In a louder voice, he said "We're on our way, folks. Hang on; it may get a little rough, but it's nothing we can't handle."

The Technologist pulled the left-hand lever upwards. Grimm felt a brief pang of anxiety, as the vehicle jerked upwards and rocked from side to side, while Foster wiggled a stick at his right side.

"Sorry about that, folks. The collective's a little jerky; must be the cold. Ah, it seems all right now."

The roar increased as the pilot twisted the lever at his left hand, and the vehicle moved smoothly upwards. Grimm looked out of a small window beside him, and he felt a shock of dismay as he saw the prostrate forms of four horses lying on the mountainside. He felt moved to cry out to Foster to save the poor animals, and he wondered how he and his companions would reach Glabra without them, but he realised that the small metal craft had insufficient space for the mounts.

In any case, the sensitive animals were probably dead by now.

The chopping sound smoothed to a steady, chattering beat, and Foster moved the right-hand stick forward. The vehicle's nose tilted downwards, and it began to move forwards at an increasing rate.

"Next stop, Haven!" Foster cried in a cheery, confident tone loud enough to be heard over the roar pervading the structure. Grimm looked out of his window to see a field of fluffy clouds far below him; a strange vista indeed. The insubstantial celestial structures seemed to map out an alien landscape that subtly modified its boundaries and borders as he watched.

He stole a glance at his companions: Drex wore a broad, wondering smile on her face; Crest looked bewildered but unafraid; Xylox's lips moved silently in what Grimm took to be curses against the whole damned art of Technology; and the imperturbable Tordun seemed to be asleep.

Grimm marvelled at the strange, complex machine and its mastery of the air, but the rattling and shaking of the craft and the loud noises thrumming through its very structure made the marvellous aerial trip a far from relaxing experience.