The flitter was a torture device. Developed from lightweight metals and powered by a particularly rare sort of aether gas—consolidated in a flash-frozen form—it could sail the skies for thousands of miles without needing to be refueled. Most would have called it a technical marvel or a miracle.
Most people, Nigel reflected, didn’t have to ride in the damned contraption.
In order to propel itself so far without fuel resources, the flitter was barely even a frame, more like a kite or glider than an airship. Thin canvas wings stretched over a flat-bed gondola; no more than two people could use the wretched machine, and only if they weighed less than eighteen stones together.
“If I’d known that to start,” Nigel pointed out, “I’d’ve eaten a bigger breakfast.”
“Mon Dieu,” Agnes swore. “Jou c
