Powell gripped the Steel Comet’s wheel, looking through the slanted front window down at his feet. Three hundred feet below, a wagon train snaked through the streets of Ethinium, the words “Ned’s Textiles” painted on their sides in large letters.

From this height, the words were not visible, but they showed up just fine while looking through his binoculars.

Powell had found them quickly, and for that stroke of luck he felt grateful. His leather earphones, one set askew so he could hear things on the bridge, had clattered away the details from RVS HQ only moments ago.

Slowly he clicked back a response in his unskilled hands over the wireless key on the bridge: “GOT . . . THEM . . . STOP.”

Then he walked to the side door in the passenger compartment, opened it and fired his flare gun out, the bulk of the dirigible being above the cabin and thus preventing him from shooting straight up.

This was prearranged. If the Rangers below were watching his airship, they would see the signal and head this way. If they weren’t, somebody from RVS HQ would presumably tell them.

Either way, his part of the job was over. Now he gripped the wheel, watching the wagons through the slanted glass windshield. He adjusted the throttles down, slowing his airship to a crawl as the lead wagon waited in line at an intersection for a peeler to direct traffic.

He could hover above the wagons all day long, serving as a guiding star for the team below. This part of the assignment, at least, was easy.

Ordinarily such a job would prove too boring for him to accept, and he would have dismissed the offer out of hand. But Sir Coulter had asked him personally, offering to pay several times his normal rate.

The otherworlder had said something about providing “air support.” Powell understood what he meant by the term, but had never heard it before.

“Air support won’t come cheap, lad,” Powell had told him.

But Sir Coulter only grinned and said, “I didn’t expect it to.”

It was only after they negotiated a (high) price, that Ripley sprung two passengers on him. Powell protested, but the man held firm.

That was when Powell realized he had been had. He would have asked for even more had he known passengers were involved.

Maybe the man is from another world, Powell thought. But he’s a wily one, that lad.

“Are they at a stopping place, Mr. Powell?” a seductive female voice said behind him.

He jumped in his seat. The voice was soft and sugary, with a slight Hungarian accent.

How the two sisters, the passengers Coulter insisted on, could move around the bridge so quietly, Powell did not know. It freaked him out, while at the same time stirring a strange excitement that unsettled him.

Must be a skill, he thought. Both the silent movement and the general effects on me. The next time Sir Coulter comes sniffing around for an airship, I’m charging him double up front.

“Yes. Your team should be here soon, lass.”

He would forgo honorifics, Powell thought. No “miladies” or “madams.”

After all, they’re on my ship.

“Good,” Liza said, stepping around from behind the pilot’s chair where he had been sitting. She smiled down at him, seeming to enjoy their temporary height difference. “We will go now to intercept them.”

“You will . . . what? What do you mean, ‘go now?’ I’m not landing this thing in the city. One stray breeze would run us into a building or something. And I was not told I’d be dipping lower than our current altitude. Sir Coulter said nothing about a landing or dropping you lasses off anywhere!”

Liza laughed, as if he had made a joke.

Hilda appeared suddenly, surprising Powell and making him jump in his seat again.

“Oh, Mr. Powell. You are so funny, sometimes. And you are not married, correct? Only one of the men on our team is single now that that cruel noblewoman took our leader away and trapped him in holy matrimony.”

“Uh . . . No, I’m married to this ship.”

Both the girls laughed again.

Powell frowned in confusion. He felt certain that he was not trying to be funny.

“We have so enjoyed the ride, Mr. Powell,” Liza said. “You are the best airship pilot we have ever met.”

“Yes,” Hilda said. “We must do this again sometime. Maybe you can bring us to Budapest, when we are ready to go home.”

“And you must stay there with us. For a long, long time. You would be treated so very well as our guest.”

Powell felt the tips of his ears growing red.

This has got to be a skill.

“Uh . . . sure, ladies. I charge a hefty fare, though. The Steel Comet is no common ferry, and I don’t do passenger runs very often, mind you. I prefer carrying cargo, which generally remains quiet and stays out of my hair.”

They laughed again, as if he were the funniest man they knew. This confused him further because Powell indeed charged exorbitant rates.

Certainly everybody knows that, he thought.

Hilda ran her fingers playfully through his hair.

Before he could react to that stunning breach of decorum, the sisters turned and left the bridge, heading for the side door. It remained open in the passenger compartment.

“Wait! Where are you . . . leapin’ lizards!”

He jumped up and chased after them, just in time to see them both hop out the door.

He slowed and approached the doorway cautiously, looking down at the streets and rooftops below. Tiny dark pinpricks sailed away as the girls fell.

“I could have at least brought us down a bit lower. Can enhanced people survive a fall this high?”