Blackbird: A Warrior of the No-When Read online

  Alternately, if they are able to take it into custody, then they have the chance to score their own goal. Each goal adds up to three points, and once a total of nine points has been reached, the side with the largest sum is declared the winner.

  What complicates all this, are the use of special ‘gun-cameras’ which a pilot can use to score a ‘hit’ on their opposition. This is done by centering the crosshairs on certain portions of the other plane’s fuselage and snapping an image.

  The judges watch each aeroplane quite carefully, and take note of these maneuvers. At the end of the match, the number of ‘hits’ (which are equal to one point) are added up and deducted from the opposing team’s score. Because of this, games have occurred were a team has managed to fly every single banner through the goals, but still wound up on the losing end of things.

  Here, one’s partner also plays a vital role. If she can manage to score a ‘hit’ of her own on an attacking aircraft, the points are not deducted because they have just offset one another. Additionally, there have been many instances where the partner has saved the day by recapturing a stolen banner and flying it to the goal.

  As one might imagine, this makes the entire business of monoplane matches quite a challenge, and more than a little dangerous. It takes a special kind of skill to keep track of everyone, and despite the best of efforts, tragedies do indeed occur. But Elizabeth and I were old hands at the sport and our craft were nimble, and responsive.

  And well it is that we were so prepared; quite familiar with our prowess, our opposition had decided to gain an early advantage that would offset the losses that they knew they would later incur. Right away, two Alki monoplanes left their formation and headed straight for the banner tower.

  I recognized one of the pilots from the cheerful yellow bee painted on the fuselage. It was Ms. Fanny Yessler and when we weren’t competing against one another, she was a friend and fellow student at Maddenhill. Her wingman, sporting a winged unicorn, was another acquaintance of mine, Ms. Jennifer Kinnear. This was a contest though, and our friendship notwithstanding, neither Elizabeth nor I intended to give either woman the advantage.

  Elizabeth, ever the bolder of us, sent Blackbird into a hard dive and I followed her until we were barely 3 meters above the field, and well below our opposition. Looking up, I could see that Yessler and Kinear were going to make it to the banner before we did, but I did not panic. I knew what my partner had in mind.

  Just as I expected, Yessler’s tail hook snagged the banner ring, and having seized her prize, she immediately began to gain altitude, the long red flag snapping in the wind as it trailed behind her. But Elizabeth’s plane ascended sharply and turned so that she passed between Yessler and her teammate. When she did so, her tail hook made contact with the banner and tore it free, even as she rolled away to the right.

  This was a signature maneuver of hers, not intended to capture the pennant as much as to deny it to the other side. Which it did. The tattered cloth fluttered to the earth, and the very instant that it made contact, it was no longer considered to be in play. Right away, attendants rushed out to retrieve it whilst another group made preparations to hoist a replacement.

  In the meantime, Kinnear, undoubtedly upset over the interception, heeled over in an attempt to follow Elizabeth and capture a photograph of her with her gun camera. A veteran of many matches, Elizabeth had anticipated this however, and had already looped around, risking contact with the earth with her wingtip, but denying the image that would have otherwise awarded Kinnear a point.

  It was a dangerous move, but it served her well. A flare went up, signaling that their game of cat and mouse was over and for Kinnear to break off, lest a penalty be imposed. She had no choice but to simply accept the situation and let Elizabeth go.

  While she gained altitude and rejoined Yessler, our side was making for the banner. Four of my teammates were working together as a group, with three of them protecting the leader, who was none other than Suzanne Wallingford. It seemed as if they intended to attack the banner en-masse, and this was exactly what we wanted the Alki fliers to believe.

  Immediately, several Alki planes made for the group and soon everyone was engaged by their opposite numbers in a struggle to outmaneuver one another and capture photographic points. In the meantime, a trio of aeroplanes chased after our team leader, thinking that she intended to continue on towards the banner pole.

  Instead of doing so, Wallingford rolled and added her craft to the melee. Naturally, her pursuers made to follow.

  This was our opening--and exactly what Wallingford had planned for. Staying low, Elizabeth and I went for the prize. Only one Alki plane realized the deception, and to her credit, she did her best to get in and behind Elizabeth.

  It was poor little Mary Magnussen. I knew her from many a match, and although she was a dear thing under normal circumstances, with a cheerful and pleasant disposition, she was no warrioress like ourselves. I daresay that she was the most uncertain pilot on the entire Alki team, and I know for a fact that she did not care for the sport; her family had forced her to participate. Although, to be entirely fair, I must give her credit for her quick wits in this particular situation. None of her sisters had spotted us, and she was certainly giving it her all. Sadly, it was not enough.

  Slipping in behind her was almost too easy, and presently I had her squarely in my sights. I managed to get a good, clean shot of her monoplane at the very instant that she looked back over her shoulder and realized that I was there.

  I know that it is horribly uncharitable of me to say this, but the look of surprise and consternation on her features was truly priceless. Had I not known her and cared for her feelings as I did, I think I would have had a copy made and framed it to preserve it for all time. It was simply too perfect an interception. But I had no such cruel streak, and Mary, knowing that I had scored against her, was forced to turn away, and let Elizabeth go.

  And go she did. My brave and beautiful lover ascended just high enough to rise above the banner pole, caught the pennant and dipped low again to head in for the goal posts like an arrow shot from Diana’s bow. She made the point a second later, and another flare went up.

  Thanks to her, our team was now three points ahead, and seeing other flares go off, I knew that my fellow aviatrixes had done us proud. Of course, I was well aware that the final score would be determined after the match and once the gun-camera images were evaluated, but I was confident that we enjoyed a healthy lead.

  The game went on like this for another ten minutes and by the end of it, it was clear that we were the victors. Our observed score was six to three.

  When at last the judges signaled that the match was over, we landed and returned to our respective hangers. There, we submitted our monoplanes to the photographer’s crews. The rolls of film were retrieved from them immediately, and taken to be developed. As soon as they were ready, the photographs went to the judge’s tower.

  The entire process of determining the final scores took them twenty more minutes, and by the end of it, things had turned out exactly as I had predicted. Mercer’s Maiden’s had won handily, 4 points to 1 (with several of our points having been lost to Alki gun-cameras).

  I felt a mixture of elation at having triumphed, and sad for the friends that I had among our challengers. This is how it always was for me, for I never forgot fliers like little Mary who tried their best, but still failed to achieve supremacy. That is life though; there must always be a winner and a loser in any contest and it is all the more admirable if the victor is gracious to those that they have vanquished. Accordingly, when we were called to stand before the judge’s tower and accept our accolades, I made a point of saluting the Alki team, and my companions did likewise. It had been a good match, and we wanted them to know that we admired their effort.

  Once the winner’s cup had been handed over to our team captain, the crowds were allowed to come forwards and extend their congratulations. A veteran of many matches in her youth, my Au
nt Veronica was one of the very first to reach us.

  “My word,” she said as she embraced us both in turn. “That was a truly thrilling catch at the start, Elizabeth--and a deucedly clever escape. But I must say that it gave me quite a start. I love watching you fly, but you do take terrible risks.”

  “Have no fear on that account, Auntie,” Elizabeth replied, (for they had long ago adopted one another), “with Penny at my side, I shall always be kept safe.”

  This seemed to be a tad reckless, as if she were tempting a Fate that I did not believe in, and had I known one, I would have made some sort of sign against it. But I did not. Nor did I fail to note that Aunt Veronica seemed to be just as uncomfortable as I, and for the same reason.

  “Well, of course,” she said, patting Elizabeth’s hand. “Even so, do be careful.”

  ***

  We decided to celebrate our victory with a picnic at Greenlake Park, one of the most beloved recreational locations in our fair city. We sited our fête on the north shore of the lake, thus avoiding the amusement park established by Mr. Woods on the western side and the crowds that tended to gather there. Ours was a much more intimate location, shielded from the hubbub by lush vegetation. It also possessed a small dock where boats could be rented out.

  And to ensure that our festivities were as convivial as possible, I personally supervised our cook in the preparation of the meal. I had chosen the menu with great care; cold roast duck, a goodly assortment of sandwiches, lobster spread and crackers, Victoria cakes and all of it topped off with a fine white wine. It was the perfect repast.

  The day itself was equally as flawless. Seattle graced us with clear skies and generous amounts of sunshine, and the food was well-received. Afterwards, Edward rowed us out into the lake, where we surrendered the last of our Victoria cakes to the eager ministrations of the ducks.

  Then we let the boat drift, talking about whatever suited our fancy and laughing at Edward’s jokes. Lying there with my head in Elizabeth’s lap, and feeling the sun upon my face, I could not have been more content. At that instant, my life seemed perfect and carefree, and for the first time in weeks, I was able to set aside all of my concerns about our work with the Professor and the future.

  But at the very apex of my serenity, a shadow passed overhead. It was quite brief and rather small, but it disturbed me enough to open my eyes and seek out the source.

  The interloper proved to be an oculon, overflying the lake as part of its normal patrol, and under any other circumstances, I would have felt nothing except my usual distaste for anything related to the Bookmen. This time however, and perhaps because of the very timing of the event, the sight of the little metal sphere filled me with a sudden and acute sense of dread. It seemed to be more a bird of ill omen than a familiar blight, and an involuntary shudder passed through me as I watched it go by.

  I knew with a visceral certainty that my happiness would soon be interrupted by a great misfortune. Something terrible was on the horizon, out beyond the curve of the world in the place where the future is born, gathering up its strength like a storm.

  Elizabeth noticed the downward turn of my mood immediately, and attempted to sooth me with a gentle caress, but the damage had been done.

  Although I put on a brave front for my friends, and for her, my premonition refused to be ignored. It remained with me, like some unwelcome spectator, and that night, when we took advantage of the fact that Elizabeth’s parents were away on holiday, I made love to her with a fierceness that surprised us both. It was as if I wanted to consume her utterly and thus guarantee that she would always be a part of me. For all of the blessings that I enjoyed, and despite the lack of any clear indication that my circumstances might change, I was suddenly aware of just how fragile my existence was.

  That night, sleep did not come easily, and when it did, my dreams were dark ones.

  ***

  Our triumph over the Alki Aces increased our team’s status and brought us that much closer to winning the coveted Cascade Cup. It also ushered in new challenges that soon banished my misgivings and forced me to focus entirely on the demands of my sport.

  With our rise in stature, we found ourselves pitted against teams whose standing and skill were the equal of our own. The most formidable of these were Phinney’s Fliers, whom we had yet to face. Their pilots were talented and clever, and they had an able captain for a leader. Like us, they too had won many matches and had their sights set on the Cup.

  As each match brought us closer and closer to a contest with them, Elizabeth and I found ourselves becoming obsessed with their methods. We reviewed endless newspaper clippings and studied their signature maneuvers with great care. Ms. Wallingford was just as dedicated, and gathered our team together for numerous strategy sessions that often went well into the night.

  In the meantime, we outflew whatever opposition came against us. Our performance was so amazing that the papers were positively agog with it, calling us ‘the Darlings of the West’ and ‘a Force of Nature Itself’ . There was also quite a bit of speculation among the journalists about how our battle with the Fliers might go. And after we had defeated the vaunted Denny’s Damsels , this stopped being a possibility and became an absolute certainty.

  Our appointment with the Fliers was not long in coming, and when it arrived, Elizabeth and I could barely contain our excitement as we boarded our monoplanes. The same held true for the rest of our squadron. This was to be our greatest moment and we were all eager to face the challenge.

  The Fliers were just as determined though, and as the match began, they gave as good as they got, making it a hard fight. Pilots on each side pushed their aircraft to their very limits, and played dice with chance, leading to many near misses that both thrilled and terrified the crowd. And for a time, both our teams held an equal number of points. I began to worry that the contest would be decided strictly on the basis of camera footage and technicalities.

  Then Elizabeth saw an opportunity to tip the scales in our favor. She rose and came in behind the Flier with the pennant, caught it with her tail hook and pulled up and away. I shall never forget how proudly it fluttered behind her monoplane and the fierce joy inscribed upon her features. Or my horror when I realized that she was about to collide with another aircraft that had been on its way downwards, hoping to deny her her victory.

  I cried out, but the wind conspired to drown out my warning. Despite this, she still seemed to sense the impending disaster, and turned her head upwards towards the threat. By then however, it was far, far too late for her to react.

  The two machines collided with a sickening impact, and the violence of it threw her completely free of her cockpit. I was already flying towards her in a vain attempt at rescue, and as she fell past me, I reached for her, calling out her name. Our fingers almost touched, and then she was gone, plummeting past me towards the unforgiving earth.

  Too close, I thought. Too close for a parachute to be of any use, and too far to be anything but fatal. I called to her again, and for an instant, as she tumbled, her eyes met mine. She knew that she was about to die and that this was the last time we would ever look upon one another. Her expression was a mixture of terror, sadness, and ultimately, resignation.

  Then as the ground rushed up to claim her, I saw her lips move. I could not hear her, but I still knew that she had called my name.

  And as she hit, I screamed, and pitched my monoplane downwards, determined to join her in death. But a sense of self-preservation that was far stronger than my grief overrode my suicidal impulse, and I reluctantly pulled out of my dive.

  Elizabeth, my love, my very life, was dead, and I was still alive. I had never imagined until that terrible moment what a curse life itself could be. How I managed to land my monoplane, and who it was that led me away from that field of death, remains a mystery to me to this very day. I only know that I soon found myself back within the familiar confines of my home, and my rooms.

  I was desolation itself. Bereft, adrift
and forlorn, I did not eat, nor drink, nor speak, but languished in my bed, more a ghost than a living woman. The bright center of my existence had just been snuffed out, and I no longer cared for anything. Even the sunlight streaming in through my windows had lost all of its warmth and substance. For me there was only darkness, and no future worth living in. Only the patient ministrations of our Housekeeper and her staff, and the attentions of Edward and my father, ensured that I sustained myself through that first awful night.

  Several days passed, and then I was informed that I would be attending the funeral. The very notion of seeing my beloved readied for the grave sent me into a fit of inconsolable weeping, but again those that cared for me ensured that I was made ready for this somber ritual. I was attired in a mourning dress and my face was veiled, and when I was ready, I was gently guided into the garden by one of the servants and left alone there to wait until our carriage could be brought around to convey us.

  Some impulse made me approach our rose bushes, which just then were in full bloom. Of all the flowers in nature’s great kingdom, roses had always been Elizabeth’s favorite, and these blooms were a brilliant scarlet that sharply reminded me of her lips, and the love that we had shared, and lost.

  Not quite myself, I took up a pair of shears that our groundskeeper had abandoned and cut the fairest one off. Then, as I heard our housekeeper coming for me, I carefully wrapped it in a kerchief and placed it inside of my handbag. I had no coherent plan in mind; I was only aware that my actions felt right for some reason and that the presence of the flower lent me a small sliver of comfort.

  Our ride to the Zerodian Temple was mercifully brief, and once there, we were shown to our place at the head of the room with all of the deference due the bereaved, and people of our station.

  The casket was also there, inscribed with a strange motto, written in the language of the Caesars who had banished all religion from their empire; “Mortis maximus dixit mendacium semper”, “Death is the greatest lie ever told.”