After an hour or so, the novelty of the experience had worn off and Seymour grew bored.  They had been passing over an uninteresting span of grassland for some while now, and he had tired of finding shapes in the clouds.

                “When do you expect we shall arrive in Waelyngar?”

                “Four thirty, if the weather cooperates,” replied the Alt-Mage.

                He tried to sleep, but he couldn’t shut off his thoughts—not in the middle of the day with the sun shining on his face.  His legs were restless, and he was beginning to become aware of how very small the space was.  It was much too confined for a nearly seven-foot-tall Aechyed.  He had lost circulation in his legs.

                Mialina noticed his discomfort.  “Would you like me to knock you out?” she asked.

                “What would that entail?”

                She snapped her fingers and a spark of blue appeared at their tips.  “Magic.  Nodzink painful,” she assured him.

                “Yes, then.  Please.”

                She leaned forward and pressed the spark gently into his temple.  The world faded away into darkness.

*   *   *

They landed in Waelyngar at a quarter to five on account of a mild, but unexpected, headwind.  Newly awakened and a bit disoriented, Seymour blinked at the window as the carriage landed with a bump on the ground.  The glass shuddered in its frame and something black flew by, gone so quickly that it blurred in his memory.

                The carriage came to a halt at the entrance of a white-washed inn.  They disembarked and unloaded their possessions, carrying them up to their rooms.  Mialina and Alasdair declared their intention to rest a while, leaving Henry and Seymour to entertain themselves.

                “Walk with me?” Seymour asked him.

                Henry shrugged.  “Why not?”

                The Aechyed detective and the young Lord of Carvil left the inn and set off up the steep hill toward Waelyngar’s famed citadel-tower, which perched on the edge of the bluff on which the city was built.  They passed through small, cobblestone plazas centered with circles of greenery and wound through narrow alleyways with overhanging buildings.

                “Are you sure this is the way?”

                “Certainly,” replied Seymour.  “By logic, as long as we’re going uphill, we are on course.  No guarantee I’ll remember how to get us back, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.  Don’t worry.”

                “I always worry,” Henry declared with blunt honesty. 

                “I noticed.”

The End

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