by John Marco
The bird’s beak pulled at his pant leg. Moth shook free and shooed her away. Esme leapt up in a storm of feathers, cawing loudly and dashing toward Leroux’s bedroom. There she waited at the open door, dark eyes staring strangely at Moth.
Moth stood up slowly. Something in the kestrel’s eyes told him what had happened. Without words, he simply knew it. His heartbeat galloped, yet he could barely move at all, forcing himself toward Leroux’s bedroom. His shuffling feet brushed Esme away as he peered inside.
On the bed lay Leroux. He had stopped snoring.
GOVERNMENT MEN
OLD AGE WAS TO BLAME for Leroux’s death. Moth didn’t need Dr. Trik to tell him that. The years had piled onto Leroux’s back until he simply couldn’t bear them any longer. And it wasn’t a shock to Moth either. Instead, it felt like there was a great hole inside him. He had sat at the edge of Leroux’s bed for a time, watching his lifeless face before fetching the doctor. Mostly he wanted to thank Leroux.
By the time Dr. Trik had finished, the whole building knew what had happened. Mrs. Jilla arrived with her cat in her arms, instantly concerned about Moth. Moth had expected the old lady to dissolve into tears but she did not. She was strong for him instead, insisting he come back to her own apartment while Dr. Trik and his helpers took away Leroux’s body.
“That’s nothing you should see,” she told Moth, taking his hand. Other neighbors, some of whom had been at Moth’s party the night before, nodded in agreement, urging Moth to go.
Lady Esme was in her usual spot on the balcony, sulking in her nest. The bird barely acknowledged Moth as he left with Mrs. Jilla. She seemed lost in the same fog that had engulfed Moth himself, a haze of disbelief and loneliness. Up in Mrs. Jilla’s apartment, Moth let the kindly lady feed him and speak gently about the cycles of life and death, but the food had no taste and the words were meaningless to him. He was afraid to go back to Leroux’s apartment until the old knight’s body was removed. Where would he go now that Leroux was dead? He couldn’t pay for the apartment himself. He had no family and no savings either, just the meager wages he made at the aerodrome.
Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes and lay on her sofa, not realizing how tired he was until he awoke two hours later. Eager to see what was happening back at home, he thanked Mrs. Jilla, promised he would return soon, and headed down the flights of outdoor stairs toward home.
As he reached the tiny landing outside Leroux’s apartment he noticed the door swinging open on its hinges.
“Dr. Trik?” he called “You here?”
Moth took one step inside the apartment and gasped. A handful of men in dark suits swarmed through the place. With crowbars and axes they had opened the walls and ceiling, cut into the floor and the furniture, and overturned Moth’s books and papers, tossing them everywhere. Noticing Moth in the doorway, they stopped and turned on him.
“What’re you doing?” Moth cried.
The man nearest to Moth lowered his axe, looking like a well-dressed thug. For a moment he stared, unsure what to do. “You live here?” he asked.
“Yeah, I live here. Who are you?” Moth demanded.
The other men drew closer. The first man put up a hand to stop them. “Don’t,” he directed. Then he called out, “Governor? The kid’s back.”
Moth thought of running, then of screaming for help. The door to the balcony was wide open. Lady Esme was gone. Moth backed up a single step, but froze when he saw a man emerge from Leroux’s bedroom. Unlike the others, this was a man he knew.
Governor Rendor was unmistakable with his salt and pepper beard and stately attire. The towering figure had to stoop to get through the bedroom door, then rose up high like a cobra when he saw Moth.
“Good day, boy,” he pronounced.
Moth was dumbstruck. “What . . . ?”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Fiona’s grandfather. He glided casually across the debris-strewn floor toward Moth. “Your friend Leroux is dead. This apartment belongs to the government now.”
“But my things . . .” sputtered Moth.
“Confiscated. For now.”
Moth glanced nervously around the room, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Where’s Leroux? Did Dr. Trik take him?”
The Governor replied, “He’ll be buried like an Eldrin Knight. I’ll see to that myself. Your friend Leroux was a great man. People forget what the Eldrin Knights did for this country. Now . . .” He squatted down to get closer to Moth. “Can you tell me where the bird is?”
“Bird?” asked Moth. “What bird?”
Rendor’s smile was as tight as a bowstring. “It would be a help if you told me.”
“A help for who? What are you doing here? What are you looking for?”
“The bird, boy. Where is she?”
Moth inched toward the door. Governor Rendor’s men closed in to stop him.
“No,” Rendor snapped at them. “Leave him.” He once again towered over Moth. “I suppose I have Fiona to thank for making you afraid of me. Are you afraid of me, boy? You needn’t be. If you help me find the kestrel I’ll reward you.”
“What do you want with her?”
“Enough questions. Just help me find her.”
“You won’t find her in the floorboards,” Moth snarled. “And you have no right to take my stuff.”
The Governor examined him closely, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Finally he turned away. “Get back to work,” he told his men.
“No!”
Moth rushed at Rendor, but a henchman snagged his arm. The Governor shook his head. “Let him go.”
Afraid, confused, Moth watched helplessly as the others went back to searching the apartment. Then, sure he’d be in danger if he stayed, he turned and bolted from the apartment, his feet clattering down the staircase as he raced away.
Governor Rendor went to the doorway, watching Moth speed down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, the boy ran along the street, disappearing quickly around a corner. The man who had taken Moth’s arm stood next to the Governor, wondering what to do.
“I could go after him,” he suggested.
Rendor thought for a moment. All he had seen on the boy’s face was shock. No concealment, no obscurity. Just surprise.
“Let him go,” said Rendor finally. “He doesn’t know anything.”
As his man rejoined the others, Rendor leaned against the door, sure that Leroux had been true to his word. Leroux had talked about the Reach but hadn’t whispered a word about the Starfinder, not even to young Moth. Rendor was sure of it. He glanced into the ramshackle room. The Starfinder was his now. All he had to do was find it.
THE BLACK SHIP
BY THE TIME MOTH REACHED the aerodrome his lungs ached from running. In his mad dash to get away he raced through the streets of Calio’s old section, cutting across the busy marketplace filled with vendors, and then at last to the north side of the mountain, into the flatlands where the aerodrome stood. In the shadow of a docking pylon he came to a halt, resting against the concrete structure to catch his breath. His eyes scanned for anyone who might have followed him. Overhead came the whoosh and buzz of speeding dragonflies. Two massive airships had already moored near the hangars, tied down by steel cables. The airfield was noisy with activity, but the empty stretch of land between it and the city was quiet.
Moth bent forward, putting his hands upon his knees to catch his breath. Leroux was dead. That was all he should be thinking about, and yet . . . and yet . . .
Questions zoomed through his brain. Fiona’s grandfather wanted something, but what? Moth thought of Lady Esme. Where was that blasted bird? And where was Fiona? He needed to speak to her, find out what was going on.
Moth peered around the pylon. He had never seen the aerodrome so busy. On the main strip outside the hangars a contingent of Skyknights gathered near one of the airships. Passengers poured through the open doors of the ship’s control car. The Skyknights looked resplendent in their blue dress uniforms, their jackets stiff wit
h starch and studded with brightly polished buttons. Along the side of the airship draped a long, scarlet banner, the standard of Heres, a city in the far south of the country. Moth suddenly remembered what Fiona had told him about the meeting her grandfather had arranged. The governor of Heres was probably aboard that airship right now.
And yet there was no sign of Rendor or his men. Moth paused, wondering about his plan. He had no place to go, and really only one friend he could turn to for help. He scanned the group of pilots for Skyhigh.
No sign of him.
Moth took a deep breath, combed his hair with his fingers, then stepped out onto the field. Up ahead loomed the main hangar, one of a dozen such buildings lined up like soldiers on the south side of the aerodrome, all constructed of the same gleaming metal with rounded roofs to accommodate the giant airships. The main hangar was also where Skyhigh’s platoon barracked.
With so much activity going on, Moth didn’t expect anyone to care much that he’d arrived. He was late for work, but if he grabbed a mop or bucket no one would notice him. He hurried inside, entering the gigantic hangar through one of its gaping doors. Skyknights and their squires threaded through the dragonflies and crates of machine parts. Moth glanced around for Skyhigh. Out on the strip he could see the dignitaries milling near the airship.
“Moth!”
The shout made Moth jump. He turned to see Major Hark striding toward him, his body wrapped in a perfectly tailored uniform.
“Where you been, boy? We’ve got people coming. I need you to start on airstrip two.”
Major Hark didn’t notice Moth’s rumpled clothes or sweat-stained face. His tense expression revealed the pressure he was under today. For a moment Moth stared blankly at the Major, wanting to beg his help. But he could not. He couldn’t trust anyone now, only Skyhigh.
“I’m sorry,” he told Hark. “I couldn’t get here any sooner. Stuff at home—”
“Save the excuses and get to work, will ya? There’s another ship coming in and I have to get the strip brushed down. Just get your broom and get out there, check?”
“Yes, sir,” Moth answered. “I’ll do that. Have you seen Skyhigh anywhere, sir?”
“Skyhigh’s getting ready to fly escort,” snapped Hark as he turned back toward the crowd. “Don’t get underfoot.”
Moth gave a curt reply, then sighted Skyhigh walking out toward the airstrip. He waited until Hark was safely away before he bolted toward his friend. Unlike the others, Skyhigh was dressed for flying, his helmet nestled in the crook of his elbow. Moth came up behind him, snagging his sleeve.
“Skyhigh, wait!”
Startled, Skyhigh quickly tugged back his arm, annoyed until he noticed who had grabbed him. “Moth?”
“I have to talk to you,” said Moth. He glanced around, wanting no one to overhear them.
“Can’t. Not now,” replied Skyhigh, and kept on walking. “The dragonfly’s waiting.”
Moth followed him out onto the gravel-paved field. He could see Skyhigh’s craft at the end of the strip. Out to the east a big, black spot was moving against the blue sky, getting slowly closer.
“Skyhigh, hold on,” Moth urged. “It’s important.”
“Later,” Skyhigh called over his shoulder.
“Please!”
The Skyknight stopped. Turning, he saw Moth’s face twisting with emotion, on the verge of tears. “Moth?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Leroux’s dead.” The words simply dropped from Moth’s mouth. “And when I got back to the apartment Governor Rendor was there tearing it apart. He’s taken everything. Now he’s looking for Lady Esme . . .”
“Moth, go easy. Leroux? I just saw him last night.”
“This morning,” Moth explained. “He must have died in his sleep. When I woke up he was in bed, just lying there.” Moth took hold of Skyhigh’s arm again and pulled him toward the wall of the hangar, out of sight. “I went and got the doctor. After that I went up to Mrs. Jilla’s. When I got back to the apartment Fiona’s grandfather was there! There were men with him, and they were ripping up everything—the walls, the floors. Then Governor Rendor came out and wanted to know about Lady Esme. He said the apartment belongs to the government now. All our stuff!”
Over Skyhigh’s shoulder, the black spot from the east came steadily closer. Moth could hear a distant thrumming as it approached. Skyhigh shook his head in confusion.
“Why would the Governor take your home?” he wondered aloud. Then he looked at Moth, his eyes filled with sympathy. “Leroux . . . Moth, I’m sorry.”
There hadn’t been time for Moth to grieve. There still wasn’t. “Skyhigh, I think Fiona’s grandfather might be after me. He’s looking for Lady Esme. Maybe he thinks I have her.”
“Do you?”
“No! She must have flown off somewhere before Rendor got there.”
“He’s not just looking for Esme, Moth. If he’s ripping up the walls . . .”
“And the floors and the furniture!”
Skyhigh’s eyes flicked toward the approaching black mass. Moth realized it was an airship, bigger than any he’d seen before, with two engines suspended from its superstructure and fins along its tail, swept back like a shark’s.
“The Avatar,” pronounced Skyhigh.
Moth’s mouth fell open. He had heard about the Avatar, the newest airship in the fleet. She had taken her maiden flight less than a month ago, setting a record from the yards at Kerre to Capital City. But the Avatar wasn’t a passenger vessel. Rendor himself had designed her. With armored flanks and platforms filled with guns, she was the world’s first lighter-than-air warship.
“That’s why Rendor called the other Governors here—to show them the Avatar,” Moth guessed. “You think?”
“Don’t know. But I’m supposed to be flying escort for her. I gotta get up there, Moth. Quick.”
“Skyhigh, I don’t know where to go,” said Moth. “I have to hide. I have to talk to Fiona, see if she knows anything. I can’t let Rendor find me.”
Eager to get to his dragonfly, Skyhigh puzzled over the problem. “All right,” he mused. “You can’t stay here. And you can’t go back to the apartment.”
Moth looked at him anxiously. “Where, then?”
A light flickered in Skyhigh’s eyes. “I know a place.” His voice dipped to a whisper. “The barn.”
“That rusty old place?”
“Yeah, it’s perfect,” said Skyhigh. “No one goes there ever. I know, because that’s where I go when I want some privacy. There’s even blankets there already.”
Moth’s nose wrinkled at the thought. The “barn” as they called it wasn’t a barn at all, but an abandoned hangar from the old days of the aerodrome. It had quickly grown obsolete, unable to house the newer, larger airships or to take the pounding of winters on the mountain. It was also set back from the rest of the aerodrome.
“Maybe,” said Moth. “You’re sure no one goes there?”
“Trust me, nobody’s ever bothered me up there.” Skyhigh gave a wink to show his meaning. Not surprisingly, he was popular with Calio’s ladies. “Use the west side door,” he told Moth. “It looks rusted shut but it’s not. When you get inside you’ll see a little loft for storing supplies. That’s where the blankets are. There’s some candles up there, too.” Once more he glanced at the approaching Avatar. The ship was clearly visible now, stalking toward the city like a thunderhead. “Listen to me, Moth. You wait there in the barn for me. I’ll get there as soon as I can but you wait, got it?”
Moth nodded. “Yes.”
“Don’t stick your head out or come looking for me. I’ll find out what I can from Fiona and be there as soon as I’m able. I’ll bring you some food, too.”
“All right,” Moth agreed, but his stomach pitched with apprehension. “I’ll wait for you.”
Skyhigh smiled, putting his hand on Moth’s slight shoulder. “We’ll fix this. Just stay safe until I get there.”
IN THE DARK
MOT
H WAITED UNTIL the sun was down before lighting his first candle. The supplies Skyhigh had promised him were exactly as described, tucked into a small loft overlooking the floor of the hangar. Moth struck the wooden match against the wall, then touched the flame to the candle wick. The soft light illuminated the countless motes of dust floating around him. From his place in the loft he could see crates of unused parts and the cobwebby skeletons of broken-down aircraft. Outside, a breeze flexed the metal walls of the hangar.
Reaching the barn had been easy. No one had seen Moth leave the aerodrome, crossing over the south side of the field to where the old hangar stood apart like a lonely, rusted farmhouse. Once inside, he had discovered the loft with ease.
Then, he waited.
An unseen draft made the flame on his candle dance. Moth’s stomach rumbled with hunger. In the echoing space of the hangar the noise sounded ridiculously loud. It had been hours since he’d eaten, but his mind wasn’t on food. Skyhigh would bring food, but no one could bring back Leroux. Without wanting to, Moth realized that his life had suddenly collapsed.
“All alone . . .”
Unable to bear his own thoughts, Moth retrieved the candle and descended the wooden ladder down to the hangar’s floor. Every manner of discarded junk surrounded him. Dusty boxes lined the walls and unused piles of aircraft parts tottered in rusty heaps. Most of it wasn’t worthy of attention, until he discovered a particular mound pushed into a corner and covered by a sooty white tarp. Moth held up his candle for a better look. The bent nose of the thing stuck out from its covering.
“A dragonfly . . . ?”
Eagerly he pulled off the tarp, revealing the broken-down craft beneath. Only three of its four wings were still attached, all of them cracked. The engine was gone completely, and the front landing claws had collapsed so that the whole ship sloped forward. There was no canopy either, just a cramped cockpit of worn-out fabric, but the control sticks and instruments remained.
“Beautiful,” Moth whispered, running his hand over the craft. She was younger than she looked, but the damp air of the hangar hadn’t been kind to her, nor had the dozens of pilots that had probably trained in her. She was first generation, too, and Rendor’s designs had improved a lot over the years.