‘Did you know that it takes a whole month to walk around the entire perimeter wall? A month. Rain or shine. Around and around, that's what I do, around and around and around… ’

He really did sound depressed. And dizzy.

‘You have only yourself to blame,’ said Tab, trying not to feel sorry for the old scoundrel. Any attempt to find out why Fontagu had tried to sabotage Quentaris had been unsuccessful. But Tab would find out one day. She promised herself that much.

Fontagu sighed again. ‘If only I could wear some thing a little more… stylish. And colourful. And, oh dear, do look at my fingernails! I don't suppose I'll ever be able to enter polite society again.’

‘Well -’ Something in the way she said this made Fontagu's head whip around. He looked at her hopefully.

‘What? You've found me a better line of work? Something in keeping with my sublime talents?’

‘On my errands I noticed a scroll outside the Paragon Playhouse. I asked Lorenzo about it. He needs a -’ began Tab.

Fontagu shivered with delight and clapped his hands. ‘No, no, don't tell me. They need a leading man? Someone commanding, handsome, a man of action, and yet with a heart that melts the ladies.’ He saw Tab's look. Apprehension swept across his face. ‘An understudy? A small part, perhaps -?’

‘They need a prompt.’

Fontagu stared. He mouthed the word prompt in horror, then stamped his foot petulantly. ‘I won't! I absolutely and most assuredly won't. Who do you think I am? Some bit-part actor desperate to get his nose in the business for the first time? Why, once I was the toast of towns. My name was up in candlelight, on the marquee itself! I – I just couldn't… it wouldn't be me… to squander such talent… to be so close and yet so far… to look but not to touch… Oh. Oh. Oh, all right, I'll do it!’ he snapped. ‘When do I start?’

‘Tomorrow. Tell Lorenzo that I sent you. He owes me a favour or two.’

Fontagu grumbled something.

‘If that was a “thank you”, you're welcome.’

Fontagu gave her a sharp look. ‘Well, excuse me for not falling on my knees and kissing your feet. I do believe my present situation is due, in part at least, to your… what shall we call it?’

‘Blackmail?’

‘Exactly. Seems I recall you promising to tell everyone where to find me if I didn't take this job. And for the record, you little vixen, I admit to nothing!’

Tab shrugged, feeling only a tinge of guilt. ‘Admit it, you deserve a lot worse. Anyway, from tomorrow, your situation will be much improved.’

Fontagu looked nervously at Tab. ‘He – he won't change his mind?’

‘The job is yours.’

Fontagu leaned against the outer parapet. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. ‘I feel quite faint,’ he said. Suddenly he turned and flung his broom over the low railing. Tab leaned forward and watched it fall, trying not to grin. Five thousand feet below, the huge shadow of Quentaris was sliding over a forest. Clustered on its outskirts were several hamlets surrounded by the ploughed patchwork of fields.

Tab frowned. The broom, now lost to view, would still be falling. She edged back a bit. She didn't have the best head for heights. ‘I hope you don't brain somebody down there.’

‘I will need a disguise of course,’ said Fontagu suddenly. ‘So many know this noble face of mine, it's sure to stand out.’

Tab mentally cringed.

‘I'd better go and prepare,’ said Fontagu. He looked down at himself. ‘And I'll need clothes.’ The excitement in his voice was suddenly cut by a groan. ‘But I haven't the price of an old boot!’

Tab held out several copper rounds.

Fontagu gave her a puzzled look, but quickly pocketed the coins. ‘Happy birthday,’ Tab said.

Fontagu's eyebrows lifted. ‘I don't believe it's my -’

‘No, it's mine.’

‘Oh.’ Fontagu blinked. ‘Well, may you have glad tidings this day and lifelong prosperity. But really, I must dash. I have to see my tailor.’

And with that he hurried off.

Alone again, Tab returned her gaze to the miles of rigging and sails – a world unto itself, which had become known as ‘upside’^** – and wondered if her best friend, Philmon, was on duty right now. She watched sky sailors clambering along spars, amongst rigging, or swaying on rope bridges that stretched between the enormous masts.

The masts themselves were a sight to behold and had been taken from a forest of gigantic trees – each hundreds of feet in diameter and as much as a thousand feet high. They were so huge that rooms, tunnels, stairways and winch-elevators had been hewn into the trunks themselves. The immensely tough but amazingly light trees had been found growing plentifully in the first rift world the Spell of Undoing had flung them into. It was their luck to have found a fairly peaceful world – unlike the one that followed – and thus some time to adapt to their new situation. Tab remembered it clearly…

Quentaris had started to spin as it climbed towards the gaping mouth of the vortex.

Faster and faster it turned, entering the whirlpool and slowly climbing its sides. Here the light was dim, like the light before a storm or a catastrophe. The city shuddered and rocked, and the spinning vortex threw down great lightning strikes which blasted houses and towers. Fires broke out. At the very apex of the whirlpool, where it was narrowest, a peculiar stillness reigned. Below, great chunks of rock fell from Quentaris, plunging down into the gaping chasm left in the land below.

The noise was tremendous. It was a miracle that Quentaris’ under-city had remained pretty much unscathed.

At the very top of the whirlpool, blackness engulfed them. People screamed and all of the city's animals howled, or bayed or cried out in whatever voice they had. Tab's legs shook and she had to clutch the bat tlements to stay upright.

Others had gathered at the wall, and most had shut their eyes in fear soon after the vortex swallowed them, but Tab had resisted the temptation. She wanted to see.

The climactic ending – later called the ‘Rupture’ or ‘Upheaval’ – lasted only seconds. A sickening transition followed, then blinding sunlight burst upon Quentaris.

From all about came the sound of cheering and laughter.

But slowly it subsided. The word spread quickly, and where it spread a hush fell. Everyone rushed to the walls and peered over, to see for themselves.

Quentaris, still spinning, was rapidly slowing. But that wasn't what caused the great silence. Quentaris was now a floating city, drifting amongst clouds. Beneath the level on which the city was built, a great jagged shaft of rock projected downwards for hundreds of feet, much like the roots of a tooth.

No one ever managed to explain why Quentaris floated, why it didn't just crash to the ground, killing everyone. But float it did, and in the end the best theory was the simplest one: that the same magical spell which had torn them from their world and hurled them through the vortex into another, also kept them afloat.

And while fear had come quickly, being airborne also brought hope. A floating Quentaris might one day find its way home… if it survived

…

Indeed, that first day a wind picked up and slowly pushed Quentaris towards a range of high mountains. Fortunately, the wind dropped and instead of crashing into jagged peaks, Quentaris came to a gentle rest against them.

Quickly, the city's engineers made Quentaris fast. The nearby countryside was scoured, the forests of huge trees discovered, a plan hatched. Shipwrights and carpenters plied their adzes, augers and caulking hammers. Sail makers got to work and soon great swatches of canvas and rigging were stretching across the city. The dockyards stayed open day and night.

Quentaris would not just be a floating rock at the mercy of the wind.

It would be controlled. It would be navigable.

And it was the magicians who would do the navigating. Now more than ever, Tab wanted to be one of them…