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The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving only a faint blush at the edge of the sky.
Lee scanned his flashlight over the damaged basket of his poor balloon, frowning. “Ain’t no good,” he informed his dæmon, who was crouching beside him with her golden eyes narrowed. “Don’t think we’ll be flying out before morning.”
Hester sighed, one long ear flicking. “I told you we were comin’ down too fast,” she grumbled. “Maybe listen to me next time.”
“Whatever you say,” said Lee easily. He wasn’t too worried; it would be easy enough to patch up the basket when they had daylight, and in the meantime this wasn’t a bad place to camp out. After their last year involved in the wars out in Beringland, a night under the stars in the summer of New France wasn’t to be sniffed at, no sir.
Lee quickly re-checked and secured all the balloon’s sensitive instruments, grateful that none of them seemed to be broken, and then made sure the balloon’s canvas was folded away, safe from any tears. Then he scooped up Hester, who was still grumbling a little, and clambered out of the basket. It was the work of moments to light his portable naptha stove - long gone were the days of wasted matches and badly laid fires - and soon he had a pot of beans bubbling away. Lee leaned up against his pack, pencil-thin legs stretched out in front of him, and pulled out his battered little packet of cigars.
Ah, luxury. Usually he just chewed on his cigars, unable to light them around the volatile gas of the balloon, so he intended to fully enjoy this one. He sparked up a match and touched it to the end of the cigar, putting gently until the rich, woody taste settled on his tongue. He closed his eyes, blew out a soft stream of smoke, and let his other hand come to rest on Hester’s back, fingers rubbing lightly at the back of her neck. They sat in contented quiet, nothing but the bubbling of the naptha stove, Hester’s fur against Lee’s fingers, and the hickory-taste of cigar smoke in his mouth.
“Sure is the life, huh?”
Hester gave a sardonic laugh, quivering under Lee’s palm. “Sure is. Stranded, with a busted up balloon, and only beans to eat.”
“I like beans,” Lee retorted lightly, opening his eyes to look down at his dæmon. She met his gaze, and he saw an amused light in her eyes. “And you don’t have to eat ‘em, neither.”
“Sure don’t.” Hester stood and stretched out, flexing her paws. “Think they’re ready, anyway.”
No matter what Hester said, the beans tasted just fine, especially when paired with the hunk of corn bread Lee had kept wrapped up in his pack for just such an occasion. Warm food always tasted even better out in the open air, Lee found. He ate and smoked, and he and Hester watched the stars. They could navigate by the stars in a pinch. They had used to spent long hours of their childhood lying out in the fields of Texan bluegrass trying to identify the constellations: the eagle, the swan, the little fox, the hero. One day, Lee thought idly, they’d have their small ranch, and that would be the closest they’d ever have to come to the damn sky again.
It was fully night by the time he set his empty tin down, though between the blue flames of the naptha stove and the full moon shining like a silver dollar there was enough light to see by. Lee wrapped his blanket about his shoulders and pulled his lucky pack of cards out of his inside coat pocket.
“How about I practice some more before we sleep?”
Hester groaned, though he knew she didn’t mean it. “If we must.”
“I’m gonna get you one day.”
“Oh, sure. And rivers’ll run backward and all the cows’ll jump over the damn moon.”
Lee chuckled, shaking the cards from their packet. For a few moments he shuffled and snapped them before settling the deck. “Okay, you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” said Hester, dry as the damn Karamakan desert.
Lee flipped through the cards, cut the deck, reshuffled, then fanned them out towards his dæmon. “Okay, pick a card.”
Hester flicked her ears, then touched a paw to a card. Lee pulled it out, showed it to her, and then set it face down in his lap.
“Tell me when to stop,” he said, resettling the remainder of the deck and beginning to flick through it. Despite her supposed lack of enthusiasm for Lee’s card tricks, Hester crouched down, watching his hands suspiciously. He stopped at her word and cut the deck, folding the other card back in. He shuffled everything, quick and neat, the cards riffling and snapping against one another, and Hester didn’t blink.
Yeah, Lee had a good feeling about this. He’d been practicing these tricks ever since meeting that Skraeling gent back in Deseret, and he’d definitely been getting better.
“And… is this your card?” Lee turned the four of hearts over with a flourish, grinning. Hester twitched her nose.
“Nope.”
“What? Damn you, Hester, you’re lying.”
“Course I ain’t. You’re just bad at these tricks, Lee.”
Lee scoffed. “Y’know, there’s those who’d say a dæmon’s meant to be supportive.”
“Mm. And some’d say that a dæmon who lies to their human isn’t doing things right.”
“Oh, is that what you’re doing? Keeping me honest?”
“Trying to,” said Hester wryly. “It’s a losing battle some days.”
Lee did laugh then, and ruffled Hester’s head, leaving her fur tufting up. She smoothed it back with an indignant swipe of her paw, but Lee could feel her amusement and affection in his own chest. “You steer me right, Hester.”
“Course I do. And now I’m gonna suggest you switch off that stove and get some sleep. Gotta be up with the dawn to fix that basket.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The balloon’s basket was broken, but still served as a nice, sheltered spot to sleep. Lee wrapped himself up in his blankets, and Hester tucked in alongside him. He folded one arm behind his head, gazing up at the ink-dark sky.
“I can see that harp constellation,” he said conversationally. “Looking real bright tonight.”
“It’s called ‘Lyra’,” Hester corrected. “It’s a lyre, not a harp. Go to sleep, Lee.”
“Lyra, that’s the one.” Lee’s eyes roved over the sky, picking out the navigational stars by force of habit, until Hester’s sleep tugged him down.