The Empire of Glass - Andy Lane [47]
"We are safe, aren't we?" Vicki asked.
"Do not worry," Albrellian said. "Biomorphic code recognize will they my."
"Are you sure?" She hoped that her voice didn't sound as nervous to Albrellian as it did to her.
"Before it has worked. Of leaving the island us disapprove do they, but when we do, shoot down us can hardly they." Albrellian sounded smug. "After all, do not a war to start want they."
"Want who?"
"Braxiatel and his Jamarian cronies."
Before Vicki could ask who Braxiatel was, Albrellian folded his wings and dived towards a balcony halfway up one of the towers.
Vicki suppressed a scream as the bland, curved surface rushed towards them. At the last moment Albrellian flung his wings wide open to brake their descent. A flurry of air forced Vicki to close her eyes. She felt Albrellian release her legs and then, as her feet swung to touch the ground, her arms. She opened her eyes to find him settling calmly on the balcony in front of her. Behind him was an opening screened by a transparent shield through which Vicki could see a luxuriously appointed apartment with glowing computer screens and control surfaces.
"Home to welcome my," Albrellian said.
Vicki folded her arms. "And do you want to tell me why you've brought me here?"
"Would have realized by now hoped I would you," Albrellian said.
"It is because love you I."
A rat swam straight at the view screen of Braxiatel's skiff as the vessel left the Grand Canal, peering at the tiny camera lens as if it could actually see inside. The vessel accelerated past the creature, knocking it aside, and Braxiatel caught a last sight of its little legs scrabbling away ineffectually as it tumbled in the skiff's turbulent wake.
At least, he hoped it was a rat. It might have been the Devgherrian Envoy out for a night on the town. Braxiatel had left instructions with his Jamarian staff that none of the envoys were allowed off the island, but the envoys knew full well that the Jamarians had no power to stop them. Some of them respected Braxiatel's instructions, but others - and Albrellian was a prime example -
were out every night.
Braxiatel couldn't blame them. After all, he was living in Venice rather than on Laputa because he didn't like being cooped up.
A quick check of the monitor screens showed no gondolas or fishing vessels around, so Braxiatel accelerated through the murky water of the lagoon. Up on the surface a wake would be forming, but there was no one around to see it, apart perhaps from some foolhardy swimmer. Braxiatel waited for a few seconds, just long enough for the ever-present mists to draw in and hide the land, and then he ran his hands across the controls. The skiff's course changed, angling up toward the surface. The water grew lighter, bluer, until, in a sudden flurry of foam, the skiff broke the surface and continued smoothly upward into the sky. Within moments the waves had vanished into the mist below, and the skiff was cruising at seagull height.
Braxiatel sighed and leaned back in his chair. It was a lovely day out there. Best make the most of it: things were bound to go rapidly downhill once he got to Laputa.
Galileo's mouth and nostrils were full of salt water, and his lungs were burning with the desire to breathe. The sudden plunge into the cold lagoon had disoriented him completely: he didn't know which way was up and which was down. His arms and legs flailed wildly, involuntarily, churning up the water and confusing him even more as bubbles and sediment roiled in all directions. The desperate urge to breathe was like a huge lump in his throat, and his heart was pounding against his ribs hard enough to break them. He could feel the wild pumping of blood in his ears and his neck and his temples. Red-flecked darkness crowded around him, pressing insistently upon his ever-weakening thoughts. He could feel his movements becoming weaker, his