A few bioluminescent lamps lighted discreetly the main cabin, which was ten yards long and five wide, narrowing slightly at the ends, following the dirigible shape. The floor was made of wood, the walls the same, and the woodworking was perfect; not a joint could be seen.

Well, elves! said the spy to himself.

Two rows of arm-chairs and sofas were aligned along the walls, their feet stuck in specially designed sockets, each sofa or armchair near a rounded window through which only darkness was to be seen. On the front side, a small room, with its door open. It was the control room; it was clear enough from the big steering wheel, many levers, and the two elves that looked at them with a lot of curiosity. On the opposite side, there was another door, from the humming noise, they guessed that behind that door was the engine room.

Seeing that the seats could be removed from the sockets by unlocking a lever, Diago asked the elf:

“Help me make some room for the horse.”

In a shorter time than you’d need to say “dirigible,” a large space was arranged for Pumpkin, and Diago pulled his war-stead to his new accommodation, putting a feeding sack over his head. The horse didn't look at all disturbed by the flying; on the contrary, before he accepted the bag, he gave a mean look to the two elven pilots and neighed, showing all his white and large teeth. The pilots jumped up, frightened, and turned their eyes back to the controls. Istaìnn could have sworn he heard the stead giggle.

“Keep him quiet, please, we had enough trouble already!” sneered the elf with the letter. “It’s the first time we take an animal aboard!”

“All this would be easier if you install a mechanical ramp,” proposed Feyra.

“Hydraulic, sis, hydraulic,” objected Heyra.

“When you have some spare time, look around and see what you could be improved,” suggested the spy, obviously meaning the girls should do a little technological spying for the sake of the City. He even blinked to them to underline the hidden meaning.

“I’m curious to see the engine,” said Heyra.

“The engine is a very delicate thing, better left undisturbed,” rushed to say the elf.

“Delicate? You can hit it with a hammer, and it will still work!”

That voice belonged to a sturdy man with a huge beard who just appeared from the engine room. He closed the door behind and sat on a couch.

A dwarf! exclaimed Istaìnn in his thoughts, and probably he wasn’t the only one.

“Engineer Ulfsen, Ph.D., to your service,” the bearded man introduced himself. “I’ve heard your ladyships’ suggestions, most interesting. The engine, I’ll show it to you in the morning, now we risk losing a finger. Did you study at the Ohst-University, my ladies?”

“They are guest lecturers now!” stated Istainn emphatically, wanting to praise the objects of his affection, friendship, and unclean thoughts. “They got their first Ph.D. at sixteen, the second at seventeen, and…”

“And we abandoned the third for more practical endeavors. Ph.D.’s are just words on a paper,” declared Heyra. “We have plenty of Ph.D.’s at the university, but just ask for a good plumber, and he will make an appointment for you in six months. But this is another subject, what I’m most interested in, now, is to know if the engine works purely on rock-oil distillate or with steam as well?”

“It’s a hybrid, your Ph. D.’-ness,” replied Ulfsen with the utmost respect. “And we have a mechanical resort on top of that, just in case we have to sneak. A flywheel battery like the one you use on your ferries. It has about an hour of autonomy.”

“Sneak? How can you sneak with such a big thing?” asked Feyra, surprised.

“During the night, it’s obvious how, but during daylight, it is painted in camouflage, like a cloud. We don’t like people to look at us like a flying circus.”

“Ulfsen, I need to throw some water from the ballast tanks,” spoke one of the pilots. “That creature is hefty!”

“Sure, do it!” approved the dwarf.

Heyra, meanwhile, had raised and examined the flying controls from the doorstep.

“Misters Elves?” she asked.

“Yes?” one of them replied.

“Why are you not sitting?” she asked again.

“If we go back and sit, how are we supposed to pilot this thing?” laughed the pilot.

“Well, you could bring two chairs into your cabin,” suggested the princess.

“Elves are stoic; we don’t need comfort!” said pompously the elf with the letter.

“Goodness! We never thought about that! Thank you, miss!” exclaimed the second pilot, hitting his head with his hand.

“I don’t remember you being our chief, Rheldoriel! Get lost!” the first pilot smirked at the snob elf while carrying back a chair.

“I could think about an automatic flying system for you,” proposed Heyra. “Something to block the wheel but compensate for the wind and correct the path. It will take a few days, though.”

The spy looked with pride at her and disdain at Rheldoriel, then tried to find a comfortable position on the couch, next to his friend Lau. The latter had fallen asleep in under one minute from the moment he got inside the blimp.

I have to check in the morning, but the dwarf looks taller than Lau, he thought before he fell asleep too. Diago followed his friends’ example, laying on two arm-chairs put face to face. Soon all three men were sleeping and snoring.

On their coach, the girls were still awake and having a sisters’ moment. Feyra elbowed her twin and pointed toward the spy with her chin.

“He’s madly in love with you,” she whispered.

“I’ve noticed…,” Heyra sighed. “Yet, he kind of undresses you with his eyes. And in the Forest, you two were yapping together all the time. I’ve seen it before. The queen of ice, Feyra, runs away from romance but only attracting more attention by her attitude. Remember that poor kid who asked you for a kiss, and you’ve told him that you want to reproduce only at thirty, in a controlled environment and that you’ll ask for a pre-marital contract?”

“I was fourteen, sis! But anyway, you don’t have to be jealous,” protested Feyra. “I care very deeply about him, but as a friend, that’s all. But maybe you can have mercy and give him his proper reward, no? Like you intended for Diago…” she stung her sister at her turn.

Heyra blushed.

“Goodness! I cannot believe I had a crush on him… It looks like it was a century ago, not days. Even those poems sounded romantic to me.”

“Oh, thank you very much for reminding me about his poetry! I feel like a dove who is torn apart; remember that line? Still haunts me…”

“Regarding Istaìnn…” Heyra continued, “I don’t know. I just don’t know... If it would be only by the looks, I do fancy him. He’s that type of thin, nervous, brown hair and eyes guy I always had a liking for, but his other qualities make me ponder…”

“What are you talking about?” frowned Feyra. “He saved our asses, he fought a score of mercenaries and an evil wizard by himself, he found all sorts of cunning plans to keep our party going… He’s cute and sweet, and…”

“Exactly. He made so many heroic gestures for us... well, some stupid or funny ones too, but nevermind, so many gestures that I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I care very deeply about him; I don’t want to tell him at some point: sorry, you are not the one. Or even worse, to get into a relationship that will break one day just because we rushed to it. I’ll wait until I’m sure he’s the one. That’s better for him and me! But you, on the other hand, be careful, you’re blushing a lot when you talk about him, and that friendship you’re talking about, well, looks a lot like a crush to me.”

“I told you, it’s just friendship!” protested Feyra. “I see you are not reasonable, so better, let’s go to sleep!” she said abruptly, turning her back at her sister.

“Plop... plop... plop... Hm! Is there some rain on the window, or an icy heart melting?” asked Heyra rhetorically, before receiving an elbow in her ribs. She turned her back to her sister as well, and they both fell asleep on the soft buzz of the engine and the three manly snores.