will you . . . die?’
He
nodded, as if he found my question perfectly acceptable. ‘When the race is over
and I have discharged my obligations as the eyes of a ship, I will join others
of my Guild in an aerial ceremony, a celebration for the winning Captain.
During this flight I will expire, to make room for a new initiate to the Guild,
which is how it should be.’
‘Couldn’t
you just . . .’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know - retire? Have your systems stripped,
become once more just . . . human?’
Blackman
laughed at me, but gently. ‘Sinclair, I am my systems. Without them,
there would be no human left. I’m sorry that this news has shocked you - but
please be present when I fly with the Guild at the ceremony. I think the beauty
of it might assure you of my acceptance.’
I
wanted to tell him that I could not accept such assurances, that I would not
stand by and calmly watch his expiration, but I realised - even as these
thoughts were passing through my head - how selfish I was being. I was not
mourning Blackman’s loss of life, of course, but my loss of a friend.
I
lifted my glass. ‘To the ceremony,’ I pronounced, a quaver in my voice.
That
night we had dinner in the stateroom. After the meal, Loi knelt on the settee,
radiant in the orange light of the setting sun. Her right wing, so desolate
this morning, had gained animation during the day and was now as pert as its
partner. She tested them, articulating the great diaphanous spans as best she
could in the confines of the lounge. She turned them this way and that, swept
them up and down, stirring the warm air.
‘My
wings are almost mended,’ Loi pronounced. ‘Tomorrow they shall be as good as
new. At first light I will take my leave.’
Coming
as it did so soon after news of Blackman’s more final exit, Loi’s imminent
departure saddened me. ‘Back to Baudelaire?’ I asked.
She
shook her head, frowning as she rotated her left wing. ‘To Charybdis. I am
signed on as the Messenger for Shipmaster Sigmund Gastarian’s boat, the Golden Swan.’
‘You’ll
take part in the race?’ I asked.
‘Yes
and no. I will be flying above the Golden Swan. Should the ship run into
trouble, it is my duty to report to race officials.’
‘Then
I’ll be cheering for you and Gastarian all the way.’
‘If
I were you I’d place a wager on the Swan. Gastarian is a fine
Shipmaster, and one of the favourites to take the race.’ She paused there, a
sly look stealing over her features as her eyes slid from me to Blackman. ‘I
don’t suppose, Blackman, sir, that you would consider . . . ?’
He
smiled. ‘What is it, child?’
‘Well,
what a cheek I have. After all, you did save my life, and here I am asking
favours.’
‘Out
with it!’
‘Very
well! Could you possibly see your way to acting as the eyes for the Golden
Swan?’ And she hunched her shoulders and winced, as if expecting Blackman’s
negative reply to be as painful as a slap.
‘Mmm,’
Blackman said, stretching out in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his
head. ‘An interesting proposition. I don’t see why I should favour the Swan—’
Loi
pulled a face at me.
‘But
then again, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I will make my decision when I’ve
spoken to your master and inspected the boat.’
‘Magnifico!’
She clapped her hands, then turned to me. ‘And you, Sinclair. Would you care to
sign aboard as a member of the crew?’
‘Me?’
I spluttered. ‘But I know nothing about sailing!’
‘You
don’t need to. The main work is done by the eyes and the Shipmaster. The crew
are ballast, and hard to find at that.’
‘I’m
not surprised! We lowly humans dislike being dashed to death on rocks, ripped
to shreds on coral, or even drowned.’
‘But
the Swan’s a fine ship, and Gastarian a fine master. There is no danger
of an accident, especially if Blackman sights for us. And it would be so cosy,
we three friends together.’
‘It
will be cosier still on the bank
He
nodded, as if he found my question perfectly acceptable. ‘When the race is over
and I have discharged my obligations as the eyes of a ship, I will join others
of my Guild in an aerial ceremony, a celebration for the winning Captain.
During this flight I will expire, to make room for a new initiate to the Guild,
which is how it should be.’
‘Couldn’t
you just . . .’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know - retire? Have your systems stripped,
become once more just . . . human?’
Blackman
laughed at me, but gently. ‘Sinclair, I am my systems. Without them,
there would be no human left. I’m sorry that this news has shocked you - but
please be present when I fly with the Guild at the ceremony. I think the beauty
of it might assure you of my acceptance.’
I
wanted to tell him that I could not accept such assurances, that I would not
stand by and calmly watch his expiration, but I realised - even as these
thoughts were passing through my head - how selfish I was being. I was not
mourning Blackman’s loss of life, of course, but my loss of a friend.
I
lifted my glass. ‘To the ceremony,’ I pronounced, a quaver in my voice.
That
night we had dinner in the stateroom. After the meal, Loi knelt on the settee,
radiant in the orange light of the setting sun. Her right wing, so desolate
this morning, had gained animation during the day and was now as pert as its
partner. She tested them, articulating the great diaphanous spans as best she
could in the confines of the lounge. She turned them this way and that, swept
them up and down, stirring the warm air.
‘My
wings are almost mended,’ Loi pronounced. ‘Tomorrow they shall be as good as
new. At first light I will take my leave.’
Coming
as it did so soon after news of Blackman’s more final exit, Loi’s imminent
departure saddened me. ‘Back to Baudelaire?’ I asked.
She
shook her head, frowning as she rotated her left wing. ‘To Charybdis. I am
signed on as the Messenger for Shipmaster Sigmund Gastarian’s boat, the Golden Swan.’
‘You’ll
take part in the race?’ I asked.
‘Yes
and no. I will be flying above the Golden Swan. Should the ship run into
trouble, it is my duty to report to race officials.’
‘Then
I’ll be cheering for you and Gastarian all the way.’
‘If
I were you I’d place a wager on the Swan. Gastarian is a fine
Shipmaster, and one of the favourites to take the race.’ She paused there, a
sly look stealing over her features as her eyes slid from me to Blackman. ‘I
don’t suppose, Blackman, sir, that you would consider . . . ?’
He
smiled. ‘What is it, child?’
‘Well,
what a cheek I have. After all, you did save my life, and here I am asking
favours.’
‘Out
with it!’
‘Very
well! Could you possibly see your way to acting as the eyes for the Golden
Swan?’ And she hunched her shoulders and winced, as if expecting Blackman’s
negative reply to be as painful as a slap.
‘Mmm,’
Blackman said, stretching out in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his
head. ‘An interesting proposition. I don’t see why I should favour the Swan—’
Loi
pulled a face at me.
‘But
then again, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I will make my decision when I’ve
spoken to your master and inspected the boat.’
‘Magnifico!’
She clapped her hands, then turned to me. ‘And you, Sinclair. Would you care to
sign aboard as a member of the crew?’
‘Me?’
I spluttered. ‘But I know nothing about sailing!’
‘You
don’t need to. The main work is done by the eyes and the Shipmaster. The crew
are ballast, and hard to find at that.’
‘I’m
not surprised! We lowly humans dislike being dashed to death on rocks, ripped
to shreds on coral, or even drowned.’
‘But
the Swan’s a fine ship, and Gastarian a fine master. There is no danger
of an accident, especially if Blackman sights for us. And it would be so cosy,
we three friends together.’
‘It
will be cosier still on the bank
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