Through Vince''s huge birdwatching spyglass, Quinn was able to see the boats in the harbor fish his brother out of the water. Claire Aden was sobbing when he brought the good news to the two princesses, and even Kiera sighed with relief. Alone, Quinn began the long descent along the cacophony of bridges that spanned White Chasm. He found Seth at a tavern about halfway down, chugging pitchers of ale with a trio of sailors. Quinn recognized the dim, crowded stone tavern, cut into the western bluff, from his first visit to midtown with Seth and Maxius. Quinn almost didn''t recognize his own brother sitting at the bar because he was dressed like a sailor.


    "Ahoy brother!" Seth cried when he saw Quinn standing at the bar. "Did you see my flight?"


    "The whole city saw it," Quinn reported. "I''ve even heard fanciful tales saying that you were glowing like the sun, though by the time I arrived at the edge of the cliffs you had already hit the water."


    "Those tales are not fanciful," one of the sailors said. "I saw it with my own eyes."


    "Aye," another of the sailors said. This one was quite a bit older, and dressed like a ship''s captain. "I ain''t ever seen nothing like it. A man flying through the sky like a bird, glowing like the sun."


    Seth beckoned Quinn to come closer. Quinn walked beyond his brother, to the space between the next barstool over, and leaned over to listen.


    "Brother," Seth whispered. "I heard her voice again."


    "What voice?" Quinn asked.


    "That voice. Remember? Heritor Maxius the Elder seemed to know what it was. That voice I heard in my head. I heard it again, as I was flying the kite down through the chasm."


    "That''s not possible," Quinn whispered. "There should have been nobody near you as you flew. What did this voice say?"


    "I told you, the voice was in my head. It was a girl''s voice, child-like, delicate even. It sounded a bit like wind chimes. She named me ''fire soul.'' She said something like, ''Heed my command, fire soul, inspire them!''"


    Quinn glanced suspiciously at his brother''s huge tankard of ale. "Are you sure that''s not the beer playing with your memories?"


    "I felt like she was there with me, brother. Flying with me. Guiding me between the bridges and out into the harbor. And they say I was glowing, Quinn. Glowing like the sun."


    "This is pointless," Quinn said. "You said you heard a voice, and that you were glowing. Very well. I''ll accept that. But it doesn''t change the fact that you almost died."


    A tavern girl walked behind the bar with a platter of tankards, and with a gesture from Quinn she deposited one beside Seth''s own.


    "So what went wrong?" Quinn asked as he plucked the tankard off the bar and took a sip. It wasn''t very good, bitter and mildly sour.


    "My ability to control it was too limited," Seth replied. "I tried to reach down and adjust the jackscrew, but my hands were locked in place by the rigging."This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "That seems like a bad idea. The rear wing is what prevents the thing from diving nose-first into the ground."


    "Right, but that''s exactly what I needed this morning. What I really wanted, what I really needed during that flight, was control. I wished that I could pitch the nose up and down, or roll the wings, or even move the nose left or right. Merely shifting my weight around wasn''t enough to overcome the wind."


    "So you are saying you want to be able to choose to initiate a nosedive?"


    "I want the thing to fly straight if I''m not touching anything. However, if I choose to change directions, then there should be a mechanism that allows it."


    "Imagine that you are flying the kite now," Quinn said. "And let''s say you want to initiate a nosedive. What do you do?"


    "Another thing," Seth said. "I don''t think it''s safe to be strapped to the kite with all that rigging. These sailors needed to use a knife to cut me loose."


    "Right, one problem at a time. Imagine that your barstool is hanging from the bottom of the kite, and you can jump out at any time. You want to go down. What do you do?"


    Seth reached forward and put both hands on the handle of his tankard. "Very well. Imagine that this beer is with me while I am flying."


    "I would highly recommend against it," Quinn said dryly.


    "So if I wanted to go down, then I would tip the tankard forward with the handle, like this." When he tipped the beer forward, a little bit escaped over the far lip and splashed down on the bar. "A great tragedy, to lose so much beer. Anyways, now that I have pushed forward, the kite should now be pointing down at the ground."


    "And then when you release the pressure on your tankard, the kite should return to a neutral position?"


    "That''s a good question," Seth said, reeling. "Ask me when I''m not three beers deep."


    They rented a room in the tavern to avoid hiking up to the fjord while drunk. It was dimly-lit, all stone carved into the mountain, and furnished with a pair of cheap wooden beds and dull red rugs. The next morning Quinn was awakened by a knock at the door. Groggily, he stalked across the rugs barefoot to answer. It was the plump bartender from the night before, holding a rolled broadsheet in one hand, which he offered to Quinn.


    "Your brother''s made the front page," the man said. Then he waddled off down the hallway out of sight.


    The front page of the broadsheet featured a wood-cut caricature of Seth''s kite, with stubby little wings and no tail, flying straight forward, through a narrow gap between the two cliff faces, with a cacophony of bridges looming ominously in the distance. Quinn began reading.


    Suicidal University Student Crashes Flying Machine: Yesterday morning, a student enrolled at the University of White Chasm crashed a small flying machine into the White Chasm Harbor, after descending through the entire city in front of thousands of witnesses. According to eyewitness reports, the pilot had no method of controlling the craft, and he was completely at the mercy of the winds. Our very own Princess Claire Aden was witness to the event, and she had this to say, "The wind carried him away like a child''s balloon, up and up, until he reached the chasm and he was sucked down and out of sight. I was terrified!"


    University meteorologists say that air normally flows out of the fjord down into the chasm, carrying clouds and birds with it. On his perilous journey, the student in question miraculously dodged hundreds of individual bridges before gliding down into the harbor, where his flying machine broke apart, and where he was rescued by the nearby vessels. Expert statisticians from the University of White Chasm estimate that the boy''s odds of survival were one in a million.


    Professor Atlas vin Truscae, an expert in the special science of ethermancy, had this to say, "The only flying machines that are known to be safe, are the lighter-than-air machines, such as hot air balloons and airships. We have a special graveyard for students that died attempting to fly on other types of flying machine. The human body was never meant to fly. It''s remarkable that he survived the ordeal."


    Quinn wanted to scream. "Those idiots!" he hissed. "They twisted it all out of proportion! Father Winter, those damn journalists. They don''t know anything at all!"