The van continued its drift into the harbour, rising to clear some trees then settling into an altitude just above the ferries churning in and out of Circular Quay. Baron saw the lights of a ferry coming up behind them, travelling in the same direction but at a more reasonable pace. It passed directly underneath and he could see passengers crowding the city side of the deck taking pictures of the Opera House and each other. They were so close he could hear the passenger’s conversations as they shouted above the ferry’s diesel engines, see their various patterns of baldness, read the logos on their baseball caps. Despite this closeness they seemed to be completely unnoticed as they drifted above the ferry. It was like a dream.

‘Flying smells bad,’ said Thomas.

‘That’s the goat shit,’ answered Janik, inexplicably.

‘I think … I think they really can’t see us,’ said Baron.

‘That’s impossible Baron, magic can’t do that.’ said Amy, squeezing her head out the window next to him to get a look at the ferry.

Janik was also trying to look out the window but his tied hands restricted his ability to be pushy. ‘It’s possible, I was close to doing this. At the mall where you were in fact. If you can set conditions to affect light rays before they are observed by anyone you can bend them out of the way. At night no one would be able to even see the dark area in the sky this would leave. But it’s advanced magic, this is the first time I’ve seen anyone other than myself do it.’

‘Please!’ Amy rolled her eyes then went into a very good impersonation of Janik’s accent. ‘Only advanced magicians like a mysterious monk or a powerful bogan can do it.’

She lapsed back into her normal speaking voice. ‘You magicians are always so pleased with yourselves. The monk maybe. Maybe he could do it, but I can’t see that kind of trick coming from you. He’s making a van fly by humming! You can’t even steal community art.’

Janik didn’t have the energy to argue. He hadn’t slept since the mall. He hadn’t gone this long without a drink for a year. He sat back down on the floor of the van.

‘Whatever. But I’ll tell you this, flying is old magic. Every magician, even “bogans”, know how to do it. But we don’t because it’s a slow, dangerous, and stupid way to fly. The fact that we are slowly drifting to who knows where in this piece of crap only shows that this rescue, if that’s what it is, was put together in a hurry. No one flies using magic if there are any other options.’

Gregor piped up from the front, ‘Mmmmm not crap mmmm good van, high safety rating mmmm’.

They all turned to stare at the back of Gregor’s head.

‘I guess we know who owns the van.’ said Thomas.

Flying was indeed one of the first effects the communities who nurtured early magic discovered as they developed their abilities and built their libraries of conditions. In the late 16th century, when magic was still largely confined to religious communities, a German protestant monk named Johan told his brothers that he had mastered the art of flying. He informed them that drinking exactly one jar of very strong beer, smearing goat faeces in regular shaped clumps on a wall that was at least 40% clay, and holding a piece of hessian in his mouth, while humming, created the conditions necessary for him to levitate just above the ground and travel in any direction he wills.

His brothers were sceptical, primarily because all of Johan’s conditions seemed to involve drinking one or more jars of very strong beer. Johan organised a demonstration, setting up his conditions in his own room (presumably the goat faeces condition limited his options in this matter). When he was ready he asked his fellow monks to step outside to create an unobserved area where he could perform his spark. He closed the door and a few minutes later opened it again and pronounced his demonstration a success. The other monks conferred and agreed to record a response to this demonstration of (when roughly translated into modern English) ‘Sure, I guess’. Never forget, that due to the phenomena of any observation of a magic effect immediately collapsing it, most historical records regarding magic are deeply stupid.

The dream of flying was held tightly though, and over the next hundred years communities in both Europe and Africa developed a technique where an interior unseen area could be magically charged to be lighter than air, allowing it to fly. In the mid 17th century in Europe baskets were attached to giant barrels, and a magician would charge the air inside the barrel, changing it to a lighter than air substance called ‘aaeron’. The barrels would rise into the air taking the basket with it. Controlling the direction of the basket was difficult however, and the effect needed to be continuously recharged by a magician travelling with the barrels, an exhausting process.

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Even though magic had started to spread beyond religious communities by then, magicians were still extremely rare, so having a magician on hand for an entire flight was an horrendously expensive effort. The first successful flight of a non-magically charged hot air balloon in Versailles in 1783 put an almost immediate end to magically powered flight. It was cheaper, safer, and less annoying. Some magically assisted flight remained popular, but primarily as a way to demonstrate wealth and status. The successful flying and landing of a mechanically powered heavier than air machine in 1903 by Richard Pearse in New Zealand finally put magically assisted flying to rest. Like a lot of magical effects it was just too expensive compared to more robust mechanical or electronic approaches. But sometimes you needed a discrete airborne exit, and the only thing you have at hand is a van.

The van’s lazy passage continued, and with no actions available to them, no idea how long they would be travelling, and no idea where they were going, its occupants eventually fell into a helpless silence. Janik slumped in the corner and Amy, Baron, and Thomas took turns looking out the window. After a time they drifted over Manly, floating low over the Corso, a broad pedestrian street that joined the ferry terminal on one side with the beach on the other. Baron watched the pools of light from the street lamps, crowds of people moving up and down the street, a group of drunks spilling out of a bar. He heard a child shrieking with laughter and watched as her father chased her in circles around a bollard. Baron realised that if they kept going in this direction they would pass over the surf beach and directly out to sea.

He was seized with panic at the thought of leaving the street life below him for the empty black sea beyond behind and started screaming out the window, ‘Hey! Hey look up! Help! Get someone to help us! We’re being kidnapped, we think, possibly!’

No one looked up. They drifted over the beach, illuminated with lights from Manly’s hotels and restaurants, and out to sea.

‘Mmmmm can’t see mmm or hear us mmmm sorry mmmm.’ confirmed Gregor.

‘Yeah, I figured as much,’ said Baron. He rested his head on the window and settled into a numb and hopeless wait.

‘Mmmmmm not kidnapped mmmm.’

‘That’s what the Department of Age and Healthcare said’ muttered Amy quietly.

Several hours passed in near silence. The only sounds were Gregor’s continued humming and the occasional soft crash as waves collided, forming slow moving white heads. There is no sound associated with magical flying, just a faint smell of excrement. The lights from Manly were no longer visible but the swell just a few meters below reflected enough moonlight to create a hypnotic sense of open sea movement. A strange sense of helpless calm permeated the van. As the hours went by they fell into a waiting state, lulled by the humming monk and the occasional soft crash of waves, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Amy who finally broke the silence.

‘So it this us now? We all just live in this van floating above the sea?’

Janik, who had been napping in the corner, opened one eye, ‘When you see where we’re going you might look back fondly on this van.’

‘Do you know where we’re going?’ Thomas asked.

Janik shuffled to a sitting position. ‘No. I don’t know what’s happening. You must know something. Who’s the monk?’

‘We don’t know.’ answered Thomas. ‘Well we know his name is Greg. Gregor I mean, sorry Greg. He came to our office after we stopped you at the mall and told us we had to come with him. But we didn’t, then the department of whatever people grabbed us. The mall is the link right? That’s the only thing we have in common. Is it the painting? Is the painting special?’

Janik delivered a derisive snort. ‘No! The painting isn’t even important to the people who wanted to steal it.’

‘Then why were you trying to steal it?’

‘Some petty vendetta from the artists’ family. I don't know, I was just there for the money. Look it could be the painting but I don’t think so. My guess is someone saw the newspaper story about you idiots and thinks something important happened, but I don’t what. And judging by the type of people who have taken interest, they think that something was magical. But I have no idea why.’

‘But how did they know to grab you then?’ interjected Amy. ‘The story didn’t mention you. No one knew who you were.’

This stopped Janik in his tracks. Amy’s observation was obvious, but had never occurred to him. The thought that his drinking might have dulled him permanently, even when he was sober, gnawed at the edge of his brain.

‘I don’t know. The government types were waiting for me when I got home. Maybe the cops had traced me back from the mall but the questions they asked me were weird. Nothing about what I was stealing, just about the magic I used, and what magic I’d seen you use. Then your monk smashes down a wall, I get knocked out, and next thing I know I’m sitting in this van, and you all start climbing in.’

‘What magic did you tell them you used? What magic did you tell them we used?’

‘Just the usual tricks from me, I didn’t mention light bending. I never got a chance to try it. I didn’t see you use any magic, and that’s what I told them. I can’t make head or tail of it. I just want to go home.’

Amy looked down at her feet, ‘Well, I know how you feel. but I’m not ready to go home yet. I’m sick of being handed around with no say in the matter. I want some answers. I want this stupid bloody magic van to land and for someone to tell me what the hell is going on.’

Baron, who was leaning his head on the window watching the waves, spoke up. ‘Well, good news then. I think we’re here.’