by Dan Davis
‘Here he is,’ said Writer to everyone, her hair glowing in the sunlight.
‘Told you he wasn’t dead,’ said Keeper to Weaver.
‘That wasn’t what I was saying,’ Weaver replied.
‘You still owe me a penny,’ Keeper said.
‘Look, Archer,’ Writer said. ‘We have finished sewing up the balloon.’
It covered almost the whole of the roof, draped from edge to edge. The wind was in danger of picking up the whole thing and blowing it away.
They had weighted it down with all kinds of books and chairs and sacks of cabbages all over it. A big gust puffed up a section and some of the chairs were knocked over.
Archer was afraid the wind was going to drag the whole thing off the edge. Then the wind died down to nothing.
‘Hey, the wind has stopped,’ said Keeper. ‘Finally.’
‘You have all done so much work,’ Archer said, looking at the finished balloon and the sun still low in the sky. ‘How have you managed all this just this morning?’
Weaver laughed. Keeper looked embarrassed.
‘You slept through all of yesterday,’ said Writer, smiling. ‘We tried to wake you but were unable to rouse you at all.’
‘You were snoring like a drunk grandpa,’ said Keeper, shaking his head. ‘Wasn’t he, Burp?’
Archer was astonished.
‘That explains why I am hungrier than I ever was in my life,’ Archer said. ‘I am sorry, everyone. I did not mean to let you do all of the hard work.’
‘Well, you did all the work the day before,’ said Writer. ‘It is only fair you had a day to rest. Now, we are all ready to go, I think. Let us tie the bag to the basket and then float gently down to the ground. Then we can all walk home. Shall we?’
They struggled, heaved, and pushed the huge wicker basket up the stairs onto the roof. It took them most of the morning and it was exhausting.
It was not so much the weight of the basket as it was the awkward size and shape. Eventually they got it up and into the roof where they all stood staring at it, getting their breath back.
The wind picked up again but the air was warm and Archer stood there enjoying the feeling of it on his face. The wind rippled the balloon cloth, tossing over tables and chairs again but then it died down to nothing.
‘That wind is being strange again,’ said Keeper. ‘What’s that about?’
Archer scanned the distant horizon all around them. ‘There’s a storm brewing over to the north,’ he said, pointing it out to them. ‘We should get on with this.’
‘There’s one to the south, too,’ said Keeper, pointing at it.
Keeper was right.
The clouds to the south were gathering quickly. To the east and west of the Vale, too.
Weather usually blew in from the sea to the east, beyond Morningtree. Other times a warm wind would come from the south, bringing rain. In winter, every now and then it would come from the north and then there would be deep snow.
But that morning there was a storm was forming all around them, on every side at once. The clouds looked like they were boiling up from the trees of the Moon Forest.
Archer had never even heard of such a thing.
‘What do we do?’ Weaver said. ‘Or do you want to stare blankly into the distance a bit longer?’
‘We should hurry,’ Archer said, ignoring her needling him. ‘We must finish tying it all together. And we had better make sure we do it properly. We cannot risk the basket falling without the balloon attached.’
They tied the balloon to the basket with every length of rope that they could find. The knots they tied as tight as they possibly could.
In no time, the basket stood upright near the edge of the Tower and the bag lay draped across the roof, fluttering slightly in the wind that grew stronger every moment.
‘Get everything that we want to take into the basket,’ said Archer. ‘Then we can all jump in.’
‘But the bag needs to be filled with fire,’ said Keeper, patting Burp on the head. ‘That’s your job, Burp.’ The little dragon hissed quietly.
‘Not fire! Just the hot air that comes from fire,’ said Archer. ‘I don’t know how quickly it will start to fly once we do that. For all we know the balloon might take off right away. So to be safe we should all climb in, otherwise we might get left behind.’
When they had everything ready, they climbed inside.
All apart from Archer. He stood outside on the roof to hold the bag open at the bottom so that Burp could breathe his fire inside it.
It was a tight fit inside the basket, even without Archer in it. They had tied eight whole sacks of cabbages to the outside of the basket so that they had enough food to feed Burp’s fire. There was no telling how long it would take to drift down to the ground. They did not want to fall too fast.
‘Strange to think this used to be the Alchemist, what we’re now standing in,’ Keeper said to the others.
‘Shush,’ said Writer. ‘Don’t say things like that.’
Writer clutched the Alchemist’s spell book to her chest.
Writer noticed him looking at it and smiled.
‘I think I will get to do some magic after all,’ she said. ‘I just wish there was room in the basket to bring more of the books.’
‘I’m sure they would be very interesting,’ Archer said. He did not think books were interesting. But he did think Writer was.
‘I shall come back for them one day,’ Writer said. ‘There is so much knowledge in this Tower. The things I could do if I could learn it all.’
‘I’m never coming back here,’ said Weaver. She spat onto the roof.
‘Right, well, we haven’t even left yet so perhaps we should get on with it,’ said Archer.
He went to the mouth of the balloon and held it open with a broom handle. He ducked his head as far out of the way as possible.
‘I’m ready,’ Archer said. ‘Keeper, feed Burp a small bit of cabbage to start with and make sure his fire is aimed right into the balloon opening. Please, do not set me on fire.’
‘Well, alright,’ said Keeper, who fed tore some leaves off and fed them to Burp, who gobbled them up hungrily.
The little dragon stretched out his wiry neck and burped out a small jet of fire. It shot from his mouth right into the inside of the balloon.
The bag stirred and puffed up a bit near the mouth, then collapsed down again.
‘Yes, it’s working!’ Archer said. ‘Give him a bit more.’
Writer grinned.
Keeper gave the dragon another cabbage. Burp burped his fire and the balloon grew further. Keeper fed more and more cabbages into Burp, more than seemed possible, given how small he was. The balloon bag puffed out until it started to lift up sideways.
‘I don’t believe this is actually working,’ said Weaver. Her fingers gripped the edge of the basket.
‘Of course it’s working,’ Keeper said, pulling open another sack. ‘Good boy, Burp.’
And the little dragon fired more and more flame up inside and then the balloon was right above them, filled with hot air. It tugged gently on the stings connecting it to the rim.
The basket shifted ever so slightly on the roof.
‘Quickly, Archer,’ Writer shouted. ‘Get in before we float down without you.’
Writer and Keeper cheered as Archer threw himself over the rim and into the basket. Weaver slapped him on the back as he squeezed in between them all.
‘More. Give him more,’ Archer said, and ducked down low with everyone else in order to avoid Burp’s fire.
Every time the little dragon shot out some of his fire, the balloon above them stretched out the cloth tighter until it was completely inflated and the basket around them creaked with the strain on the ropes.
‘More,’ said Archer. ‘Give him more cabbages to eat, quickly, in case he gets full up.’
Keeper laughed. ‘He’ll never get full up,’ he said.
The basket moved beneath them once again. J
ust a tiny scrape, then it stopped.
They held their breath.
The bag tugged upwards at the basket. The basket moved again, dragging a short way across the flat roof of the Tower before it stopped.
‘What we really need,’ said Archer. ‘Is a good strong wind to blow us sideways off the roof.’
Just then the wind blew hard and the balloon was dragged closer and closer to the edge until it stopped there on the edge.
Teetering.
All of them leaned backwards towards the Tower, afraid of falling off.
‘We’re going to fall right off this roof,’ said Weaver, staring straight ahead. ‘We’re going to fall off and then we’re going to smash into the rock and then we’re going to die and the only time we’re going to feel the earth again is when we’re under it.’
‘No we’re not,’ said Archer, gritting his teeth and fearing she was right. ‘We’re going to do it. Anyway, it’s too late to go back now. More cabbages, Keeper!’
Keeper shoved whole cabbages into Burp’s mouth. Burp happily shredded them with his sharp little teeth, gulping them down greedily and then blasting fire right up into the great big sack above them.
‘Come on, wind,’ Archer yelled into the sky. ‘Let’s go!’
As he was speaking, a particularly strong gust pulled the bag sideways and yanked them out into the air. The basket swung wildly.
All of them screamed. Even Burp hissed in fear, or perhaps it was joy.
Archer peered over the edge of the basket. Below, the wall of the Tower stretched down to the rock plinth way below.
They had flown completely off the roof of the Tower and were gliding sideways in the wind. Like a leaf or a dandelion seed.
The balloon dropped.
It fell too fast.
It fell like a stone.
‘We’re done for!’ Weaver yelled. ‘I hate you, Archer.’
The white stones of the Tower rushed upwards right next to them, the air whooshing in his ears.
‘More fire!’ Archer shouted at Keeper, gripping the boy’s tunic. ‘More, more or we’ll smash into the ground.’
Keeper shoved a cabbage into Burp’s mouth and aimed it upwards. After the blast of fire, Archer peered over the edge at the white rock plinth and beneath that at the green grass and earth below rushing up toward them.
He heard another cabbage get munched and then another blast of dragon fire made him duck down. The balloon slowed and slowed but now the wind was blowing them back toward the wall of the Tower.
They were going to smash into it. Hard.
They shouted, screamed, and ducked down. Archer heard himself cry out in terror of smashing into the stone. A whiteness surrounded him.
A powerful wind pushed them the other way, outward, and outward and away from the wall.
They all let out the breaths they had been holding. Archer laughed. The others laughed with him.
But the balloon was blown out further and upward, higher and higher. Archer watched as Keeper got Burp to fire two more blasts up into the balloon before Archer recovered his wits enough.
‘That’s enough, we’re already too high,’ Archer said. ‘We want to go down, slowly. Not up to the clouds.’
Even though Burp stopped breathing fire, they went higher still. They went up, up, and away from the Tower. They looked down at it, the tables and chairs and books scattered all over the roof, getting smaller and smaller.
They soared through the air, with the white clouds above and around them and the green valley stretched out below. The whole world was underneath them.
They were free of the Tower. They were free. Free.
‘We did it,’ he whispered, turning to them he spoke louder. ‘We really did it.’
The children all cheered and grinned at each other.
‘Well done, Archer!’ said Writer, she leaned across the basket over Burp and gave him a hug. ‘A balloon really is a real thing.’ She smelled nice.
‘I always believed in it,’ said Keeper, who punched Archer in the shoulder, hard.
‘Thank you. But we all did it,’ Archer smiled at them. ‘Together.’
‘Especially Burp,’ said Keeper.
‘No doubt about that,’ said Archer. He rubbed Burp’s warm, scaly head. The dragon growled. ‘Weaver too,’ Archer smiled at her. ‘Where would we be without that?’ He pointed up at the great ball of cloth above them.
Weaver just shrugged and lowered her head but Archer knew she was smiling.
Archer very carefully stood up at the edge of the swaying basket and looked out across the valley to see where they were.
The sky above was blue and spotted with fluffy white clouds. The crops in the fields were and golden and the trees were green and brown. The Sweetwater shone like a ribbon. The hills were dotted with sheep. Smoke drifted from homes.
One of those houses, out of sight to the west, just north of Bures was where Archer’s mother, father, little brothers, and sisters were right now. The balloon drifted away from it, blown down the Vale eastwards and northwards. Still, he knew that he would be seeing his family soon. Just as soon as it floated down.
‘It’s so beautiful from up here,’ Writer whispered.
‘Apart from those storm clouds beyond the hills and over the forest,’ said Archer.
All around, on every horizon were those gathering storm clouds. Dark grey-purple and turning black. The air promised rain. It was getting colder, too, and the wind was grew stronger. He was sure of it.
Surely, they would land before the clouds reached the Vale.
He looked out to the north at the hills and the deep greens and gold of the Moon Forest. He had never before given much thought about what lay beyond the woodlands. His parents had always told him it was best not to think about it. But he looked out and wondered.
‘I never thought I would walk the Vale again,’ whispered Keeper. He wiped a tear from his eye. ‘We were prisoners for ages and ages, weren’t we, Burp.’
Burp hissed and reached up to rub his scaly head against Keeper’s worn, red tunic. It made a satisfying, rough scratchy sound. Archer smiled at how much Burp and Keeper loved one another. He looked forward to seeing his sheepdogs at home.
‘Well, this is all very nice and everything,’ said Weaver. ‘But seeing how we still seem to be going higher… I just have the one question.’ She looked at them all in turn. ‘How do we get down to the ground?’
The Wind’s Cold Embrace
‘Erm,’ said Archer.
‘Come on, Archer,’ Weaver said. ‘How do you make this thing go down?’ She balled her fists up.
Everyone looked at each other.
No one wanted to admit it but Weaver was right. They drifted in the wind, flying right over everything below them.
Archer looked back at the Tower. It was lower than the balloon.
Weaver was definitely right.
Even after they had fallen down initially they were higher up than the top of the Tower and were getting further away from it all the time being blown to the north and east at an ever-increasing speed and still going up.
‘Let us apply reason to this problem,’ Writer said. ‘And refer to our only previous example. So, tell us, Archer. How did the man you saw at the Vale Fair go down to the ground?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Archer, desperately. ‘My father told me how it worked because of the air being hotter inside the balloon than the air outside. My dad always knows all about the air and the winds that blow through the Vale and how to tell when it will change and if it will bring rain with it. But he never said about how Crazy Roger came down again. He just did. Very quickly.’
‘Oh, brilliant,’ said Weaver. ‘That is just brilliant.’
Right at that moment Burp growled, hissed and pooped out a lump of steaming iron into the bottom of the basket.
It sizzled for a moment and then cooled.
They all looked at it but no one said anything.
‘You said the hot air from a
fire made it go up,’ said Writer. ‘A fire that the balloon man made on the floor from wood and charcoal?’ Archer nodded. ‘But we got our hot air from Burp,’ Writer said.
They all looked at Burp. Burped looked back at them. If dragons could smile, Archer thought, Burp would probably have been smiling.
‘Perhaps Burp’s fire is special?’ said Writer. ‘More special than normal fire is.’
‘It is!’ Keeper said. ‘You do get different types of fire. Like how different types of wood have different properties when they burn. Like how pine burns hot and quick and oak burns so slow and so on.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Weaver.
‘And Burp’s fire is special,’ said Keeper, patting Burp on his little head. ‘The Alchemist told me once that he wants to use Burp’s fire in his experiments.’
‘Well, that’s brilliant,’ said Weaver. ‘Special dragon fire. Now we’re stuck in a dragon balloon and we can’t get down.’
‘If Burp’s fire is special then we’d best not have him breath any more into the sack, right, Keeper?’ said Archer. ‘We don’t want to keep going higher up.’
‘Right,’ said Keeper. ‘I won’t feed him anymore.’
Writer was peering off to the east. ‘My house is just about down there, by the big bend in the river,’ she said. ‘I am so close, Archer. It does not matter about why we are going up. We just need to know how to get down.’
‘I really don’t know,’ said Archer said to her. ‘Can you look in the Alchemist’s spell book and see if there’s something in there to get us down?’
Writer sat down on the floor of the basket next to Burp and opened the book on her lap. She turned the pages steadily, glancing at each before moving on to the next. ‘
I just do not know what these spells do,’ she said, shaking her head. She looked up. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Typical,’ said Weaver.
‘Why not just try one of them?’ said Keeper.
‘No,’ said Writer. ‘Any of these could do anything. Who knows what might happen? I could make things worse. I could accidentally turn the balloon into a bucket or water or a big rock or set it on fire or make it vanish into thin air.’