Toller left the S.E.S. administration complex and climbed a wooden stair to the surface of the plain which extended north of Ro-Atabri as far as the foothills of the Slaskitan Mountains. He requisitioned a bluehorn from the stablemaster and set off on the two-mile ride to Greenmount. The varnished linen of the tunnel-like covered way glowed in the foreday sunlight, surrounding him with a yellowish directionless light, and the trapped air was muggy, heavy with the smell of animal droppings. Most of the traffic was heading out from the city, flatbed carts laden with gondola sections and jet cylinders of brakka.

Toller made good time to the eastern junction, entered the tube leading towards Greenmount and soon reached an area protected by the older open-mesh screens of the Ro-Atabri suburbs. He rode through a moraine of abandoned dwellings on the exposed flank of the hill, eventually reaching the small private cemetery adjoining the colonnaded west wing of Greenmount Peel.

Several groups of mourners were already in attendance, and among them he saw his brother and the slender grey-clad figure of Gesalla Maraquine. It was the first time he had seen her since the night she had been abused by Leddravohr, more than a year earlier, and his heart jolted uncomfortably as he realised he was at a loss as to how to conduct himself with her.

He dismounted, straightened the embroidered blue jupon of his skycaptain’s uniform and walked towards his brother and his wife, still feeling oddly nervous and self-conscious. On seeing him approach Lain gave him the calm half-smile, indicative of family pride tinged with incredulity, which he had used of late when they met at technical briefings. Toller took pleasure in having surprised and impressed his older brother with his single-minded assault on every obstacle, including reading difficulties, on his way to becoming a skyship pilot.

“This is a sad day,” he said to Lain.

Gesalla, who had not been aware of his approach, spun round, one hand flying to her throat. He nodded courteously to her and withheld a verbal greeting, leaving it to her to accept or decline the conversational initiative. She returned his nod, silently but with no visible evidence of her old antipathy and he felt slightly reassured. In his memory her face had been pared by pregnancy sickness, but now her cheeks were more fully curved and touched with pink. She actually looked younger than before and the sight of her filled his eyes.

He became aware of the pressure of Lain’s gaze and said, “Why couldn’t Glo have had more time?”

Lain shrugged, an unexpectedly casual gesture for one who had been so close to the Lord Philosopher. “Have you had confirmation about the ascent?”

“Yes. It’s at the tenth hour.”

“I know that. I mean, are you definitely going?”

“Of course!” Toller glanced up at the netted sky and the nacreous morning crescent of Overland. “I’m all set to tackle Glo’s invisible mountains.”

Gesalla looked amused and interested. “What does that mean?”

“We know the atmosphere thins out between the two worlds,” Toller said. “The rate of attenuation has been roughly measured by sending up gas balloons and observing their expansion through calibrated telescopes. It is something which has to be verified by the proving flight, of course, but we believe the air is plenteous enough to sustain life, even at the midpoint.”

“Listen to the newly-fledged expert,” Lain said.

“I’ve had the best teachers,” Toller replied, unoffended, turning his attention back to Gesalla. “Lord Glo said the flight was comparable to climbing to the peak of one invisible mountain and descending from another.”

“I never gave him credit for being a poet,” Gesalla said.

“There are many things for which he will never receive credit.”

“Yes — like taking in that gradewife of yours when you went off to play soldiers,” Lain put in. “Whatever became of her, anyway?”

Toller gazed at his brother for a moment, puzzled and saddened by the hint of malice in his tone. Lain had asked him the same question some time ago, and now it seemed he was bringing up the subject of Fera for no other reason than that it had always been a sore point with Gesalla. Was it possible that Lain was jealous of his “little brother” having earned a place on the proving flight, the greatest scientific experiment of the age?

“Fera soon got bored with life in the Peel and went back into the city to live,” Toller said. “I presume she is in good circumstances — I hope she is — but I haven’t tried to find out. Why do you ask?”

“Ummm… Idle curiosity.”

“Well, if your curiosity extends as far as my term in the army I can assure you that the word ‘play’ is highly inappropriate. I…”

“Be quiet, you two,” Gesalla said, placing a hand on each man’s arm. “The ceremony begins.”

Toller fell silent in a fresh confusion of emotions as the burial party arrived from the direction of the house. In his will Glo had stated his preference for the shortest and simplest ceremony that could be accorded a Kolcorronian aristocrat. His cortege consisted only of Lord Prelate Balountar, followed by four dark-robed suffragens bearing the cylindrical block of white gypsum in which Glo’s body had already been encased. Balountar, with head thrust forward and black vestments draping a bony figure, resembled a raven as he slow-marched to the circular hole which had been bored into the bedrock of the cemetery.

He intoned a short prayer, consigning Lord Glo’s discarded shell to the parent body of the planet for reabsorption, and calling for his spirit to be given a safe passage to Overland, followed by a fortuitous rebirth and a long and prosperous life on the sister world.

Toller was troubled by guilt as he watched the lowering of the cylinder and the sealing of the hole with cement poured from a decorated urn. He wanted to be torn by sadness and grief on parting with Glo for ever, but his wayward consciousness was dominated by the fact that Gesalla — who had never touched him before — had allowed her hand to remain resting on his arm. Did it signal a change in her attitude towards him, or was it incidental to some twist in her relationship with Lain, who in turn had been acting strangely? And underlying everything else in Toller’s mind was the pounding realisation that he was soon to ascend so far into the sky’s blue dome that he would pass beyond the reach of even the most powerful telescopes.

He was relieved, therefore, when the brief ceremony drew to a close and the knots of mourners — most of them blood relatives — began to disperse.

“I must return to the base now,” he said. “There are many things yet to be.…” He left the sentence unfinished as he noticed that the Lord Prelate had separated himself from his entourage and was approaching the trio. Assuming that Balountar’s business had to be with Lain, Toller took a discreet step backwards. He was surprised when Balountar came straight to him, close-set eyes intent and furious, and flicked him on the chest with loosely dangling fingers.

“I remember you,” he said, “Maraquine! You’re the one who laid hands on me in the Rainbow Hall, before the King.” He flicked Toller again, clearly intending the gesture to be offensive.

“Well, now that you have evened the score,” Toller said easily, “may I be of service to you, my lord?”

“Yes, you can rid yourself of that uniform — it is an offence to the Church in general and to me in particular.”

“In what way does it offend?”

“In every way! The very colour symbolises the heavens, does it not? It flaunts your intention to defile the High Path, does it not? Even though your evil ambition will be thwarted, Maraquine, those blue rags are an affront to every right-thinking citizen of this country.”

“I wear this uniform in the service of Kolcorron, my lord. Any objections you have to that should be presented directly to the King. Or to Prince Leddravohr.”