The dwarf waked them in the late morning by coughing loud and on purpose. He had prepared a tray with cookies, awful ones, and a thermos with an abhorrent coffee.

Pig dung color and tasting like the dishwater thought the spy

Heyra squirmed when she touched the cup; her hands were sour from a very ugly abrasion. She had been the only one who didn’t use a handkerchief when pulling on the ropes of the dirigible, and the contact with the hot coffee cup had hurt a lot.

“Oh, poor you!” exclaimed the spy, taking her cup off, then taking her hands and blowing air to the red palms. Suddenly, they felt like their hands were glued together, and his breath became a soothing haze. The redness in her palms was gone, but it had transferred to both their cheeks.

“Thank you!” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “To be honest, it worked on its own… I wish so much to understand how this magic thing works…”

After the awful breakfast, each tried to do something to kill time because there was quite a lot of time to kill. Lau went back to sleep; the coffee didn’t have any effect on him. Diago looked on the window, and Istaìnn looked at the girls. They began exploring the ship, arguing with the dwarf about different technologies for pistons, fuel pumps, and various parts the spy never heard about and didn’t want to hear, but loved seeing their prettiness heated by the arguments.

Istaìnn guess was right; the dwarf was as tall, if not an inch taller than Lau. He had estimated his height by looking at him next to the girls. When Feyra looked back and him, he blushed and turned his sight to the Forest below. Now he felt ashamed by his thoughts about her. The healing moment with Heyra had been so magical that he thought he owed her his undivided attention and affection. And, so each doing its own business, time passed.

They had a second serving of the abominable cookies at noon, but they refused the coffee and instead chose plain water. Then again, long hours of boredom ensued. Dozing or staring through the windows was all they can do, and they found out that even doing nothing can be tiresome in the proper context.

The evening arrived, and except for Lau, who demonstrated constant sleepiness again, the rest were unable to sleep anymore and concentrated on the landscape. Below, the Forest was like a sea. Endless, undulating from the wind on the hills beneath. Going from north to south, a thin clearing interrupted it, going to the north and south. On it, two thin parallel metal lines. A carriage was exhaling smoke, speeding on them.

“Our railway,” said Ulfsen. A lengthy debate ensued between him and the girls about the benefices and the downside of such an investment.

“You’ll see, soon it will be inevitable,” said the dwarf. “We dwarves need more rock oil, you, our minerals. It will be either commerce or war. If you win back the city, it will be the first; if the plotters win, the latter. We suspect that those plotters are planning an expansion war. That’s why Faredhiel and I decided to support you. You are decent people; with you, we can open our countries to commerce.”

“Of course!” exclaimed Feyra. “War is barbaric!”

“I hate to break it to you,” stated Rheldoriel, the letter elf, “but humans are barbarians.”

“Oh, don’t mind him, he's a racist snob!” intervened a pilot. “We’ve arrived; please be sited until we anchor.”

Gradually, the Forest had thinned. Many fields, orchards, and farms made the transition between the Forest and an amenable city, with large avenues, tall trees, and houses built around and in those trees. The dirigible headed for a nearby hill, on its flat top was the aerodrome and a castle, and there were at least twenty more dirigibles on that field, some considerably larger, tied to masts. From a hangar nearby, a score of elves ran forward, catching the ropes the dirigible threw, pulling them, connecting them to masts. In no time, the door opened, and the ramp was lowered again.

“You could build the door to be the actual ramp, you know!” said Heyra while descending.

“The dirigible is dwarf technology, the ramp elven technology!” replied Ulfsen, with acrimony. “Two planks are about all they could figure. We so much need access to the human workforce market! If you give elven mechanics a dirigible to repair, they’ll break it in no time.”

Istaìnn just laughed, seeing Rheldoriel’s offended face. The rest smiled too. The only one not in a good mood there was Pumpkin. As soon he reached the ground, he neighed and broke the bridle, running toward the end of the field and some trees.

“What’s with him? Is he going mad?” asked Rheldoriel with apprehension. “Will he kill people?”

“He needs to relieve himself, elf!” replied Diago, pissed off. “He’s a civilized horse; he never does it in public! He stoically waited for it, all the trip. That toilet of yours is way too small for him. Don’t mind him; he’ll just graze here afterward. I see plenty of grass. As long no one’s bothering him, everyone is safe.”

“Let’s hope so. Now come, I’ll escort you to our king.”

They crossed the airfield and went to the castle. From far, it had looked majestic, and it was still magnificent frim close, but a lot of its plaster had fallen off.

“It needs a paint job,” remarked the spy.

“It’s called patina; it’s a cultural thing!” replied Feyra, offended by his constant attacks on the elven culture she so much admired.

To their surprise, the castle had no guards, and on all corridors, elves were running around with books in their hands. After a long and tiring route through the palace, they reached their destination, the top of the tallest tower, and when they did, they were panting because there was no escalator, only the stairs. Rheldoriel showed them the door, a useless gesture because it was the only one around, and went back to his whatever business, looking happy to be as far from humans as possible.

They knocked and entered. The chamber looked very strange for a royal apartment. Round and big, it’s walls covered in bookcases. A round metal dome was slightly open and a huge telescope spying the sky through that opening in its middle. The telescope platform contained the only other furniture safe the bookcases: a small bureau, a chair, and a simple bed with disordered sheets.

A tall silhouette turned to them, a good looking middle age elf gentleman. He had black hair, with some silver lines, tied in a pony-tail, wire-framed glasses on his nose, and – noted Istainn - a beard at least three days old.

They all saluted politely, bowing deeply.

“Your majesty!” said both girls, curtsying.

The elf giggled, went to his desk, opened a drawer, and extracted a few dusty bottles.

“Hi, all. Glad to have you here. A bear, cuz?”

Those words were directly addressed to the spy.