In the chamber above the bridge, Tana Antallan gave the command to the Orb of Propulsion and the dull red glow that lit it from within grew fractionally brighter. A moment later the image in the scrying mirror showed the dull white globe of the Ship of Space rising slowly out of its cradle like a conjurer's trick, edging its way slowly closer to the open doorway. It squeezed through the opening with just a foot or two's clearance on every side (the moon trogs believed in making every doorway as small as possible, in case of catastrophic air leaks) and then they were in the shaft. A hundred and twenty yards long and thirty yards wide, its mirror smooth sides testifying to the magic spells used to create it. The image in the mirror showed the ship rising into the ceiling and passing out of sight.

     Saturn gave a command, and the image changed to show a scene of the moon's craggy, lifeless surface; a crazy jumble of blinding white and midnight black. Sharp edged and jagged, painful for the eyes to look at for long. Thomas felt his heart pounding and his stomach fluttering with excitement as he searched the scene for the entrance to the shaft, and his eye settled on a large patch of blackness in the centre of the image. When the ship finally rose into view, though, looking like a pale ghost rising from a forgotten grave, it did so from behind a boulder the size of a house streaked with the blues and greens of mineral ores. We're in space! he thought in breathless excitement. We're in space! Wait 'till I tell Elmias!

     He fidgeted with energy, unable to sit still, and Saturn shot him a warning glance. "Did I make a mistake allowing you to sit with us?" he snapped. "If you cannot control yourself, kindly leave."

     "I'm sorry, master," said Thomas. He made an attempt to sit still, but his heart continued to hammer and his eyes glowed as he watched the beautiful, awesome, wonderful image in the mirror.

     Saturn handed the Coronet of Farspeaking to Rin Wellin, telling him to remain in contact with the harbourmaster, then replaced it with the Helm of Farsensing. Eventually there would be six of the magical helmets, one for every member of the bridge crew and one for the orbmaster, but Weeden Jart was still working on the others and only expected to be able to complete one every two weeks, maybe even longer if he encountered problems. For now, therefore, Saturn was the only one aboard who knew where they were and where they were going, a situation that didn't seem to trouble him overmuch..

     The wizard closed his eyes to concentrate for a few minutes, then gave a series of instructions to the orbmaster, carried to him by the permanent magic spells that transmitted all sounds in the bridge through the solid steel deck into the chamber above, while at the same time blocking all sound travelling in the opposite direction. The shae folk weren't taking any chances of the humans hearing something that might give them some clue as to the creation and operation of their magical orbs. Hearing Saturn's commands, therefore, Tana Antallan made an adjustment to the glowing Orb and the great globular ship slowly began to turn, tilting over onto its side.

     To Saturn, it seemed that all of space was revolving slowly around him, as if the universe were a great black shell with him at the centre. For a moment he was disoriented, and if he'd been standing he might have staggered a few steps until he managed to grab something to steady himself, but being seated he was able to disguise his momentary nausea and gave no sign of his discomfort to the four men studying him in silent fascination.

     He gave further instructions to the orbmaster, turning the ship this way and that, until their destination, the great metal ring spinning in space, was directly above them. He then gave one final instruction and the ship began to move upwards, the direction in which the shayen Orbs of Propulsion always directed the majority of their thrust. It would have meant a major redesign, and a great deal of research, to redirect their thrust so that the Ship of Space moved horizontally, like a 'real' ship, and both the shae folk and the Lexandrian wizards had decided that it wasn't worth the bother. Inside the ship, it was impossible to tell in what direction they were moving anyway, so those members of the crew lacking the education to understand three dimensional navigation could quite happily believe they were moving horizontally without ever realising their mistake, and without needing to.

     The Orb of Propulsion glowed brighter as it delivered more power to the levitation spells until it was a fiery orange, lighting the shae man's delicate face from underneath. It was delivering only a tiny fraction of its total power, just enough to nudge them gently away from the tiny moon, but it was a constant acceleration and as time passed it would add up to a very respectable speed. When they were halfway there the ship would turn end over end until it was facing in the opposite direction, so that the same thrust would bring them to a gentle halt beside the ring some six hours later. That, at least, was the theory, but Saturn and the moon trog clerics of Caratheodory, who thought they had calculated the journey down to the last inch and the last second, were about to learn that orbital dynamics were a lot more complicated than they suspected.

     "Well, that's that," said Saturn, removing the helmet. "Tana will perform the turnover in three hours time. It's a simple enough task and doesn't need any help from us. Did you enjoy the launch, Master Gown?"

     "It was fantastic!" cried the younger wizard jubilantly. "We're doing something no-one's ever done before, even the Agglemonians! It's the most incredible experience of my life!"

     A rare smile touched Saturn's lips. "Something to tell your grandchildren about, eh? Well there's nothing for us to do for a few hours so I'm..."

     He lapsed into a thoughtful silence, and Thomas somehow knew that he was thinking about the clay man again. Could he return to Lexandria, assist in the interrogation and be back on board before they reached the ring? He imagined the calculations going on in the wizard's head. Teleport back to Kronosia, then back to Tara, then take a fast carriage to the headquarters of the Merchants' guild, that being the headquarters of the Tara branch of the Fellowship of the Golden Griffin. It contained one of the Fellowship's teleportation cubicles which would take him to the Fellowship's headquarters in Pargonn. From there, another cubicle would take him to Lexandria, or rather to the cavern deep under the Warlock's Throne where the cubicle was located as a defence against invasion.

     How long would it take the elderly wizard to levitate up the five hundred foot tunnel carved out of the living rock to reach the surface? How many times would he have to rest along the way to allow the spell to recover? Of course he would be climbing the steps when he wasn't levitating, but even so... And then, when the interrogation was over, he would have to repeat the whole journey in reverse. If he left now, thought Thomas, he might just have time to give his greetings to the Head Proctor before having to leave again.

     Evidently Saturn was reaching the same conclusion because he grimaced unhappily and slapped the armrest with his open hand. "I'll be in my cabin," he said. "Inform me immediately of any change in the ship's status." He rose from his seat and strode from the bridge, letting the door swing shut on its spring loaded hinges behind him, its rubber seal muting the loud bang that would otherwise have resulted.

     "This would seem to be a good time to take Prup Chull up on his invitation," said Timothy, glancing at everyone in turn to include them all in the comment. "Is it convenient, my friend?"

     "Eminently so," replied the moon trog in delight. "Would you like to accompany us, master shae?"

     "You honour me with your invitation," said Rin Wellin, dipping his head towards him, "but the bridge should not be left unattended, even on such a short and hopefully uneventful voyage. I shall remain here and accept your gracious invitation another time."

     "I'll look forward to it," said the moon trog as the cleric unclipped his wheelchair from its floor fastenings. "Just the three of us, then."

     Thomas fell in behind as they left the bridge, leaving the shae folk in control of the ship.

☆☆☆

     "Have we lifted yet?" asked Matthew as he slopped his paintbrush against the bulkhead, splattering paint in a pretty pattern on the bare metal. He looked at the dripping rivulets, letting his imagination run free and seeing fantastic images of trees and long legged monsters. Men on stilts and maps of strange countries. He was bored out of his mind and trying to make his own entertainment. He realised that he was setting a bad example to his men but it was either that or go completely crazy.

     "I think they've forgotten about us," said George Stone miserably. "Trained soldiers painting walls like common labourers."

     "What's happened to Bob?" asked Borlin, the only one of them who had taken to the work without complaint once he understood that complaint was futile. It wasn't that different from scrubbing the decks, after all, a task that all ships Captains seemed to think was of paramount importance. At least painting was easier on the knees. "He's been gone for ages now."

     "Butch probably caught him on his way back from the bucket and put him to work somewhere else," replied Stone enviously. Right now, any job in the universe seemed better than this one.

     Matthew looked up in sudden interest, though. If one of his men was missing, that gave him a legitimate excuse to go looking for him. He could put down the sticky paintbrush and stretch his legs. Just for a couple of minutes, of course, until he found the stray Wingman, but even a short break from the tedium of wall painting seemed to him like a gift from the Gods. "I'll go see if I can find him," he said therefore. "He may have gotten lost or something.”

     He knew it was a lame excuse even as he said it. There was no way anyone could get lost on such a small ship, but he was the senior officer and wasn't obliged to give them any explanation at all. They just stared enviously, therefore, as he wiped his hands on a rag and walked away.

     He'd only gotten as far as the intersection, however, before he was spotted by Saturn, who demanded to know where he was going. Matthew gave his excuse of looking for Fell, his heart sinking as he did so. He'd hoped to have a whole ten minutes or so in which he could walk the ship from top to bottom. He might even have met Tom, with whom he could have spent any length of time discussing 'ship's business'. Saturn would simply tell him to get back to work, though, and Matthew didn't have the spirit to argue with him right now.

     To his surprise, though, the elderly wizard looked at him strangely, as if carefully choosing his words. "Able Wingman Fell is not aboard this ship," he said at last. "He never has been."

     He then went on to give a brief account of all that had happened while the Wing Leader's face grew pale with shock. "So where is he?" Matthew demanded. "Where's the real Bobby Fell?"

     "We don't know," conceded the wizard, but with a flush of anger at the soldier's raised voice. "However, clay men usually kill their victims, to reduce the chance of discovery."

     Matthew swore violently. "This wouldn't have happened if we hadn't been stuck back there..."

     "The clay man replaced Fell before ever he came aboard this ship," said Saturn, now in open anger. "You should look to your own security arrangements before criticising ship's routine. Now return to your work before I put you on a charge for insolence."

     "Just tell be one thing," said Matthew, though. "Where's this clay man now?"

     "Back in the valley," said the old wizard. "Seskip should be conducting the interrogation right about now..."