Father plunged toward Diamond. His trajectory was close but wrong, and sweeping past the boy, he flattened out, arms and legs supporting fabric wings that rattled and popped as the wind swept past.

He waved, beckoning.

Diamond tipped his head and fell faster, and the corona fell beside both of them. A dozen heads studied them; none bit. Not yet. Diamond pulled closer but slipped past his father, and the man stretched and reached and touched a hand but couldn’t hold on. Then Merit changed the angle of his body and wrenched his old back far enough after that finally, after such a very long fall, he managed to collide with the little boy, sweeping him up with his arms.

Father was wearing a drop suit and a bulky pack, and around his waist was a wide leather belt. “The bottle on my belt,” he shouted. “Pull its plug.”

The rubber stopper was topped with a shiny ring. While his father held tight, Diamond yanked at the ring. A cold thin fluid exploded out into the wind. What was inside was sweet and thick and alien, and Diamond buried his nose in his father’s chest while the man kept clinging to him, as the corona got a first awful whiff.

Blistering air came from the mouth, and the giant fled.

Father laughed.

“I got you,” he said, congratulating both of them.

“What was in the bottle?” Diamond asked. “It stinks.”

“You can smell that?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a year’s worth of corona musk.” Then Father admitted, “I never met someone who can smell it.”

His unhuman son had to be moved to a better position. When they were facing the same direction, bellies down, they wrapped an extra belt around Diamond and fastened it and cinched it tight before Merit shouted, “Wings.”

Diamond clung to one arm. His father reached behind with his other arm, pulling a handle, and the big pack exploded into fabric and cord that leaped up behind him, catching the air.

There a staggering jerk, as if a hand caught them, and then the screaming air was gone and they were falling gently beneath a grand umbrella shaped like a wing. It was as if they had been pulled into another, more peaceful world. Diamond held the arm but didn’t need to, relaxed and happy even though he couldn’t imagine where they would touch down.

“Look,” Father said.

Up, he meant. Diamond threw back his head. The third corona was bigger than the first two combined, and it had deftly woven its necks across the ship’s bow, covering the bridge, assuring that the Archon’s cannons couldn’t fire at any part of it. Yet nothing about its actions looked violent or even mischievous. For all of the movement it made, the creature might have been resting.

“There’s a favorite old trick,” said Father. “Wait.”

The great airship was tilting. The bow was no longer buoyant enough to remain trim, and the corona added to the catastrophe by collapsing its bladders one after another, and blowing with its jet, nudging the bow lower still.

“The captain should know better,” Father said. “But he can’t imagine the monster being his master.”

Water and sawdust were falling free, lightening the load enough to bring the ship back where it should be.

And then with no warning, the corona let go of the Ruler, calmly falling away.

The airship’s bridge leapt up, dragging the great long body with it.

“And now the captain’s going to panic,” Father explained, his voice excited but also sorry. “But he can’t let too much out. In the afternoon air, with all the free oxygen, he’s inviting a fire.”

“What will happen?”

“The pride and heart of the tree-walker’s fleet is going to crash into the canopy, where it’ll be snagged and useless.”

“Will people get hurt?”

“I hope not. I didn’t want this. But I never imagined so much incompetence either.”

The catastrophe continued to unfold slowly and with great majesty, the Ruler driving into the thin, sun-blistered branches.

Then Father told him, “Look down.”

Between them and the demon floor was an object moving slowly, working to hold a useful position. Their target seemed tiny even when they were close. Father put on goggles and jerked hard at the parachute’s ropes, gliding them into a better course, and inside another two recitations Diamond saw the woman painted on the side of the Happenstance, and he heard a bright horn blowing in celebration.

“We’ll land on top,” Father promised.

“Can we?” Diamond asked doubtfully.

“I don’t know,” he said, laughing. “This is a first for both of us.”

The Happenstance remained trim and nearly motionless beneath them, and they turned and dropped over the bow, Father starting to run before his feet reached the hull’s taut skin. Then a stray gust of wind gave the umbrella new life. The fabric thudded as it filled with warm damp air, and they lifted as he yanked at the straps, once and again, and they dropped together. Diamond was down with Merit kneeling over him, both of them watching that great wing soaring, pressing fast into the bright distance.

“You should know,” Father said, gasping. “I thought this crazy plan would work. I couldn’t have believed in it more. Right up until you were inside the big ship, out of my sight, and then all the things that could go wrong showed themselves, and in my heart, just as sure as before, I knew you were lost.”

The gust failed and the lost parachute collapsed, falling fast. Diamond squinted against the glare, watching it shrink.

“I flew up and you didn’t jump. I assumed they’d wrapped you up in chains, or worse. So I made another plan. I was going to board that ship and search every room to bring you out. That’s what I was getting ready to do when you jumped. And with that idiot scheme, I was confident all over again.”

Father was laughing, releasing Diamond’s belt.

“Consider this a warning, son. When your mind tells you a story, you have no choice but to believe in it. Unreasonable stupid or mad as any fantasy might be, you’ll embrace it, cling to it, and do your best to let it enslave you.”

A top hatch opened. Out came the smiling face of the little pilot. “Those two jazzings are still paying dividends,” he boasted. “Let’s get below, and I’ll rush us all back to Ivory Station.”

Diamond hesitated.

Father pulled at him. “Come on now.”

The boy shook his head. “No.”

“We don’t have any choice, little man,” said the pilot. “A lot of explaining needs to be done, and delaying won’t help anybody here.”

The parachute was a crumpled wad below them, and then it spread wide, the demon floor slowing its fall, the fabric spreading out, as if hands were pulling a sheet across a tidy bed. Then it slipped through the magic barrier, turning to fire, to ash and nothingness.

Father pulled, but the boy slipped under his hand and stepped away.

With a rare sternness, Father said, “Diamond.”

The pilot laughed grimly. “Yeah, their big ship is foundering. Oh, this is going to be one expensive day.”

Diamond said, “I don’t want to go the Station. I want to be home.”

The slayer touched his own face, fingertips running along the scar.

The pilot climbed onto the hull. Watching the boy, he noticed the injured hand, the last hints of damage quickly becoming the smoothest, most perfect skin. Under his breath, the little man offered a simple prayer, and then he looked at Merit, ready to ask some obvious question.

Father spoke first.

“All right,” he said, pointing into the distance. A tiny shape had appeared—another fletch carrying his crew. “Are they close enough to signal?”

“Soon if not now,” the pilot responded.

“My orders,” Father said. “Tell them to sprint to the Station and explain what they can. If they get the chance, meet with Prima. Tell our Archon that I think she is a wonderful leader and smart and that I have delivered to her more misery and danger than she would ever wish to bear. But she needs to come to my home and meet my son.”