Flyboys, Part Eighteen

[jeriendhal]

Ten Months Later

“Wake up, luv,” his mate whispered.

Rolas flicked his ears back and pulled the covers over his head. “Mmmph! Too early!” He felt a gentle poke at his ribs. “Stop that! The sun isn't even up yet.”

“The idea behind Dawn Prayers is that you're supposed to do them at dawn,” Bel said. She yanked the covers back and Rolas whined as the lamplight hit his eyes. “Now get dressed, Birthday Cub.”

“Your aren't dressed,” he pointed out. “Quite marvelously not dressed.” He smiled and made as if to grab her. Bel shrieked and hopped out of bed. “Get your clothes on!” she ordered. “Neither of us gets breakfast until after the ceremony and I'm hungry.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” he said. He crawled out of bed, still grumbling a bit. “Who's idea was it that nobles had to attend a goddess cursed dawn ceremony on their birthdays anyway?”

“It's supposed to be a sign of humility towards the Holy Den Mother's wisdom,” Bel told him, tossing his pants over to him. “Now stop complaining. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can have breakfast and I can give you your present.”

“Oh, ho!” Rolas grinned and ducked as she threw a pillow at him. “Not that sort of present!”

In short order (and a few more thrown pillows) they both finished dressing and met with Rulfen and the Priestess on the wide portico on the eastern side of the manor house. As the first warming rays of the sun came over the horitzon, he spoke the ritual words of love and devotion to the Goddess, in thanks for bringing him into the world to serve Her, the Land, and the People. Words he had heard his own mother speak over twenty times before.

He was surprised now at what warmth they brought to his heart. Ten months after his mother's untimely death the work of maintaining their House's lands and supporting its people had become, if not easier, at least routine. Both Rulfen and Bel had helped immensely of course, managing the dual task of running the traditional argricultural business and their suddenly expanding industrial business. The first of the new internal combustion engines had been delivered to Trans Oceanic's airship assembly plant two months before, and after some initial teething problems had been successfully integrated into the Cloud Seeker's frame. Bel's father, along with his old colleagues at Continental Steam were busy securing funding from Bomeril after building a far more advanced version of the prototype internal combustion cart that Rolas and Rulfen had demonstrated almost a year ago. Things were going very well indeed, better than he could have ever hoped.

Much better, he thought, his hand taking hold of Bel's hand as the Priestess blessed them both. They had married four months ago, in a ceremony attended by everyone who lived on House Greycoat's lands who could possibly make it to the manor. The party had been utterly enormous, overwhelming, and in the end just what was needed to finally dispel the pall that had hung over the manor after his mother's death. And with Bel... Goddess bless, with Bel he thought he could face anything, so long as she was at his side.

“How are you feeling, old man?” Rulfen asked, after the ceremony was completed and the Priestess had departed.

“Well, very well, brother,” Rolas told him. If Rulfen had ever felt any jealousy after the Priestess had delivered Bel's marriage proposal, he'd never said a word. They still worked together as a team, the Lord and his Grand Vizier, though otherwise Rulfen tended to keep to himself these days, preferring to live in their old house rather than take up Rolas' offer to take a suite of rooms in the manse. “I've arranged for breakfast to be served at my house,” Rulfen siad. “I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all,” Rolas said. Together the three of them walked across the gardens, footpads growing wet in the morning dew, towards the home the two brothers had shared together. “Artie fix something up?”

“Yes,” Rulfen said. “I imagine we're going to be quite stuffed in a bit.”

“Good, I'm starving!” Bel said, patting her stomach carefully.

“How's he been, Rulf?” he asked. “Haven't had much of chance to see him recently.” Another change from the old days. Rolas had gone from one manservant to a whole household of them. Artineth, rather than try and fit into a much larger home than he was used to tending, had elected to stay on with Rulfen directly.

“Much better,” Rulfen said. “Seems to be sleeping well again, and I haven't caught him night walking for a couple of months now.”

“Oh, good.” That more than anything else about Artineth had worried Rolas, more so because there wasn't much to be done about it. Aside from forcing him to see a mental physician, which Rolas was loathe to do, not wishing to humiliate his old manservant by forcing him to speak about something he was embarrassed by.

Artineth had set out a substantial spread, ready for mouths already an hour late for breakfast. Conversation remained limited as they ate, until Rulfen belched slightly and called their old servant over to him. “Aritie,” he said, “could you go check on Rollie's, ah, present for me?”

“Oh certainly, Sah!” Artineth said, grinning from ear to ear. He scurried out the front door, heading towards the workshop.

“Now where's he off to?” Rolas asked.

“To make sure your birthday present is ready,” Rulfen said. “Finish up your toast.”

Rolas deliberately set his bread down on his plate. “Oh, come on, Rulf! What could you have possibly have gotten me that's so big it'll only fit in the workshop?” He saw that Bel was grinning at him and waggled a finger at her. “You know, don't you? Well, what is it?”

Bel let out a laugh. “It wouldn't much of a birthday present if I told you, you silly male. Finish your breakfast!” He growled at her and chomped on his toast.

Finally, after pointedly refusing another egg sandwich and toast, or a refill on his tea, Ruflen and Bel led him outside towards the workshop. “I bet I know,” Rolas said. “You've gotten me one of your father's first production carts, haven't you, Bel?”

“Wrong! It's handmade,” Rulfen said, making him stand in front of the workshop's two large doors. “Now close your eyes.”

“This is silly,” Rolas said, but closed his eyes anyway. He heard the doors squeak loudly as they were opened. “Can I open my eyes now?”

“Go ahead,” his brother said.

Rolas opened his eyes. Rulfen and Aritneth were standing to either side of the workshop doors, while Bel stood beside him. Inside the workshop was a shape both familiar and somehow not. He could see gleaming aluminum creating a rectangular box frame, covered with layers of varnished fabric. Large wings, at least half again as long as their glider's, hung on either side, and the nose was occupied by a much larger version of the same engine design that had powered their cart, hooked directly to a large wooden propeller.

“It's an aeroplane,” he breathed in wonder. “You built an aeroplane.” Rolas paused, blinked, then indignantly said, “I thought I told you not to build an aeroplane!”

“You said not to spend the House's money on it, Milord,” Ruflen said sententiously, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face. “This was paid for out of my own purse.”

“What, all of it? How much am I paying you? Not that much, surely!”

“Well you may have increased my stipend a bit.”

“When? How much is 'a bit?'”

Rulfen grinned and ducked his head. “Well, just two or three... hundred percent.”

“Rulfen! When did I do this?”

“You signed off on the letter to be sent to the bank,” Rulfen explained. “Mind you, I think you were very busy that day and I may have abbreviated my explanation of it a little.”

Rolas groaned. “What kind of a Vizier are you?”

“An evil one, don't you remember?” His brother waved at the aeroplane. “And this is the result of my nefarious experiments.”

“Well for the Goddess's sake, don't keep me in suspense! Does it fly?”

Rulfen shrugged. “Haven't the faintest idea. It ought to, given that it's built more conservatively than the old glider. We've got more power to play with than we would have had with a steam engine of a similar weight, so I was able to add more surface area to the wings and tail section.”

“But you haven't flown it?”

“It's your birthday present, Rollie,” Rulfen said. “Besides, you've got more experience flying the old glider than I do. I thought it would be best to give you the first crack at it.”

“I...” Rolas glanced at Bel, who had been smiling through his entire exchange with Rulfen. “I can't, Rulf, I really can't. If I take that thing up and managed to crash it-- It wouldn't be fair to you, or Bel, or everybody. I've got...”

“Responsibilities, yes,” Bel said. “But consider, if you don't take it up then Rulf will, and he has less experience flying than you do. How would you feel if he crashed instead?”

“Oh, Bel, that's not fair!”

Artineth, who'd been listening to their conversation while covering his muzzle to hide his own smile, tossed a pair of goggles to Rolas, who caught them automatically. “You'll be needin' these, Sah.” Rolas could only shrug and hang them around his neck, as Artineth and Rulfen maneuvered the aeroplane out of the workshop and onto the flat, straight length of road in front of the house, where they'd originally intended to land the glider during its semi-successful test flight. Unlike the old glider, the aeroplane had a fixed undercarriage made of two large cycle wheels, so at least there would be no worries about anything getting stuck.

Rolas climbed in, settling down tinto the narrow wooden seat and allowing Artineth to secure the safety harness over his shoulders. “Does this ship have a name, Rulf?”

“Hadn't really given it much thought,” Rulfen said. “I was too busy trying to finish the damned thing before your birthday.”

“Well then, if anything breaks while I'm in the air I'll blame it on being a rush job then,” Rolas said cheerfully.

“Name her the Lady Samula, after your mother,” Bel suggested.

Rolas glanced down at his brother, and they both nodded. “The Lady Samula it is,” he said. “May the Den Mother and Mum both bless this flight.” He settled back in his seat, wiping sweat off his palms as Rulfen fussed a bit with the engine. Besides the throttle, control stick and rudder pedals, the only instruments he really had were gages marking marking the engine RPM's and the temperature of the oil. If we keep flying this thing, we're going to have to borrow a speed gage from an airship, he thought.

“Ready, old bean?” Rulfen said, taking hold of the propeller.

“Ready, Rulf!” He juiced some fuel into the engine as Rulfen yanked hard on the propeller. Then engine turned over once, then sparked and began revving up on its own. Rolas eased back on the throttle as Rulfen got out of the way, then gunned it again, opening it wide, the motor roaring as the blast from the prop hit Rolas full in the face. The aeroplane leaped forward, jouncing down the road as Rolas tried to keep it straight using the rudder controls. It was ten time worse than steering a cart, with the nose of the aeroplane partially blocking the vie wof the road, and the sheer speed of the thing putting him in mortal danger of overcompensating and smashing a wingtip into the dirt. Then suddenly the tail lifted up, giving him a better view of the now very short road, which was about to make a sharp turn in front of him, leaving him with a fenced farmer's field right in his path. He yanked back on the stick and the nose went up again, and suddenly the bumps of the road smoothed out to nothing.

He was flying...