt at flight. Worth pursuing for its own sake.”

After both sides of each panel had been coated, the material became a double layer — six meters wide, six meters long, the combined weight of a stack of paper. A dozen panels joined and sealed at the seams with an additional protective layer produced an airbag of staggering volume. Roland ran his hand along one edge, testing Soraya’s bonding. He remembered her tree-bark demonstration: the coating had adhered so completely that lifting the bark had pulled the entire table with it. The airbag held the same promise — seamless, airtight, inseparable.

Hydrogen next, he reminded himself. He had the DC motor. He had the electrolysis process. All that remained was a suitable lightweight skeleton material, and the Zeppelin would cease to be a historical curiosity and become an engineering project. A great cigar-shaped vessel hovering at two thousand meters, beyond the reach of any arrow or bolt, dropping ordnance with impunity on whatever lay beneath — not a natural enemy in the sky, not a single meaningful counterattack possible.

He imagined four or five of them moving in formation above the Holy City of Taquila. The cannons on the river barrage. The infantry advancing below with their firearms. All three branches of war in concert. The image was almost embarrassingly satisfying.

“Your Highness.” Anna’s voice cut through the reverie. She was pressing her fingers over the corner of her mouth, losing the fight against a smile. “What are you laughing at?”

“He’s fantasizing about the new witches,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “Men.”


Once the lower panels had been roped together into a great vine gondola, the new-generation hot air balloon was complete. Its volume was nearly four times the original’s. It could carry more than ten passengers. The basket had an awning for shade — with a gap left open above for Anna’s flame.

Roland named it Cloud Gazer.

The day after its completion, it passed the heavy-load test in the courtyard. The following morning, the first navigation test began: Anna at the heat source, Wendy managing the wind, five other witches, and Roland himself aboard.

The flight was smooth from first rise to final descent. The witches talked without ceasing, pointing and gasping at the world laid out below them — hills reduced to ripples, the river a silver thread, Border Town itself a modest scatter of rooftops and smoke. Moving through the air rather than hanging fixed above one spot made the difference between observation and experience, and everyone felt it. Wendy held the wind steady while Cloud Gazer sailed south, crested the mountain ridge at noon, and came to hover above the coastline.

On the return journey, Roland watched Wendy working. She rotated her shoulders between gusts, wincing once — small enough that she might not have intended it to show.

He had read somewhere that women with larger figures were prone to shoulder pain, and that it could be eased with proper support. He could not recall whether the claim had been medical or merely folklore, but trying could not hurt. He resolved to speak with the castle tailor. Anna, too — her figure had been changing gradually over the past season, as he had not failed to notice. A small gift for the adult witches seemed like the appropriate next step.

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