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refreshments, Mr. Cruse. Your timing is uncanny, as always. But perhaps you should go to the landing bay and attend to our latecomers when they board.”
    “Of course, sir,” I said, delighted. Only once before had I seen an aerial landing, and it was no mean feat. I passed out the last of the coffees and pastries and left as the Aurora began her slow graceful turn. I stopped at the bakery, dropped off the tray, then hurried aft.
    The landing bay was forward of the cargo holds, very near the ship’s midsection. Mostly it was used for extra storage, and there were plenty of crates and cases arranged around the walls. But the center of the bay was always kept clear in case we needed to allow for an aerial landing. When I arrived, the crew were just opening the bay doors in the floor. With alarming speed they split apart, and each long half rolled back flush with the ship’s underbelly. Air galloped in. We could see the ship’s lower tail fin and straight down to the Gulf Islands and the water, blue as lapis lazuli and cut by the white furrows of boats headed for Lionsgate Harbor.
    Mr. Riddihoff pulled a lever, and, with a clanking whir, the docking trapeze began to lower from an overhead track in the bay’s ceiling. The metal trapeze dangled through the hatchway into open air. The ornithopter pilot would have to make his approach directly beneath the airship’s belly, cut speed so that he was almost in a stall, and hook his overhead landing gear over the docking trapeze at just the right moment.
    “Must be pretty important passengers,” said Mr. Riddihoff, “for the captain to be going through all this hullabaloo.”
    I looked down at the trapeze. It was a tiny place to hook a plane to. I hoped the pilot was experienced, but these harbor fliers were daredevils and used to more outlandish tricks than this.
    The ornithopter’s drone grew louder. Crouching, I could just see it, behind the Aurora ’s tail fins, coming in. It seemed to be hardly moving, wings scarcely beating now, and I thought he would make it first try. But when the ornithopter was just feet away from the docking trapeze, it shuddered and dipped, and I heard shrieks of alarm from the passengers as the ornithopter dropped away and banked sharply.
    “Bit of a gust there,” said Mr. Riddihoff calmly.
    “Bad luck,” I said. “Look, he’s coming round again.”
    I had to admit, that ornithopter was a nimble thing, and seeing this one maneuver so smartly did impress me.
    “Hope he gets it this time round,” said Mr. Riddihoff. “I’ve not had my breakfast.”
    “I suggest the eggs Florentine,” I told him.
    “Good, were they?”
    “Terrific. Here we go.”
    Here came the ornithopter again, skimming the Aurora ’s belly, straight as a Canada goose toward the loading bay. His hook slipped over the trapeze and locked with a loud, satisfying clack. I heard the engine cut out, and the wings stilled instantly. The Aurora didn’t even shimmer with the sudden extra weight.
    “Hooked!” Mr. Riddihoff sang out, pulling levers. The trapeze slowly lifted the dangling ornithopter through the hatchway and carried her along its track to set her down on the floor of the landing bay. A woman in the rear seat was trying to stand, pulling at her leather hood and sounding off as if she’d suffered a great calamity.
    “Outrageous!” she said. “Dangerous and foolhardy like I’ve never seen!”
    And now the poor pilot was turning about in his seat and trying in vain to explain.
    “I’m very sorry, Miss Simpkins, but I have no authority over the winds. A small gust buffeted me just as we were coming in that first time. It’s not unusual, Miss, to make more than one pass with an aerial landing.”
    Miss Simpkins made a humph sound and gazed haughtily around the loading bay. She was no more than thirty, a striking woman with fierce features, but right now she looked a total fright. Her hair was frazzled, as if it had just exploded from her head. Her eye