Royal Airs

by Sharon Shinn

  “Another prototype,” Kayle said, pointing to a contraption hanging from a row of hooks on the wall. It looked like nothing so much as a dog harness attached to the kind of yoke that horses would wear to pull a plow, except that a heavy cloth bag had been belted on top of the yoke. “Though this one would have no commercial application even if we could get it to work properly. And yet it haunts me.”

  Rafe reached out to brush a finger along the worked leather of the harness. “What is it?”

  “A single-person short-distance propulsion device.”

  “You might have to speak more plainly.”

  Kayle enunciated with exaggerated precision, pointing to the various parts. “A man straps himself into this harness, holding the guidebar in front of him. Inside the combustion bladder are a number of chemicals, currently inert. When he introduces a final chemical, there’s a powerful reaction. The bladder swells upward and the man is lifted high into the air. While the combustion continues, he has enough forward motion to travel a short distance, using the guidebar to control his direction.”

  Rafe fingered the leather with more reverence. “That would feel even more like flying than the aeromotive.”

  Kayle nodded. “Exactly what I thought.”

  “But it doesn’t work?”

  Kayle seemed to nod and shrug at the same time. “We’ve gotten a man off the ground a dozen times, but not as high as I expected. Twice he’s achieved height, but no sustainability. It’s pointless to introduce directionality if you don’t have sustainability, but it’s even more pointless to simply go up in the air if you can’t send yourself somewhere else.”

  “How many people have died on this little contraption?” Rafe asked. “Because I don’t see anything that would help you glide down, so impact has got to be a real problem.”

  Kayle nodded. “It would be, except the combustion slows at a perceptible rate. It doesn’t just quit and send you plummeting to the ground. It sets you down. Though I admit a few of the landings have been rough. Some broken legs. But nothing fatal.”

  “So you have an easier time finding volunteers to test it out?”

  Kayle shook his head. “Insofar as there is any prestige at all associated with carrying out experiments for a lunatic, most people prefer the glory that comes with the aeromotives. This—this little flying bag—is met with a certain amount of derision, even among my own inventors. But I am used to mockery. I never let it daunt me.”

  Rafe looked around the room, then through the connecting door at the three aeromotives, crouched in readiness before the wide entrance. “I don’t think I’d bet against you,” he said.

  Kayle regarded him with those misty blue eyes. “No,” he said. “But then, you do not seem like the type of man who has ever been afraid to gamble.”

  • • •

  Rafe left without speaking the words that had risen to his lips a dozen times: I’d like to pilot one of your aeromotives for you. Kayle was right, he wasn’t afraid to gamble, but he’d never been reckless about it. Or—that wasn’t right. He’d been reckless plenty of times, but he’d never wagered more than he could afford to lose. Even the largest bet he’d ever made—the gold he’d invested in Kayle Dochenza’s factory—wouldn’t beggar him if he lost.

  But betting his life? That wasn’t something he’d contemplated before. There were probably safer ways of catching Josetta’s attention.

  Over the next two days, he turned the idea over and over in his mind, unable to decide whether or not to make the wager. He was grateful for the distraction when, late on that second day, he received a note from his brother. Like most of Steff’s letters, it was brief and unhappy.

  I hate it here. Nerri is having another baby. Are you ever going to visit again?

  “I’m going to be gone for a few days,” Rafe told Samson the next morning. “Don’t give my room away.”

  “How long is a ‘few days’?” Samson wanted to know.

  “I’ll be back by firstday.”

  ELEVEN

  Public transportation out to the western provinces had improved during the past five years, Rafe thought, but not by much. The big enclosed cabins pulled by elaymotives covered the distance more quickly than the old horse-drawn conveyances, but they were still at the mercy of bad roads and bad drivers and bad weather.

  Fortunately, Steff’s family didn’t live at the extreme western edges of Welce, but owned property in the fertile midlands only two days outside of Chialto. Rafe hired a driver and a one-horse wagon to take him the final five miles of his journey, through endless fields of monotonous green. He made no attempt to identify the assortment of crops on lush display, though during the years he’d lived in this part of the country he’d done his share of plowing and harvesting. Hated every minute of it, too.

  He did size up the sprawling farmhouse, which looked as if it had just gotten a fresh coat of paint and maybe a new chimney. Last time Rafe had been out here, his stepfather had proudly showed him the new wing built on in back, big enough to house any number of new babies and half the in-laws besides. He spotted a couple of other buildings that looked new—a toolshed, maybe, and a granary—though he had to confess they might have been on the property anytime these past three years. He didn’t care enough for the place to pay attention.

  It wasn’t far from the dinner hour, still daylight at this time of year, by the time Rafe paid off the driver and strolled up to the front door. Most of the family members were probably still working in the fields, he realized, but his sharp knock on the open door elicited the sound of a woman’s voice promising she’d be there momentarily. And before long Nerri appeared, looking flushed and frazzled and very pregnant.

  She stared for only a second or two before she recognized him. “Rafe! I didn’t know we were expecting you! Come on in.”

  He stepped into the kierten, a comfortably sized space made entirely of burnished wood planks—walls, ceiling, floor. He’d always felt like he was stepping inside a highly polished casket.

  “You’re looking well,” he told her, and earned a grimace for that.

  “I’m looking like a cow,” she said. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, and her swelling belly pushed against the loose fabric of her plain green top. She hadn’t bothered with an overtunic and, indeed, looked like she was hot enough that she’d like to dispense with the clothes she was wearing. But she did look good—rosy, vibrant, full of life. “But it was nice of you to lie.”

  He grinned. “City manners,” he said.

  “Would you like something to eat or drink? How long are you staying?” she asked, leading the way into the kitchen. Rafe barely bothered glancing at the other rooms they passed, all of them familiar from his miserable years under this roof. Everywhere, the rich wood paneling was complemented by sturdy furniture and hand-sewn drapes over the wide windows. Intellectually, Rafe knew that it was a comfortable, well-maintained, even welcoming place, but he had so thoroughly hated living here that he still couldn’t appreciate its unpretentious charms.

  “Only a night or two. And I’m sorry to just show up like this. But I got a note from Steff and I realized how long it had been since I saw him—and I figured I could get here as quickly as a letter could.”

  The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was spacious and well maintained, floored with stone instead of wood, and redolent of baking meat. Nerri waved him to a long table where she prepared the food and fed the family.

  “I’m hungry, of course—I’m always hungry—so I’m going to have a bowl of soup and some bread. Do you want some?”

  “That would be great.”

  When they were seated across from each other at one end of the table, Nerri heaved a sigh. “Steff isn’t happy here. No more than you were. Bors tells him he has to stay until he’s eighteen, but I don’t know that he will. Every morning I check his bed first to be sure he hasn’t ru
n off in the night.”

  “Where would he go?”

  She gave him a quick, keen look. Her jewel-blue eyes were the only things about her that were actually beautiful. It was as if she’d hurried through the marketplace of physical attributes, resisting all the gorgeous hues and textures offered for hair and skin, but when some enterprising vendor offered her a choice of eye colors, she just couldn’t help herself. “Well, my suspicion is that he would run to you. But my heart nearly stops when I think of a sixteen-year-old boy trying to make his way through that great city all by himself, looking for one man.”

  Rafe had to admit the prospect was chilling, though Chialto wasn’t particularly dangerous if you stayed within the circle of the Cinque. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Nerri leaned her elbows on the table. “Well, get him to think more than a few quintiles into the future, would you? He wants to leave the farm and make his own way, fine. But what does he want that way to look like? Does he want to sign up to be a soldier, take a job on a merchant ship, study a profession? We’ll help him, but he needs a plan, or he’ll just be adrift his whole life.”

  Rafe nodded. “As I know.”

  Her lovely eyes were on his face again. “I don’t mean to be unkind, but you haven’t made much of your life, Rafe.”

  “I know,” he said again.

  “If Steff does run away to you, I hope you have a place to offer him that’s safe. That’s secure. Where he might look for a decent job and make suitable friends.”

  She didn’t end her speech on an interrogative note, but she didn’t have to. She and Bors had visited him once in the city, and even Rafe had been embarrassed. They hadn’t stayed, of course, not for longer than it took them to write out the address of a quiet hotel they’d found in the Plaza district. And Nerri was right. Steff couldn’t stay with him, either. Rafe had never thought that far ahead, but he would never subject his younger brother to the rough education of the slums.

  After a long silence, he answered, “I’ll work on that.”

  “Good. Let me show you where you can sleep tonight. Steff will be so excited to see you.”

  • • •

  In fact, the whole damn lot of them seemed pleased to have Rafe in their midst that night. Steff had greeted him with a wide grin but a punch on the arm instead of a hug. A gangly kid nearly Rafe’s height, he was clearly conscious of trying to behave more like a man. The little ones—two boys and a girl ranging in age from eight to two—danced around him with truly exhausting energy, demanding that he look at this or answer that or show them another card trick and another one.

  Even Bors had seemed glad enough to see him, clapping him on the back and managing a brief smile. Bors was big and brown and slow and certain, and the earth would have to cave in beneath his feet to get him to move from this place. He had no malice and no imagination, and to this day Rafe had no idea what Bors and his mother had ever seen in each other. His memories of her were few but vivid; she had been slim and sweet and brilliant and magical. What had drawn her to this severe and heavy man? Why had he wanted to hold on to her? Nerri was so obviously the woman he should have married in the first place.

  “So what’s going on in the wicked city?” Bors asked over dinner. It was the same question he asked every time Rafe saw him.

  “The usual wickedness,” Rafe replied with a smile. “Everyone is planning for the big changeday celebration. There’s talk that the crown prince of Berringey is coming for a visit. There are more elaymotives on the street every day. Oh, and Kayle Dochenza—the man who invented smoker cars—he wants to invent cars that fly.”

  “I hope I live long enough to see that,” Nerri commented, passing around a platter of meat. “I thought I’d be too terrified to ever ride in an elaymotive, but now I have, a dozen times, and I want one!” She gestured around the kitchen, where they were all crowded around the long table for the meal. “And did you notice? We have gaslight in the house now. Even gas for cooking on the stove! For the first nineday, all I could think about was how the whole place would catch on fire. But now I love it.”

  Conversation continued in this pleasant but impersonal way for the whole meal. Not until the dishes were cleared and Nerri was taking the younger ones off for their baths did Rafe get a chance to speak to Steff alone.

  “Why don’t you show Rafe the new grain thresher?” Bors said. Steff was dragging his brother out the back door toward one of the new outbuildings before Rafe even had a chance to respond with an insincere, “That sounds interesting.”

  “The new grain thresher,” Steff burst out once they were out of earshot of the house. “The new irrigation system. My life is a nightmare. If people aren’t talking machinery, they’re talking weather. I honestly think I’ll go insane if I’m here through one more harvest.”

  They circled around to the back of the new shed, where a padlocked door kept the equipment safe from thieves, but it was clear neither of them had any interest in going in. Rafe leaned his back against the sun-warmed wall and grinned sympathetically at his brother.

  “I understand exactly what you’re going through,” he said. “But Nerri says your father wants you to stay another year or two.”

  “I don’t think I can stand it! Rafe, you have no idea—”

  “I do,” Rafe interrupted. “The labor’s hard, the conversation is dull, the kids are annoying, and you feel like you’re the only living creature surrounded by people made of stone or clay. No one else is real. Or if they’re real, they certainly don’t understand you.”

  “Yes—right—exactly! I can’t stay another year or two. I’m not sure I can stay another day.”

  “So you leave. What then? You come live with me in the slums? Learn how to win at cards, or maybe how to steal a man’s wallet when he’s not looking? Sell illegal medicines to rich folks from the city? Sell yourself? Plenty of people, men and women, would love to buy time with a good-looking kid like yourself.”

  Steff looked first irritated, then disgusted. They’d had variations of this conversation before, except never so explicit. “No—of course not—I could get a real job, couldn’t I?”

  “Sure, if you had any particular skills. Or any idea what kind of career might appeal to you and applied yourself to learning it.”

  “So then—you’re saying—”

  “I’m saying plan to stay here another year, but think about what you want to do next. Don’t waste the time being mad and frustrated. And try not to drive Bors crazy while you’re here.”

  Steff threw his hands in the air and slouched against the toolshed with a thump. “I didn’t expect a lecture from you.”

  “That’s the end of the lecture, such as it is. Tell me what else is going on with you.”

  Teenagers could always be counted on to talk about themselves, so Steff launched into a long and animated description of the indignities he’d suffered as an unpaid farm worker, as well as some of his more enjoyable activities with friends. Rafe listened, laughed, and commented appropriately, but the entire time half of his mind was running on another track.

  How can I create a safe home for Steff in the city?

  He had been on his own for so long it hadn’t occurred to him that he might have to tailor his life to meet anybody else’s needs or expectations. He’d had no incentive to better himself or his situation. Even now, he felt a tiny bit resentful at what he might have to sacrifice, what he might have to change wholesale. At the same time, he felt himself standing a little straighter, bracing his shoulders to accept a new weight.

  He felt a touch of excitement as well. They were all part of a pattern, perhaps—Josetta, Kayle Dochenza, Steff. They were showing him the shapes and colors of a new life, if only he could figure out how to put the disparate puzzle pieces together. If only he could figure out exactly what he wanted and how to get it.

  • • •

  By the time Steff and
Rafe made it back to the house, most everyone else had gone to their rooms. Rafe remembered that, too, from his years at the farm: Sunset meant bedtime, no matter how early it came; and dawn meant it was time to rise and get to work. He was certain it was largely a rebellion against this implacable diurnal clock that had turned him into a man who pursued most of his activities at night.

  Bors was the only one still awake, and he was standing in the kitchen, yawning mightily. “Best get to bed, son. Early day tomorrow,” he said to Steff and the boy stomped off, his expression mutinous but his mouth shut.

  The minute he was out the door, Bors waved at the table where he’d set out some homemade wine and a couple of squat glass tumblers. It was clear he’d been waiting for Rafe to return; otherwise, he’d probably already be asleep. “Pretty good vintage from two years ago,” he said. “Would you like to try a glass?”

  “Be glad to,” Rafe said, and they took their places across the table from each other. The wine was sweeter than Rafe liked, and full of sediment, but it was better than no wine at all, so he praised it highly and received a second glass for his pains. Bors, who rarely drank, took a second glass himself.

  “Nerri says she talked to you,” Bors said abruptly.

  Rafe nodded. “That’s right.”

  Bors shot him a heavy look from under those heavy brows and spoke in a heavy voice. “He doesn’t want to stay. Don’t want you to think we’d push him out, but I don’t think we can hold him back.”

  “I never thought you would push him out.” Rafe managed a grin. “You didn’t push me out, though I have to think you were glad when I left. But I always knew you’d have let me stay as long as I wanted. As long as I did my share, of course.”

  Bors nodded. “There’d be a place for you here anytime you wanted—and work for you to do, too. But you weren’t meant to be a farmer, and neither is Steff. I worry about him. He’s not like me. He wants things I never wanted.” He leveled a longer stare at Rafe. “Maybe you’ll understand him better if he comes to you. But it’s not so easy to try to raise a boy. You have to give him some direction or he’ll end up—” Charitably, he didn’t finish the sentence.