Winged: A Novella (Of Two Girls) (3 page)

If the antiquated globe spun like a child’s
top, it would not change the world’s continents and countries. Nor
its diverse politics.

Especially the politics
, the Asian
man contemplated thoughtfully as he placed his hand on the old
globe, starring at the lovingly crafted words “Middle Kingdom”,
feeling a pang in his heart. He had not been home for many years,
having considered himself a political migrant and left Shanghai for
all its worth.

And the Qing emperor is laying claims in
the Indies
, he mused quietly.
Not a gutless man, this Qing
emperor, and definitely not under the Dowager’s thumb
.
The
winds might change with this man.

He strode over to his worktable, currently
piled under by stacks of registration forms, blueprints and flight
schedules. He felt his age today. He was only fifty and yet he felt
a hundred.
It must be the students
, he thought with wry
humor. Seeing the youths in their classes and at the Flying Field
reminded him of his own exuberant and often reckless youth.

If I would have studied hard for the
Imperial Examinations
, he chuckled to himself, sorting out the
paperwork. He had a lecture in about an hour’s time – he had the
clock to remind him.
I would have been made a magistrate. But
then again, I would be stuck behind some musty desk, with fawning
cronies
and corruption
in the civil service
.

His mother would be proud if he was made a
magistrate or even a governor of a province. She would forgive him
then, for the troubles he had caused her when he was a child. He
liked to experiment with gunpowder, gleaned from the firecrackers
used for the festivals. She probably had not forgiven him for the
flying gunpowder ship.

Old Liu was particularly angry
, he
recalled the old retainer’s face, reddened from furious shouting
and half-blackened with soot from the gunpowder ship which exploded
mid-air, right in the middle of the family courtyard, much to
everyone’s consternation and horror. Old Liu looked just like Kwan
Kong, the red-and-black faced god of justice.

His sisters hated the smoke and tried to fan
it away, more concerned for their silk garments. His father was not
impressed. His mother appeared as if she was about to faint. The
servants gaped and some hid their laughter. The main body of the
ship, modeled after a Chinese junk, broke apart, mid-flight, and
fell onto the main dish, a roasted pig procured by Old Liu. It was
a Yuan Xiao dinner with invited guests and a slew of festivities to
celebrate the end of the Lunar New Year period to follow soon
after. Of course, he had to go spoil it all. After the festivities,
he was scolded and caned by his father.

He was ten and already bored of the
world.

Of course, Old Liu was probably dead by now.
It had been years. For him, he had cut off his queue of hair, mark
of a Qing man, and left for England, vowing never to return.

There was a discrete knock on the door. He
knew that knock and smiled. Before long, the door creaked open and
Captain Sagan walked in, proud like a red-haired lioness.

“You will be late for your lecture,” she
said without preamble. Such a woman and such a character. She was
attired in her characteristic shirt and riding breeches. The
suffragists loved her. Her Majesty, the Queen herself, had heard of
her exploits too.

“I know, I know,” he said and fetched his
notes from the table. He would organize it later. Oh, time was of
the essence and he knew it all too well.

Ah, the balance of the world,
his
world
, was right at the moment. London was the center of
commerce
and
invention, both fueling each other, much like
his friendship with Captain Sagan. His mother would be shocked. A
friendship with a foreign woman, a “red-haired devil”? It would
have offended her delicate sensibilities. But she was Shanghainese,
born into a world of privilege.
Her
world was a world of
lazy mahjong sessions and serene embroidery, sheltered from the
real Shanghai, itself attracting people of all races and sorts.

We exist in many worlds
, he thought
as he exited his room with Captain Sagan beside him and strode
purposefully to the auditorium.
It is how we balance the worlds.
But the winds of the world are fickle.

The air was suitably chilly for an
early-morning Athletics. There was fog rolling in from the Flying
Field, a fleecy sheet coating just about everything and making
flying lessons for the final-year ensign class impossible.

Stenton made them all stand in a large
circle, including Alethia who shivered in the cold. They had their
jumpers on but the Autumn cold was indeed bone-deep. The students
hopped from foot to foot, trying to keep themselves warm. There
would be a lot of howling and complaining later. But now it was not
the time to. Stenton’s sharp tongue would whip them into shape.

Katherine’s skin broke out in goose pimples.
She hated Autumn, even when she was back in Dorset. The house was
always clammy, the cold having seeped into the very bricks and
stayed there like a stubborn ice wall. She would pile on several
layers of blankets and the cold would still permeate through.
Little Alice, her sister, hated it and often fell ill with winter
colds.

“You must be wondering why you are all
standing in a circle,” Stenton began. He was a stocky man, in his
late thirties, his salt-and-pepper hair close-cropped to the skull.
He was a Cockney man by birth and he was proud of it.

“We are going to do an exercise,” he
continued, watching the students and their discomfort in the chill
air with amusement in his eyes. “I want everyone to start walking
in three paces, at your own will, within this circle.”

The students eyed one another and then at
Stenton who grinned back. “Walk normally, breathe normally, making
sure you do not come into contact with your peers.”

Katherine darted a glance at Alethia
anxiously. For this exercise, the blind girl would have found it
difficult in doing so. But the girl showed no sign of anxiety or
indeed nervousness, standing with a faint smile on her lips.

“You can begin … now!” Stenton whistled
sharply and the students began to shuffle, pace and walk, each in
his or her own style of movement.
Three paces
, Stenton
reminded them,
three paces
.

The strands of fog made perception fair
tricky, clouding in-coming traffic and playing games with the eyes.
Katherine tried to breathe normally, listening to her heart, trying
hard not to knock into her classmates. Someone brushed too closely
to her and it was Thomas Von Dyke who grinned at her wickedly and
moved away, like a dancer. Everyone was shifting around her, each
in his own world but slowly becoming aware of the others. Even
Alethia moved remarkably well, steering herself with her walking
stick.

Katherine was aware of the
currents
around her, the shifting flows and eddies. For a few breaths, she
paused, perceptive of the dance and the dancers. Then, someone
approached her and she neatly stepped away without missing a beat.
The fog simply added to the flow, becoming part of it, dispersing
when one of the students moved through it and merging back again
seamlessly.

Is flying like that?
She wondered,
listening to her heartbeats.
Knowing the flows and currents of
the air? Like a bird? Or knowing who I am?

She was reminded of the nightmare she had a
while back and she shuddered, almost losing her concentration when
Thomas passed her again. She caught herself and swirled away,
almost hitting another boy who glared at her indignantly.

The dance carried on, everyone moving – by
now – easily. At the sidelines, Stenton watched pleased.

~*~

“That is a fine exercise!” Thomas commented
as they retired to the dormitories to refresh themselves before the
afternoon classes. His German accent was almost gone with the
number of years spent in London, only a faint hint of it showing
when he became excited.

“It is,” Katherine nodded, feeling the
exercise still lingering in her bones. Alethia walked beside
her.

“You almost knocked into me twice,” the boy
laughed cheekily. He was almost nineteen. At times, Katherine swore
he acted even younger than his real age. She was the oldest amongst
the three, having reached the maximum age of registration for the
academy. She was passing glad she made it into the academy. Passing
glad …

“Hmph,” she retorted back and Thomas
shrugged. He was in a jolly good mood. Alethia merely smiled, no
doubt understanding the nuances in the conversation.

Now Alethia’s professed vocational training
astounded her. She was not training to be a pilot. Instead, she was
training to be a controller, the person tasked to give directions
to the leo-fin pilot. Now
how
she was going to do so
remained a mystery, even for Katherine. Alethia’s senses of
perception were uncanny; she claimed to hear the leo-fins by color
and was hence – or she said – able to direct the leo-fin when it
took off or landed.

“I do not mind working with you,” she once
told Katherine privately. “If we both graduate from the academy
first!”

Alethia sounded confident and she seemed to
know herself well. She seemed so solid, so self-assured. So aware,
even with her disability. Katherine had to admit that she admired
the blind girl.

“Off with you,” Katherine mock-scolded
Thomas who bowed cockily and peeled off to the nearest washroom.
When he was gone, she breathed a sigh of relief. “He is such a
frustrating lad!”

~*~

Doctor James Ash was a busy man. Not only
did he have to look after the health of the entire student cohort,
he was also part of the Faculty. Biology was the subject, even
though his own specialty was general surgery.

It was common to see the bearded tall
gentleman stalking down the corridors of the Manor, simultaneously
physician and teacher. He would check on the students, especially
those who were sick and were in quarantine, regularly, making they
had their ample rest. Likewise, he would supervise his students in
the laboratories.

He was a busy man. One would expect him to
be scatterbrained, the very image of an university professor. He
was not. He was sharp. He was acerbic. Mind you, he just cut young
Joshua Baker into fine shreds for being tardy in his homework.
Mister Baker was an intelligent young man. He just frittered his
time away with his laziness. He would have words to say to
Pilotmaster Lee. And as Tutor-in-charge of College Azure, he needed
to make sure the students were in tip-top condition, academically
and physically.

Now why was he so concerned about a simple
ankle? He was constantly on the move. Yet, a simple ankle was
causing him some a degree of concern.

It was not just torn tendons and broken
skin. It involved the
whole
person. Common sense, in the
form of adequate nutrition and rest, would help remedy the ankle’s
problem. If he could get that into the head of the said person with
the problem ankle, he would.

She did not tell him how the injury was
caused or inflicted. And by what, she was not forthcoming. As he
observed her quietly as a calm clinician should, the ankle seemed
to be getting worse, not better. Of course, with all the exertion
she was putting on it.

He would recommend bed rest. Barring that,
simple surgery. Other than these options, it was not just an
imbalance of humours. It was a psychological reason.

And no, he was definitely not going to the
nonsense of phrenology. Lumps on the skull were not going to tell
him about her mind. Lumps were lumps. Not real problems.

If she is aware of this fact
, he
mused, looking sternly at a few students who quickly went back to
their schoolwork.
If she wants to be a pilot, that is.

~*~

Katherine dreamt again. This time, she found
herself moving around with Miss Sharpton. Avoiding the ancient
harridan became a dance of shifting eddies and currents. The woman
would try to hit her with the brown belt and she would evade it
simply by sidestepping or moving away quickly.

It was a pleasant dream, because the dream
Miss Sharpton grew increasingly furious and annoyed with her
failures to hit Miss Riley. Katherine slept on without waking
up.

It was First Light when everyone was jolted
awake by a loud rumble. It felt as if the earth was quaking in
fear, rumbling and groaning away in travail. Alethia cried out,
greatly alarmed by the sound and how sorely it impacted her senses.
Katherine fell out from her bed, nearly spraining her
already-aggravated ankle.

London was burning.