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kept her footing long enough to pull her husband's knees over the Jenny's rail and ease him down safe.
    Meralda didn't like the paleness of his skin, or the limp, boneless way his arms flopped and his head lolled. But her
gauges fell steadily, and the right flying coil was dripping molten copper, and the sinking in her heart told her there was nothing she
could do until the Jenny was safely landed. "Hold on," she said, working her levers. The Sammi vanished, caught up in the greedy storm, a few bits of debris floating down in her wake. "Mug, keep reading the dials."
    "Four percent," said Mug. "Three."
    "Thank you for the rescue," said Mrs. Ghote. "What manner of craft is this?"
    "Two percent," said Mug.
    "We're about to find out," said Meralda, and she turned the Jenny's bow downward and let her plunge toward the ground.
     
    * * *
     
    Clearing Tirlin's storm-ravaged streets required three full weeks of round-the-clock work by the Royal Engineers.
    Uprooted oaks necessitated the replacement of several sidewalks amid the King Streets. And while new trees were planted to replace the fallen giants, it would be decades -- centuries, perhaps -- before the King Streets fully regained their end-to-end shade.
    Meralda smiled and enjoyed the walk. I believe a bit of sun does the neighborhood some good, she decided, as she passed from shade to light. It was a bit gloomy in places, before.
    Mug buzzed past, whistling as he piloted his new airborne bird-cage. Held aloft by a pair of small flying coils and a single battery and holdstone, Mug's initial aversion to flight was quickly giving way to a genuine flair for it.
    "Ha!" cried Mug, as he chased a panicked crow from its perch atop a freshly-painted mailbox. Meralda could see Mug's delicate vine-like tendrils working his tiny brass steering levers, and she marveled as he flew a trio of quick orbits around the fleeing crow before returning to her side.
    "And to think just a month ago you couldn't stand to be carried," said Meralda. "Now look at you. Mugglesworth Ovis, Terror of the Skies."
    "Oh, this is so much better than being hauled about by hand," said Mug, his eyes scanning the air for more crows to pester. "I don't feel the motion at all, now that you've improved your flapping coils."
    "Flying coils," said Meralda, by rote. "But you really should leave the crows alone. One day they'll catch you napping."
    "Bah. Look, a jaybird!"
    Mug sailed aloft, hooting in glee.
    A carriage rolled up behind Meralda, and amid the clop-clop of hooves she heard familiar voices.
    "It's the flying lady!"
    "Hush, she's a Mage!"
    "You hush!"
    A man laughed. "Both of you hush," said Otis Ghote, calling for his driver to stop. "Good morning, Mage Ovis. We were hoping we'd find you out strolling."
    Meralda turned. His head still bandaged, and his eyes still black from bruises, Otis Ghote grinned at her through his half-open door. "May we offer you a ride to the Palace?"
    The Ghote children, Marvis and Lenette, squealed with delight. Mrs. Ghote calmed them with an exasperated glare.
    "That's very kind of you. Are you sure it's no imposition?"
    Mr. Ghote nodded, winced, and grinned.
    "Certainly not nearly as much an imposition as inventing a flying machine and soaring into a monster of a storm to rescue us," he said. "Children. Make room."
    Mug's flying bird-cage dropped from the sky. "Hello, Ghotes," he said, waving his leaves. "No more adventures aloft, I hope?"
    "The Ghotes have offered me a lift," said Meralda. "Would you care to join us?"
    "Thanks all the same, but I know the way. Hah, it's that's despicable pigeon from two blocks north. I'll show you whose window to peck at!"
    And Mug was soaring, banking, and gone, leaving terrified crows in his wake.
    Mrs. Ghote smiled and motioned for Meralda to sit. "I see your friend has quite changed his mind on matters of flight. He certainly wasn't so enthused
during our first meeting."
    Meralda nodded, remembering Mug's running commentary on the folly of